Sam Cooke and the Soul Stirrers is a bit of a misnomer for this first song on the album, which should probably fall under the heading of “Paul Foster and the Soul Stirrers.” It’s not that Sam Cooke doesn’t bring his trademark irreplaceable quality to the song, it’s just that Paul Foster’s unvarnished sound wrenches your soul into glorious hope in a way no one could except for Paul Foster.
I fell in love with gospel music playing services for All Angels’ Church in New York City. I remember being asked to play the evening gospel worship service and realizing I knew nothing about it. Nothing. And so, on the recommendations of sage singers, I started my listening journey with Sam Cooke and the Soul Stirrers.
Probably the most important lesson I’ve taken away from that journey is that there is only one unforgivable sin when singing or playing gospel music: not meaning it. Baritone Reginald Smith, Jr. reinforced this point to me making it crystal clear one summer at Wolf Trap. He often sent me into hysterics telling stories about he and his mom going to various gospel worship services and her various insights into not just gospel music but life. On one particular occasion, after they had finished listening to someone’s virtuosic, vocally impressive performance in church, she turned to him and said, “Honey, the Lord ain’t in that.”
Reggie – if you’re reading this, please publish a book of your mom’s wisdom. I feel like that alone would make the world a vastly better place.
You’ll hear both Foster’s voice and Cooke’s voice crack multiple times in this song, and you won’t care in the slightest. What they mean is far beyond the power of vocal sheen to express.
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