TOP 40 DEBUT: January 26, 1980
PEAK POSITION: #2 (March 29, 1980)
For so many legendary soul groups, it was all about surviving. The Isley Brothers needed eight years to score their first R&B hit, and another seven more to reach the Top 10 of Billboard’s pop chart. The Temptations’ early losing streak at Motown earned them the nickname “The Hitless Temptations.” And, as detailed in an earlier entry, the O’Jays didn’t crack the Top 40 for their first fourteen years of existence. By that metric, the Spinners were practically an overnight success, landing their first hit a mere seven years after initially forming in Ferndale, Michigan.
But the Spinners’ path to success was anything but smooth. Like the Isleys, they took more than a decade to fully cross over to the pop mainstream, and like the O’Jays, they needed Philly soul to get there. And unlike their more decorated peers, the Spinners never developed a true signature sound: They passed through multiple labels and producers, scattered their hits across a variety of vocalists, and collaborated with everyone from Dionne Warwick to Elton John. But their adaptive nature also made them resilient. Few veteran soul acts in their third decade would’ve teamed with a disco producer to record a Four Seasons cover; fewer still would’ve resurrected their whole career as a result. The Spinners did both. The Spinners knew how to survive.
In 1954, five friends from the housing projects north of Detroit formed a vocal group called The Domingoes. Seven years later, they’d changed their name to the Spinners and scored their first Top 40 hit, “That’s What Girls Are Made For,” on the regional label Tri-Phi Records. The man behind Tri-Phi was Harvey Fuqua, a legendary R&B figure who founded the Moonglows, discovered Marvin Gaye, and distributed Motown’s first hit single with his wife Gwen Gordy (sister of Berry). When Tri-Phi folded into Motown a few years later, Fuqua brought the Spinners along. But the group languished at the label; Gordy viewed them as a second-tier act, giving them little promotion and only releasing one single per year from 1964 through ’69. At various points during their Motown tenure, members of the Spinners found themselves working for more famous groups as road managers, chauffeurs, or even shipping clerks in the label’s warehouse.
The Spinners’ belated breakthrough finally came in 1970, thanks to “It’s A Shame,” the first song Stevie Wonder ever produced for an outside artist. (He also composed the track along with his wife, Syreeta Wright, and collaborator Lee Garrett.) Buoyed by a tough-but-tender arrangement and G.C. Cameron’s spellbinding lead vocal, “It’s A Shame” became a sizable hit for Motown—#14 pop, #4 R&B—despite sounding like nothing else Motown was making at the time. (I love this song so, so much. It’s an easy 10.) And still their label had no idea what to do with them. The follow-up single, “We’ll Have It Made,” stalled at #89; a full-length album, 2nd Time Around, withered and died at #199. When Aretha Franklin encouraged the group to jump ship to Atlantic Records once their contract with Gordy expired, the Spinners didn’t hesitate.
At Atlantic, the Spinners finally found their groove—with a little help from Thom Bell. As one of the principal architects behind “Philly soul,” Bell worked alongside Kenny Gamble and Leon Huff to arrange the lush, symphonic sound heard on early Seventies hits like “Me And Mrs. Jones,” “If You Don’t Know Me By Now,” and “Back Stabbers.” (All 10s, in case you were wondering.) But beyond his commissions for Gamble & Huff’s Philly International label, Bell also began cultivating a similar aesthetic with his own stable of artists. By the time Atlantic approached him to work with the Spinners, he’d already written and produced more than a dozen Top 20 R&B hits for the Delfonics and the Stylistics over a four-year period.
The first collaboration between Thom Bell and the Spinners, “I’ll Be Around,” appeared in stores in July 1972. Initially released as the B-side to “How Could I Let You Get Away,” “I’ll Be Around” soon turned into an across-the-board smash, peaking at #3 on the Hot 100, staying at #1 for five weeks on the R&B chart, and selling over a million copies. (It’s another 10.) Stylistically, the song manages to be both orchestrally grandiose and unsentimentally earthbound, an updated “It’s A Shame” redrawn with a Philly soul palette. For the next five years, the Spinners would use a similar template—Bell handling the arrangements and production, Philadelphia all-stars MFSB providing instrumentation—to uncork one of the greatest runs in soul music history.
More than most vocal groups, the Spinners wielded their versatility like a weapon. Cameron, the voice behind their first big hit, had chosen to remain behind at Motown—mostly due to contractual obligations, partially because of an ongoing affair with a now-divorced Gwen Gordy—so the Spinners simply replaced him with his cousin, Phillipé Wynne. Wynne shared lead duties with original member Bobby Smith on the group’s second Atlantic single, the exquisite ballad “Could It Be I’m Falling In Love” (#4 pop, #1 R&B, yet another 10). Both men again split the vocal on “One Of A Kind (Love Affair)” (a 7), while “Ghetto Child” (an 8) brought Henry Fambrough (another original member) into the mix and divided the lead into three portions. Four different singles, four different styles, and four huge R&B hits: That’s how quickly the Spinners reversed their fortunes with just their first Atlantic album.
