Soul

Although the Indianapolis music scene declined steadily throughout the fifties and sixties, it experienced a resurgence beginning in 1968. In addition to the older artists that remained in Indianapolis, many new and exciting bands and musicians also frequented the club scene and gained a tremendous following. Bands such as the Moonlighters, the Highlighters, Billy Ball and the Upsetters, and the Diplomatics played regularly at local clubs. The Presidents, transplants from Louisville, Kentucky, eventually made Indianapolis their home after they gained a tremendous following. For most bands, it was only natural that they would make their way into the recording studio because they knew their nightclub success could translate into record sales. Musicians took time off from their day jobs to write songs with the hopes of being played on the radio. Blacks bought these records upon release and also called WGEE-AM and WTLC-FM, Indianapolis’ two radio stations that focused on predominantly black programming, to request their favorite songs.

During the late sixties and early seventies, there was growing unrest in the city; I-65 construction, the infringement of the IUPUI campus, and the small riot along Indiana Avenue worried residents. The Black Radical Action Project and the Black Panthers attempted to gain a foothold in Indianapolis at this time. Yet, Indianapolis soul and funk recordings maintained a moderate message that appealed to the majority of Indianapolis blacks. Songs about politics and radicalism were non-existent, while songs about love gained, love lost, and up-tempo dance numbers dominated the airwaves from 1968 to 1974. There were also a number of songs that dealt more explicitly with black pride, black unity, and community issues such as drug abuse. These songs not only made people dance, but they also expressed pride in their community, generated concern for making it a better place, and reflected the moderation of the black community. Locally produced soul and funk music and the musicians, deejays, and record producers behind it all sought to support and promote the black community. They hoped to uplift spirits and increase community awareness through music and a positive message that crossed boundaries between radio, live music, and the black community at large.

Although Indianapolis record labels never reached the magnitude of Detroit’s Motown label or Stax in Memphis, these small, privately owned companies helped give a voice to many Indianapolis musicians who would not have recorded without them. Cultural theorist Simon Frith argues that independent musicians and record companies create innovation, not major labels.[1] Although Indianapolis followed the national trends in soul and funk music, a unique Indianapolis sound developed that is evident in the majority of recordings. The Indianapolis sound not only reflected the moderation of the black community, but also the informal yet intense nature of local soul recordings. These musicians were independent in the truest sense, working straight jobs at Ford or General Motors and recording and playing music in their spare time. As James Bell said, “We were just everyday people making records.”[2] For the most part, Indianapolis’ record companies were also independent, owned by people who usually came into the business as a result of other ventures such as record sales or concert promotions.

Frith also believes that “records are made according to what the public is known to want already,” or, that records are a reflection of a buying public’s beliefs, values, and tastes in music. Public demand, in other words, is the organizing idea for the record industry.[3] Music is not just entertainment, but a window into the community, especially in Indianapolis where the relationships between musicians, record producers, and distributors illustrate the connection that Frith alludes to. Frith’s theory holds true in Indianapolis, where locally produced soul and funk music is an essential tool in understanding the social, political, and cultural climate of the city. Although certain elements within Indianapolis’ African-American population were politically radical, the majority was not, and it is their beliefs, values, and tastes that were reflected in locally produced soul and funk music from the late sixties and early seventies.

Prior to 1960, record companies such as Capitol and Dot maintained offices in Indianapolis near the Indiana Avenue entertainment district, along Capitol Avenue. These labels sought out the best talent that Indianapolis offered, from jazz artists to doo-wop singers. Beginning in the mid-1950s, doo-wop swept the nation and the youth of Indianapolis accepted this new trend in music. Singer Jimmy Guilford remembers practicing on the street corners of east Indianapolis and then trying to sell a song to the record companies on the west side of town.[4] Guilford and his group, the Four Sounds, were lucky enough to record and then tour with a doo-wop revue during the 1950s, as was Indianapolis native Thurston Harris, who recorded the hit “Little Bitty Pretty One” in 1957. Although Chicago and Detroit always held the major recording studios, until the mid-sixties Indianapolis was able to establish a small niche for up and coming musicians. As the sixties progressed, the local music scene declined in popularity and scale, resulting in the recording companies pulling up stakes and leaving town. This created a drought in the recording of black music in Indianapolis. To most bands, such as the Presidents from Louisville, Kentucky, Indianapolis was merely a stopover on the way to Detroit or Chicago for a recording session. However, with the rising popularity of soul and a plethora of emerging musicians, the Indianapolis black music scene was about to change.

As the sixties progressed, a number of major events precluded the rise of the soul and funk music scene. Beginning in late 1968, several new record labels came into existence for the sole purpose of recording local black entertainment. The formation of WTLC-FM as the first FM station in the area to play black music gave local musicians and these new record companies a chance to promote their records. As a result, the nightclub and live music scene began to reemerge as an important part of the black community.

One of the first big recordings to come from these new labels was the Highlighters’ “Poppin’ Popcorn.”[5] Made up of Indianapolis residents, the Highlighters began as a showband, playing mainly cover songs and supporting traveling artists such as Patti Labelle and Syl Johnson. Released on Paul Major’s Rojam label in 1969, the record sold extremely well within the city. Major, who was also a deejay at WGEE-AM, started the label to help promote local acts that frequented the nightclub stage.[6] He saw the large demand for soul music and thought that records by local musicians from within the community would sell well. There were very few locally produced songs on the radio at this time, and listeners were beginning to clamor for recordings by their favorite local artists.

