TOP 40 DEBUT: January 19, 1980
PEAK POSITION: #30 (February 2, 1980)
Rufus needed Chaka Khan more than she needed them. Regardless of actual billing or band hierarchy, the powerhouse vocalist born Yvette Marie Stevens was always the star: seizing the spotlight almost from the moment she joined the biracial collective, then never relinquishing it even as group members came and went around her. Rufus achieved massive R&B success in the Seventies largely due to their frontwoman; unsurprisingly, their decline coincided with Khan’s decision to focus on her newfound solo career. Officially credited to “Rufus and Chaka,” “Do You Love What You Feel” is the kind of co-billing that’s less collaboration than uneasy truce, one of the last big hits from a legendary funk group whose constant state of imbalance eventually tore them apart.
Rufus existed in many incarnations, and under many different names, long before Khan entered the picture. The original unit began as a revamped version of The American Breed, a Chicago-area pop band with a handful of late Sixties hits, most notably the Top 5 single “Bend Me, Shape Me.” (It’s a 5.) By 1969, the Breed’s commercial fortunes were failing; in an attempt to duplicate the success of Sly & The Family Stone, the rhythm section merged with members of Circus (an area funk outfit) and brought in African-American vocalist Paulette McWilliams. This new group reemerged in 1969 under the name Smoke, before legal issues prompted a change to Ask Rufus, a reference to the advice column in the magazine Mechanix Illustrated. By the time they signed to Epic Records in 1971, their moniker had shortened to simply Rufus.
After two singles went nowhere, Epic dropped the septet in early 1972, and Rufus underwent the first of numerous personnel overhauls. In came a new rhythm section, a new keyboardist, and—most importantly—a new female vocalist. McWilliams wanted to leave the band to spend more time with her daughter, and she’d also recently become best friends with Khan through their mutual husbands. Most importantly, Paulette had heard Chaka sing; she knew her new friend could handle the job. The rest of Rufus reluctantly agreed to the vocalist switch—once McWilliams agreed to stay on for a few weeks to train her replacement. When Rufus signed a new contract with ABC Records that same year, Khan was just eighteen years old.
Despite her already obvious vocal prowess, Chaka didn’t have much clout within the band initially. (Considering she was both the group’s youngest member and their sole female, this is not surprising.) Ron Stockert, a multi-instrumentalist brought in after the Epic deal fell apart, initially dictated Rufus’ artistic direction; on their self-titled debut, he wrote and sang lead on four songs, including the first single, “Slip N’ Slide.” But after Stockert’s silly pop number peaked at a miserable #110, ABC execs began to notice how the Khan-sung material was connecting at R&B radio, and “suggested” the band shift their focus accordingly.
Rufus were solid. They had skills and a sound, and they eventually evolved into one of the better funk bands of the Seventies, itself the greatest decade in funk history. But they were always doomed to live in the shadow of Chaka Khan, a singular, generational talent who almost instantly began attracting the attention of other singular talents. Even before the ABC deal happened, Ike Turner had already tried—and failed—to recruit Khan as an Ikette. Two years later, Stevie Wonder was writing songs for her. When he dropped by the recording studio, unannounced, to play Khan the first one, she turned it down. (To clarify: Stevie was coming off back-to-back #1’s, and Chaka was a completely unknown. And still only nineteen.) Unfazed, Wonder came back the next day with “Tell Me Something Good.”
Released in the summer of ’74, “Tell Me Something Good” became Rufus’ first—and biggest—hit on the Hot 100, peaking at #3 and pushing its parent album, Rags To Rufus, to platinum status. (It’s a 9.) Khan co-wrote the second single, “You Got The Love,” with Wonder sideman Ray Parker, Jr., and that became a hit, too. (Ray Parker, Jr. will be appearing many times on this site.) Within months, several big changes occurred within the Rufus pecking order: three members quit, including a now-usurped Stockert; three new members joined, including vocalist/guitarist Tony Maiden; and future albums were now billed to “Rufus featuring Chaka Khan.”
