A great soundtrack album by one artist is a rare thing; they’re generally chock-a-block full of instrumental filler and thin on solid tunes that can stand on their own. Not so Curtis Mayfield’s 1972 soundtrack to that same year’s blaxploitation crime drama Super Fly; it’s a non-stop funk machine that actually outgrossed the film it was created to accompany. Which doesn’t surprise me, because there isn’t a single subpar song on it.
The tale of one Youngblood Priest, an African-American cocaine dealer trying to escape the drug business, Super Fly boasted the great tag lines, “Never a dude like this one! He’s got a plan to stick it to The Man!” and was directed by Gordon Parks, Jr., who also directed that other legendary blaxploitation film, 1971’s Shaft. Most of the album’s songs, amongst them the superfunky title track, “Pusherman,” and “Freddie’s Dead” all directly address the cocaine business, and all are soul/funk standards that sound as fresh now as they did way back in the year of Richard Nixon’s reelection.
As for the LP’s two instrumentals—a remarkably low number for a soundtrack LP—“Junkie Chase” is a fiery jazz/funk number with stabbing horns and some mean, mean wah-wah guitar, to say nothing of some great piano, while “Think,” as its title indicates, is a slower and more introspective piece that boasts a lovely melody is and propelled by some really nice guitar and great horns, including one expressive saxophone. The intro sounds like the beginning of every ballad The Red Hot Chili Peppers have ever written, but I refuse to hold that against it, no matter how much the Peppers disgust me.
Opener “Little Child Runnin’ Wild” boasts some great guitar and saxophone and is as funky as my Black Power Fist Afro Pick. The percussion’s groovy too, as is the orchestration. Mayfield definitely shows that he has a subtle touch as a composer, and this goes for “Pusherman” as well, which opens with some fabulous percussion that is followed by a speed rap by Mayfield. The wah-wah guitar work is awesome, the song’s tone is bright and clean, and this song is one bad motherfucker, shut your mouth. As for “Freddie’s Dead,” it’s one funky eulogy for a junkie gone the way of all junkies, and Mayfield’s vocals are a wonder to hear. The orchestration is superb, the bass is in your face, and the song in general is as super fine as the 1971 customized Cadillac Eldorado Youngblood Priest drives in the film, and which belonged to an actual hustler and pimp who had a part (as a pimp, natch) in the film.
“Give Me Your Love (Love Song)” is a lovely slice of wah-wah guitar-fortified soul, and is so infectious one of my favorite bands, Nashville’s very own Lambchop, saw fit to cover it on their 1998 LP What Another Man Spills. “Eddie You Should Know Better” is a mid-tempo scold, and I can dig it, but I’m a bit ambivalent about “No Thing on Me (Cocaine Song),” which boasts some great orchestration, cool horns, and the like, but is rendered maudlin by Mayfield’s spoken introduction on how to protect yourself against the pusherman. But things improve once he commences to sing about how his life is a natural high, and the “man can’t put no thing” on him. Some wonderful piano and a funkified saxophone solo help to make up for the song’s mawkish intro, as does Mayfield’s closing “Sure is funky/Sure is funky/That I ain’t no junkie.”
As for the title track, what can I say? I love it from the great bass opening to the wonderful horn blare of a conclusion. Mayfield’s vocals are so cool you’ll feel like you’ve wandered into a walk-in refrigerator, while the percussion bubbles and the horns get mean. Mayfield’s laughs are not funny, because Super Fly is “trying to get over” by moving blow but if he loses, “don’t ask no questions why.”
Super Fly was more than just a pioneering soul concept album, and far more than just a movie soundtrack. It was a body punch to the drug trade that was destroying the black community, and as many have noted, was far more critical of said trade than the film it accompanied. But the most important thing about Super Fly is that it’s both musically challenging and emotionally charged from beginning to end. Blaxploitation this isn’t. It’s a wake up call to everybody as well as a joy to listen to, over and over again. Freddie’s dead, y’all, and he’s not the only one. We all know somebody, or a whole bunch of somebodies. So repeat after me: Goddamn the pusherman.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A
