A Sunday soul serenade for Mama's Day

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The origin of Mother’s Day as we celebrate it dates back to a woman named Anna Jarvis, in West Virginia, in 1905, who wound up fighting against the commercialization of the holiday she established. We’re here to offer you a musical alternative, or a supplement to cards and flowers on this #BlackMusicSunday. We’ll be listening to musical tributes to moms from Black artists across genres. These are songs for moms, grandmas, aunties, and godmothers too—for the moms who gave us life, and the moms who may not have birthed us but raised us.

Happy Mother’s day y’all!



I felt moved to open today with Ray Charles, whose music crossed the borders of multiple genres, from blues, to gospel, to soul, to R&B and country-western. Hearing him makes me think of my grandmother from Kansas, who was the country and gospel fan in our home.

Born on September 30, 1930 in Albany, Georgia, Charles was raised in extreme poverty in Greenville, Florida. “Even compared to other blacks, we were on the bottom of the ladder looking up at everyone else,” Charles recalled in his autobiography, Brother Ray. “Nothing below us except the ground.”

Charles persevered over the personal tragedies that marked his early life. He contracted glaucoma at age 5, lost his sight completely by age 7, and lost his parents soon thereafter. In spite of these hardships, Charles learned to read and write music in Braille, and became skilled on several musical instruments at the St. Augustine School for the Deaf and Blind. Charles later told Jet Magazine that his mother’s advice guided him through life. “You might not be able to do things like a person who can see. But there are always two ways to do everything. You’ve just got to find the other way.

Charles attributes much of what he achieved in life to the early influence of his mom, who he talked about in this interview with the National Visionary Leadership Project:

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Charles also talked about his mom with the Harvard School of Public Health:

I always remember my mom. She was not what you’d call a well-educated woman. She only went to about the 4th or 5th grade because she had to work in the corn fields and the cotton fields, but she was a great psychologist—there’s no other way to explain it. She knew things that I felt that no one else seemed to realize about me.

As her child, she wanted me to be as normal, as regular as any other child. Which means she made me do everything that other kids do. I had to wash clothes, I had to learn how to do this, I had to clean the house, the things that other kids do. I had to cut wood with an axe…

I’ll always remember my mom was crying one day in church because they were saying in church how it was a shame how she was treating me, this blind kid she got out there cutting wood, a chip could fly up and hit him. And I always remember that in her tears she said, “It’s true he’s blind, and it’s true a chip could wind up hitting him—but I can see, and a chip could hit me, too.”

And then both of us started crying together.

She always taught me that even people who love you—they’re not going to have time to deal with you as much as you want them to. So you got to learn to do things for yourself. You got to find a way. You may not be able to do it like a sighted person, but there are two ways to do everything. You just got to find the right one that suits you.

Here’s his song “Mother” from the album Thanks For Bringing Love Around Again, which was the last album released in his lifetime.

The final song on this final Ray Charles solo album brings the Genius back to the major transformational event of his life: his mother’s death when he was only 14. More than watching his brother George die or going blind or any other tragedy in Ray’s life, it was Retha’s death in 1944 that drove Ray nearly insane and haunted him forever. “Mother” is an affecting and stunning elegy for her and the memory of her love. A chorus of Rays repeats the main eight-line lyrical section several times in this morose elegy, while Ray sings a few extra lines on top.

“Mother” ends with the Ray chorus continuing one last time through the main stanza a cappella, and eventually it slowly fades out, the final sound on the final Ray Charles album being the 72-year old millionaire superstar still openly bleeding from the unbearable wound endured by his 14-year-old self.

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And I surely still do miss my mother Doesn't mother how old that I grow Mother's love will stay with me all through life no Mother where I go Ever since the lord called, And she left, Parts of her flow through me Every day God has taken her, But no one could ever take Mother's love away Mama could be strong but you knew that she loved you She taught me how to walk and talk and party Since she's gone on a heaven All those memories of those days And I think of the things that I didn't get a chance to say And I surely still do miss my mother Doesn't mother how old that I grow Mother's love will stay with me all through life no Mother where I go Ever since the lord called, And she left, Parts of her flow through me Every day God has taken her, But no one could ever take Mother's love away Always the first thing the morning Marking sure that I got up for school Get your self ready to go She said go to class and learn some more And remember that there's no one in the word better than you That's why I miss my mother And I surely still do miss my mother Doesn't mother how old that I grow Mother's love will stay with me all through life no Mother where I go Ever since the lord called, And she left, Parts of her flow through me Every day God has taken her, But no one could ever take Mother's love away

Charles also covered a song for mama which was written and made great by Charles Aznavour, “La Mamma.”