In the late sixties, the relationship between performers, deejays, and record distributors was very cordial. Highlighters vocalist James Bell remembers that everyone, from the deejays at WGEE and WTLC and the record distributors to the local consumers that purchased the records, were all looking to help Indianapolis musicians make it big. Indianapolis residents took pride in successful performers from the community, such as Wes Montgomery, Thurston Harris, and in later years, Kenneth “Babyface” Edmonds and his band, Manchild. Bell also recalled that he personally used to deliver records to places like Arlene’s House of Music and Jerry Hermann’s record store downtown on the Circle. Local bands did not have connections with national record labels, nor did their labels have publicity or distribution departments; the musicians did the work themselves. Many record stores would oftentimes sell records of local musicians on consignment, and if they sold well, the store would eventually buy them directly from the band. Consignment was something that only occurred in places like Indianapolis, where musicians had strong relationships with others in the music business. Bell recalled that for most performers, selling records and performing live was secondary income; nearly every musician had a steady job Monday through Friday.[7] A master plumber and former factory worker at Ford Motor Company, Bell started Three Diamonds records and released two 45s by the Highlighters, both of which he distributed.[8] Beginning on Thursday night, musicians worked hard to sell records, play excellent live shows, and if lucky, spend time in the studio recording what they hoped would be their next, or first, big hit. In Indianapolis, musicians, record producers, and distributors could be the same people – the “Naptown Sound” was Indianapolis’ black community.

When James Bell started Three Diamonds records in 1969, he realized that he needed to release a hit that would not only help pay the bills, but also garner the Highlighters increased notoriety through radio play and frequent live shows. As a live performer, Bell was familiar with what songs made people dance, cry, or smile at the nightclub. He knew what types of songs the audience usually requested. So, when he released “The Funky 16 Corners,” an upbeat, funky dance number similar to what was popular on the national charts, it was no surprise that it sold remarkably well. Three Diamonds was one of the many Indianapolis record companies that entered the business because they knew what would sell. Simon Frith noted that records were made according to the popular trends of the time. Companies such as LAMP, Knaptown, Blue Eagle, and others all released records that reflected not only popular trends in national soul and funk recordings, but the common interests and desires (black pride, community pride) of Indianapolis’ black community. They could do this because they were so connected to that community that they knew its interests and desires.

The most influential and powerful recording company in Indianapolis during the late sixties and early seventies was Herb Miller’s LAMP label. Emerging from the ashes of the sad state of the mid-sixties music scene, Howard Ladin and Miller established Ladin and Miller Productions (LAMP) in 1969 with hopes of cashing in on the popularity of soul in Indianapolis. Miller got into making records after years of being the social director and event booker for the Defiants Club, one of the largest social clubs in the city. Social clubs were very popular during the era of soul.[9] They were not only a way for African Americans to get involved with their community through charity and fundraising, but also an opportunity to socialize with their neighbors. Many club gatherings featured theme dances and live music, and by the late sixties, most of the bookings that Miller was making were for live soul bands such as the Moonlighters, the Highlighters and Billy Ball and the Upsetters.[10] For Miller, starting a record company was the next step in a natural progression; he had booked bands for years and later managed them. In fact, Miller was the first manager for the wildly popular Highlighters. LAMP could offer bands the entire package of management, recording, booking, and connections with Atlantic Records for national distribution.[11]

Miller’s other venture, L&M Productions, also served as a vehicle to help promote the local acts signed to his label. L&M booked major national acts that came through Indianapolis and played at such venues as Bush Stadium and Riverside Park. Oftentimes, Miller had his own stable of artists play these shows that gave them an opportunity to perform in front of a large crowd.[12] Miller’s experience in concert promotion and familiarity with the popular soul songs helped him form a stable of artists that he thought would bring his new LAMP record label the most success. LAMP first released a record in 1969, and its catalog featured such acts as Allen King and the Pearls, Ebony Rhythm Funk Campaign, and Billy Ball and the Upsetters.[13] The Vanguards were the most popular group on the LAMP label, recording several songs including their big hit “Somebody Please” that went number one in Indianapolis and Cincinnati.[14] The song was so popular that Atlantic later picked up its distribution, which gave the band enough notoriety to headline a tour throughout the eastern United States during 1970. It was hoped the deal with Atlantic would lead to greater exposure for LAMP, the Vanguards, and other Indianapolis bands, but the deal never lived up to its initial promise.[15] Nevertheless, it showed that the Indianapolis sound was catching on and was growing in popularity in other areas besides Indianapolis.

Miller felt that the deal with Atlantic would take LAMP into a new realm of fame and fortune that could rival Berry Gordy’s Motown Empire in Detroit. Motown was the biggest record company nearest to Indianapolis and was the largest recorder and distributor of soul music during the late sixties. Miller thought that if the Vanguards and the rest of the LAMP stable sold enough records he could become the “next Berry Gordy.”[16] Despite his lofty ambitions, Miller’s dream was short-lived. He branched out into acid rock (The Squids) and political, spoken word recordings (The Orange Wedge), yet LAMP records never achieved the success Miller had hoped for. The last record released by LAMP was 1972’s “You Made Me Everything” by the Words of Wisdom, produced by WTLC deejay Rickie Clark.[17] Seeing his record company fall apart, Miller turned to other ventures and became heavily involved with drugs. However, Miller’s legacy lives on through the few magical recordings made by LAMP.