In quick succession, the band released four more albums over the next four years. The first, a hastily recorded follow-up with another pun-rific title (Rufisized), hit #2 on Billboard’s “Top Soul LPs” chart; the next three went to #1. Rufus soon found themselves in the upper echelon of R&B royalty—and in the background. Like it or not, their lead singer was the one sucking up all the attention.
Objectively, this should not have come as a surprise to anyone. Chaka Khan had the powerhouse voice, the sexy stage attire, and the “wild child” personal life. (Again, she had Stevie Wonder writing songs for her.) She was practically telegraphed to become the group’s breakout star. And yet, the inevitability of her fame didn't make the actual fame any easier to stomach for her bandmates, and tensions within the unit quickly grew strained. Unwittingly or not, the cover of 1977’s Ask Rufus captured the situation perfectly: a smiling Chaka blown up to gigantic proportions, the other four members reduced to the point of invisibility.
By the late Seventies, Rufus were coming apart. In 1977, drummer Andre Fischer quit the band following an ugly physical altercation with Khan’s husband where he, allegedly, attacked Khan as well. The following year, Chaka signed a solo deal with Warner Brothers. In retaliation, Rufus recorded their next album without Khan, turning lead vocals over to Maiden and newly-hired keyboardist David “Hawk” Wolinski. The results played out exactly as you’d expect. 1978’s Chaka went platinum off the strength of the #1 R&B hit “I’m Every Woman,” which continues to live on—partially due to Whitney Houston and Oprah Winfrey—as a quintessential feminist anthem, especially for women of color. Meanwhile, 1979’s Numbers, featuring no Chaka and no hits, became Rufus’ worst seller since their debut.
Masterjam, the album that produced “Do You Love What You Feel,” almost didn’t happen at all. With solo success straining her relationships within the band even further, Khan was fully prepared to quit Rufus as early as ’78—until MCA (the label that bought out ABC Records) informed her she still owed two records on her original deal. So it’s no surprise that a whiff of contractual obligation permeates most of Masterjam, an erratic effort that often (and accurately) sounds like Rufus and Chaka recorded their parts as far away from each other as possible. But none of that friction affects “Do You Love What You Feel.” For all the acrimony, both parties were smart enough to realize that this particular song, if done properly, could be an absolute monster.
Khan first entered the orbit of Quincy Jones when she guested on “Stuff Like That,” the leadoff track from Q’s 1978 release Sounds… And Stuff Like That! (Chaka shared lead vocals on the song with Ashford & Simpson, the duo who wrote “I’m Every Woman.” Chaka’s predecessor in Rufus, Paulette McWilliams, worked with Quincy on his 1975 album, Mellow Madness. Cross-pollination was a real thing in ‘70s R&B.) Like every other musician with ears, Jones was enraptured by Khan’s voice, and gladly offered his production services for her next studio album.
The summer of ’79 found Quincy working concurrently on both Masterjam and Michael Jackson’s Off The Wall, so it’s not surprising that “Do You Love What You Feel” shares plenty of musical DNA with MJ’s first masterpiece. The crisp, clean arrangements? That effortless blend of disco and funk? The swooping strings and Seawind Horns? That’s all quality Q production. Making the connection even more explicit, Jones recruited half of Rufus—drummer John Robinson, bassist Bobby Watson, and keyboardist Wolinski—to play on what would become Off The Wall’s biggest hit, “Rock With You.” (Believe it or not, that’s McWilliams on uncredited backing vocals as well. Cross-pollination was absolutely a thing.) Sadly, the world never got a true Thriller-style match-up between Chaka and Quincy. But we did get “Do You Love What You Feel,” and that’s not nothing.