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In the urban gospel tradition, one of the newer contemporary greats is multiple GRAMMY award-winner Kirk Franklin, whose experience growing up differed greatly from that of Ray Charles, which Sandra Brennan documented for AllMusic:

Abandoned by his mother and having never known his father, Franklin was raised in Fort Worth, Texas, by his Aunt Gertrude, a deeply religious woman who maintained a strict Baptist household. When he was four years old, his aunt paid for his piano lessons by collecting aluminum cans. A natural musician who could sight-read and play by ear with equal facility, Franklin received his first contract offer at the age of seven, which his aunt promptly turned down. At age 11, he was leading the Mt. Rose Baptist Church adult choir near Dallas. Following a period of teenage rebellion, during which a close friend of his was accidentally shot and killed, Franklin returned to the church and began studying music with Jewell Kelly & the Singing Chaparrals at Oscar Dean Wyatt High School. During this period, he also formed the gospel group the Humble Hearts, whose recording of one of his original songs led to his discovery by Milton Biggham and a chance to lead the Dallas-Fort Worth Mass Choir at the high-profile Gospel Music Workshop of America Convention in 1990.

Franklin wrote on Instagram last year:

I was born Kirk Mathis. My name was changed to Kirk Smith when my biological mother married a man in the military so I could be on his insurance. Still, I ended up being abandoned... until this beautiful lady legally adopted me and gave me the last name of her deceased husband Jack Franklin. She didn’t get to live to hear my first song recorded or to be swept off her feet by the many gifts I would’ve showered her with to show my appreciation for not only changing my name, but changing my life’s direction. Happy Mother’s Day to all of you queens who change lives everyday

He wrote and sang “Mama’s song,” in 1996.

Summertime has come and gone The leaves are slowly falling The other day my mother heard The voice of Jesus calling He said come home with me my child I'll take away your strife Mama went to sleep on this side And woke up in paradise [Chorus] Oh but how I miss her so More than you'll ever know How I miss her so More than you'll ever know How I miss her so More than you'll ever know

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For some of us, Mother’s Day is not always about a mom who nurtured us. Franklin blogged about those feelings:

Dear Momma

It’s a few days after Mother’s Day… I know because it has taken me this long to find the courage to be this honest about my feelings. Truth is, I’ve dreaded this moment since I’ve started blogging. I knew it would come, so here we are.

If you know me, then you know me. You know I carry a lot of issues on my shoulders about how I was raised, and how I missed having a mother. I’ve even found myself being jealous a little at how much love I’ve seen my wife Tammy give my sons. The doting care and attention she gives them has deepened their self-confidence to do anything placed in front of them. Even the discipline (whenever needed) is a sign to them that consequences are a real part of life and that they need to choose wisely. I often sit in the corners of their room and watch all of this with a yearning for a chance to have had that in my life when I was young.

No matter how many accomplishments may have passed through my life, one “I’m proud” from the woman who gave me life would have trumped every Grammy I’ve ever gotten.

Don’t get me wrong, Gertrude was a saint! She’s the lady who adopted me and steered my life into faith and music.

But I limped through her love…

So for those of you who may be spending the day thinking of an adopted parent, or a relative who raised you, you are not alone. Franklin was not alone in not having been raised by his birth mother, which I learned when I shifted musical gears from gospel to R&B soul.

As a teenager I spent many of my summers in Philadelphia, with my aunt Mildred’s family. She was my mom’s older sister, and like a second mother to me. So music from that city was one of the soul sounds I grew up with and danced to. One of my all-time favorite Philly soul groups was The Spinners, known as one of the greatest soul groups of the early ‘70s with hits like "I'll Be Around," "Could It Be I'm Falling in Love," "Mighty Love," "Ghetto Child," "Then Came You," "Games People Play," and "The Rubberband Man." Their distinctive sound was formed by lead singer Phillipe Wynne’s incredible falsetto, the group’s skilled vocal harmonies, and producer Thom Bell’s detailed production work.

Their 1974 hit “Sadie,” written and produced by Joseph B. Jefferson, Bruce Hawes, and Charles Simmons is a classic, dedicated to young mothers, with the incomparable lead sung by Wynne. There is a real poignancy to this song because of the backstory. Judyth Watson-Remy wrote for 50Bold:

The forever-classic song Sadie by the Spinners featured the great lead vocalist Philippé Wynne whose distinctive voice is still considered to be one of the best of his era even decades after his death.

Philippé Wynne was born on April 3, 1942, in Detroit, Michigan to DeGree Walker and Annie Wynn who divorced just five years after his birth. After the couple parted, Philippé and his three siblings were placed in the New Orphan Asylum for Colored Children in Cincinnati because his father, the custodial parent, traveled frequently. Philippé’s mother left her children to be with a man who lived in Detroit. In a 1981 interview with the Cincinnati Enquirer, Philippé revealed how he never quite got past the pain he felt after being sent to an orphanage:

“I guess the hardest part to take was being there and knowing that both of your parents were still alive.”

In 1956, Philippé and his brother Michael could no longer stand being institutionalized at the orphanage and devised a plan to run away from it. The plan was successful, and the young teens eventually made their way to the“Motor City,” Detroit, where they looked for their mother. Little did Philippé know, the singing group that would put his name on the map musically, The Spinners, had formed in a Detroit suburb just a year after his arrival to the city.

Wynne opens this performance of Sadie with the words “We’d like to dedicate this next number to all the children in the world who may, or may not have had the opportunity to meet someone as sweet as Sadie.”

