Betty Davis - They Say I'm Different

 #Betty Davis #funk #R&B #soul #funk rock #singer-songwriter #1970s

There is one testimonial about Betty Davis that is universal: She was an artist ahead of her time. From her brief moment in the limelight to her decades of living as a recluse until her death in 2022, Betty Davis was a beautiful enigma. A drop-dead gorgeous model (and one of the first Black models to be featured in Glamour and Seventeen), Betty ran in crowds with Jimi Hendrix and was briefly married to Miles Davis (not to mention she played a large part in his stylistic radicalization). Her demure demeanor in life starkly contrasted with her onstage persona which oozed raw feminist liberation, a truly original punk-funk provocateur in her silver go-go boots and signature afro. One can hardly imagine the genre-busting, culture-crossing, musical magic of Janelle Monáe, OutKast, Prince, Erykah Badu, Rick James, The Roots, or Madonna without the influence of R&B pioneer Betty Davis. Rappers from Ice Cube to Talib Kweli to Ludacris have rhymed over her intensely strong but sensual music. Yet somehow, Ms. Davis’s unique story, still widely unknown, is unlike any other in popular music.
Betty wrote the song “Uptown” for the Chambers Brothers before marrying Miles Davis in the late 60s, influencing him with psychedelic rock and introducing him to Jimi Hendrix — personally inspiring the classic album Bitches Brew. But her songwriting ability was way ahead of its time, as well. Betty not only wrote every song she ever recorded and produced every album after her first but also penned the tunes that got The Commodores signed to Motown. The Detroit label soon came calling, pitching a Motown songwriting deal which Betty turned down. Motown wanted to own everything, but that didn't fly with Betty and her DIY ethos. Marc Bolan of T. Rex urged the creative dynamo to start writing for herself. She would eventually say no to Eric Clapton as her album producer, seeing him as too banal.
In 1973, Davis would finally kick off her cosmic career with an amazingly progressive hard funk, sweet soul, self-titled debut. Betty Davis showcased her fiercely unique talent with such gems as “If I’m In Luck I Might Get Picked Up” and “Game Is My Middle Name.” The album was recorded with Sly & The Family Stone’s rhythm section, sharply produced by Sly Stone drummer Greg Errico, and featured backing vocals from Sylvester and The Pointer Sisters. Her 1974 sophomore album They Say I’m Different features a worthy-of-framing futuristic cover challenging David Bowie’s science fiction funk with real rocking soul-fire, kicked off with the savagely sexual “Shoo-B-Doop and Cop Him”. Her follow-up is full of classic cuts like “Don’t Call Her No Tramp” and the hilarious, hard, deep funk of “He Was A Big Freak.” Betty Davis was riding high in the 70s. A new record label, a series of high-profile relationships, and intensely sexualized live performances made her a rising star. It seemed like everything was aligned to take the music world by storm. So Betty and band got back into the studio where she would act as writer, producer, and performer, creating her definitive release–Nasty Gal. Her entire catalog has now been lovingly remastered from the original tapes by Light in the Attic to sound as ferocious and revolutionary as they did when they first sprung on an unsuspecting world in the early 70s.  From: https://lightintheattic.net/collections/betty-davis

