Music is for everyone

There’s no such thing as “white folks’” music.”

Let me say that again. There’s no such thing as “white folks’” music.”

In case you’re wondering, I am black.

If you enjoy music as I do, you don’t care about the face behind the microphone.

Some artists create or perform music with a specific demographic in mind. And certainly, there are listeners who gravitate toward a certain genre or period (the 1970s for me). But generally speaking, people who love music don’t care about the skin color of those who make it.

The artists certainly don’t.

A few examples:
- The Beatles invited Billy Preston to perform on their “Let It Be” album.
- The Beatles and Electric Light Orchestra did covers of Chuck Berry’s “Roll Over Beethoven.”
- Jimi Hendrix

The concept of white folks’ music has been on my mind lately because of some videos I watched recently, but the thought has been there for decades. The first seeds were planted by some of my teenage peers. And I would later hear it from adult acquaintances, a few friends and at least one relative.

One of my favorite pop/rock groups is Electric Light Orchestra, hereafter referred to as “ELO.”

I sang in chorus in junior high and high school. When ELO’s “Sweet Talkin’ Woman” got a lot of airplay, some of my friends liked to sing along when it came on radio. One year when planning our spring concert, the director told us to get a small ensemble and come up with something we’d like to do for fun, a departure from the more serious, mostly spiritual songs that dominated our setlists. I suggested ELO’s “Jungle,” a lesser-known track from “Out of the Blue.” When I played it for the guys, they seemed to dig it at first. Until one asked, “Are these white boys?” I thought, “Fuck it. Y’all just do whatever you want to do. I’m out.” I didn’t say anything. I just gave up on trying to be part of the planning process. They decided to do “The Banana Boat Song.” Again. They’d done it the year before.

Another time ELO drew some angst was early in my naval career. I had a cassette of “A New World Record” in my locker. A black guy I knew was looking at several tapes I had. When he saw the label, he said, “I know you don’t listen to Electrolux.” Yeah, he mispronounced the name. But worse, he was looking at the tape. Holding it in his hand. He knew it was mine. Yet he said one of the stupidest things I’ve ever heard. “I know you don’t listen to …” I didn’t respond. Sometimes, it’s best to leave the sleeping dog of ignorance lie.

And, of course, there are the numerous times black people have asked: “Why you listen to white folks’ music?” My usual response was that I never knew music was defined by race. Even as a kid, I had seen multiracial bands on TV. Through programs like “American Bandstand” and “Soul Train,” I’d seen black artists perform before mostly white audiences and white artists perform before nearly all-black audiences. Of course, for those programs, “perform” means lip-sync. They always pantomimed while their records played. There was another program that broke that mold, but I’ll get to it later.

And over the years, I saw many that had an ethnic mix. Among them: War, The Doobie Brothers, Average White Band. Numerous biracial duets: Stevie Wonder and Paul McCartney, “Ebony and Ivory”; Michael McDonald and Patti LaBelle, “On My Own”; Aaron Nevill and Linda Ronstadt, “I Don’t Know Much.” Then there are those who made albums of music from genres other than what they’re known for, either as a tribute to the original artists or simply because they love the music. Perhaps both. Queen Latifah, Barry Manilow and Sting did jazz albums. The aforementioned Michael McDonald covered several Motown classics.

Count me among the black people who only a few years ago learned that the man who sang one of the most soulful ballads is white. I’m talking about Bobby Caldwell’s “What You Won’t Do for Love.” There’s a video of him talking about the record, noting that for his album cover, he used a silhouette of himself sitting on a bench because of concern that if people knew he was white, they wouldn’t buy the record.
I recall the O’Jays performing a live rendition of “Wildflower.” The song had been made popular by the group, Skylark. When I heard it on radio, I didn’t give much thought to the genre. While local radio stations had target audiences, some songs had crossover appeal. “Wildflower” was like that. And I gave no thought as to the skin color of the singers. Introducing the song on the O’Jays’ recording, one member said he thought it sounded like “a white guy, trying to do a black thing. But we found out later, it was a black guy trying to do a white thing.” Audio of this is available on YouTube. The musicians of Skylark were all white, but the lead vocalist was a black man, with a white woman and another black man singing backup. YouTube also has a video of that.

