Sam Cooke
Night Beat

THE REVIEW

Small gestures, hope, love.

He was a fear to white America, he was black and associated with successful black people like Cassius Clay and Malcolm X, he was rich, drove a Ferrari. He was also becoming powerful, he dared to found his own record label (SAR Records) and a publishing house, he didn't obey, he wasn't exploited, in fact, he got one of the highest contracts ever with RCA.

But how does that dirty Negro dare to take part in the civil rights movement? Maybe he's even a communist, we don't just need to eliminate him, we need to tarnish his name forever.

So in a shabby motel on December 11, 1964, an incredible story unfolds, logical only to the police... Justifiable homicide by self-defense was the final verdict. Bertha Franklin, 55 years old, beat and shot Sam Cooke, 33 years old, naked and drunk. Etta James saw the body before the burial “Sam had both hands crushed, his nose shattered, and his head with evident marks of blows received, it was almost detached from the neck.” (Rage to survive the Etta James story) she wrote.

Small gestures.

He refused to sing in racist states, at concerts for whites only, but he wasn’t an angel. His voice was angelic, but he was not. Women, divorces, the death of a young child, money, success, he had it all and too quickly, then... Then he wrote “A change is gonna come” implicitly responding to someone who asked "how many years must some people exist, before they're allowed to be free?" And to a man who said: "I have a dream..."

Little pests, hope.

-Ma, what are you writing? We’re not eating?

-It’s 6, it’s early. I’m writing a review.

-A review? What’s that? Oh man, but I’m breaking in the house all day, I can’t go out, at least make me something to eat, don’t write about useless people...

-Come here, I want you to listen to something.

-It’s really slow, but nice, what genre is it?

-I love you, kid...

Love.

It’s the album of awareness, where racial oppositions fall. Sam doesn’t write for the whites (Having a party, Twistin’ the night away, for info ask Mr. Bruce Springsteen) or for the blacks (Bring it on home to me, Another Saturday night, for info this time ask Jimmy Cliff or Bob Marley), he writes masterpieces for himself (and for me, obviously). Emblematic in this sense are two extraordinary live albums published posthumously, both small gems, live at the Harlem Square club (with a black audience) and At the Copa (with a white audience). It seems incredible that it is the same artist singing, but get them both, it's worth it.

The band accompanying him stays in the background, almost fearful of not being worthy of that splendid voice. Here you find lots of blues and soul with a nocturnal and jazzy air, a return to the roots, a chilling Little red rooster (Dixon). I lost everything (Tate) dedicated to his child, with his voice seemingly caressing your cheek trying to console you, guitar, and keyboards blending melancholically... And this is nothing, the real bombs are Lost and Lookin’, Please don’t Drive me Away, You Gotta Move, Shake Rattle and Roll that tear the soul apart. Album recorded in three days (probably three nights) intriguing and sexy, melancholic but not sad, the perfect soundtrack to declare your love to the man of your life... Intimate and perfect songs, a soundtrack for the end of a love (Get yourself another fool), essential blues like Trouble blues and rock’n roll in closing, waving goodbye...

Yes Sam, you wrote for me and for all those who have a soul to give, not to sell.

I love you so