Oct. 17, 2008—Levi Stubbs, the commanding frontman of the enduring soul band The Four Tops, died in his sleep at age
72 in his home in Detroit, the city where he was born, raised and achieved fame.
In May 1992, I was lucky enough to catch the Four
Tops in concert in Las Vegas. In town for a trade convention, my group was
looking to relax after an exhausting day. I wasn’t sure what to expect but was
delighted by the end of the show.
With their resonant voices and refusal to turn out
cookie-cutter versions of their old hits, Stubbs and his bandmates—first tenor
Abdul “Duke” Fakir, second tenor Lawrence Payton and baritone Renaldo “Obie”
Benson—deserved to sell out large arenas rather than a Vegas showroom. But
their loss was their listeners’ gain, as we enjoyed hearing them in an intimate
setting.
I had grown up in the late Sixties hearing their
string of Motown hits—"I Can't Help Myself,” “It's The Same Old Song,” “Bernadette,”
“Loving You Is Sweeter Than Ever,” and “Reach Out, I'll Be There”—on WABC-AM,
New York’s top 40 radio station, so I was certainly familiar with their work.
What I did not appreciate at the time was the bond
of loyalty that kept the quartet together for 40 years—remarkable, then and
now, in a music industry rife with egotism, money squabbles, and drug addiction.
Those forces could divide and decimate the most enormous talents, as seen in
the Four Tops’ colleagues in the Motown music factory, the Temptations.
Colleagues in the Four Tops may have appreciated that
intense loyalty even more than Stubbs’ baritone. Fakir, for instance, told Billboard after Stubbs’ death: “He had
many chances and many offers to be lured away into his own solo world, but he
never wanted that. He said, 'Man, all I really want to do is sing and take care
of my family, and that's what I'm doing, so all is well. Everything else that
doesn't include you guys, it doesn't mean a thing to me.' That kind of
character and commitment is really hard to find these days."
Only serious illness could keep Stubbs from
performing with his old friends till the end. Cancer and a stroke silenced and
sidelined him for good after 2000, though he still tried to see the remaining Four Tops in concert
as much as he could.
I could tell you how versatile Stubbs’ voice was—how
it could rumble, implore, promise, agonize, woo, even threaten with carnivorous
gusto (as when he sang as “Audrey II,” the man-eating "Mean, Green Mother
from Outer Space," in the 1986 movie version of Little Shop of Horrors). But you knew that already. (And if you
didn’t, I urge you to go now and listen to any Four Tops records.)
But a performer of transcendent goodness is every
bit as worth celebrating as one of transcendent talent. Back in 1992, I would,
if I had ever had the chance, thank Stubbs for giving such a great show. Now,
knowing somewhat more about him, I would also be grateful for his tight bonds
with his city, audience and friends.
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