The LAMP recordings set the standard by which all other Indianapolis soul recordings are judged. The sound and messages of LAMP recordings reflected the tastes of the local community. With he diversity of LAMP’s catalog, from slow ballads to upbeat dance numbers, Miller’s label covered every base. As social director for the Defiants Club, Miller understood what Indianapolis’ black audience would look for in a song and a performer. Therefore, he recruited bands that could sell records and perform live. He knew that a blistering live performance equaled more record sales and when a new dance became popular, LAMP recorded a dance song to match. It recorded a song based on the “Popcorn” called “Carmel Corn” by Billy Ball and the Upsetters. When the Indianapolis community became worried about a growing drug epidemic, LAMP released “Drugs Ain’t Cool” by the Ebony Rhythm Funk Campaign. As songs about black pride and unity became popular, the Moonlighters came out with “Right On Brother.” LAMP saw the demand for albums that responded to the local concerns and trends and seized upon it. As the biggest record label in town, LAMP set the benchmark for all other record companies to pursue. Other smaller Indianapolis labels followed LAMP’s example and signed artists and releasing records based on what the popular trends were in soul and funk music.

One Indianapolis record label that followed LAMP’s lead was Jerry Herman’s Lulu label. Named for his daughter, Lulu began in a similar fashion to Herb Miller’s label. Since Herman owned a downtown record store, he knew what did or did not sell. By 1970, many of his downtown customers were African Americans seeking out the best and latest soul recordings. Herman was familiar with many of the local soul bands and hired several of his favorites to make records for him until 1974. Although Lulu only released between six and ten records, several sold quite well. “Shake What Your Mama Gave You” by Allison and Calvin Turner sold remarkably well, and became a regional hit. In fact, the record was pressed four times and was released on Lulu, Custom LAMP, Chicago’s Checker label, and Atlantic Records.[18] “The Kick,” an anti-drug dance number recorded by the Rhythm Machine, was also a local hit. Lulu’s recordings stand out because they are indicative of popular local soul music trends at the time. Herman’s advantage was that he bought and sold records, knew what the local audience was listening to, and thus he catered to their desires for all types of soul, from slow love songs to upbeat dance numbers.

Although LAMP and Lulu dominated the local soul record scene, several smaller labels released excellent records throughout the early seventies. Despite the small size of labels such as Blue Eagle and Knaptown, they too knew what kind of music would sell in Indianapolis. The market dictated what music these labels sought out and who received record contracts. The Blue Eagle label was a subsidiary of the Blue Eagle nightclub located at 701 Indiana Avenue. Their release of the Moonlighters “Right On Brother,” a song containing positive messages about black unity and strength, is an indication of a growing desire to hear songs of this type. Knaptown, owned by John Terrell, was quite active in 1971 and 1972 promoting their new act, the Indy 5s. Patterned after Gary’s Jackson 5, the Indy 5s were to be the next youthful African-American singing sensation and featured members ages thirteen to fifteen. This is another example of how one local record company attempted to make it big by seizing upon a popular trend at the time, no matter how short-lived the trend may be. Despite several articles in the Recorder and live performances around Indianapolis, very little was written about the band after 1971. Apparently, the dream of having Indianapolis’ own Jackson 5 faded away.[19]

Because of the relatively small size of Indianapolis’ record labels, they did not own their own studios. Bands bought studio time at Les Ohmit’s studio located on East Tenth Street. The overwhelming majority of local soul and funk records from the sixties and seventies came from Ohmit’s studio. These recordings have several similarities, especially with regards to their sonic quality. Unlike big budget record companies and studios that allowed musicians to spend months in the recording studio, Indianapolis musicians came to Ohmit’s studio ready to record. While most bands worked their records out in rehearsal, some bands, like Billy Ball and the Upsetters, played their future singles in the club first, taking into account crowd reaction and participation.[20] The Highlighters, on the other hand, never played a song live until it was available on vinyl.[21] There was a lot of interchange between bands and session musicians. LAMP records had a studio band, the Ebony Rhythm Funk Campaign, which backed singing groups such as the Vanguards and the Pearls. Later, the band recorded its own songs, including the anti-drug anthem, “Drugs Ain’t Cool.” Clint Jones, who regularly played with Billy Ball and the Upsetters, was also a session musician for the Words of Wisdom and The Indys, an all-female singing group. This continuity of musicians between these recordings gave Indianapolis soul and funk a steady, consistent, and identifiable sound.

Although influenced by national trends in black music, Indianapolis soul and funk music definitely has its own distinct sound. The “Naptown Sound” took on a local feel that was distinctive to the city and the demands of its audience, since the performers and record labels were part of the community. Guitarist Clint Jones described Indianapolis drummers such as Matthew Watson and Dewayne Garvin as playing “in the pocket,” or with a heavy emphasis on the backbeat. Researcher Jason Yoder agreed, believing that Watson was the standout performer on the majority of LAMP’s records, especially the up-tempo dancers where rhythm was often in the forefront. Another draw of the Indianapolis sound was the informality of the records. Songs like “Funky 16 Corners” and the Moonlighters’ “Funky Moon Meditation” sound as if they were recorded in one take. The songs were not remastered by an engineer and there were no overdubs simply because the record companies and bands did not have the budget to pay for extra time to “fix” their songs. The informal nature of these songs was reflective of the live music scene in that it was similar to what was heard at places like the 20 Grand, the Blue Eagle, and the Place to Play on a weekly basis. Although raw in comparison to today’s more refined, heavily remixed recordings, the Indianapolis sound is very intimate and inviting and gives the listener a feeling of what it was like to sit in on a recording session.

