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Book: Devils & Blue Dresses: My Wild Ride as a Rock and Roll Legend by Mitch Ryder
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Authors: Mitch Ryder
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modern aphasia, where every little raised eyebrow or quick little wink spoke volumes of understanding between the friends, thus engendering courage and calm through belief and trust in each other. One of those friendships in which you swear to die protecting each other, even though you held serious reservations. But that was not what I had with Joey. We were uncommitted pals.
Chapter 7
W E WERE FORTUNATE TO HAVE M OTOWN Records in Detroit. As each new talented artist from that incredible “hit factory” blazed up the music charts, our pride in our city’s name went with it. Motown, short for motor town, as in General Motors, Ford Motors or Chrysler Motors, meant automobiles. Not only had we put the country on wheels, we were giving it the musical soundtrack to drive with as well. Those were magical days and our little group, Billy Lee and the Rivieras, was just one in hundreds of young Detroit area musicians and singers who knew that, thanks to Berry Gordy, it was now possible to have success on the world stage. Well, maybe.
Along with subtle elements of racism comes the ability to sleep through painstaking intellectual self-analysis and then, suddenly, make itself evident to the host. With that in mind, how can we equate the hunger young, white rock ‘n’ rollers from Detroit have for symbolic representation from a successful, hit-making artist from their own race to a latent form of racism? It is difficult, but not impossible, especially when speaking of Detroit, because for years Berry Gordy wouldn’t touch white artists.
Look at his roster. When he finally got around to signing white artists, word was that he would tie up the best of them in contracts and then sit on them to keep the artist from the marketplace. From the inception of his successful company to the first hit record from one of his white artists, a period of at least nine years passed. So whatever help whites were looking for it clearly was not, for one reason or another, coming from Motown Records. Sometimes, in conversation with other musicians, Berry Gordy was referred to as a “reverse racist.”
I personally did not see it that way. In fact, one night at a club in Detroit a few years after I had gone to New York City, I had a conversation with Berry and he invited me to join Motown. Of course, I had already made a few hit records at that point and possibly he had not heard that Brian Holland, his top producer, had rejected me three years prior. Or, perhaps he was only joking.
Another thing to consider, especially form my point of view, is how we go about picking our heroes. I fail to see any difference between a young black man admiring and wanting to emulate Lou Gerhig, and a young white man admiring and wanting to emulate Jackie Robinson. And if it is true in sports entertainment then it should very well be true in musical entertainment.
In the late 1990s I sent a CD of my music to a black-owned record company. It was rejected without being heard because the black executives said I was “just another white boy trying to rip off the black man.” I responded by stating that I chose my heroes carefully. With love and respect, I learned and was inspired by them, and the highest tribute I could make was to try my best to integrate their teaching into my style.
That worked for me, but I also understand that some proponents of the careful and never-ending debate over the black American experience could become defensive and accusatory, given the history and means by which black contributions to popular culture have evolved. Especially in music.
Let us use, for example, the “black face” of Al Jolson––a white man who covered his face with black make-up and tried to sing and sound black. Nothing subtle about that. So, let us take away the black face. You still have a white man trying to sound black. I find that offensive as well. But finally, let us take a white man whose history, social and cultural experience, style and
Chapter 7
W E WERE FORTUNATE TO HAVE M OTOWN Records in Detroit. As each new talented artist from that incredible “hit factory” blazed up the music charts, our pride in our city’s name went with it. Motown, short for motor town, as in General Motors, Ford Motors or Chrysler Motors, meant automobiles. Not only had we put the country on wheels, we were giving it the musical soundtrack to drive with as well. Those were magical days and our little group, Billy Lee and the Rivieras, was just one in hundreds of young Detroit area musicians and singers who knew that, thanks to Berry Gordy, it was now possible to have success on the world stage. Well, maybe.
Along with subtle elements of racism comes the ability to sleep through painstaking intellectual self-analysis and then, suddenly, make itself evident to the host. With that in mind, how can we equate the hunger young, white rock ‘n’ rollers from Detroit have for symbolic representation from a successful, hit-making artist from their own race to a latent form of racism? It is difficult, but not impossible, especially when speaking of Detroit, because for years Berry Gordy wouldn’t touch white artists.
Look at his roster. When he finally got around to signing white artists, word was that he would tie up the best of them in contracts and then sit on them to keep the artist from the marketplace. From the inception of his successful company to the first hit record from one of his white artists, a period of at least nine years passed. So whatever help whites were looking for it clearly was not, for one reason or another, coming from Motown Records. Sometimes, in conversation with other musicians, Berry Gordy was referred to as a “reverse racist.”
I personally did not see it that way. In fact, one night at a club in Detroit a few years after I had gone to New York City, I had a conversation with Berry and he invited me to join Motown. Of course, I had already made a few hit records at that point and possibly he had not heard that Brian Holland, his top producer, had rejected me three years prior. Or, perhaps he was only joking.
Another thing to consider, especially form my point of view, is how we go about picking our heroes. I fail to see any difference between a young black man admiring and wanting to emulate Lou Gerhig, and a young white man admiring and wanting to emulate Jackie Robinson. And if it is true in sports entertainment then it should very well be true in musical entertainment.
In the late 1990s I sent a CD of my music to a black-owned record company. It was rejected without being heard because the black executives said I was “just another white boy trying to rip off the black man.” I responded by stating that I chose my heroes carefully. With love and respect, I learned and was inspired by them, and the highest tribute I could make was to try my best to integrate their teaching into my style.
That worked for me, but I also understand that some proponents of the careful and never-ending debate over the black American experience could become defensive and accusatory, given the history and means by which black contributions to popular culture have evolved. Especially in music.
Let us use, for example, the “black face” of Al Jolson––a white man who covered his face with black make-up and tried to sing and sound black. Nothing subtle about that. So, let us take away the black face. You still have a white man trying to sound black. I find that offensive as well. But finally, let us take a white man whose history, social and cultural experience, style and
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