From ‘73 through ‘76, the quintet could do no wrong, landing additional R&B chart-toppers with 1975’s “Games People Play” (an easygoing pseudo-duet between Smith and backing vocalist Evette Benton) and the next year’s slinky Wynne showcase “The Rubberband Man.” An “official” duet, this time with Dionne Warwick on “Then Came You,” gave the Spinners their first—and only—pop #1. (In case you missed it, this earlier Dionne entry provides the entire backstory.) But when Wynne decided to leave for a solo career in early 1977, he accidentally upset the whole group dynamic. His replacement, John Edwards, clashed with Bell’s production style, and the material started to suffer. The hits dried up. The Spinners lost their mojo.
Over the next three years, the closest the group came to the Top 40 was an uncredited vocal assist on “Mama Can’t Buy You Love,” the Elton John comeback single originally recorded in ’77 during an aborted, Bell-produced studio stint. (The Thom Bell Sessions EP finally appeared in June 1979, and “Mama” peaked at #9 two months later. It’s a 7.) The Spinners tried to capitalize by releasing their own version of a different Thom Bell Sessions cut, “Are You Ready For Love.” It missed the Hot 100 completely. Clearly, the formula that had worked so well for so long wasn’t working anymore, and drastic changes were required. To an outsider, replacing a legendary producer like Bell with a disco one-hit wonder must’ve seemed like a blatant sellout move. For the Spinners, it was a survival tactic.
Michael Zager began his career playing in the sprawling rock band Ten Wheel Drive until their breakup in ‘74, at which point he segued into composing music for television commercials. On the side, he started releasing disco records, occasionally finding embryonic talent in the process; 1975’s “Do It With Feeling” featured vocals from a young Peabo Bryson, while 1979’s “Life’s A Party” gave a 14-year-old Whitney Houston her very first recording credit. (Whitney and Peabo will both be appearing on this site eventually, albeit separately.) In late ’77, “Let’s All Chant”—credited to the Michael Zager Band and released on the tiny Private Stock label—became an unexpected smash, peaking at #1 on Billboard’s “Hot Disco Singles” and selling five million copies worldwide. Less than two years later, Zager started producing the Spinners.
I’m still not entirely sure how Zager parlayed one weirdly successful single into manning the boards for one of the decade’s premier soul ensembles. Yes, the Spinners were coming off a few down years, and yes, “Let’s All Chant” did huge business in the clubs. But Zager didn’t have Thom Bell’s resume in 1979 (nor does he now), and “Chant,” to put it kindly, is pure disco dreck. Still, for whatever reason, both parties committed completely to the endeavor; the resulting album, Dancin’ and Lovin’, dropped the Spinners in the middle of Studio 54’s glitter-strewn dancefloor and, surprisingly, kinda made it work. Even more surprisingly, the record’s second single didn’t just return the group to the charts. “Working My Way Back To You/Forgive Me Girl” wound up matching “The Rubberband Man” as the Spinners’ second biggest pop hit ever.
There’s a danger in judging a group’s later work against the impossibly high standards of their classic period. Obviously, “Working My Way Back To You” can’t compare to the effortless strut of “The Rubberband Man” (an absolute 10), or “I’ll Be Around,” or “It’s A Shame,” or a dozen other gems scattered throughout the Spinners’ back catalog. It doesn’t possess the majesty of the “Philadelphia Sound” in its prime, and beyond the Spinners themselves, the song has no connection to Philly soul at all. But taken on its own merits, “Working My Way Back To You” is an absolute delight, the kind of out-of-nowhere comeback single that succeeds well enough to reserve its own place inside an incredibly distinguished canon.
Dancin’ and Lovin’ is very much a disco album. “Working” is far and away the biggest song from said disco album. But that doesn’t make “Working” an actual disco song. (This is what philosophers call a “logical fallacy.”) There’s a steady beat of 122 BPM, a few string flourishes, and the drums are prominent in the mix. But that’s where the “disco” connection ends. The track’s sleek, smooth propulsion would’ve worked in any era, while other parts of the arrangement—the clean electric leads, keyboards simulating bell chimes, a straight-up Motown bass line—skew in the opposite direction, putting a modern spin on a much older sound. “Working My Way Back To You” hits like a throwback because that’s exactly what it was.