Despite the wide variety of music available to consumers during this era, from national soul and funk acts to jazz and gospel, African Americans in Indianapolis were proud to buy records of local acts. James Bell noted that everybody was looking to help each other out, and although this was true, advertising also played a significant role in the public’s record buying habits. Until 1970, the Recorder featured an entertainment page that focused on the local club scene and local music acts. Each week, there were three to five advertisements for clubs along Indiana Avenue, and later, throughout the city. If the band featured in the ad had a record out, the ad made note of it. Other articles dealt with the latest singles by local bands, the latest news about new record companies in town, and perhaps most important, the “Know Your Entertainers” section. Although not in every edition of the Recorder, these articles featured a photo of the band, the names of the members, a brief description of their sound, and what their most popular songs were. Bands featured were the Vanguards, the Pearls, the Highlighters, the Moonlighters, and several local jazz artists as well. Local bands integrated into the community not only by band members and label owners, but also by the main black newspaper. Despite the great publicity generated by these ads, the Recorder ended these articles after 1970. Instead, ads for movie theaters, including several XXX theaters, and wire service articles about national music acts and record companies took over, pushing the local scene from the paper. This may have signaled a decline in Indianapolis’ music scene or a middle class decline in interest. More likely, it reflected the growth and popularity of a new medium with local black audiences. By 1970 Indianapolis musicians relied on the radio, a much more powerful form of media that broadcast their songs, their message, and let the city know what their band was all about.

Radio and the Black Community

One of the most important elements in the success of Indianapolis’ black music scene was radio. In the late sixties, FM radio was brand new and considered “underground,” piquing curiosities and getting listeners to tune in. Thus, when WTLC started in 1968, listeners were not only curious about the new station and its programming, but also about this new brand of high quality, cutting edge radio.[22] With WTLC, African-Americans had a high-powered station for themselves. The station’s black deejays played jazz, soul, blues, and gospel, and generally provided programming that appealed to the majority of the black community. In Sound Effects, Simon Frith discusses how “gatekeepers” play an important role in the music industry. According to Frith, the radio disc jockey is the most important gatekeeper as he is in charge of not only what songs get played, but also how often. Frith also believes that the FM disc jockey of the late sixties performed his job with great sincerity, and cared not only about his listeners, but also the music itself. WTLC’s disc jockeys cared about the status of their community and wanted to promote and strengthen it, whether through a song, an on-site broadcast, or through the expression of political, cultural, or social beliefs. At WTLC, the deejays were black, the music was black, and the result was a station that spoke to and on behalf of the black population.

Despite WTLC’s great popularity, some in the African-American community initially met the station with great skepticism. When the station began broadcasting in 1968, it was owned by a group of both white and black businessmen, which concerned many residents. It was not until 1973 that the station became fully black owned. Residents feared that the station’s programming would be determined by the white ownership and that music and talk shows that discussed pertinent black issues would be shelved in favor of less political, more moderate programming. One concerned reader of the Recorder wrote that, “Possibly the best kept secret of all is that the fact that the all-important job of general manager is held down by an individual who is not a ‘soul brother.’ All of the real ‘soul personnel’ have been relegated to positions of broadcasting robots. ‘Whitey’ pushes the buttons and the ‘soul brothers and sisters’ do as they are told or else.”[23] Another reader felt that there were not enough African Americans in Marion County, or enough interest in soul programming, to support the station.[24] These worries never came to fruition, as by the early seventies WTLC had established itself as the first station to provide around the clock programming for African Americans.[25] WGEE, which first broadcasted in early 1968, predated WTLC yet featured only twelve hours of black music and related programming from 6 A.M. to 6 P.M. every day. Local radio personalities relished their role as gatekeepers, connecting soul music to Indianapolis’ black community by becoming active in community events, doing live broadcasts from local businesses, and helping promote local bands through consistent radio play.

WTLC provided local musicians with an excellent opportunity to have their records played on the air. Both James Bell and Clint Jones remembered that most deejays were very friendly and more than anything, out to help local musicians succeed. Deejays such as WTLC’s Spider Harrison and WGEE’s Paul Major did not require kickbacks or “payola” to play records; if it was good, they would play it.[26] Deejays had the power to make or break a record, and in the case of the Highlighters’ “Poppin’ Popcorn,” radio play made the song a hit. Bassist James Brantley recalled, “We [were] number two for three weeks in a row. Spider played it. I handed him the record, got him to play it. Paul [Major] was playing it. We had all kinds of kids calling the radio station. Kids flooded the station. They didn’t have call waiting and all that back then, they had to take [the phone] off the line!”[27] Other songs, such as “Funky 16 Corners” and several Vanguards hits were also very popular among WTLC’s and WGEE’s black listeners.[28]

Each week, WTLC released the “Mean 15” list of top soul songs. Former deejay Rickie Clark remembered that the “Mean 15” was calculated using a specific formula that took the national sales charts, local record store sales and listener requests all into account.[29] Many times, local songs reached number one or two, outdistancing the most popular national songs of the day. The Ayr-Way department store at 2333 Lafayette Road posted WTLC’s weekly survey that listed the top soul records of the week. The Ayr-Way’s claim to fame, however, was the “Soul Browser Center,” a list of forty-eight records available for the special low price of sixty-nine cents.[30] WTLC deejays and staff played an instrumental role in selecting the records, many of which were locally produced and recorded.[31] WTLC had a huge play list, covering everything from soul and funk to blues and gospel in a given hour, yet deejays always found time to promote popular local recordings on the air, as well as in the record stores.

