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Title: 360 Degrees Of Billy Paul
By: Paul, Billy
Released by: Philadelphia International/Sony
Released on: 1972
Rating (out of 10): 6
Date: 04/26/2002

Back In The Sweaty ’70s...


Those who know about him consider Billy Paul to be an one hit wonder, due to the amazing success of his classic “Me & Mrs. Jones.” While no one could say he was on a level with Stevie Wonder or Curtis Mayfield (or even The O’Jays or Teddy Pendergrass), his story is quite an interesting one, and a listen to the album from which “Me & Mrs. Jones” stems, 360 Degrees Of Billy Paul, shows that he also got it right on a few more occasions.

When he hit it big, Billy Paul was one of the many artists signed to Philadelphia International records, the label that had assumed the vacant throne of '60s giants like Motown and Stax. The Philly Sound relied on a sweet, lush feel often backed by exquisite percussion and an orchestra (which could often be so unfunky that it made the strings Motown employed sound positively earthy). Philadelphia International produced a lot of cheesy dross, true—but there’s also a list of classics brought forth by the label that ranges from danceable tracks like “TSOP” and “Backstabbers” to emotional outpourings like “When Will I See You Again?” and “If You Don’t Know Me By Now” (before Simply Red ruined it).

It wasn’t uncommon for Philadelphia International’s masterminds Kenneth Gamble and Leon Huff to sign down on their luck veterans (The O’Jays, who had been paying their dues since the early '60s, hit it big there; Jerry Butler of The Impressions had also been hit-less for a few years), but Billy Paul truly was something else in that his roots stemmed not from Soul but from Jazz. This accounts for some of the most miserable moments on 360 Degrees... (more on that later), and it also explains why success eluded him for so long. The fact that, despite having several albums flop for several labels they owned, Gamble & Huff stuck with Paul is an act of loyalty seldom seen in the cut-throath environment of the music biz. So, did he have the talent to back that trust up?

Well, the first thing that struck me about him is his voice—it’s highly unusual and quite glorious in that it can hit the highest registers as well as sinking to the lowest Barry White/Isaac Hayes deep throat exercises.

Then, of course, there’s the hit—the lush, steamy “Me & Mrs. Jones.” It is of course a great gag that this song about an extra-marital affair hit Helen Reddy’s feminist “I Am Woman” off of the top of the Billboard charts; but it also represents a victory of good taste, because this recording is in every aspect better than Reddy’s whine-fest. The backing has a bit of a schmaltzy feel to it (though nowhere near as bad as some of the other stuff on this record), but it’s relaxed and stays in the background so that the gentleman can do his thing. And do it he does—on this track, Billy Paul rids himself of the irksome mannerisms that plague him elsewhere and provides a very straight, booming rendition—the way he sings the chorus is just knockout. Some radio stations refused to play the tune because it allegedly depicted an immoral activity without condemning it—sounds like good Rock & Roll to me, but in fact it seems that the radio programmers were just too knuckle-headed to notice that Paul repeatedly states that “we both know it’s wrong/but it’s much too strong.” Sincere, emotional and at the same time cool and stylish, this track is one of the all-time classics of '70s Soul.

You may get away with singing about adultery and still get a #1 hit, but write a song called “Am I Black Enough For You?” and buddy, your career is over. The second single from 360 Degrees... flopped, and Billy didn’t have another hit until 1974. Fair? Not at all! “Am I Black Enough For You?” has enough energy and militance to be a '70s Soul protest classic that should’ve been filed somewhere near “You Haven’t Done Nothing” and “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised.” It’s debatable whether Gamble/Huff just wanted to write an honest black power diatribe, but the plain truth is that “Am I Black Enough For You?” turned out to be something different altogheter: it also acknowledges the confusion and contradictions of the time. One minute, we’re greeted by a communist cry of “we’ve got to get rid of property”; the next, the singer sardonically remarks that “freedom, hallelujah, lead them/my kids would dig it more if I could feed ‘em”. In the end, there’s no answer as to whether the song wants a real Black Panther style revolution or if the singer would prefer to “use my mind instead of my fists”; all that’s sure here is a very funky groove and some great Stevie Wonder style synths.

