TOP 40 DEBUT: February 16, 1980
PEAK POSITION: #40 (February 16, 1980)
There’s a long-standing tradition in family bands for siblings to go solo: Michael and Jermaine Jackson, Nick and Joe Jonas, Donny Osmond, all three Gibb brothers. Sometimes these side careers turn out to be successful, sometimes not so much. (We'll be talking about the fiasco that was Barry Gibb’s 1984 effort Now Voyager in a few virtual years.) But eventually, the prodigals tend to return to the fold. They might not stay forever. They might just stay for one album. (Or, in Michael’s case, two songs.) But family is a weird sort of bond; deceptively strong and tricky to break, especially completely.
That’s why Patricia “Bonnie” Pointer is such an interesting case. She’s the Pointer sister who started “The Pointer Sisters” back in 1969 with her youngest sibling, June. She co-wrote the group’s Grammy-winning crossover country hit, 1974’s “Fairytale,” as well as their one-and-only #1 on the R&B charts, “How Long (Betcha’ Got A Chick On The Side).” Bonnie made four albums with her siblings, and then, in 1977, she went solo—just as the remaining Sisters went nuclear.
Between ’78 and ’85, the Pointer Sisters released seven albums, hit the Hot 100 seventeen times, and put seven singles inside Billboard’s Top 10. Over that same time period, Bonnie reached the Top 40 exactly twice, first with “Heaven Must Have Sent You” in October 1979, then with “I Can’t Help Myself (Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch),” which spent two weeks on the lowest rung of the chart in February 1980. To say their careers went in opposite directions barely hints at the true disparity. In 1984, the Pointer Sisters sold three million copies of Break Out off three consecutive Top 10 singles; Bonnie’s album from that same year, If The Price Is Right, never even cracked the Billboard 200.
Most solo siblings in such a situation would probably choose to reunite with their clan, or at least make general overtures in that direction. Bonnie did neither. After 1985, she simply stepped away from music, only resurfacing briefly for occasional shows and one final full-length effort in 2011. Her appearances with her sisters remained infrequent and impromptu; she never sang on a single Pointer Sisters album after 1977. Following her recent passing, Anita Pointer offered this statement: “Bonnie was my best friend and we talked every day. We never had a fight in our life.” They were blood. They had a bond. They were sisters. But for the last 43 years of her life, Bonnie Pointer chose to go it alone.
Bonnie and June, the babies of the eight-person Pointer family, were both still in their teens when they started performing together as Pointers – A Pair back in ’69. Older sibling Anita caught an early show and immediately quit her legal secretary job to join the duo; the newly-expanded trio soon rechristened themselves as the Pointer Sisters. By 1971, they had their first contract with Atlantic Records. That particular deal resulted in a handful of singles that didn’t sell, and the group began bristling against the company’s desire to push them into straight R&B. The Pointers eventually left Atlantic for the creative freedom of the smaller Blue Thumb label, with Bonnie leading the charge: “We’ve decided. We want to sing everything.”
With older sister Ruth now in the mix, the Pointer Sisters reinvented themselves as one of the most eclectic, inventive acts of the era: jazz singing from the Fifties, thrift store threads from the Forties, and attitude from the feminist movement. They tackled be-bop. They tried ragtime. They pulled from about twenty different genres of American music and, somehow, made it work. Bonnie rarely sang lead, but she was an essential harmonic element in the mix, and in 1974, a song she co-wrote with Anita introduced the Pointers to an entirely new audience.
There’s something strangely intoxicating about four African-American women dressed like patrons at the Cotton Club, performing a straight-up, honest-to-goodness country-and-western song. “Fairytale” blew people’s minds, even at a time when radio formats were far less constricted than they’d eventually become. Was this a joke? Were they serious? Or was the whole thing a novelty act? Bonnie, again, set the record straight, while scoffing at the notion of musical puritanism: “People think because we’re always trying something different, we’re not sincere. Like country music... Our folks came from Arkansas and we grew up singing country songs. It’s part of us.”
