In 1973, “Why Can’t We Live Together” b/w “Funky Me” was a massive hit, and it remains the best known achievement of its creator Timmy Thomas. Steeped in socially relevant Soul, it also possesses a beautiful, distinct simplicity that has perhaps interfered a bit with its status as a truly classic single. If not forgotten, it’s a 45 that deserves to be even better remembered.
Not all hit singles enjoy the same fate after they exit the charts. Plenty of big sellers from the ‘60s and ‘70s have landed in heavy rotation on oldies radio of course, the songs adapting to a second life as a representative of the popular whims of a bygone era. But other tracks get passed over by this process, often because they don’t fit the accessible nature of the oldies template. In other situations however, it seems that certain songs are excluded mainly due to the very uniqueness that led to their commercial success in the first place.
Timmy Thomas scored an early-‘70s smash with “Why Can’t We Live Together,” hitting the #1 spot on the R&B chart and making it to #3 Pop with further inroads internationally (#12 in the UK). And yet I’ve never heard it over the airwaves even once, a circumstance that might just be chalked up to the nature of regional playlists or even to the happenstance of not being in the right place at the right time.
However, a little snooping around the internet does reveal some discourse over the song’s lack of retrospective recognition. The reason behind this situation seems to come down not to a lack of accessibility, but rather to the warmly unusual feel of Thomas’s creation. To be frank, it stands considerably apart from the norms of nostalgia.
But to be clear, “Why Can’t We Live Together” is far from forgotten; selling two million copies of a single basically insures a certain amount of retention in the cultural memory, at least for a few decades after the initial triumph.
Indeed, the tune is well represented through numerous YouTube clips, a few of which simply document the sounds of the original Glades Records 45 spinning gloriously upon a turntable. There’s even footage of a live performance Thomas delivered on the German Musikladen TV program that strangely includes a wildly gyrating Go-Go dancer clad only in her underwear, providing further emphasis that the ‘70s were a very different time.
“Why Can’t We Live Together” has also been covered by other artists on many occasions (for example Sade, Steve Winwood, and UK post-punkers Maximum Joy) but the continued popularity of the original lies in its distinctiveness. The song’s social concerns are delivered quite soulfully, but it’s also very minimal in mood, sticking out from the general thrust of the period’s popular R&B.
By the time of Thomas’s chart breakthrough he’d already been scrapping in the music scene for nearly a decade. As member of Philip & the Faithfuls in ’64, Thomas cut an impressive 45 for the important Memphis-based R&B label Goldwax (home of O.V. Wright, Spencer Wiggins, the Ovations, and most notably the great James Carr) that unfortunately failed to hit the charts.
That single has been offered for consumption by the UK label Ace on a pair of CDs, the best being The Complete Goldwax Singles Volume 1 1962-1966. Two tracks from an unreleased Philip & the Faithfuls follow-up have also appeared on a CD from the Ace subsidiary label Kent titled Goldwax Northern Soul. Kent even pressed one of those songs “What’cha Gonna Do” onto a split single that’s shared with the Detroit group The Additions, and in so doing they helped to sate, at least temporarily, the often intense needs of ardent Northern Soul fans.
Apparently Thomas also worked as a sideman for jazz greats Donald Byrd and Cannonball Adderley, but recorded evidence from these roles has yet to turn up. However, as singer and organist he did wax a pair of solid solo 45s for Goldwax in ’67, one in a mainstream Soul mode and the other tackling the emerging Boogaloo style.
Another strong but obscure 45 came out via the Climax label in 1970, and then he moved to Florida where he signed to Glades. Somewhere along the way he acquired an early rhythm machine that he could hook up to his organ, with the connection allowing him to serve as a one-man band (Thomas played the bass lines with his feet). It’s just this unlikely setup that fuels “Why Can’t We Live Together,” recorded in ’72 as part of a session that produced an LP of the same title.
The early use of electronic instruments in the pop field reliably ended up sounding dated and occasionally downright cheesy, but that’s not the case here. The measured but unflagging rhythm Thomas programmed is clearly artificial, but it’s also insistent in its rigidity, striving for power rather than novelty. The beat combines with the bass pulse to provide the song with substantial, and again quite minimal, intensity.
Amongst other things, the ‘70s is considered to be a decade of excess, and this was often reflected in the music of the period. Perfectly good songs were frequently ruined by arrangements that were too ornate or busy. Elsewhere, session musicians were found guilty of overplaying and producers could be counted on for an overkill of multi-tracked slickness.
Thomas and his low-tech rig serve as a real antidote to this state of affairs. Particularly impressive is the man’s employment of the Hammond, a tricky instrument that can far too often result in all sorts of problematic noodling. In fact, that Boogaloo 45 he cut for Goldwax tangles with just this very problem.
But thankfully, his intention as a one-man band wasn’t to show off his skills in a shallow display of ego, in the process becoming nothing more than a musical gimmick. It seems clear that in setting all of the sounds in motion by his own hands, Thomas was instead interested in creating a very personal atmosphere that suited the emotional depth of his lyrics and singing.
For “Why Can’t We Live Together”’s rumination on peace fits in perfectly with the socially conscious Soul of the era. Think Marvin Gaye and Curtis Mayfield and Edwin Starr’s “War.” You can also think of Gil Scott-Heron and The Last Poets, though Thomas’s track is devoid of anger. Instead, it’s a plea for togetherness that rises from the midst of Vietnam’s ugly reality and the continuing struggle for civil rights. That people bought it in such high numbers provides a corrective to the notion of apathy and malaise that continues to burden the era.
If curious as a song, the album that it opens is even more so. Featuring eight topical originals along with a cover of “The Coldest Days of My Life” from The Chi-Lites and a highly eclectic reading of “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face,” the record’s soulful minimalism survives a few weak tracks to stand as a pretty strong and rather underrated LP. And at a few spots, the spare aura and the sound of that drum machine actually manage to conjure the sound of post-punk.
The instrumental “Funky Me” is the most prominent example of this similarity, and it serves as “Why Can’t We Live Together”’s B-side. As the cut progresses Thomas does get his licks in, but the opening moments almost come off like they were conceived not in the Sunshine State but in a dank Manchester practice space. And in another left-field comparison, the way the rhythms and the organ intertwine throughout the LP can give off hints of Yo La Tengo circa And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside-Out.
Timmy Thomas is often described as a one-hit wonder, but in truth he landed on the R&B chart nearly a dozen times subsequent to this record’s massive success. The quality of that quantity is at this point unknown to this writer. But “Why Can’t We Live Together” b/w “Funky Me” endures as a fine piece of work, its positivity of message having aged quite well and its individualism as welcome today as when it was first recorded.
(RE)GRADED ON A CURVE:
A
