The Staple Singers
Released: September 1971
The Staple Singers in 1970, from left—Cleotha, Roebuck (“Pops”), Mavis, and Yvonne.
Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images
Otis Redding’s death in a plane crash in December 1967 came as an emotional and financial blow to Stax Records, the Memphis label that produced Redding and so many other regional soul artists. Redding had been Stax’s best-selling artist, and when he died, Stax was stuck. Stax had signed a contract with Atlantic Records in 1965 that gave Atlantic the rights to all of the records it distributed for Stax between 1960 and 1967. When Atlantic was purchased by Warner Bros.–Seven Arts two months before Redding’s death in ’67, all of Stax’s masters wound up in Warner’s vaults. Redding was Stax’s biggest source of revenue, and when he died, Al Bell, the company’s executive vice president and co-owner, had to not only rebuild Stax’s music catalog from scratch but also develop new artists to replace Redding’s lost revenue. Bell urged artists and songwriters to write and record what they felt, no matter how far-out or funky, and a new sound began to emerge at the label that was groove-driven and socially in tune with the times.
One of the first groups Bell signed, in 1968, was the Staple Singers, a family gospel group he had known and admired since the 1950s. During their first two years at Stax, the Staple Singers recorded songs that were church-themed, including “The Gardener” and “All I Have to Do Is Dream.” But by 1970, singing about a brighter day seemed out of touch with the culture of protest that had grown up around the civil rights movement and the Vietnam War. The black power movement, with its strong sense of pride and self-determination, had also become a cultural force, motivating Stax artists to take risks when writing and recording message songs about injustice, street life, pollution, drugs, and other social issues.
At first, the Staple Singers weren’t sure they could make the transition comfortably. Roebuck “Pops” Staples, the family’s guitarist and patriarch, and his daughters—Mavis, Cleotha, and Yvonne—wanted to stick with their brand of uplifting music. But in 1971, they were open to funkier music if they could retain their positive outlook. The Staples’ first single using this new approach was “Respect Yourself,” a message song by Mack Rice and Luther Ingram that was produced by Al Bell. The lyrics were a sermon of sorts, urging listeners to respect themselves and others. Released in September 1971, “Respect Yourself” became the Staple Singers’ biggest hit to date, reaching No. 12 on Billboard’s pop chart and No. 2 on the soul chart. Bigger hits would follow for the Staples, but none would be as gripping a reminder that for change to be effective, it had to be accompanied by dignity. “Respect Yourself” was inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame in 2002.
Interviews with AL BELL (producer) and
MAVIS STAPLES (singer)
Al Bell: One afternoon in early 1971, Mack Rice came by my office. I was co-owner and executive vice president of Stax Records in Memphis then, and creative people like Mack always had easy access to me. He was one of our top house songwriters.
Mack said, “Doc, I have a song I think will work on the Staple Singers.” He sat down with that guitar of his with three strings and began singing and playing a song he had written called “Respect Yourself.”
When he finished, I was knocked out and asked what inspired him. Mack said he was talking with songwriter Luther Ingram about all the things going on with our people. At one point, Luther said, “Black folks need to learn to respect themselves.”
Mack said he loved that phrase and had used it to write the words and music, giving Luther cocredit for the inspiration. Mack also said he was moved by “I Am Somebody,” the poem Reverend William Holmes Borders had written that Reverend Jesse Jackson recited on an album for our Respect label.
I told Mack to go put a demo tape on his song. So he went into Stax’s Studio C with his guitar and recorded exactly what he sang for me. When he was done, I began living the song by listening to the demo over and over.
Like me, Mack loved Pops Staples and his family—the music they were singing and the uplifting message they were putting out. Mack thought the song was a natural for them, and he was right.
Mavis Staples: We were in a studio at Stax singing when Mack Rice came in. He listened to us and when we finished, he said to my father, “Pops, I got this song for you—it’s called ‘Respect Yourself.’” Pops liked the title and its positive message. He said, “Let’s hear it, Mack.”