On October 26, 1974, “Fairytale” peaked at #37 on Billboard’s “Hot Country Singles” chart, one day after the Pointer Sisters became the first African-American vocal group—male or female—to perform at the Grand Ole Opry. Two months later, “Fairytale” crossed over to the pop charts, where the song reached #13 by mid-December. At the 17th Annual Grammy Awards, the Pointers won “Best Country Vocal Performance By A Duo Or Group,” beating out Willie Nelson, Kris Kristofferson, and the Statler Brothers. As co-writer, Bonnie also received a nomination for “Best Country Song.” Within four years, she’d be making disco hits.
Bonnie split from her sisters at a time when the Pointers themselves were at a crossroads. Exhausted from the demands of touring, June had already left the group by early 1976; the following year’s studio album, Having A Party, generated no charting singles and sold poorly. Bonnie took a rare lead turn on the record’s clear standout, “Don’t It Drive You Crazy,” a thrillingly futuristic funk jam that managed to anticipate trip-hop, fifteen years ahead of schedule. (Unsurprisingly, “Crazy” became a U.K. cult hit during the “rare groove” trend of the early ‘90s.) Maybe that was the catalyst that prompted Bonnie to go solo. Or maybe it was her husband.
Jeffrey Bowen joined the Motown family in the late Sixties, writing songs for artists like Marvin Gaye and the Commodores while also producing three Temptations albums between 1967 and 1976. (During this same period, he also worked extensively with General Johnson and Chairmen of the Board.) He and Bonnie began dating in 1978. By December 7th, they were married, and she was signed to Motown Records. Bowen would produce both of her solo records for the label, each unimaginatively titled Bonnie Pointer but commonly referred to as the “Red” (1978) and “Purple” (1979) albums.
Pointer had eclectic taste and a strong artistic identity, but she was also married to a company man in charge of overseeing every aspect of her career. So there’s definitely a whiff of corporate synergy permeating her cover choices, particularly on the second album, where the mantra appeared to be “Motown, but modern.” But I’d argue that Bonnie landed on that approach organically, thanks to the accidental success of her first—and best—hit, a disco take on Motown that wasn’t intended to be disco at all.
The original version of “Heaven Must Have Sent You” had only been a minor hit for the equally minor Elgins in 1966: #50 pop, #9 R&B. That made the song—a Supremes-styled singalong with that imitable Holland-Dozier-Holland stamp—ripe for the remaking. Pointer, who fondly remembered both the Elgins and their one big single, pushed to include a cover on her debut album; that first recording, which appeared on all initial pressings of Bonnie Pointer, hewed tightly to the classic Motown template, right down to the snare-heavy shuffle and a chorus of overdubbed Bonnies handling background vocals. Then she heard “Y.M.C.A.,” and something clicked.
“The Red Album” was already on shelves when Pointer went back to Berry Gordy to suggest they recut the song, this time in an arrangement similar to the Village People’s across-the-board smash. Gordy, reluctantly, agreed to finance an additional session. The result was a pure disco orgy of tubular bells, galloping bass, and heaven-sent strings, topped with Bonnie channeling both Donna Summer and, amazingly, Louie Armstrong. (It’s a 9.) In its new, club-friendly form, “Heaven Must Have Sent You” peaked at #11, while the full seven-minute version went to #8 on Billboard’s “Dance/Disco” chart. Pointer started work on her second record right as the track began blowing up in discotheques; you can’t exactly fault her for leaning hard into that style for her next effort.
1979’s Bonnie Pointer (AKA “The Purple Album”) consists almost entirely of Motown covers: three contemporary, clubby remakes versus two more “faithful” renditions. (The only exception, “Deep Inside My Soul,” is a slow-burn original, co-written by Bonnie and released as a non-charting single.) None match “Heaven” for unadulterated dance-floor ecstasy, and none will make you forget the originals. But if you’re looking for a fun-and-frivolous take on classic warhorses from the Supremes and Martha Reeves, you could do way worse than Pointer’s bright, beaming multi-tracked concoctions—especially the opening track, which is about as fun and frivolous as “disco Motown” ever got.
