Introduction

CANDI STATON (1972)
1) Do It In The Name Of Love; 2) Darling You're All That I Had; 3) Blackmail; 4) In The Ghetto; 5) Wanted: Lover; 6) The Best Thing You Ever Had; 7) Lovin' You Lovin' Me; 8) I'll Drop Everything And Come Running; 9) You Don't Love Me No More; 10) The Thanks I Get For Loving You.
Another solid-to-boot offering, a little longer this time and without any cheap tricks like re-run­ning two songs from the previous album (now they re-run only one, ʽYou Don't Love Me No Moreʼ, but at least they had the good sense to remix it) — which isn't to say that there's a lot of interesting ob­servations one could make about the record. Everything here is about as plain and straightforward as its title and its cover photo. Her name is indeed Candi Staton (at least, I trust that information), and this is her, with a serious look in her eyes and a lot of Afro-American hair on that photo (I trust that information, too). And then we have ten more examples of early Seventies' deep Southern soul, bearing the usual Muscle Shoals seal of quality. What else is there to say?
Well, there's a really good version of ʽIn The Ghettoʼ, perhaps the definitive cover version as performed by a black artist (no offense to Elvis, but the image of him performing the song in posh Las Vegas venues has seriously undermined my capacity of enjoying his version). With minimal string participation and mournful rather than angelic backing harmonies, it manages to inject a bit of grittiness into the tenderness, and there's a special poignancy in Candi's singing of the line "and his mama cries". There's even a rumor that Elvis himself sent her a congratulatory telegram, but the song is highly recommendable to all regardless of whether this is true or not.
Other than that, the album shares the same issue with its predecessor — it continues the plan to soften up and commercialize Candi's sound, concentrating more on sensual balladry than on her kick-ass, stand-for-your-rights side: the latter is only represented by ʽBlackmailʼ, which is more sorrowful and melancholic than fiery, and a couple songs about cheating and lying on the second side. The best of these is probably ʽThe Best Thing You Ever Hadʼ (no pun intended), just be­cause it is funkier and heavier than most of its surroundings, but not in any sort of unique man­ner or anything. The other grooves are all just about equally pleasant and equally interchangeable. Every once in a while a hook stands out sharper than the rest — for instance, the massive push on the chorus line of ʽDo It In The Name Of Loveʼ — but it would still be a matter of nuance.
Curious bit of trivia: the only two songs for which Candi herself shares songwriter's credits are two of the bitterest ones — ʽYou Don't Love Me No Moreʼ and ʽThe Thanks I Get For Loving Youʼ. You could probably suggest they reflect her own personal experience with Clarence Carter, but the irony is that ʽYou Don't Love Me No Moreʼ features Clarence himself as co-writer, so there's some kind of Fleetwood Mac-style shit for you there. (Then again, scratch that, because that's the one taken from the first album, so it must have been written even before Candi and Clarence became properly romantically engaged). Nevertheless, it is impossible to tell which songs are more credible and convincing — the ones where she swears that "I'll drop every­thing and come running" or the ones where she gets no thanks for that — and this kind of con­summate artistry makes the whole thing both befuddling and intriguing at the same time. If only the songs had a few more twists and turns to them — but even as they are, what's wrong with a little bit of raw love-and-hate material, set to generic, but well-performed R&B melodies? Count this as a no-thumbs-up recommendation.
CANDI (1974)
1) Here I Am Again; 2) Your Opening Night; 3) A Little Taste Of Love; 4) Going Through The Motions; 5) Stop And Smell The Roses; 6) We Can Work It Out; 7) As Long As He Takes Care Of Home; 8) But I Do; 9) Can't Stop Being Your Fool; 10) Clean Up America; 11) Six Nights And A Day.
For this album, Staton switched to Warner Bros., yet the recording sessions were still held at Muscle Shoals, so, technically, very little has changed, except for a divorce with Carter, meaning that the man was also removed from her professional life as well. (She did not repeat the mistake of mixing personal and professional, but allegedly she did marry an even bigger bastard in 1974, a promoter by the name of Jimmy James, who would torture her for about three years). Substan­tially, though, Candi continues a gradual slide into the realms of smooth soulful pleasantness, where everything sounds just about equally neat, tasteful, and interchangeable.
