Funk pioneer Betty Davis once summed up her music with one word—raw. That was a mild word for what she was doing. Friends of the sophisticated fashion model—who’d walked away from the glamour biz because she thought it required zero brains—were aghast at her on-stage persona; she was lewd and crude in her silver hot pants, leaning backwards, stance wide, cupping her hands around her crotch. Such outrageous behavior left the people who knew her wondering if the woman strutting her stuff on stage could possibly be their Betty Davis.
Davis was a symbol of Black Power and female empowerment—women weren’t supposed to behave the way she did on stage, or release nasty albums like her masterpiece, 1974’s They Say I’m Different. And she wasn’t playing the subservient woman; on “He Was a Big Freak” she’s the one wielding the turquoise whip.
On the cover of They Say I’m Different, Miles Davis’ second wife—who is credited with changing the course of his career by introducing him to the likes of Jimi Hendrix and Sly Stone—is all legs topped by a spectacular Afro, and in her futuristic glam attire, different she definitely was. But it’s the music that matters, and the LP’s eight funk jams showcase Davis’ vocals, which range from the sultry to the flat-out salacious. The LP isn’t just a turn-on; it generates enough erotic wattage to light up Harlem.
She’s Black and proud of her roots; on the title track she sings “My Great Grandma didn’t like the foxtrot/Now instead she spitted snuff and boogied to Elmore James,” and he’s just one of her forebears she name checks on the track–she also gives shout outs to just about every blues legend from Big Mama Thornton to Bessie Smith. And when she announces she eats chitlins, it comes off as a dare—that’s her heritage, see, and fuck you if you think it makes her an unsophisticated lady.
Davis’ cast of players—which include Buddy Miles on guitar, Merl Saunders on electric piano, and enough female backing vocalists, guitarists, and drummers to form five bands—lay down a solid groove, with bass player Larry Johnson in particular dialing up the funk. There’s a whole lot of great guitar as well, although I’ll be damned if I know which of the four guitarists is playing what.
On album highlight “Don’t Call Her No Tramp” Merl Saunders goes Stevie Wonder on the electric piano and the tramp in question is Davis herself. “You can call her trendy,” she sings, “and superficial/An elegant hustler/But don’t you call her no tramp.” And her vocals are all attitude—she sounds like she’s come right off the street.
It’s small wonder how bohemian friends were shocked—on all eight tracks of They Say I’m Different Davis comes off like the baddest motherfucker in town, although she lowers the temperature on both “Shoo-B-Doop and Cop Him” and “Special People”—the latter of which has a laid-back soul vibe. But otherwise she’s on all the time—just check the nasty “He was a big freak!” that opens the song of the same name.
The remaining songs include the slow groove “70’s Blues” and the funky dance number “Get in There,” which comes complete with lots of great backing vocals and an electrifying guitar solo. Saunders dominates the proceedings on “Your Mama Wants Ya Back,” while Davis generates mucho heat, especially on lines like “Your mamma needs ya daddy, oh I need ya daddy, I need ya!”
Davis followed They Say I’m Different with 1975’s Nasty Girl, which includes some classic tracks but in general fails to meet the standard of its predecessor. The cliché of a ballad that is “You and I” is subpar attempt (or so I suspect) to go mainstream, and the dragging “The Lone Ranger” is a dud. And if “Feelins’” has a melody, I’ve yet to find it.
In 1976 Davis recorded the tame Is It Love or Desire (which was only released in 2009), then pulled a 35-year disappearing act, by which I don’t mean she quit recording—she vanished, and not even her good friends knew where she’d gone. Turns out mental health issues exacerbated by the death of her father led her into a self-imposed exile, and she finally turned up in Homestead, Pennsylvania, a recluse living in a basement without phone or internet. She never recorded another song, and passed away just this year, a remarkably talented, influential and charismatic artist who never got her fair due. Hopefully that will change; Betty Davis wasn’t just different—she was one of a kind.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A