Betty Davis - Nasty Gal

 #Betty Davis #funk #R&B #soul #funk rock #singer-songwriter #1970s

Picture yourself in a hot sweaty New York City nightclub in 1969, surrounded by the musical elite: Miles Davis, Jimi Hendrix, Sly Stone. The drums are pounding, an out-of-tune guitar is wailing. A beautiful woman crawls across the stage, growling into the microphone, her voice summoning fierce femininity and raw sexual energy, taking rock ‘n’ roll into a new era of sound — gritty, unbridled and raunchy. No, it’s not Janis Joplin or Tina Turner. Her name is Betty Davis. But no one would fault you if this wasn’t your first guess. When Betty Davis died on Feb. 9, the world lost a groundbreaking artist who created and inspired many of the famous sounds of the 1970s, and yet her name was omitted from the lexicon of musical history until recently. Obituaries are pouring forth, lauding her genius and contributions and lamenting her lack of commercial success. What very few of these official records of Davis’ life will state outright, however, is that her lack of recognition was a direct result of misogyny and racism.
Growing up in 1990s Berkeley, I had no clue Betty Davis existed. Bay Area rock was Santana, the Grateful Dead, Journey. Rock ‘n’ roll spoke to this 14-year-old Black girl’s alienation and frustration with the world, but also perpetuated those same feelings of alienation. I was the lone Black female face at every concert I went to. Local bands Green Day and Rancid were carrying on Berkeley’s rock legacy, yet that lineage was consistently represented as male and mostly white. I first learned about her by reading Miles Davis’ autobiography. By this point I was a professional background singer touring with local funk bands. Even as I performed with artists such as George Clinton or sang alongside members of Fishbone, I still thought my role in rock was to support a man musically. In his book, Miles described his second wife as an unparalleled performer. The woman who inspired his 1970 album “Bitches Brew.” The woman who changed his style and musical ear. It was an inspiring recollection of her. But Betty Davis remained a rock ‘n’ roll mirage. What happened to her? How had this larger-than-life woman been reduced to an anecdote in her ex-husband’s book?
In 1968, Betty Davis (then Betty Mabry) was a fixture of the New York club scene. She had built somewhat of a name for herself as a songwriter, most notably penning the Chambers Brothers’ hit “Uptown (to Harlem).” Known for her wild stage antics, flamboyant fashion and sexual magnetism, she was primed for stardom. She was friends with Jimi Hendrix and Sly Stone. She went from dating South African trumpeter Hugh Masekela to marrying American trumpeter Miles Davis in 1968. By the next year, she was recording her first album for Columbia Records with her husband at the helm. Betty Davis embodied punk rock and brought feminine sexuality to the fore, long before Madonna writhed in a wedding dress singing “Like a Virgin.” She created gritty punk/funk long before Rick James proclaimed it as his own. She bought Miles Davis his first wah-wah pedal, inspiring his foray into fusion with “Bitches Brew.” She was gestating the future of music but, even then, the record execs balked at her fierce rock ‘n’ roll. When her relationship with Miles dissolved, her recordings were shelved in a vault. Leaving New York behind, Betty migrated to San Francisco, finding communion within the Bay Area’s music community. Recorded at San Francisco’s renowned Wally Heider Studios, her debut album, “Betty Davis,” featured the region’s top musicians, including members of Sly & the Family Stone, Santana and the Pointer Sisters. It was a confident, alluring funk record, and it declared her prowess as both a woman and a rock star. She followed it up with “They Say I’m Different,” recorded at Sausalito’s Record Plant, and “Nasty Gal,” for which she went back to New York. Davis released these albums in a burst of creative energy, one each year from 1973 to 1975. Betty’s music should have fit right into the social climate of free love, feminism and civil rights in 1970s San Francisco. Instead, the public backlash was swift and crippling. The NAACP teamed up with conservative church groups to have her banned from radio for “indecency.” She was boycotted. Prevented from performing. Her album sales floundered. While white women were allowed to be sexually liberated in the free-love era, Black women were not. While Black men were allowed to gyrate onstage, Black women were not. The same sexual magnetism that made Robert Plant famous was indecent coming from Betty Davis. The American people couldn’t handle a fully empowered Black woman like Betty Davis making rock ‘n’ roll.
Eventually her music went out of print, and she went on to live a quiet private life far from her previous incarnation as a punk-funk queen. Then, as the decades passed, the tides began to change. In 2007, I opened a copy of The Chronicle with the headline “A funk queen steps out of the shadows,” written by acclaimed music critic Jeff Chang, about two of Betty Davis’ albums being rereleased. I clipped the article, ran to Amoeba Records and listened to her music. In the newspaper’s picture, I saw myself. In the music, I heard who I could be as a funk diva. With each Betty Davis rerelease, multitudes of young Black women have been able to see their embodied selves through her music. And thankfully, Betty, who died at 77, lived long enough to see it. Nearly 50 years after the release of her debut alum, Betty Davis has legions of disciples, each of us born from her vision of Black female empowerment. Amongst my local community of Black women in rock, I hear these sentiments echoed. “She showed me I could have raunchy, sex-kitten swag, and still be soft,” Oakland rock musician Femi Andrades told me. “Her music gave permission to express my rage, my sexuality, myself, unfiltered. Raw.” Berkeley singer-songwriter Viveca Hawkins said simply, “I’m grateful to know that it’s OK to be that bold.”
From: https://datebook.sfchronicle.com/music/how-betty-davis-paved-the-way-for-black-women-in-rock-and-funk