The only in-yer-face standout on the album is ʽClean Up Americaʼ, a lone statement of demand for social justice that is so thoroughly ambiguous in its demands, I'm frankly surprised why it for­got to be used in Trump's presidential campaign ("we gotta pitch in, and clean up America!" just sounds like such a perfectly Trump-ready slogan, and delivered by a black woman, no less) — sure it's a far less familiar song than ʽYou Can't Always Get What You Wantʼ or ʽRockin' In The Free Worldʼ, but with such a passionate, anthemic hook it would have caught on in no time. In the context of Candi, however, its major problem is that it stands alone — and gives the impres­sion of a last minute addition, to inject some social value, because Curtis Mayfield and Marvin Gaye and Stevie Wonder are doing it and if you, a female Afro-American performer, are not doing it, then you are compromising The Cause. Please be reasonable about it and observe the correct quotas, though. You are expected to deliver 1 song about social injustice and 11 songs about personal relationships — that's the expected female quota.
Speaking of personal relationships, I find it funny that (a) there is a song here called ʽWe Can Work It Outʼ, a lush piano ballad with string and brass support that has nothing to do with the Beatles' song of the same name; (b) the very next song, ʽAs Long As He Takes Care Of Homeʼ, is driven by a looping riff that is very similar, though not exactly coinciding, with the riff of ʽDay Tripperʼ — which, as we know, was the B-side to the original ʽWe Can Work It Outʼ! Coinci­dence, or a subtle joke on the part of the producers, with no deep meaning behind it whatsoever? Oh well, at least this gives us something to write about, because other than that, Candi stimulates no individualistic emotional reaction whatsoever. A few decent ballads, a few soft funk-rockers, well played and convincingly sung, but nothing new, and for each song you can find a sharper equivalent elsewhere.
For instance, ʽSix Nights And A Dayʼ, lifts the funky riff directly from ʽSuperstitionʼ, but the song does not even begin to approach the tension level achieved by little Stevie — remember, kids, it's not all about just the melody, it's largely about killer performance, and here, I am sorry to say, the musicians rallied behind Candi consistently let her down even when compared to the raw-gritty sound of her first record, let alone contemporary standards of some of the bigger names in the R&B industry. But on the positive side, there are some energetic numbers with cool syncopated guitars and brawny brass — which is a good thing to have in an era when even some of the bigger names in R&B (like Aretha Franklin) were beginning to drown in soft-rock mushi­ness and schlocky sentimentalism. So, by the average standards of 1974, Candi is doing quite fine, even as she finds herself ʽGoing Through The Motionsʼ.
YOUNG HEARTS RUN FREE (1976)
1) Run To Me; 2) Destiny; 3) What A Feeling; 4) You Bet Your Sweet, Sweet Love; 5) Young Hearts Run Free; 6) Living For You; 7) Summer Time With You; 8) I Know.
It is a little unlucky that Candi's big break had to come with the onslaught of the disco era, but at least she got her big break, unlike many less lucky souls — with a little help from producer and professional songwriter David Crawford, who ended up writing almost everything on her second LP for Warner Bros. The shift in tone is abrupt — while, technically, most of the songs here are «proto-disco» rather than proper disco, without the diagnostic basslines, Young Hearts Run Free is clearly a club-oriented dance record; and even if, at the time, this shift could be regarded by Candi herself as a fun change of image, in retrospect it joins the large number of similar shifts that ended up completely eroding the artist's personality and making him/her just another faceless face in the exuberant, carefree dance-pop crowd.
Yet, as it also often happens, it was not half bad the first time around. Crawford might be just a commercial hack, but he hacked out plenty of fun hooks for this record — mood-wise, 70% of these songs are interchangeable, yet some of them could stand their ground next to contemporary Bee Gees material. First in line is, of course, the title track, which seems to be pretty much the only thing that people remember about Candi Staton today — I'd much prefer her to be remem­bered by something like ʽI'd Rather Be An Old Man's Sweetheartʼ, but it's hard to fight the appeal of a well-polished proto-disco groove when it is combined with a good vocal hook and a message of youthful optimism rather than bitter pragmaticism. (Actually, the song is pretty bitter — sung from the perspective of an abused wife envying the young people their freedom — but on the instinctive level, the only thing that matters is the anthemic "young hearts!... run free!" slogan).
