Ray, Goodman & Brown – “Special Lady”

TOP 40 DEBUT: February 16, 1980

PEAK POSITION: #5 (April 19, 1980)

By 1980, the era of symphonic soul was effectively over. Most of the movement’s principal artists—from Billy Paul to Barry White, the Delfonics to the Stylistics—were in deep decline, along with the genre’s premiere label, Philadelphia International Records. Two of the genre’s pioneers, Isaac Hayes and the O’Jays, would each land their final Top 40 hit as the decade began. (They would even peak during the same week: February 2, 1980.) The acts who survived did it by drastically changing course: The Spinners mounted a brief comeback after abandoning symphonic soul for discofied Fifties covers; Teddy Pendergrass carved out a successful solo career after abandoning his bandmates in Harold Melvin & The Blue Notes. Lush, orchestrated R&B didn’t disappear, of course, but the sound evolved, as individual “quiet storm” artists replaced aging vocal groups with matching suits and multi-part harmonies. Older audience still appreciated “grown folks” music, but increasingly, radio stations and record companies wanted younger “folks” to make it.

“Love On A Two-Way Street” might be one of the earliest—and most successful—examples of the symphonic soul genre, spending five weeks atop Billboard’s R&B chart while peaking at #3 pop in May 1970. The group behind the song, a shifting lineup of vocalists known as the Moments, never came close to hitting the Top 10 again. After eventually solidifying as a trio, the Moments only reached the Top 40 twice more, with their last appearance coming in 1975 via the #39 single “Look At Me (I’m In Love).” By ‘79, they were eager to jump ship to a better label—only to discover their former one wouldn’t let them use the “Moments” name. Undeterred, the three men simply combined their own surnames to form a new moniker: Ray, Goodman & Brown.

That should’ve been the end of the story: Obscure soul outfits tend to stay obscure, especially after losing their only piece of brand awareness. Instead, something incredible happened. Ray, Goodman & Brown watched as the very first single released under their new name went all the way to #5 on the Hot 100, nearly matching the peak of their one hit from ten years earlier. (The track also topped the R&B charts for one week, bookended by Shalamar and the Whispers.) “Special Lady” doesn’t exactly announce itself as a splashy career comeback; it’s a blissfully uncomplicated song, low-key and almost charmingly old-fashioned. But in the annals of Billboard history, “Special Lady” stands out as a wonderful, and bizarre, example of chart randomness: three men in their mid-thirties, a decade past their hitmaking prime, reaching the Top 5 with a song practically lifted from an earlier era—and a name lifted from an accounting firm.

As with so many acts signed to tiny R&B labels in the mid-Sixties, the early history of the Moments is convoluted and filled with discrepancies. The original group formed in 1965 in Washington, D.C. (and not Hackensack, New Jersey, although they eventually settled there). Only three men appeared on the Moments’ debut single for Hog Records: John Morgan, Richard Gross, and Eric Olfus, Sr. (Although a fourth member, Mark Greene, joined shortly thereafter.) Three years later, the quartet signed with Stang Records, a brand-new label started by Sylvia Robinson—the female half of Fifties duo Mickey & Sylvia—and her husband, Joe. Over the next decade, Sylvia produced the Moments’ recordings, wrote many of their songs, sang (uncredited) backup on their albums, and even (briefly) installed her brother-in-law as a temporary member. But she played no part in their original formation, no matter what The New York Times says. (Although in 1979, Robinson did create the first million-selling hip-hop act in an Englewood, NJ parking lot. That insane story is worth a read.)

The first full-length Moments release, 1969’s Not On The Outside… But On The Inside, Strong!, pictured three men on the cover: William “Billy” Brown, Al Goodman, and Morgan again. These were not the only individuals singing on the album itself. All nine tracks had been recorded individually over a period of about eighteen months, during which time Greene, Gross, and Olfus quit and got replaced by Brown and Goodman; to save money, Robinson simply preserved the original backing tracks and recut the main vocal with a newer member. (Just to provide perspective, this was the same organization that misidentified Richard Gross as “Richie Horsley” for decades. On legal documents.) “Love On A Two-Way Street” followed that same cost-cutting pattern, with Brown recording his now-iconic lead performance over backing harmonies from guys he’d never met. Like every other facet of the Moments’ history, the details are murky; that said, there’s an excellent chance only one-third of Ray, Goodman & Brown actually sang on their biggest hit.