Unlike today where most disc jockeys are merely names and voices, WTLC’s crew of deejays were well known and respected throughout the black community. In Indianapolis, local deejays expanded the gatekeeper’s role outside the studio to dances and other local events. Deejays regularly emceed social club dances at the IBEW Hall, Northside Armory, or teen dances at St. Rita’s school. Emcees were also popular in the nightclubs. Spider Harrison, Rickie Clark, Fred Moore, and other personalities frequently emceed nightly concerts or events at places like the 20 Grand, the Demonstrators, the Hub-Bub, and the Inn Crowd. Harrison was especially popular because of his flamboyant personality and his ability to entertain the crowd and get them excited for a night of hard-hitting soul and funk. Harrison was also the first Indianapolis deejay to cut a record. Featuring the Highlighters, Harrison’s “Beautiful Day” was released by Lulu Records in 1970.[32]

WTLC occasionally broadcast live from nightclubs, but most live broadcasts took place at sponsoring businesses. Live broadcasts featured guests, occasional live performances by bands, and plenty of free prizes. Through these on-site broadcasts, WTLC’s deejays established a strong connection to local businesses, many of them owned by blacks. WTLC did not help just local musicians and record companies, but also small businesses as well, further solidifying their role in the black community. Most blacks realized that WTLC was not just out to increase its number of listeners, but also to make a difference and improve life in the black community. If Spider Harrison, Thomas “Sparkle Soxx” Griffin, or “Solid Gold” Rickie Clark broadcast from a certain restaurant or store, it gave credibility to that business and status within the community. The FM disc jockeys of the sixties and seventies were a special group of individuals who not only loved the music they played, but also the musicians, the listeners, and the community as a whole. WTLC’s deejays crossed the boundaries between musicians, club goers and local businesses. They were mediators between these groups, helping them get together and assisting each other financially and emotionally.

Although WTLC was a great help to the moderate local soul and funk scene, the station proved instrumental in bringing to light more radical political opinions. Like the Recorder, WTLC generally presented a moderate viewpoint, yet there were some radical factions that clearly influenced the programming of the station in the late sixties and early seventies. Explicitly political or radical music received little airplay, but radical deejays and talk shows utilized the airwaves to express their beliefs and values. One of the most instrumental and charismatic personalities of this era was Richard Bailey, later known as Jomo Kali, who hosted a popular jazz show that featured avant-garde jazz and political discourse. Bailey was Indianapolis’ version of Gil Scott-Heron, a radical poet from New York who spoke out about injustice, cultural nationalism, and blackness while accompanied by African percussion. Scott-Heron, the Last Poets, and the Watts Prophets were among a group of radical, outspoken poets that grew in popularity as cultural and Black Nationalism became more widespread. Although such radical poetry did not fully catch on in Indianapolis’ black community, Bailey found an audience in the local university community. Bailey, percussionist John Humphrey, and an accompanying troupe of dancers, drummers, and other poets played to sold out crowds at Butler University and Indiana University. According to Humphrey, Bailey’s poetry was very radical, and regularly spoke of revolution, Black Power, and mistrust of the white establishment. [33]

Bailey’s radical radio show was one example of how WTLC’s programming became increasingly oriented to the black community. The station represented a range of political views, including minority radical views. In 1973, Dr. Frank Lloyd, Sr. became the sole owner of WTLC, purchasing total control of the station from his two white partners and making the station wholly black owned. Rickie Clark noted that WTLC was very careful to present all sides of each story and a variety of political perspectives. In fact, station management supported the Black Radical Action Project (BRAP) and allowed them to use the airwaves to discuss their political platform. The many deejays who worked at the station encompassed all political beliefs, which showed during their programs. Station managers and program directors required deejays to become involved the community, whether through joining an organization like the NAACP or the SCLC, or being a well informed member of the community.[34]

Representative Crawford felt that WTLC was crucial to furthering black unity through the mass communication of knowledge and as a vehicle of expression, and that if it had not been around, Indianapolis’ African-American population would be ten years behind where it is today. WTLC made listeners think and encouraged them to become involved in their community. Programs like “Mozell in the Morning,” hosted by Reverend Mozell Sanders, called attention to shortcomings in equal opportunity hiring practices and housing discrimination and oftentimes called for protests at the Capitol or local businesses. Crawford hosted a program with Snooky Hendricks and the College Room’s Ben Bell called “Hotline” that aired from 11:30 to midnight. The show was an open line to the community, allowing for residents to call in and voice their displeasure with local government and the police. “Hotline” alerted the community to many issues that were not discussed in the mainstream press and heightened the consciousness of the local black community through intelligent and informed discussion.[35]

The same group that hosted the “Hotline” program on WTLC was heavily involved in Indianapolis’ jazz scene. Most Indianapolis militants found local soul and funk music lacking in political message, so instead they turned to avant-garde jazz. The Black Radical Action Project and other radicals felt that such music most emphatically represented their beliefs. Although the Indianapolis jazz scene dwindled throughout the 1960s and had also lessened in popularity amongst young African Americans, there was still great interest in the latest recordings of John Coltrane, Miles Davis, Archie Shepp, and Albert Ayler in certain circles. These artists, according to Representative William Crawford, were more politically and culturally conscious than most popular soul artists. The BRAP and its affiliate, the Jazz Workers Club, took a liking to jazz because these artists did not “take any shit,” and were moving their art forward, creating provocative and innovative sounds that broke away from old traditions.[36] Avant-garde jazz found a home on WTLC as Bailey regularly played popular artists of the day and even several local artists. Clint Jones remembered bringing tapes of his band, the jazz-fusion project Next Exit, to Bailey, who gladly played them. This surprised Jones because his band was having an extremely difficult time finding gigs in Indianapolis since very few blacks were into jazz fusion; all the masses wanted was soul.[37]

With the increased exposure that WTLC gave avant-garde jazz in Indianapolis, the music became more popular. Fans who became tired of the local soul and funk scene began searching for exciting, groundbreaking, and adventurous jazz in nightclubs away from Indiana Avenue and in the more popular nightclubs such as the 20 Grand. Clubs such as the 19^th Hole, the Topper, and the Jazz Workers Club featured a more aggressive and exciting type of jazz than what was heard at the British Lounge or the J&J Lounge. Members of the Black Radical Action Project and other militants regularly attended these clubs because they felt jazz was much more political than the soul and R&B that was now the toast of the town. The BRAP could relate to this form of jazz, as they too were moving forward, breaking from the old traditions of assimilation and acceptance that Dr. Martin Luther King had preached since the mid-1950s.