Next to that one, ʽRun To Meʼ, ʽDestinyʼ, and ʽI Knowʼ sound like weaker clones of the big hit, but the vocal hooks are different enough to simply offer the people more of what they want with­out directly self-plagiarizing oneself. Slower ballads like ʽWhat A Feelingʼ are less exciting, but decently recorded — as is the cover of Al Green's ʽLiving For Youʼ, for which a pleasant bedrock is built out of tonally similar brass lines and slide guitars. The only properly corny song in the lot is ʽSummer Time With Youʼ, where they seem to be intruding on the Europop turf with dubious results (or maybe it's just that Candi tries too hard to be subtle, sensual, and seductive, with too much sexy breathiness — hardly the style of a gospel-bred R&B belter who once used to be a minor competitor for Aretha's crown).
Outside of all context, I would probably pass the record by in the end, but in the framework of her overall life trajectory, Young Hearts Run Free is a bit of a rejuvenating step forward — she may not be too responsible for the songs or the sounds, but Crawford seems to have been working in her interests, and gave her all this energetic, uplifting material to both alleviate her personal prob­lems and get her out of the rut she'd settled into by 1974. And while I can't properly put my fin­ger on it, or explain what it is exactly that makes these party-ready romps a tad more spiritualized than the average run-of-the-mill party-ready romps, I still trust that old intuition and give the record as a whole (not just its title track) a moderate thumbs up.
MUSIC SPEAKS LOUDER THAN WORDS (1977)
1) Nights On Broadway; 2) You Are; 3) A Dreamer Of A Dream; 4) Music Speaks Louder Than Words; 5) Cotton Candi; 6) Listen To The Music; 7) When You Want Love; 8) One More Chance On Love; 9) Main Thing; 10) Before The Next Teardrop Falls; 11) Music Speaks Louder Than Words (reprise).
Seeing as how the first track to be listed on Candi's Saturday Night Fever era record was a cover of ʽNights On Broadwayʼ, I expected the results to suck seriously; all the more surprising was the discovery that this is far from the least exciting albums of the disco period — in fact, even the Bee Gees cover is quite welcome, replacing the original groove with a slightly more synthetic, but also slightly more complex tapestry of synthesizers, strings, and brass; the tempo is a little sped up and the slow bridge omitted altogether to adapt the song even better to the contemporary club atmosphere, and Candi's lead vocal is a fine replacement for the Gibbs (anyway, the single catchiest thing on the song is the falsetto quickie of "blame it on the nights on Broadway!" in re­sponse to the lead vocal, and that one is preserved with all due respect), so this sort of explains why the single performed respectably on the UK charts (ironically, the original Bee Gees version was never released as a single in the UK, so perhaps British audiences were just too happy to catch up on their forty-fives).
But even beyond the obvious hit, there are quite a few niceties about the album, largely because of the songwriters behind the music — ʽYou Areʼ is credited to George Clinton, and it is appro­priately funky, with a multi-layered bubbly wah-wah groove and triumphant brass; and ʽA Drea­mer Of A Dreamʼ comes from the stock of Allen Toussaint, a fine chunk of disco-pop arranged in the «light musical phantasia» style of the likes of Olivia Newton-John, but with a smart enough orchestral arrangement to be tolerable. The strangest thing is the inclusion of an instrumental track, whose only link with the artist is its title (ʽCotton Candiʼ) — no idea what producer Bob Monaco was thinking, but apparently, a lot of control was in the hands of horn and string arran­gers like Rick Kellis and Ron Stockert, and maybe they wanted to have their efforts appreciated on their own for once, without any annoying disco singers on top of their «body music art».
Weirdest inclusion of all, no doubt about it, is Paul Kelly's ʽMain Thingʼ — a more blatant rip-off of ʽSuperstitionʼ, right down to the funky clavinet rhythm track and the descending brass riff, could not even be imagined, except that they pin it all on a disco bass line this time; the only reason Stevie never sued is because he couldn't expect to reap any serious financial benefits from an album that was doomed to commercial failure from the start. That said, you have to listen right to the very end — bass player Dennis Belfield eventually gets tired of laying down the same chuggin' disco chords, and goes on a bit of a rampage.
Throw in a few gospel-tinged ballads with a high level of energy (ʽBefore The Next Teardrop Fallsʼ), and the overall result is a respectable follow-up to Young Hearts Run Free, at least, as respectable as could possibly be expected of a disco album with no ambitions, gimmicks, or daz­zling feats of playing technique. I'd give it a thumbs up, but it is kind of against my principles to formally endorse non-outstanding disco records, and besides, behind all the grooving and all the body heat and all the brass/string/keyboard razzle-dazzle, the one thing that is lacking is the lead artist's personality — here, she is being sucked into the whirlwind even tighter and faster than on Young Hearts Run Free: «music speaks louder than words» indeed, and not in a sense that could be favorable to Candi herself.