“Love On A Two-Way Street” was originally recorded in ’68 by fellow Stang artist Lezli Valentine, who later claimed she composed most of the lyrics but was denied songwriting credit. (By now, none of this should be surprising.) Officially, Sylvia Robinson wrote the song with Burt Keyes, a prominent musician and arranger from the pre-rock era. Keyes played piano during the recording session, alongside members of Willie & The Mighty Magnificents; he’s also the man responsible for those majestic, sweeping string parts. Valentine’s version wasn’t a hit, and neither was the Moments’ rendition at first. In early 1970, Stang Records remixed the track—mainly to minimize an off-key guitar note that dominated the original Outside mix—and released it as a single. Within months, “Love On A Two-Way Street” had sold a million copies.

Despite questionable business practices and shady marketing, the Moments’ one shining moment (ahem) now stands as a soul milestone, a towering example of the form and a justifiable classic. (It’s definitely a 10.) “Love On A Two-Way Street” turned heartache into ecstasy and pop music into transcendence, thanks to Brown’s perfectly fragile falsetto and an arrangement as stately as a royal procession. (Jay-Z knew what he was doing when he sampled the opening for his first #1 single, “Empire State Of Mind,” another 10.) The song would be covered over the years from artists as varied as Boz Scaggs, Gloria Estefan, and jazz guitarist Grant Green. (One remake will even appear on this site when we reach 1981.) None of them came close to topping the original. The Moments kept having hits, at least on the R&B charts. None of those could top “Love On A Two-Way Street” either.

The Moments went through one last personnel change in 1970, as Harry Ray replaced John Morgan to finally create the group’s first consistent lineup. Ray sang lead on the trio’s next single, “If I Didn’t Care,” a #7 R&B hit that kicked off their second album, A Moment With The Moments. (Of course, Sylvia’s brother-in-law appeared on the cover instead of their newest member, because nothing about this group could ever be straightforward.) Ray and Brown fell into a pattern of dividing lead vocals equally, with Goodman handling the bass duties in their glorious, golden three-part harmonies. A few more releases found the Top 10 of Billboard’s “Hot Soul Singles” chart, including “All I Have” (#9), “Sexy Mama” (#3), and the aforementioned “Look At Me (I’m In Love)” (their second R&B #1). After ’75, the hits mostly dried up. Four years later, when Polydor Records—the home of Gloria Gaynor and Peaches & Herb—came calling, the Moments sensed an opportunity.

Officially, Ray, Goodman & Brown left Stang due to “creative differences.” Unofficially… I mean, you’ve been reading this article, right? Considering the Robinsons' propensity for skulduggery, it probably would’ve been stranger to see the trio allowed to keep their original moniker. (In 1980, Sylvia created an entirely new Moments lineup to record the single “Baby Let’s Rap Now” for her new Sugar Hill label; again, none of this is surprising.) I still question the marketing acumen behind Ray, Goodman & Brown’s decision to rebrand as a legal team, especially with none of those particular surnames carrying weight outside—or, honestly, inside—the R&B community. But these guys were fleeing a company that treated every member of their group as inherently expendable. Maybe they just wanted a name with built-in job security.

Ray and Goodman penned “Special Lady” with Walter Morris, a staff producer and guitarist at the Robinsons’ parent company, All Platinum. The three men had written together for years, composing tracks for the Moments and others; Morris was actually credited on the album as “Lee Walter” (his first and middle names reversed), presumably to avoid Sylvia’s wrath. “Special Lady” mined the same smooth vein as the trio’s previous work, with zero concessions made to current trends and no attempt to modernize their approach for a younger audience. You could’ve easily added the single at any R&B station between ‘71 and ’75, where its falsetto lushness would’ve slotted seamlessly alongside the Chi-Lites and the Stylistics, the Delfonics and the Dramatics. “Special Lady” wasn’t just accidentally retro, or self-consciously retro. For Ray, Goodman & Brown, “retro” was their entire hook.

It’s a tricky thing, reproducing a style only a little out-of-fashion. The wrong production method, the wrong instruments, even the wrong reverb plate can throw the entire operation out of whack. I wish Polydor had given credit to the individual musicians on “Special Lady,” because they’re almost spookily good at nailing that pseudo-Philly soul vibe: the floating electric piano, those gently cooing strings, super-clean guitar stabs with no bottom end. I particularly love the clavinets in either speaker, gurgling away like a pair of grumpy toads, or that two-note guitar figure straight out of “Strawberry Letter #23.” Only a discordant sax ruins the illusion, showboating like an Eighties cheese-meister while the rest of the band is playing a decade behind the beat.