For many cultural nationalists like the BRAP, jazz performance was the ideal vehicle utilized by African-American performers for expressing black pride. John Coltrane, Archie Shepp, Miles Davis, and Albert Ayler were at the forefront of a politically expressive jazz movement that attempted to recreate black opinions and feelings through music. For example, Archie Shepp was a multi-talented artist whose anger and rage towards social injustice was ever-present in his work. Shepp said:

There seems to be a thing about being angry in this country, and the people who have the most right to be angriest are expected to be the least aggressive. I am an American Negro. Of course, I’m angry. I have every right to be angry. That’s in my music. A good deal of that. Bitter. Rage. America’s done a lot to me which is wrong.[38]

Many of Shepp’s releases featured harsh and unrelenting solos that sought to musically “paint” a picture of the African Americans experience and their bitterness. For John Coltrane, it took coming clean from his heroin habit to fully realize what he needed to do with his music. Coltrane focused on the cultural traditions of Africa, Asia and the Middle East, and moved himself to the forefront of the free jazz movement by making his music more political. Coltrane used torrents of sound to express his anger, pain, and sorrow. A spiritual message also began to radiate from his music. In his autobiography, Miles Davis agreed that Coltrane began to express through music what H. Rap Brown and Stokely Carmichael were saying with their words, and what the Last Poets and Amiri Baraka said with poetry. Davis felt that Coltrane

represented, for many blacks, the fire and passion and rage and anger and rebellion and love they felt, especially among the young black intellectuals and revolutionaries of that time. He played what they felt inside and were expressing through riots “burn, baby, burn” - that were taking place everywhere. It was about revolution for a lot of young black people - Afro hairdos, dashikis, black power, fists raised in the air. Coltrane was their symbol, their pride - their beautiful, black revolutionary pride.[39]

Cultural nationalists felt jazz held great significance because it was a truer representation of black culture and consciousness than what soul and funk provided. Indianapolis’ soul and funk music was not overtly political or radical because militant blacks were not the intended audience for this music. Nevertheless, both types of music reflected, supported, and spoke directly to certain portions the black community. As the most important “gatekeeper” in the city, WTLC was a tremendous supporter of all aspects of the black community and responded to the variety of beliefs and concerns among local African Americans by representing and supporting that diversity in their programming. WTLC, and to some extent WGEE, catered to all musical tastes, playing not just soul, funk, blues, and gospel, but also political, avant-garde jazz that appealed to only a small portion of their listeners. WTLC also lent its airwaves to groups with an assortment of political ideologies, some more militant than others. WTLC was instrumental in promoting and supporting a wide variety of political beliefs and the musical tastes that coincided with each.

Making music that was popular was a different though equally important way of speaking to the black community. Although most black musicians were aware and informed about community issues and felt strongly about black pride, they were also concerned about whether or not their records sold. Local musicians knew that “less danceable, more overtly political music often made little impact on the national record charts.”[40] Locally produced soul and funk songs by the Highlighters, the Rhythm Machine, and the Moonlighters spoke to an Indianapolis audience that was not involved with militant or violent organizations. To the more politically inclined, the local soul and funk scene was more about partying than politics and really held no interest for them. However, locally produced soul and funk music was widely accepted by the majority of the African-American public because of its moderate message. Songs were not laden with heavily political or threatening themes but rather messages of black unity, community awareness, and perhaps most important, community pride which resonated with Indianapolis’ politically moderate majority.

Behind the Music: The Messages of Indianapolis Soul and Funk

A good deal of soul and funk music recorded in the late sixties and early seventies contained strong messages about Black Power, racism, cultural nationalism, and the war on drugs, yet songs recorded in Indianapolis were moderate in nature. Some artists like the Rhythm Machine and the Ebony Rhythm Funk Campaign dealt with issues like the growing drug epidemic, but for the most part, locally produced soul and funk records favored songs about love, partying, and dancing. The variety of song topics and messages show how intertwined the music was with the community, as many songs not only reflected the community’s values and beliefs, but also promoted the community’s finer points. According to James Bell, songs with a tight groove for dancing and partying were the most popular, yet some listeners appreciated songs with a solid, uplifting message, like the Moonlighters “Right On, Brother,” or the Four Sensations’ “Born Black.” Bell said, “It was important to have a good message in your song, but the groove was more important. People were not just going to sit there and listen to this message and not dance. In most cases, they might not even care what [the singer] was saying. But, if you gave the audience something they could relate to, you could slide the message in and it sometimes made an impact.”[41] In a live setting, where the public is more interested in partying than active listening, message songs with a tight groove and a catchy hook usually went over well. Despite a lukewarm response to songs with heavy political messages, several artists managed to record and sell songs that promoted black unity and pride, community pride, and anti-drug messages.