When Mack gave you a song, he didn’t just sing it for you. He sang all the parts—the bass, horns, and everything he had in mind. You couldn’t help but listen. [She sings softly:] “If you disrespect anybody that you run in to/How in the world do you think anybody’s s’posed to respect you.”
Then Mack ad-libbed between the verses halfway through [She illustrates:] “Deep, dee-diddy, dee, dee/deep, dee-diddy, dee, dee.” Pops cut him off. “Wait a minute, Mack. That’s not us. We’re church people.” Mack said, “Pops, you got to do that part, man. You’ll get all the kids singing it.” Yvonne, Cleo, and I liked it. It was fun and made us feel joyful. When the three of us tried the song, Pops liked how we sang that part, so it stayed.
Bell: I had known Mavis and her family from the late ’50s and knew she could turn Mack’s song into a powerful message. When I was in radio in Little Rock in 1957 and ’58, I booked the Staple Singers, Aretha Franklin, Reverend C. L. Franklin, and other groups into huge gospel concerts. The last one I produced was in Pine Bluff [Arkansas], at the high school. I loved the Staples so much. I always made sure I was out in the audience when they sang. That night, Mavis sang a song by herself—“On My Way to Heaven.” I listened to her, with that contralto voice. All of a sudden I saw she was crying, and at the same time I was crying.
Years later, I asked Mavis if she remembered singing that song in Pine Bluff. I said, “Mavis, why did you start crying?” She said they had been out on the road a long time and was thinking about her mother. “I was on my way home to see her, and I was overjoyed,” she said.
Mavis started listening to Mack’s demo tape over and over. Once I knew she loved “Respect Yourself,” I set up a recording session—but not in Memphis. The house musicians at Stax were tremendous, but they could be intimidating for me. As someone who wasn’t a musician, I needed to feel free to talk to musicians about what I was feeling in nonmusical terms. This was my insecurity, but it was what it was.
Around this time, I had been talking to Marvell Thomas, son of recording artist Rufus Thomas and a Stax keyboardist. I told him I was going to produce an album on the Staples but I needed musicians who could hear me out. Marvell said there were these four young white guys at Muscle Shoals Sound Studio in Sheffield, Alabama, who were sharp. He said he had recorded with them and that they knew all about me, which gave me confidence.
Before I went down there, I did some research. These musicians were known as the Swampers, but they had played on some incredible recordings and could play rock, country, R&B, soul—all of that, with enormous feel. All of this was perfect, since I wanted to create a folk sound for the Staples, to inch them out of gospel but not compromise their integrity as gospel performers.
Soon after we spoke, Marvell and I flew down in a small plane to introduce me to the guys. As soon as I met Barry Beckett [keyboards], Roger Hawkins [drums], Jimmy Johnson [guitar], and David Hood [bass], I felt there was something special in their spirit and in that room. Before I left, I set up a recording date. My goal was to have the guys record the song’s rhythm track. Though the master vocals would come later in Memphis, I wanted Mavis and the Staples to be there, to give the guys their feel on the song.
At the studio, I played Mack’s demo but told the guys it wasn’t how I wanted the Staples’ record to go. Mack’s rhythm feel on the tape was faster, and it didn’t have the right color. It was straight-ahead, with a funky groove, which was good for what he was doing, but Mavis and I agreed it wouldn’t fit the Staples’ more intimate, conversational approach.
Then I told Barry and Jimmy what I had in mind for the feel. I illustrated by playing a couple of records, and they got it. Barry was behind the electric piano and began playing what I had described while Roger picked up on it and was feeling me on the drums.
In addition, Jimmy had brought in Eddie Hinton from Nashville to play lead guitar. He had the country thing in him, but he also had the rock feel. He’d sit back and listen to what was being built and then add his thing. Mavis moved around the studio and sang as the guys played.