The smartest move Ray, Goodman & Brown made on “Special Lady” was just being themselves. That acappella opening—nothing but the three of them, casually harmonizing and dropping asides like they’re singing doo-wop on some street corner back in Jersey—sets the scene, the mood, your entire expectations for the song. It puts you at ease. It gets you on their side. Al, bring that bass out, man, followed immediately by Goodman’s Hey man, I’ll bring it out a little bit more: That shit’s corny, but it works. These men were pros. They knew exactly what they were doing. (As proof, the full album found them pulling this same acapella trick twice more.)

“Special Lady” is sweet soul at its sweetest, tender love at its tenderest. Every second exists out of time, simple and unhurried and so unabashedly earnest you either buy in completely or reject the entire proposition outright. I’m not a huge fan of the decade’s bubble-bathy slow-jams, but this one is different; there’s something about the trio’s good-natured geniality that makes it impossible to root against them. “Special Lady” can’t possibly measure up to the R&B classics it’s striving to emulate, so Ray, Goodman & Brown settle for a more modest objective: romance in its classiest form, candlelit dinners and a dozen roses. (Again, it’s corny, but it works.) For couples of a certain age, “Special Lady” undoubtedly provided the soundtrack for a hundred date nights. For kids of a certain age, “Special Lady” might be the reason they exist.

Ray, Goodman & Brown never replicated their left-field magic again on the pop charts; “Special Lady” would be the trio’s first-and-only Top 40 single, though they continued to land additional R&B hits throughout the rest of 1980. (“Inside Of You” and “Happy Anniversary” are both particularly good if you enjoy this style of throwback soul.) Future Polydor albums didn’t sell, and after the label dropped them in ’82, Ray went back to the Robinsons to start a brief solo career. Goodman and Brown carried on with Kevin Owens, a former backing vocalist for Luther Vandross. In lieu of changing the group name yet again, Owens simply adopted the nickname “Ray.”

The “original” Ray returned to the fold for one album with EMI, which generated the 1986 comeback single “Take It To The Limit” (#8 R&B). But his second Moments stint would be cut tragically short. On October 1, 1992, Harry Ray passed away after suffering a sudden stroke; he was just 45 years old. Owens stepped in for a second time, as Ray, Goodman & Brown hit the oldies circuit, appearing on package tours with fellow “classic soul” acts. But tragedy struck again on July 26, 2010, when Al Goodman died of heart failure at the age of 67. In May 2016, Brown suffered a stroke as well.

And yet, like so many great soul groups, Ray, Goodman & Brown survived. William “Billy” Brown made a full recovery. He returned to the road, with newest member Larry Winfree filling the shoes of the late Goodman. 2019 found him celebrating both the fiftieth anniversary of the Moments, and four decades with his “newer” band. Right up until COVID-19 cancelled the concert industry, Ray, Goodman & Brown were still out there touring, still performing to appreciative audiences, and still ending every encore with “Special Lady.”

GRADE: 7/10

BONUS BITS: Wikipedia claims Ray, Goodman & Brown provided the backing vocals on Alicia Keys’ “You Don’t Know My Name,” her #1 R&B smash from late 2003. This is incorrect. (So many discrepancies with these poor guys.) But they did appear with Keys on a live performance of the song, recorded that same year for “Sessions @ AOL.” Here’s the pretty fantastic video footage, which also includes a nice bit of “Special Lady.”

BONUS BONUS BITS: Here’s “Black Woman,” one of the first hip-hop tracks to sample “Special Lady,” from the Jungle Brothers’ second album, 1989’s Done By The Forces Of Nature. The relevant part appears around 2:00. (Side note: If that female vocal sounds familiar, that’s because it belongs to Caron Wheeler of the British collective Soul II Soul. So help me, Caron and Soul II Soul will eventually appear on this site, even if it takes twenty years.)

BONUS BONUS BONUS BITS: Ghostface Killah tackles that “Special Lady” chorus about 23 seconds into “Jellyfish,” a deep cut from 2006’s critically-acclaimed Fishscale. You’ll never hear me utter a negative word about Ghostface, so let’s just say he gets a little “creative” with his pitch control here.