Al Green “Lay It Down”
This one may not be a good idea. But I really want to talk about “Lay it Down,” AI Green’s fairly spectacular 2008 collaboration with ?uestlove. But, also, it’s probably a bad idea to do that right now. But, I really want to.
I have found it to be difficult to write about Al Green, the singer, without wading into Al Green, the man. I’m mostly aware of the challenge, as a white man, in considering Al Green’s music with any useful perspective and without bias. Moreover, to write about him in June of 2020, in the midst of what I can only hope is a transformational moment in American race relations, has a tinge of impropriety. Who am I to write about Al Green, a man I have never met, at this particular moment, when so much of Al Green’s framing is steeped in racism? Is this essay unnecessary? Probably. Is it poorly timed? No doubt. Will I make an earnest go at it anyway? Yes -- biases, insecurities, limitations and all.
Al Green’s story normally goes something like this:
The son of a devoutly religious sharecropper, Al Green was kicked out of his home for listening to secular R&B music. Soon, he began to pursue his dream of becoming a professional Soul singer, in the vein of Jackie Wilson or Sam Cooke, while simultaneously acquainting himself with the temptations of drugs and sex. Having gutted it out locally with only very minor success in the late 60s, Green began to work with Willie Mitchell to find his distinct, and distinctly beautiful, voice.
By the early 1970s, that sound -- a gorgeous, restrained Soul music that owes to the Gospel while it speaks to the secular -- helped Al Green find massive Pop success. Part of this success was no doubt his effortless, honey-coated vocals, which glided over deep grooves, decorated with horns and strings. But it wasn’t just the music. Green was also a tremendously handsome man -- muscular, wiry and with a big, beautiful smile. To see and hear Al Green sing was to feel desire. His albums were both commercial and critical successes and his hits -- “Let’s Stay Together,” “Love and Happiness” and “Tired of Being Alone” for instance -- are among the most beautiful Soul singles ever recorded.
Amidst all of this success, Green was also a renowned womanizer and abuser of drugs. In 1974, he was hospitalized when his girlfriend scalded him with hot grits and then committed suicide. Throughout much of the 70s, his wife Shirley Kyles (Green) would walk up to the edge of divorce on account of Green’s extraordinary physical abuse, only to then walk it back as part of a very sad (and very common) cycle. In the later 70s, as his personal life stumbled and his career faltered, Green left the world of secular music and found the open arms of Jesus Christ. He formed the Full Gospel Tabernacle church outside of Memphis in 1976 and considered himself born again. By the end of the 1970s, Al Green was no longer making popular music. He was a preacher and Gospel recording artist, albeit one who was, by his own account, still deeply struggling with rage and shame.
By the mid 1980s and into the 1990s, with Green out of the mainstream spotlight, the narrative began to change. Al Green was an Adult Contemporary radio staple. Al Green was a Boomer aphrodisiac. Al Green was a preacher. Al Green was a Lifetime Achievement Award winner. Al Green was a (future) Kennedy Center Honoree. Al Green was a redemption story.
Pause essay.
Much of what I just wrote about Al Green’s life and career are public record. I’m not adding much. But I chose to write them because, in considering how people talk about his music, the “signified” of Al Green is full of racist insinuations. The entire narrative is wrapped up in tropes of dangerous Black sexuality, the excesses of Black superstardom and the safe, convenient resolution through religious redemption. These are the primary themes that popularly surround the discussion of Al Green and his music. But nobody would elevate similar themes or facts for, say, John Lennon, who was, at various times, a drug addict, a womanizer and an abuser. Nobody would frame an article about Steven Tyler, who convinced fourteen-year-old Julia Holcomb’s mother to sign over guardian rights to him so he could take her across state lines with him while he was on tour. When people talk about Ozzy Osborne, they start with Black Sabbath, the drugs and the bat-biting, but they skip over that time he tried to kill Sharon. The more I test it -- the more I test myself -- the more I struggle to write comfortably about Al Green. The narrative traps are everywhere and insidious and they do no justice to the person or, certainly, to the victims.
You probably didn’t need to hear all that. But, my own curiosity about people, in combination with my own limitations and biases, made it difficult for me to proceed with Al Green otherwise. And, in case it’s not evident, I love Al Green’s voice. And I love his music. I love “Gets Next To You,” “Let’s Stay Together,” “I’m Still In Love With You” and “Call Me.” I really like “The Belle Album” and “Explores Your Mind.” And, somewhere between “really like” and “love” is 2008’s astounding “Lay It Down.”