HOUSE OF LOVE (1978)
1) Victim; 2) Honest I Do Love You; 3) Yesterday Evening; 4) I Wonder Will I Ever Get Over It; 5) I'm Gonna Make You Love Me; 6) So Blue; 7) Take My Hand, Precious Lord.
We know very well that not all disco albums suck as a matter of principle — but, strange enough, every now and then one is liable to come across a disco album that is perfectly ordinary and con­ventional, just a collection of very straightforward disco grooves without any experimentation or ultra-hot passion to singe your whiskers, yet somehow it feels surprisingly right: enjoyable, honest, devoid of special irritants. Candi Staton's second disco album, inauspiciously titled House Of Love and featuring the performer in her sexiest posturing ever on the front cover (still looks a bit like your mother, though), is a major improvement on her first one, even if the man behind it, Dave Crawford, retains full control over production and songwriting.
The highlight is ʽVictimʼ, an unexpectedly serious eight-minute disco rant where Candi com­plains how "I became a victim of the very song I sing", and then goes on to namedrop ʽYoung Hearts Run Freeʼ — formally, the song is about not following her own advice on the issue of commitment, but it can, of course, also be figuratively interpreted as a complaint about getting pegged as a one-hit wonder. Musically, the accompanying groove is smooth, polite, based around a fun, non-canonical disco bass riff played by Scott Edwards, and some playful and tasteful key­board and brass overdubs (keyboards in question including vibraphone and clavinet, rather than generic synthesizers), with a lengthy instrumental interlude that is every bit as engaging as the vocal sections — basically, the kind of material that fully justifies the art of the extended disco groove: «intelligent dance music» way before the term was hijacked for something completely and utterly different.
The rest of the tracks are neither quite as catchy nor as inventive in terms of arrangements, but I'd still have almost any of them over your average Olivia Newton-John of the same time. ʽHonest I Do Love Youʼ has a catchy and captivating vocal hook (even if it may get repeated way beyond any rational measure), accentuated by sharp slide guitar licks and even something that sounds like a... sitar? Whatever; plucked strings give the tune a bit of a psychedelic sheen, as opposed to the more conventional bowed strings. ʽI Wonder Will I Ever Get Over Itʼ is a pretty rhythmic ballad; ʽSo Blueʼ skips disco overtones in favor of a more traditional doo-wop approach, but still with plenty of tension; and only the old classic ʽI'm Gonna Make You Love Meʼ, on which Candi actually duets with Crawford, functions here like generic corny disco — let alone the embarrassing moment where Candi has to sing "every minute every hour, I'm gonna SHOWER!", and it takes at least a second or so for the listener to understand that this is not the end of the line (the correct lyric is "I'm gonna shower... you with love and affection!"). (She does look like that front cover photo was taken in the shower, though, so there might as well be something to it).
As a final surprise gesture, the last song is neither disco nor doo-wop, but a traditional gospel number: just Crawford at the piano, and Candi behind him, belting out ʽTake My Hand, Precious Lordʼ like she'd just gotten a huge kick out of Aretha's Amazing Grace, or, better still, a pack of old Mahalia Jackson records. She's not exceptional, but she's real good; allegedly, she just did that bit of gospel as a vocal warm-up, but Crawford decided the results were too good to miss, and thus, perhaps, inadvertently set her up on the road that would eventually lead her to a full-time career in gospel several years later.
The real good news here is that Candi seems to have found a way to «restore» a bit of her perso­nality, and reintroduce some serious soul into the material — without making any particularly wrong moves, such as oversexing it, pulling a Donna Summer when such a thing would quite obviously lead to fake posturing and embarrassment. She succeeds in being herself here, firmly planted on top of all the disco bells and whistles, and the bells and whistles ring and whistle their reverent praise of the artist, rather than overshadow her with shallow entertainment. A very decent effort on the whole, well deserving of a thumbs up; too bad that in the commercial sphere, if it was disco and it wasn't about sex or at least about not needing any education, it had few chances of selling. (ʽVictimʼ did get pretty high on the R&B charts, but that was it).
CHANCE (1979)
1) Ain't Got Nowhere To Go; 2) When You Wake Up Tomorrow; 3) Rock; 4) Chance; 5) I Live; 6) Me And My Music.