Although there was a limited number of locally produced soul and funk records released between 1968 and 1974, the song topics and messages represented a cross-section of what national artists were recording at that time. Songs about new loves, old loves and unrequited loves were popular, as were songs about popular dances of the time, and songs about black pride and community pride as well. Radical or overtly political songs were not popular among local artists mainly because there was not a market for them. Guitarist Clint Jones remembered writing scathing critiques of Lyndon Johnson and Richard Nixon, yet they were so radical, and at times so obscene, that no record company would ever have released them.[42] Unlike nationally known artists Gil Scott-Heron, the Last Poets, and the Watts Prophets, who prided themselves on their revolutionary stance and radical ideas, Indianapolis musicians stuck with what would sell to a largely moderate local audience.[43] Local artists believed if they could turn on the selective Indianapolis audience to their sound, then perhaps they could make it as soul superstars.

Because the majority of Indianapolis soul and funk recordings were never distributed outside of the city, artists commonly alluded to well-known landmarks, nightclubs, and dances in their songs. “Tightening Up Your Popcorn,” by Louisville transplant Big Daddy Graham was an ode to the happening Indianapolis club scene. It compared club-goers’ ability to dance and party with other well-known musical hotbeds such as Atlanta, Los Angeles, Chicago, and Louisville. The song utilized the old gospel technique of call and response between Graham and Presidents’ vocalist Baby Leon. They remarked about the skill of the dancers doing the “Popcorn” and the “Tighten Up,” two popular dances of the time: “Are they doing it in Indy? Yeah,” Leon responded, “can’t do it better than here in Indy!” The song also mentions the J&J Lounge, the Blue Eagle, and the Place to Play, several popular nightclubs of the time that Graham and Baby Leon played in nearly every week. This song had the local flavor and the groove to make it a hit in the city.[44] As listeners related to these references the by-product was an increase in community pride and recognition. Indianapolis residents were not only proud to hear their city lauded in a song, but also to hear their abilities as dancers and partiers championed as well

Another song that claimed the superiority of Indianapolis soul and funk scene is “Soul City” by Jazzie Cazzie and the Eight Sounds. Formerly known as the Diplomatics, Jazzie Cazzie was fronted by Rodney Stepp, who later arranged for such artists as The Spinners. “Soul City” is a traditional, mid-tempo soul song with clear, discernable lyrics. Released on Knaptown Records, the song placed Indianapolis at the forefront of the African-American soul and dance music scene, claiming that not only the music and clubs were the best, but also the dancers and the women too.[45] Like James Bell said, consumers were proud to purchase records of local artists, and especially so when the record championed their hometown’s music scene.[46] Consumers felt they were not only purchasing a piece of their city’s heritage, but also helping out a neighbor or friend that had the potential to someday make it big.

Indianapolis soul and funk recordings provided not only an outlet for African Americans to be proud of their hometown and its musical legacy, but also a way to increase black unity with their neighbors. After James Brown’s “Say It Loud (I’m Black and I’m Proud),” the recording industry began to push for more songs that furthered black unity and pride. This song provided a model of how musicians could combine a clear political message with a danceable and popular song. Popular artists could now record songs that would not only reflect the public’s buying preferences, but also make a political point. Songs such as Aretha Franklin’s “Spirit in the Dark,” and “Respect,” Curtis Mayfield’s “We People Are Darker Than Blue” and “We’re A Winner,” along with “Is It Because I’m Black?” by Syl Johnson, and “We Got More Soul” by Dyke and the Blazers made a profound impact on African Americans nationwide. There was a political agenda evident in many popular soul songs of the era. As a response to these national trends, local musicians began to write songs that spoke to their local consumer base and also reflected the sentiments expressed in these songs about black pride.

The Indianapolis soul recording that put the greatest emphasis on black pride is the Four Sensations’ “Born Black.” The song provides insight into the moderate views and opinions of the African-American community, while also making listeners feel proud of their blackness. “Born Black” tells the story of one man’s journey up from the bottom of society, as he worked for respect and towards the goal of equality. The song ultimately becomes a demand for respect from the white society.

Although the song’s message is slightly stronger than most Indianapolis soul recordings, it still represents the moderate views of the black community. The song illustrates a sense of black pride and commitment to furthering the cause of civil rights and gaining equality in society. One line in the song is especially telling: “I’m black and I’m proud, but you look at your skin and I’ll look at mine.” For generations, African Americans had been told that “white is right,” both in color, style, hair, music, and art, yet as the sixties progressed those white ideals gave way to black pride and unity. The Four Sensations took advantage of the popularity of “Say It Loud (I’m Black and I’m Proud),” quoting the title near the end of the song. The song broadcast the message to black and white listeners that blacks now had their own set of ideals to follow, and that their own skin color was beautiful and a source of great dignity and unity.[47]

Another theme evident in Indianapolis soul and funk music was drug awareness, which helped alert listeners to a growing national epidemic. In 1969, President Richard Nixon declared drugs and drug abuse the number one enemy of the United States and made it the duty of all people to help eradicate this problem from American life. In order to gain support for a “war on drugs,” the Nixon administration fabricated inaccurate statistics about the growing number of drug addicts.[48] Despite Nixon’s gross overstatements, many people still took note, including Indianapolis’ The Rhythm Machine, which took Nixon’s challenge to heart and recorded “The Kick” as a response to the president’s statement. Drug use was common in Indianapolis, as it was in other cities. Clouds of marijuana smoke hung in the rafters of some clubs, while other patrons retreated to the bathroom for a bump of cocaine or to score a dose of heroin. In most circles, hard drugs like heroin, cocaine, and LSD were considered taboo and not as widespread, yet, guitarist Clint Jones remembers Indianapolis being home to many heroin addicts.[49] Although there was not a drug epidemic in Indianapolis, it was an issue that concerned many local residents, and local music discussed the problem.