The third highlight of the album is as unlikely as they get—a seven minute cover of “Your Song” by Elton John (!?!) Yay verily, and it’s great, too! There can be no doubt that Bernie Taupin isn’t the greatest lyricist in the world (remember the immortal lines from “Rocket Man”? “Mars ain’t the place to raise your kids/in fact it’s cold as hell/and there’s no one there to raise ‘em/if you did.” Deep...), and “Your Song” is as awkward as they come. Billy Paul understood that and used it to his advantage by mauling and repeating the words endlessly in a beautiful falsetto; this way, the song sounds not like an ill-conceived greeting card, but the musical version of a clumsy love confession by some young romantic who just doesn’t know any better. Seven minutes of “so excuse me, please excuse me,” and it still takes a long while to get old.

I’m not sure whether the same can be said about “I’m Just A Prisoner,” another seven minute extravaganza. The arrangement is beyond overblown, and some of the verses are really pathetic—but at the same time there’s moments where this tale of a man waiting five years for his trial (a hard to swallow premise, but not unbelievable in those times, or indeed in current times) truly does sound chilling and scary (especially when he sings “I’ve got to FIGHT! FIGHT! Fight to keep my manhood!”). Every time you start to roll your eyes, Billy hits you with something powerful; as soon as he has your attention, he goes back to sounding ridiculous. You almost end up missing the vagueness of the opening track that preceded it, “Brown Baby”—'70s Soul by the numbers.

Another problem is Billy Paul’s infatuation with Jazz. Considering the fact that he has worked with the likes of Miles Davis, this really shouldn’t be a problem—but unfortunately, the kind of arrangements present on 360 Degrees Of Billy Paul are closer to Barbara Streisand. Of these maudlin Pop tunes, “I’m Gonna Make It This Time,” is probably the best, simply because the lyrics are so damn autobiographical; but there’s also two muzak butcherings of true classics, “It’s Too Late” and “Let’s Stay Together.” These versions are so bad that you feel like putting on the Carole King and Al Green originals just to get the sappy taste out of your mouth.

Also unfortunate is Paul’s penchant for repeating words endlessly and ad-libbing some “sho’ nuff” style sentences to boot; this practice is of course part of the Soul vernacular, but it could be annoying even when masters like Otis Redding used it, let alone Billy Paul. One of the trickiest things to know is when a song *needs* some preaching/pleading/scatting and when it needs a straight, composed rendition. “Let’s Stay Togheter” definitively belongs in the second category, and that’s the way Al Green sings it; Billy Paul, however, ruins it with needless repetition and unintentionally ruins the tune’s ode to romantic harmony along the way. Check out some of the original lyrics:

Why/why do people break up?/turn around and make up?/I just can’t see/you’d never do that to me, now wouldya baby?
And here’s the Billy Paul version:

“Why?/why do people break up?/they shake their hands, some of them kiss/they smile and turn around and make up/don’t argue with me!/don’t argue in the first place/I’d never let you do that to me.”
Now, not only is this re-writing moronic (not much reward in making up if there isn’t even a kiss involved, is there?), but instead of Al’s declaration of trust in his loved one (“you’d never do that to me”), we have some very unfortunate machismo (“don’t argue with me,” “I’d never let you do that to me”).

In the end, few people would argue that 360 Degrees Of Billy Paul is anything more than a footnote in R&B history; but it contains two classics, and at least one overlooked gem. I’d recommend buying Me & Mrs. Jones: The Best Of Billy Paul instead, as it contains all three highlights. For those you seeking more, or too elitist (read: stupid) to buy compilations in the first place, 360 Degrees Of Billy Paul is a considerable pleasure, albeit one that does seem to beg for the skip button.


© Copyright CultureDose.com 04/26/2002

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