Well, here's your oh-so-obvious answer to the question about what it is that makes a good or a bad disco album — the difference between House Of Love and its follow-up, Chance, pretty much says it all. For some reason, Dave Crawford is out, both as producer and songwriter, and the album ends up being nominally self-produced by Candi herself, with the supervising of Jimmy Simpson — the brother of Valerie Simpson of Ashford & Simpson fame. Meanwhile, the songwriting is largely taken care of by Candi herself, or by a bunch of corporate donors who clearly have neither any interest in Candi Staton as an artist, nor in doing anything except supply­ing a steady stream of body-oriented grooves.
The result is an album as uninspired and stupid as House Of Love was inventive and supportive of the artist's personality. The only song worthy of some attention is ʽI Liveʼ, contributed by Ashford & Simpson in person — a slow, funky ballad rather than a straightahead disco groove, with a chance for Candi to burn some authentic soul, even if the arrangement still leaves much to be desired (no instrumental parts deserving of special attention). Everything else ranges from passable to ridiculous: ʽAin't Got Nowhere To Goʼ is at least reasonably short and reasonably complex, but the single ʽWhen You Wake Up Tomorrowʼ is completely dependent on its single musical phrase, never brought out of stasis due to the lame sound of the synthesizer — and then there's ʽRockʼ, which might just be the nadir of Candi's entire career. Here is a representative sample of the lyrics: "Why? Not? Rock? Rock! Rock! Why ? Not? Rock!", and it does not get much better when the lead vocal comes in, especially since the song has nothing whatsoever to do without «rock» in any possible meaning of the term, unless you really stretch it out to cover «corny disco shit» as well.
Neither the title track nor ʽMe And My Musicʼ on the second side make much of a difference: in fact, pretty much everything is interchangeable and never goes one step beyond the simple «give 'em a good vibe» message. And that smart touch of having Candi wrap things up with a strong gospel number? Apparently, it never caught on, even if it is precisely little things like that which make a world of difference. The less said about this Studio 54 blandness, the better; thumbs down without any further questions or comments. And you gotta love how they gave her that hip urban look on the photo, but never forgot about showing some cleavage all the same: trying to sell music like this without a bit of boobs is a marketologist's nightmare.
CANDI STATON (1980)
1) Looking For Love; 2) Halfway To Heaven; 3) One More Try; 4) If You Feel The Need; 5) The Hunter Gets Captured By The Game; 6) It's Real; 7) Betcha I'm Gonna Get Ya; 8) Living Inside Me.
Usually the appearance of an album titled after the artist's name in the middle of the artist's career symbolizes a reboot of sorts — but there's nothing rebootable whatsoever in this record, a stereo­typical dance-pop successor to Chance, so I'm guessing this rather reflects a complete lack of inspiration. Yes, it is sad when the album's best track turns out to be a 14-year old cover (ʽThe Hunter Gets Captured By The Gameʼ), and, furthermore, one that adds practically nothing to the original — at least when Blondie covered the same track two years later, they completely rewor­ked the arrangement, but this here is a fairly loyal reproduction, weakened only by sterile touches of early Eighties' production.
Candi is a little more involved than usual this time, writing three of the songs and even self-pro­ducing a part of the album, but it does not help. Of these three songs, two (ʽHalfway To Heavenʼ and ʽIt's Realʼ) are generic ballads, one «modern» and one «retro», but both equally forgettable; and one (ʽBetcha I'm Gonna Get Yaʼ) is a dance-pop number so bland and faceless, it would probably make even the elevator cringe at the idea of having it played in it. For the single, they chose a composition by Andy Schwartz, the part-time keyboardist of Chic, ʽLooking For Loveʼ, and the best I can say about it is that it has a memorable-through-repetition chorus, oh, and disco bass king Norbert Sloley slaps up some cool lines, but that's about it. The single charted very modestly on the US R&B charts, then disappeared without a trace.
Supposedly this is the absolute nadir of Candi's career — here, her gradual reduction from a nice human being with a sharp sense of taste to a simplistic «musical roach» is complete, and even such a nice gesture as transferring some control over the creative process into the lady's own hands does not work: her songwriting talents are insufficient to overcome the bland standards of commercial R&B in 1980, and as a producer, well, she's no Prince for sure. At least the album cover photo does not strain so heavily to «sexualize» the artist, but then again, boring songs and not even any cleavage to make up for that? This is an insult for male chauvinist pigs worldwide, so clearly, a thumbs down is the only possible reaction.