ALBUM: Carl Hall, ‘You Don’t Know Nothing About Love: The Loma/Atlantic Recordings 1967-72’
There’s something special about soul music of the mid-’60s to mid-’70s, where unknown records by forgotten artists are often as well-crafted and moving as the major hits of the era. (Perhaps even more so, as they haven’t been ground into oblivion through overuse in commercials or nostalgic movies.) For a certain kind of soul fan, obscurity is one of the highest virtues. The UK’s Northern soul subculture of the ’70s so prized certain rare records that original copies sold for hundreds or even thousands of dollars, while reissues became surprise British chart hits years after their initial releases. Countless reissue labels have sprung up devoted to ferreting out lost gems; Numero Group‘s “Eccentric Soul” series has developed a cult following of its own.
This fixation on the unknown is rarely obscurity for obscurity’s sake, however. A great many gifted singers, songwriters, and producers contributed to the genre, but few could compete with Motown’s iron grip on American soul music. One of the many overlooked talents of this era was Carl Hall, who started out in gospel as a member of the Raymond Rasberry Singers before making the familiar conversion to secular pop in the mid-’60s. After a run of unsuccessful singles on Mercury, he moved to Warner Brothers subsidiary Loma Records in 1967, teaming up with legendary songwriter/producer Jerry Ragovoy. The tracks the pair cut together, only six of which were ever properly released, are now available on Omnivore Recordings‘ new compilation, You Don’t Know Nothing About Love: The Loma/Atlantic Recordings 1967-1972.
Ragovoy had made his name earlier in the decade, writing or co-writing such hits as “Time is on My Side,” “Cry Baby,” “Stay With Me,” and “Piece of My Heart,” and producing artists like Garnet Mimms & the Enchanters and Lorraine Ellison. Hall’s four-octave, often androgynous voice kept him a favorite of the producer for the better part of a decade. Hall followed Ragovoy from Loma to Atlantic and later to Columbia, despite the fact that none of their singles together made any chart impact whatsoever.
Hall’s first single at Loma, “You Don’t Know Nothing About Love,” may have been overlooked by the American record-buying public, but it’s since become a favorite among soul devotees. Written and produced by Ragovoy and clad in a steamy, weary arrangement by Garry Sherman, it’s one of those rare records so self-contained, so seamless, that it seems more the product of divine intervention than human construction. The alternately seductive and plodding arrangement embodies the sense of being caught in a cycle of love that has worn out its welcome, yet has too much of a hold to let go.
Hall oscillates between cathartic shrieks and artful listlessness, culminating in a chorus where his voice surges higher and impossibly higher (“You don’t know nothing! You don’t know nothing! YOU DON’T KNOW NOTHING!”) before collapsing into either exhaustion or indifference (” … about love”). Hall’s performance on the track is astounding not only on a technical level, seemingly scouring his entire vocal range, but also in terms of his phrasing, which adds layers of shading and subtext to what could have been a simple kiss-off.
“You Don’t Know Nothing About Love” is the obvious standout from Hall’s ’60s sessions with Ragovoy, but it’s far from the only record of note. B-side “Mean It Baby” is a decent Motown knockoff, although the unreleased “Just Like I Told You” is a catchier, more energetic spin on the formula. The vibes- and brass-soaked “He’ll Never Love You,” on the other hand, has an almost cabaret feel, while the relatively stripped-down “It Was You (That I Needed),” a rare writing credit for Hall, combines gospel, deep soul, and theatrical balladry. Best of all are the two sides of Hall’s second Loma single: the uptempo, rock-influenced “The Dam Busted,” in which he rolls among tempos and styles and rides a crescendoing horn line, and the fiery stomper “I Don’t Want to Be (Your Used to Be),” a collaboration between Hall, Ragovoy, and future “Hustle”-er Van McCoy.
After the 1968 release of “The Dam Busted,” Hall seemingly stayed out of the recording studio until 1971. (This compilation does include a pair of undated demos that may have been cut in the interim: the Sam Cooke-ish “Dance Dance Dance,” built on a simple gospel piano and tambourine backing, and a reading of the Leslie Bricusse-Anthony Newley showtune “What Kind of Fool Am I?” that Sammy Davis Jr. had previously turned into a pop hit.) During the ’70s, Hall’s interests began shifting definitively toward musical theater: he would feature in the Broadway productions Inner City and The Wiz, as well as the 1979 film adaptation of Hair. His recordings with Ragovoy during this decade focus squarely on Hall’s dramatic interpretative skills, often on remakes of rock classics: a convincing soul take on the Beatles’ “The Long and Winding Road,” an easygoing jam on Ragovoy’s own “Time is on My Side,” and, best of all, a swaggering, nigh-unrecognizable spin through Jefferson Airplane’s biggest hit, here titled “Need Somebody to Love.”
The last of those remakes became Hall’s third single with Ragovoy, and his only on Atlantic. Its B-side, the emotive ballad “Change with the Seasons,” could pass for the closing singalong in a Broadway show. Amid his increasingly theatrical records, however, Hall cut a trio of more classical soul numbers: “It’s Been Such a Long Way Home,” a funky dance track tailored to Hall’s octave-spanning strengths; the anthemic “Sometimes I Do,” which feels like Stevie Wonder rewriting CCR’s “Fortunate Son”; and a remake of “The Dam Busted” that doesn’t stray far from the original.
Following the release of “Need Somebody to Love” in 1972 and a brief layover at Columbia Records in 1973, Hall left soul music to focus on his Broadway ambitiuons. According to Bill Dahl’s liner notes, at the time of Hall’s death in 1999, he was working as vocal arranger for his ex-Wiz co-star Stephanie Mills and as the minister of music for a church in New York. Hall may never earned the hits his distinctive voice and thoughtful interpretative skills deserved, but he left behind a solid collection of gospel- and showtune-influenced soul. At the very least, he blessed soul fans with one striking, haunting single, guaranteed to endure as long as there are those who take the time to dig through the genre’s cobwebbed corners and hidden recesses for forgotten treasures.
Get your copy of Carl Hall’s You Don’t Know Nothing About Love now from the Omnivore Recordings online shop!