Between 1979 and 1995, Al Green did not make Pop music. And, from 1996 to 2003, he did not release an album. In 2003, though, he decided to get back into the game. The first record, “I Can’t Stop” is a “Double A” Al Green record — it’s batting practice. The band is professional. The sound is good enough. “Everything’s OK,” the follow up, is a step forward. At the time, it was considered his late middle-aged “return to form.” But that is only because nobody could have predicted the miracle that is “Lay It Down.”
“Lay It Down” was produced by ?uestlove, who serves as the Rick Rubin to Al Green’s Johnny Cash. Unlike the “American Recordings,” however, “Lay It Down” is all original, new Al Green material. And, unlike “American Recordings,” which presents spare, distinct playing, “Lay It Down” is a group affair, aided by the Dap-Kings horns, strings by Larry Gold and vocal assistance from Corinne Bailey Rae and Anthony Hamilton. With The Roots and friends setting the bottom of each track, the groove is smooth and the rhythm always one patient step behind the singer. None of this would matter much, though, if the singer was anyone other than Al Green, whose voice sounds almost exactly like it did forty years earlier. It’s simply hard to fathom how such a refined instrument had lost none of its tone over the years. Surely, regression is the norm. It happens to all of the greats. And yet, somehow, Al Green sounds almost exactly like Al Green. I suppose that some of his capacity to hold notes is impacted, but the range and tone are virtually unaffected.
Without context, it would be hard to distinguish the band and songs here from peak 70s Al Green. Credit must go, in part, to ?uestlove, who assembled a band and honed the sound. And while there is no song here that approaches the highs of his 70s mega-hits, almost every track on “Lay It Down” could serve as a lovable deep cut from any one of those great albums. Most of the songs are built around deep grooves and a single refrain that Green lovingly nurses. The simple, open verses provide space for the horns and strings to glide on top of. We patiently wait for a payoff, knowing something will change but also contented by the groove. Until, finally, the singer belts out a line or pulls out his falsetto. Amazingly, the trick works every damn time.
The title track, like on many Al Green records, is also the opener. It’s a bonafide Soul hit, even though it was not exactly a chart topper. It takes its time. It strolls through the groove leaving some room at the end for Green to testify as the song closes. You think, for a moment, “it can’t all sound this great.” But, it almost does.
While most of the songs are of the “close your eyes and feel Al Green sing to you” variety, there are some standouts and some exceptions. “You’ve Got the Love I Need” has a whiff of disco balladry. Green shares vocals with Anthony Hamilton, whose husky and powerful voice is an excellent foil to the silk of Green’s vocals. The strings are more insistent while the horns recede on a track that could have come off as a gimmicky duet, but does not.
Similarly, “Take Your Time” is a lovely duet with Corrinne Bailey Rae, whose breathy, higher register is almost the equal of Green’s. Bailey Rae’s voice has more jazz than Al Green’s but her patience on this track befits the title. The beat is always waiting behind the verse. It quite literally takes its time trying to figure out if it wants to be a romantic song or a sexy song. To my ears, it ends up somewhere between a silk-sheeted bed and a 1981 roller rink slow dance.
“Stay With Me” is the “John Legend track.” It’s also the biggest miss on the album. Legend likes to noodle. His jazz influences tend to produce Soul music without a pocket. And while Al Green can certainly sing jazz, this track ends up sounding like Soul-lite or, even, Muzak. Legend, like The Roots and so much great Soul music, is from Philly. Intentions were clearly noble. The result -- less so.
The back third of the album gets back on track. “All I Need” sets its groove early on and stays with it, as if to acknowledge the John Legend detour. “I’m Wild About You” has the first (and only) propulsive guitars and horns on the album. The beat is on the vocals, there are more instrumental solos and the backing vocals echo more loudly. Although it flirts with Funk, it mostly stays in fourth gear. That is, until midway through, when Green starts to growl and takes the song back and up one notch. It’s so unexpected that, for a moment, I was unsure that it was actually Al Green singing. I had to check the credits. But -- yes -- he can still conjure The Godfather of Soul.
“Lay It Down” closes with “Standing in the Rain,” an adult contemporary toe-tapper, tailor made for a 90s romantic comedy. It’s a lovely song but an odd coda for an album filled with laid back, mellow Soul gold. But, if I have learned one thing in preparing this essay, it is to not question Al Green. I have no choice but to let The Reverend confound me and, hopefully, amaze me. According to lore, ?uestlove learned this same lesson when he lined his recording studio with fancy, digital equipment in anticipation of Al Green’s arrival. To this bevy of new toys, Green barked: “Why are there motherfuckin’ computers everywhere? I’m gonna sing it the way I wanna sing it, goddamn it!”