The Four Seasons were already trending downward when they took the original version of “Working” to #9 in March 1966. The group’s classic hits—“Sherry,” “Big Girls Don’t Cry,” “Walk Like A Man”—had charted years earlier, and their last certifiable standout of the decade, 1967’s “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You,” would actually be credited to Frankie Valli alone. “Working My Way Back To You” only spent six total weeks inside the Top 40; it was a minor chart entry largely forgotten by the time the Eighties began. If the song seems like a bigger hit now, that’s all because of the Spinners. At the risk of offending the entire state of New Jersey, I’d argue that “Working My Way Back To You/Forgive Me, Girl” is a rare example of a modern remake eclipsing the original in popularity and cultural recognition. The Four Seasons did it first; the Spinners did it definitively.
Lyrically, the narrator of “Working” is an absolute schmuck. Knowing his girl is in love with him, he plays around; at one point, he confesses, “I used to love to make you cry/ It made me feel like a man inside,” which is gonna take a therapist years to unpack. To win her back, he’s gotta cry, and struggle, and work his way back to this girl. Basically, he’s gonna beg.
And here’s where the Spinners had a natural advantage: No pop group is gonna “out-beg” a soul act on a begging song. Valli gives it his best shot, but the effort shows; too much of his performance aims for “heartbroken” and lands on “constipated.” By contrast, the much-maligned Edwards finally gets a perfect vehicle for his powerhouse vocal delivery. He’s smooth, sleek, and confident, and so full of charm you know his girl forgave him long before he drops that unbelievable falsetto scream on the fadeout. (Out-falsettoing Frankie Valli on his own song is definitely a flex.) Edwards gets another advantage to boot, given that his best begging comes during “Forgive Me, Girl,” a portion of the Spinners track that doesn’t actually occur in the original.
For those confused by the above statement, join the club. Most of the populace still seems unaware of the existence of “Forgive Me, Girl” (including, apparently, the group’s own YouTube channel), simply assuming the entire song is just “Working My Way Back To You.” In fact, the Spinners recorded a medley: the Four Seasons tune everyone knows, combined with the brief “I’m really sorry” section that (technically) belongs to a different song. Unlike “Working,” “Forgive Me, Girl” was an entirely new composition, written by the track’s producer in a seemingly blatant attempt to cut himself in on the publishing. Zager, for his part, claimed he inserted the extra section to create an “extended begging mix.” Turns out a song can be two things. “Forgive Me Girl” seamlessly transitions the single into a higher gear at a crucial moment; it also occupies a mere forty seconds of the four-minute radio edit, thereby allowing Zager to grab half the publishing for a part no one remembers.
You know who performed the part everyone does remember? Pervis Jackson, the bass singer in the Spinners from the group’s conception to the day he died, on August 18, 2008, at age 70. Like most deep-voiced males singing four-part harmony, Jackson rarely got a chance in the spotlight. So when his moment came, he made the most of it. With four simple words, Jackson transformed “been payin’ ev’ry DAY” into the song’s key vocal hook, giving the kind of "big man" performance that earns you a spot in the Bass Singer Hall of Fame alongside the Temptations’ Melvin Franklin and Richard Sterban of the Oak Ridge Boys.
“Working My Way Back To You/Forgive Me, Girl” wound up being one of those multi-format successes that connects with every demographic: #2 pop, #6 R&B, #5 Adult Contemporary, and #8 on Billboard’s “Hot Dance/Disco” chart. (So I suppose “Working” was an actual disco song. But, also a slightly bigger adult contemporary song.) The Spinners did just as well internationally, topping the charts in Ireland and reaching the Top 5 for the first time ever in New Zealand (#3), Canada (#5), and the Netherlands (#2). In the United Kingdom, where they’d been renamed “The Detroit Spinners” to avoid confusion with an earlier British folk outfit, “Working” became only the group’s second Top 10 single, and their first #1. Twenty-five years after forming, the quintet found themselves appealing to an entirely new audience, sometimes in entirely new countries. Forget surviving. In the wake of “Working My Way Back To You/Forgive Me, Girl,” the Spinners went right back to thriving.
GRADE: 8/10
BONUS BITS: Here’s a great anachronistic scene from Donnie Brasco where Al Pacino chastises Johnny Depp as the Spinners’ hit plays on a radio station… during the late ‘70s.
12”ERS: Dancin’ and Lovin’ and the 12” single both contain the same six-minute cut of “Working,” which is far and away the superior version for one simple reason: Every element gets room to breathe. “Forgive Me, Girl” feels like an actual song when doubled in length, while the ending key change gets thirty extra seconds of heavenly Edwards ad-libs before fading (still too early).