Top to bottom, “Do You Love What You Feel” is a pure jam: sleek and pristine, funky around the edges with a breezy pop center. Whatever tension might’ve permeated the sessions doesn’t impact the song itself, and at no point does the vibe slip into “Chaka plus backing band” territory. From the opening downbeat, Watson and Robinson lock into a crisp, lean strut, leaving plenty of space for Kevin Murphy to swap sprightly keyboard lines with song composer Wolinski. (Kudos to whichever one came up with that squawking synth hook.) Even Maiden, in a break from his usual support role, gets a rare verse to himself. He doesn’t attempt to go toe-to-toe with Chaka; he knows that’s a rookie mistake. But you can sense why the two stayed friends long after Khan parted ways with the rest of Rufus. They treat the entire track as one long duet, playing off each other in different ways and milking the groove for all it’s worth.
And let’s not kid ourselves: “Do You Love What You Feel” is nearly all groove. The chorus is more chant than actual melody; the back half of the song simply rides the same progression into a state of dance floor bliss. It’s the kind of uncluttered, minimal funk that later paid pop dividends for Kool & The Gang, The S.O.S. Band, and longtime Quincy allies Brothers Johnson. (They provide percussion duties here, mere months before releasing their own, even bigger Q-produced single.) And it’s also a sound that some big names would repurpose in the years to come—namely unabashed Chaka Khan fan Prince, whose brilliant “Lady Cab Driver” (from 1982’s 1999) certainly seems to be “paying homage” to Rufus’ whistling flute line.
One of Chaka’s more underrated talents is confidence; she doesn’t need to shout to take a track over. On “Do You Love What You Feel,” she barely belts at all, allowing the beat, and the band, to share the workload. Her first standout section—the repeated “I wanna dance all/ I wanna dance all/ I wanna dance all nigh-e-i-e-ight” hook—happens entirely in her low register and feels wonderfully tossed-off. In the long outro, she’s jazz-scatting and ad-libbing, while still leaving plenty of space for Maiden to do his thing. Even the explosive Chaka moment, when it finally comes at 2:30, scarcely draws attention; it dominates and drops away, a quick flash of power like a gangster’s gun inside his jacket.
In a nice bit of serendipity, “Do You Love What You Feel” wound up being the final #1 song of 1979 on Billboard’s R&B chart, ceded the crown to “Rock With You” as the decades turned over. On the pop side, though, Rufus’ single couldn’t match Jackson’s crossover success, eventually stalling out at #30. Jones and Khan wouldn’t work together again for ten years; their next collaboration, however, would be another R&B #1, and a Grammy winner to boot. (Again, I’m baffled why a real Quincy-Chaka pairing never happened.)
Khan released a few more solo albums, which sold well, if not spectacularly. Rufus released a few more albums, which didn’t sell at all. (Not even the contractually obligated one with Chaka in ‘81.) And then, against all odds, both parties patched up their differences for one last great, glorious hurrah. Believe it or not, Rufus and Chaka Khan—together—will be returning to this site in just a few years.
GRADE: 8/10
I WANT MY MTV: I’m fascinated by this promo—and not just because we’re getting quick cuts and video wipes as early as 1979. In less than four minutes, “Do You Love What You Feel” neatly encapsulates the entire dichotomy between Khan and the rest of her band. Despite the director giving equal time to all six members of Rufus (even the boring ones), it’s obvious the camera only loves one person. Chaka Khan in purple sequined hot pants and thigh-high boots: How did these guys ever think they could compete?
BONUS BITS: MC Shy D sampled a huge chunk of “Do You Love What You Feel” for his 1987 single “I Wanna Dance,” an early example of Miami bass that arrived a year after 2 Live Crew’s debut. (MC Shy D was also signed to Luther Campbell’s Luke Skyywalker Records.)
12”ERS: Here’s the nearly six-minute “Special U.S. Disco Mix,” which is a fancy way of saying “the unedited version.” 12” cuts from this era of R&B nearly always wax the floor with their shorter, neutered counterparts; the infectious, club-ready extended take of “Do You Love What You Feel” is no exception.