The purpose of “The Kick” was two-fold: to alert the local audience to a growing drug problem and to record a message song that was suitable for a club audience. The song’s lyrics are powerful, as is singer Kevin “Flash” Ferrell’s voice. Falling somewhere between spoken word and rap, Ferrell’s words are clear and forceful. Perhaps the most important message in the song is Ferrell’s warning to listeners to be wary of friends and neighbors trying to get others hooked on drugs. Ferrell sang,

The message embedded in “The Kick” further indicates how local musicians sought to strengthen the community through music. As an integral part of the community, the Rhythm Machine did not want to see harm come to their listeners or their hometown.

Although there were many message songs that were popular on the radio, they were not necessarily appropriate for a live nightclub audience. Clint Jones referred to songs like James Brown’s “King Heroin” as “daytime music,” songs that people carefully listened to on their own time for a message and meaning, but when it came time to party and dance, they ignored the lyrics and focused on the groove.[51] “The Kick,” on the other hand, was appropriate for a club audience because it featured a dance that coincided with the song. The Rhythm Machine created a niche for itself in the local market as a band that could make listeners think but also dance and have a good time. Perhaps the audience did not pick up on the power of the anti-drug message while dancing at the nightclub, but it sunk in when they heard the song on the radio or at home.

Another band that responded to a rise in drug use was LAMP Records’ house band, the Ebony Rhythm Funk Campaign (ERFC). The ERFC released “Drugs Ain’t Cool” in 1970, also hoping to increase awareness in, and hopefully improve the quality of, the black community. However, this song has a much different feel and sound than “The Kick.” Whereas “The Kick” has powerful and distinct lyrics and a tight, funky groove, “Drugs Ain’t Cool” has an acid rock feel unseen in any other Indianapolis soul and funk recordings. The lyrics are almost indiscernible, hidden underneath a heavy fuzztone that gives the song a drugged, strung out feel. “Drugs Ain’t Cool” attacks the drug problem from a much different angle, telling the tale of a junkie who tricks himself into thinking he has it under control while his life is spiraling out of control. The desperation in the singer’s voice becomes the junkie’s plea for help as he sings, “I shot smack and now I can’t get back, I got a jones, somebody please help me.” The song highlights the plight of the drug addict and shows how controlling a drug habit was nearly impossible. The song’s powerful message did not escape listeners. Indianapolis Mayor Richard Lugar, citing the positive anti-drug message of “Drugs Ain’t Cool,” later issued a commendation to the band and to LAMP Records for the song’s impact on the community.[52] Like the Rhythm Machine, the ERFC sought to strengthen the community by helping bring the growing drug epidemic to light. The commendation from Mayor Lugar lent further credence to the band, to its message, and to the Indianapolis soul music scene in general as an integral and important contribution by the black community.

Although soul and funk songs with a political message were in the minority, each locally produced song held special meaning for the performers and the audience. Indianapolis artists connected with their listeners on several levels because they were all from the same tight-knit community. Nightclub attendance and record sales all indicated that many Indianapolis blacks were in tune with the local music scene. While young blacks predominantly attended live nightclub performances, older consumers bought the records and played them at home. James Bell remembered that “Poppin’ Popcorn” and “Funky 16 Corners” were purchased by people of all ages and that everybody loved those songs.[53] Soul music bridged a gap between the age groups and brought them together. Despite people’s differences, locally produced soul and funk music was one of the community’s common grounds.

Locally produced soul and funk music played a significant role in the lives of many African Americans during the late sixties and early seventies. Music had a special, multifaceted relationship with the black community. When they went to the club, the record store, or listened to the radio, soul was the music of choice. Songs lifted their spirits, made them dance, and made them think about their place in the black community. Within the moderate framework of the city’s black population, the sound of Indianapolis soul and funk music fueled an exciting and growing nightclub scene during the late sixties and seventies. Artists not only treated audiences to blistering performances of their original hits as heard on WTLC and WGEE, but also popular cover songs by James Brown, Dyke and the Blazers, Wilson Pickett, and others. By playing locally produced soul and funk songs, going out into the community for live broadcasts, and making their airwaves available for political discourse, local black radio stations also integrated music into the black community. Soul music and the black community came together through local musicians, record producers, deejays, radio shows, and the music itself. They illustrate the variety of ways that music reflected the community’s beliefs as well as supported and promoted its strengths, values, and beliefs. In the late sixties and early seventies, members of Indianapolis’ black community were able to hear positive representations of themselves on the radio, and at home on the many locally produced records. When times were tough, African Americans turned to music to lift their spirits and give them renewed hope, and in Indianapolis, the tight-knit relationship between the community and its music made that possible.

[1] Simon Frith, Sound Effects: Youth, Leisure, and the Politics of Rock n Roll (New York: Pantheon Books, 1981), 89.

[2] Interview, author with James Bell, musician, December 9, 2002.

[3] Frith, Sound Effects, 89.

[4] Interview, author with Jimmy Guilford, vocalist, March 22, 2002. Guilford recalled taking a record player and a stack of 78 RPM records to these recording studios hoping to persuade a talent scout to sign them to a deal. Guilford and his friends practiced daily on the street corners adjacent to Martindale Avenue on the east side of Indianapolis. They were familiar with the popular songs of the day, and took the record player with them for accompaniment during their tryout.