“I Can’t Help Myself (Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch),” the fourth single ever released by the Four Tops, is one of the unimpeachable standouts of early Motown, maybe one of the ten greatest moments of that whole first era. (I mean, good luck narrowing down that list.) It’s 2:46 of pop perfection, a song that radiates joy and heartache in equal measure, thanks to a monster-truck bassline from James Jamerson and Levi Stubbs’ impassioned, flawless vocal. (“I Can’t Help Myself” peaked at #1 in the summer of ’65, on its way to being the second biggest song of that year. It’s a hard 10.) Over the years, artists from Johnny Rivers to La Toya Jackson to Kid Rock have attempted their own clumsy, inferior versions—with predictably clumsy, terrible results. Bonnie’s cover wasn’t even the first to crack the Top 40; instead, that honor went to Donnie Elbert’s bouncy remake, a #22 pop hit in March 1972. (If you’re like me and never caught this particular version, do yourself a favor and indulge. It’s a great, giddy 8.)
Like Elbert, Pointer managed to capture much of the effervescence of the Four Tops original, while spinning the arrangement off in an entirely different direction. And just like Elbert’s version, hers mostly succeeds by amping up the silliness. Pointer’s “I Can’t Help Myself” is air-quotes disco, deliciously campy from its piano-and-bells overture on down to Bonnie’s coying, sex-kitten vocals. Motown’s iconic string part now struts around in platform heels; after doing a few lines in the men’s room, that immortal bassline reappears as well, jittery and urgent and moving at 200 miles an hour. The entire affair is lovingly, knowingly, gloriously over-the-top. That’s probably why it works so well; only a purist could hate on something this unabashedly entertaining.
The contrast in chart fortunes between “I Can’t Help Myself” and Pointer’s earlier single also provides a handy illustration of the “disco backlash” in real time. In July of ’79, a Top 10 club hit like “Heaven Must Have Sent You” had no problem making similar inroads at Top 40 stations, where it fit comfortably alongside similar fare from Anita Ward and Chic. Seven months later, “I Can’t Help Myself” performed even better on the “Dance/Disco” chart, peaking at #4 on February 16, 1980—the same week it topped out at a lowly #40 on the Hot 100. Roll the calendar back a year, and Bonnie could’ve easily had another smash on her hands. Instead, “I Can’t Help Myself (Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch)” lives on solely in cult circles, one of the last great blasts of unfiltered disco, still unavailable on CD (and streaming services) to this day.
Following the disappointing sales performance of her second solo album, Pointer entered into a contractual dispute with Motown that would last nearly five years. Her third studio effort, issued on a different label, went nowhere; a similar fate befell the two tracks she recorded for the soundtrack to Heavenly Bodies, a 1985 Flashdance rip-off every bit as bad as you’d expect. Bonnie wouldn’t release another piece of music for the next twenty-five years.
In researching this article, I started to speculate about those “lost years.” I wondered if Bonnie ever considered reuniting with her three other sisters, who kept recording and touring well into the Nineties. I considered how their relationship might’ve been affected by her often tumultuous marriage to Bowen, which ended in a 2016 divorce that followed twelve years of legal separation. (That marriage also encompassed Bowen’s ugly 1996 conviction on two counts of battery, following a Christmas Eve altercation where he struck both Bonnie and her sister, June.) In the end, I decided rumors and speculation didn’t matter. Like a lot of talented musicians, Bonnie Pointer lived a sometimes troubled, sometimes messy life. She created her art for her own reasons, on her own timetable; the decisions she made were hers and hers alone.
In February 2020, Anita and Bonnie Pointer released a tribute to their baby sister June, who passed away from cancer in 2006 at the relatively young age of 52. “Feels Like June” marked the first time Bonnie had recorded with any of her siblings since 1977, making her long-delayed reunion with Anita especially poignant. Within a few months, it would also be tinged bittersweet. On June 8, 2020, Bonnie died of cardiac arrest, mere months after the most iconoclastic of all the Pointer sisters finally chose to return, briefly, to the family clan.
GRADE: 6/10
12”ERS: In nearly every country, the official 12” single of “I Can’t Help Myself” simply duplicates the 5:27 album version, which mostly extends a few breakdowns chopped down for the radio edit. (Again, you can’t really purchase or listen to any of these tracks officially.) As for those longer, 7-minute mixes floating around on YouTube? Those come from Disco-Tec Sencillo, a semi-authorized series of colored 12” singles made just for the Mexican market. (For anyone thinking I spend too much time researching these side bits, you’re probably right.)