Other than comments like those of Caldwell and the O’Jays, artists don’t care.

Neither should we. But unfortunately, many people I’ve known do care. Worse, they don’t hold back voicing their disapproval.

Why bring this up now?

As I mentioned above, there was a program that broke the mold of artists lip-synching on TV shows. “The Midnight Special.” To be fair, there were occasions when vocalists sang live with backing tracks (think, karaoke) and the occasional pre-recorded video of a group, with the music sounding like it’s from the record. But most performances were live. I’m not sure how long the series had aired before I discovered it, but it became a thing I looked forward to every Friday night. It came on NBC at midnight Central, immediately after the “Tonight” show, which ran 90 minutes in those days.

It was cool to see the artists I’d been hearing so much on the radio. A few years ago, I found that some of the performances I’d seen were on YouTube. Then in 2024, I discovered The Midnight Special has its own page with scores of videos, from individual performances (including comedy) and full episodes. While it’s nostalgic to see some of the acts I remember, such as Loggins & Messina , “Your Mama Don’t Dance”; Ohio Players, “Skin Tight”; the O’Jays, “Love Train”; and ELO, it’s also a bit of an eye opener.

For example, I learned that Jan Smithers, actress and former model, was a pretty good singer. She was part of a band led by Henry Mancini’s son, Christopher. Jan played the character Bailey on the series “WKRP in Cincinnati.” George and Louis Johnson, a/k/a The Brothers Johnson, were members of Billy Preston’s band before forming their own group. In an episode hosted by Jose Feliciano, he performed several of his own songs but did a few covers as well. One was “TSOP,” often referred to as the theme from “Soul Train.” It was cool to hear that on electric guitar. Paul Anka is a vocalist I’d only seen as a singer, known for “Having My Baby.” But the dude rocks. He had a full band behind him. In addition to singing, he played the Fender Rhodes electric piano and a guitar, jamming with the band.

That episode also included an appearance by The Tymes. I recognized the group’s name during opening credits, but couldn’t remember what they sang. Then, when Paul Anka introduced them, he said, “You Little Trustmaker.”

Remember what I said earlier about how the O’Jays reacted to “Wildflower”? Well, I only heard this song a few times on a pop (white) station. I had never seen a picture of the group. So when I saw them on TV, I was – well, let’s just say surprised. The Tymes were black men.

I try to watch two “Midnight Special” episodes every weekend. I have a host of them saved to Watch Later. I was about to cue up the next one when this appeared on my screen: “The History of Heatwave.” Heatwave was a soul/funk/disco band that emerged in the late 1970s. They’re known for such hits as “Boogie Nights,” “Always and Forever,” “The Groove Line” and “Mind Blowing Decisions.”

Founded by brothers Johnnie and Keith Wilder, two black men from Ohio, this was a multiracial, international group. Other members were Roy Carter on guitar, Eric Johns (Jamaica) on guitar, Ernest Berger (Czechoslovakia) on drums, Mario Mantese (Switzerland) on bass and Rod Temperton (England) on keyboards. The short documentary (a little more than 30 minutes) spends the first segment on the band, how it came together, and their songs. The rest is mostly about Temperton’s songwriting. He penned most of Heatwave’s hits. But he also wrote several tracks for Michael Jackson’s “Off the Wall” and “Thriller” albums, including the Vincent Price “rap” at the end of the song, “Thriller.” Other contributions include George Benson’s “Gimme the Night,” the Patti Austin/James Ingram duet, “Baby Come to Me,” the Brothers Johnson’s “Stomp” and Michael McDonald’s “Sweet Freedom” from the film, “Running Scared.”

This is not to say that musicians and songwriters don’t have biases, racial or otherwise. They’re humans who’ve been around other humans, so maybe some of them do. But the music they create is available for everyone to enjoy. And whether you do or not should be a personal choice. Not something predetermined because of your skin color, or dictated by other people’s prejudices.
As the group Ladysmith Black Mambazo says, “Music Knows No Boundaries.”

If you enjoyed this article or watched any of the videos I mentioned, here are a few more suggestions. Some may require a streaming subscription.
- The Beatles: Get Back
- The Wrecking Crew
- Summer of Soul
- Stax: Soulsville USA