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Early one Sunday morning Breakfast was on the table There was no time to eat She said to me, "Boy, hurry to Sunday school" Filled with her load of glory We learned the holy story She'll always have her dreams Despite the things this troubled world can bring Oh, Sadie Don't you know we love you Sweet Sadie Place no one above you Sweet Sadie (well, well, well) Living in the past Some times it seems so funny But no money will turn your life around Sweeter than cotton candy Stronger than papa's old brandy Always that needed smile Once in awhile she would break down and cry Some times she'd be so happy Just being with us and daddy Standing the worst of times Breaking the binds with just a simple song

Wynne closes this live performance adding emotional words to the published lyrics telling about how Sadie “went knocking on the rich folks doors, saying ‘hey lady let me clean your floors’ “ to provide for them. A story that resonates in the life histories of many children being raised in low-income households.

Segueing to another key Philadelphia group, one can’t forget the importance of The Intruders, who were instrumental to the birth of “Philly Soul.” Their hit “I’ll Always Love My Mama” was about legendary producer Kenny Gamble’s mother:

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I'll always love my mama She's my favorite girl I'll always love my mama She brought me in this world

Sometimes I feel so bad When I think of all the things I used to do How mama used to clean somebody else’s house Just to buy me a new pair of shoes

I never understood how mama made it through the week When she never ever got a good night's sleep

Talking 'bout mama She's one of a kind Talking 'bout mama You've got your yours, and I've got mine Talking 'bout mama Oh, hey mama, hey mama, my heart belongs to you

This obituary in The Philadelphia Inquirer, tells of the passing of that inspirational mom.

Ruby Gamble, a daughter of the Deep South who came to Philadelphia in 1937 to find work and retired in 1977 as a laboratory technician for the city Department of Health, died March 10 at her home in Mount Airy. She was 96.

Ruby was the inspiration behind her famous son, Kenneth Gamble, who with Leon A. Huff created the iconic "Philadelphia sound" of soul music.

In fact, Ruby was said to have been the inspiration for the Intruders' hit song "I'll Always Love My Mama."

"Our mother was extremely special," Kenny Gamble said. "She was the kindest person in our lives. More importantly, she was the inspiration for everything I have done in life, including creating the wonderful music that others have enjoyed around the world.

Shifting cities, we’ll end in Chicago, with one of the greatest bands of all time, who blended soul, rock, funk, and rhythm into a group who would become known as EWF—Earth, Wind & Fire. I featured them for the holidays in 2019. Included on Last Days and Time, was EWF’s recording of “Mom,” which was also released as a single.

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Sharing the vocals on “Mom” was Jessica Cleaves, who passed in May of 2014.

On May 2, 2014, we said goodbye to the phenomenally talented Jessica Cleaves (born December 10, 1948) of EWF, Friends of Distinction & P-Funk fame. She shared lead vocals on Earth, Wind & Fire's early masterpiece Mom (1972) https://t.co/7WzDGeIAxn #soul #funk #EWF #JessicaCleaves pic.twitter.com/ZASsACYa9r

— DJ Moon Ra (@JointzOfTheDay) May 3, 2020

"Mom"

Mom, the words of love She gave me peace and love She gave me thoughts of love Yeah yeah yeah Mom, pains and joy Ilove her more and more To her I'm still her boy Yeah yeah yeah And in my life I've always dug her And in my life I've always needed her The mom I know I love so well Mom, her face is still the same She never seems to change Her love still remains Mom, the love she gave I love She taught me right from wrong She shared and kept me strong Yeah yeah yeah Mom...mom...mom

It wasn’t until White’s memoir, co-written by Herb Powell, was published in 2016, that people would learn the details about White’s mom.

Powell had known White, who died in February at age 74, for more than 20 years. He met the producer shortly after moving to Los Angeles to pursue a music career; the two became friends. Despite being comfortable with Powell, White was still reticent early on in the interview process. But he soon opened up, and his memoir, "My Life With Earth, Wind & Fire," published this month by Amistad Books, is a revealing look at a man few really knew.


"He was painfully private to the point that when I interviewed family members, and even people in the band, they'd say, 'I did not know that about him,' which was stunning," says Powell, calling from Los Angeles.


For decades, White had told friends and journalists that he had been raised in Memphis by his grandmother. But the woman, Miss Robinson, was not related to him. Edna Parker, White's mother, joined the flood of Southerners migrating North in the 1940s to escape the caste system of the Jim Crow South. She settled in Chicago, leaving 5-year-old White behind. He later joined her and his other siblings, Verdine and Freddie, when he was 18.


"He didn't want his mother to be seen in a bad light," Powell says. "That's why he said he was raised by his grandmother."

His mom married Dr. Verdine Adams in Chicago, and gave birth to Maurice’s half brother Verdine White (Adams) in 1951.

I’ll close here, because alas dear readers, as usual I’ve run out of space in the story for additional tunes, so join me in comments for Bill Withers, Boyz II Men, 2Pac, The Shirelles, Diana Ross and more, and please share your special Mother’s Day tunes with us all.

Whether you have a mom that birthed you, a mom who was a family friend or a family member who raised you, let’s celebrate those moms today.

Happy Mother’s Day!