Staples: At Muscle Shoals, Al had told Barry, Roger, Little David, and Jimmy what we wanted, and they just started playing. Muscle Shoals was the best place to work things out. Nobody could come in and nobody knew we were there. Those guys were so good and flexible, and the sound of the room just hugged the notes. The electric piano intro was Barry’s idea. Beautiful, isn’t it? These guys were the greatest. They’d come up with lines and hooks you wouldn’t believe. Barry was the arranger and gave each of them a page of music. They all knew what to do.
As great as those musicians were, I wanted to sing right in front of each one of them, to get them into my space and make them familiar with my flavor. I also needed to feel what they were doing and incorporate that into my vocal. I like moving around when developing a vocal approach. I need to feel the vibe physically, not just in my head.
Bell: As soon as the guys heard Mavis sing a line from the song, they jumped in and you didn’t think about Mack Rice’s demo anymore [laughs]. When we left, we took copies of the tape so the Staples could live with it before recording the vocal track. A few weeks later, the Staples came to John Fry’s Ardent Studios in Memphis, where I always recorded with engineer Terry Manning. Mavis went into the isolation booth with Pops, Yvonne, and Cleotha and recorded their vocal while listening to the Muscle Shoals rhythm track on headphones.
Staples: My ad-libs during the song were inspired by the music. It’s the gospel in me. I can’t leave space alone. Toward the end of a song, I had to put some fuel in it, to keep it going. That’s the seasoning. I never stopped a song where it was supposed to end. Pops liked that I did that. He’d say, “Go ahead, Mavis, take it,” and I’d go crazy.
Bell: After the master vocal track was recorded, Terry and I added a few more things for color. Terry played that rock-sounding electric guitar on the last verse. I also wanted a sound in there that kids could relate to, like what they heard on cartoons. So Terry added a Moog synthesizer on the bridge, starting at around 1:10. We put in some horns, too, for texture. The ascending and descending lines that the Staples chant—“Dah dah dah, dah-dah/dee, dee, dee, dee”—that was the horn line Mack had improvised while singing on his original demo.
Staples: After the song came out and was a big hit, Al wanted us to appear at Wattstax, a large outdoor concert he was producing in August 1972 at the Los Angeles Coliseum. It was a benefit by Stax artists for Watts, a neighborhood that was struggling after the riot of ’65. But we almost didn’t make it.
At the time, we were opening for Sammy Davis Jr. at the Sands in Las Vegas. But on that particular day, Sammy suddenly had to be someplace for a thing for President Nixon. So he shut down his show at the Sands. When we realized we were going to be off, Pops called Al and told him we could come to his concert.
Al sent a car for us, and we made the five-hour trip. When we got to Los Angeles, we didn’t check into a hotel—we went straight to the Coliseum, where they had a dressing room for us. When we got out, mercy, we saw all of these people. We couldn’t believe it. There were 112,000 people there.
We went on around 3:30 p.m. and sang five songs. But “Respect Yourself” was the high point. It was just me, Pops, and Cleo with the Stax band. Yvonne wasn’t well and was in the hospital. When we came on stage, the sun was shining and people cheered us. Then you didn’t hear a peep. You could see people were listening and thinking.
After we finished and reached the dugout, we had a little crying session. We were so happy. In our dressing room, Al Bell and Rufus Thomas were impressed. Rufus said, “Roebuck, you got down, man. Ya got down! Talking that kid talk—ya got down.” Pops said, “Maybe, Rufus, but I know what you gonna do.” Rufus said, “Yeah, Pops. Now I gotta go out and take ’em there.” Everyone laughed. And he did, in those pink Bermuda shorts of his [laughs].
Bell: When I first played Mack Rice the finished single, he looked at me and shook his head, saying, “Man, you destroyed my song.” Several months later, when the song was a huge hit, Mack stuck his head in my office and said, “Doc, I just dropped by to really thank you for destroying my song.”