1970 Freda Payne: Band Of Gold

Written by the legendary Holland/Dozier/Holland under a lone female pseudonym for the Invictus label (long story - look it up if you want), 'Band Of Gold' tells of a newlywed bride deserted by her husband shortly after their disastrous wedding night, leaving her with just memories and the ring of the title.

Recipe enough for some gut busting drama you'd think, and in its telling 'Band Of Gold' strives to cover all bases by combining the sophistication of Motown with the raw soul power of Stax. It's a fine ambition, but it's one that unfortunately falls short in its realisation - things fall apart, the centre does not hold and the mashed clash of styles sends this careering off into an orbit all of its own.

Because nothing about 'Band Of Gold' sounds quite in tune; it's loose and it's spongy and it has a rubber backbone where a hard funk spine should be, and that's despite (or even in spite of) the constant repetition of a one note drum beat that drips throughout like water torture. Payne herself is keen to get on with things, but even her heartbroken holler can't break free from the wheelclamp of that pedestrian backing (by members of the Funk Brothers no less) that lets any urgency escape like air from a punctured tyre.

Despite this, 'Band Of Gold' is saved from ruin on two fronts. For one, Payne's vocal is a strident and impressive performance, strong enough to forge the tune all by itself through the sheer repetition of the lyrics where each 'Since you've been gone' sounds like a fresh page rather than old news. But those self same lyrics also provide a mystery of their own that keep things interesting; Freda's new hubby has left (after sharing separate rooms on their honeymoon) leaving her to pine "Hoping soon that you'll walk back through that door. And love me like you tried before". 'Tried before'? What does that mean I wonder?

Was he impotent? Would some Viagra have helped, or was Freda, freshly taken 'from the shelter of my mother', in fact frigid? Or did he have a different kind of loving altogether in his mucky mind? We are not told. Commentators have spilled gallons of ink in print hypothesising as to what was thrown off the Tallahatchie Bridge in Bobbie Gentry's 'Ode To Billie Joe', but who cares about that? I'd be far more interested to know what went on in that bridal suite than what some country hicks got up to. But that's just me I guess.