Despite the crisp, cold air that February evening in 2009, I just couldn’t stop grinning.
As my best friend and I patiently queued up to enter Blues Alley—one of the most esteemed concert venues in Washington, D.C.—I could barely contain my excitement about who we were there to see: Mary Wilson. One year beforehand, I’d made the jump to explore The Supremes past their 1960s incarnation and discovered their music from the 1970s. Soaking up the eclecticism of that age, I learned how much Wilson had influenced the trio’s second decade of activity.
The gig was a bit of a blur when I tried to recollect its specificities on the spot. Thankfully, there is a detailed accounting of that awesome event available via my (now defunct) blog. What has remained clear in my mind through the years is when the lights went up and fans made their way toward the “meet and greet” area. One by one, eager devotees chatted to their idol—Wilson took the time out to speak to every person prior to graciously moving on to the next. Then, it was my turn.
Our brown eyes linked, and I grinned sheepishly. Before I knew it, I had segued into a charmingly rapid-fire statement of praise that concluded with me listing every song she sang lead on from The Supremes’ 1970s epoch.
Looking up from autographing my concert bill, Wilson met my gaze again and paused briefly before a big, bright smile crossed her face. She remarked, “You know the songs.” I could have melted on the spot. For a few extra minutes, we bantered on about that unsung era in The Supremes’ history. She was even more amused that I brought along my vinyl copies of New Ways But Love Stays (1970) and Touch (1971)—she signed them, of course. We bid each other a genuinely warm goodbye and it was over.
Hanging back due to a strong aversion to the pushier sect of Wilson loyalists swarming about, my friend excitedly asked how it all went. Starstruck, I responded, “She was spectacular.”
And that she was. Born in Greenville, Mississippi on March 6, 1944, Wilson eventually relocated to Detroit, Michigan in her adolescence. It was there that she intersected with three other local teenagers in 1958: Florence Ballard, Betty McGlown and Diana Ross.
Fate situated them in the veritable Motor City hotspot: Motown Records. These young girls were to be an integral part of the Motown family. However, several changes—a departure (McGlown), an entry-exit (Barbara Martin) and a name swap from “The Primettes” to “The Supremes”—occurred before the Wilson-Ballard-Ross line-up solidified to notch up their first hit in 1963: “When the Lovelight Starts Shining Through His Eyes.”
By 1966, The Supremes stood level only to The Beatles with respect to their impact and influence.
However, in that four-year span, the sisterhood shared by the three women had undergone a drastic transformation. In April of 1967, amid tensions, Ballard parted ways with The Supremes—her vacancy was filled by Cindy Birdsong, formerly of Patti LaBelle & The Bluebelles. Both Wilson and Birdsong found themselves functioning in a slightly ornamental capacity until Ross bowed out to go it alone and Jean Terrell entered the fold—both events formally transpired on January 14, 1970.
The inaugural offering from the Wilson-Terrell-Birdsong configuration—Right On (1970)—aided Wilson in achieving two long held goals she desired for The Supremes: reviving their previously abandoned democratic working principles and showcasing the group’s musical versatility. The latter point reinvented the threesome and influenced the former element.
Post-Right On, ten more albums followed through to 1977—three of them duet offerings with fellow Motown stars The Four Tops—where The Supremes flitted from vivid psychedelic soul, classic R&B, plush adult contemporary pop and white-hot disco as produced by Frank Wilson, Smokey Robinson, Deke Richards, Jimmy Webb, Hal Davis, Brian Holland and Eddie Holland Jr.—to name some of the tunesmiths they retained. Never had The Supremes palette of sound been so rich with a myriad of textures and critics agreed.
Further, there was a wealth of voices to readily complement all the diverse sonic choices enacted on these long players as the group’s roster shifted over the course of that seven-year stretch. Coming behind the superb Birdsong and Terrell were the equally divine Lynda Laurence (in 1972), Scherrie Payne (in 1974) and Susaye Greene (in 1976). Each of these women yielded a distinct flavor to The Supremes, proving that they never once wanted for talent. And it was Wilson who handpicked and nurtured them all, fully integrating them into the glamorous Supremes model, but ensuring that their unique gifts as singers had the proper spotlight to shine—it was an early flash of Wilson’s keen showbiz acumen.
Central to this period was Wilson’s own artistic growth when she finally stepped into her power as a vocalist within The Supremes to command more leads than ever before. “Touch,” “A Heart Like Mine,” “I Keep It Hid,” “Where Is It I Belong” and “Don’t Let My Teardrops Bother You”—these are just some of the compositions that exhibited the smoky, sensuous quality of Wilson’s instrument to magnificent effect outside of the general harmony structure/blend that the trio favored.
Label politics at Motown prevented these efforts from receiving adequate promotional representation. Subsequently, The Supremes’ output from the 1970s ended up unfairly overshadowed by their 1960s recordings. The curtain fell on The Supremes’ story via their farewell performance at London’s venerable Drury Lane Theatre on June 12, 1977.
Wilson then launched into her expected standalone career where three formal solo albums surfaced: Mary Wilson (1979), Walk the Line (1992) and Up Close: Live from San Francisco (2007). The infrequency of Wilson’s individual releases belied the many vocational paths she trekked decades after the disbanding of The Supremes.
Activist, Motown brand ambassador and best-selling author twice over—with Dreamgirl: My Life As a Supreme (1986) and Supreme Faith: Someday We’ll Be Together (1990)—Wilson’s pursuits were innumerable. And, unsurprisingly, she remained an in-demand live act and steward of The Supremes’ legacy. Beginning in 2000, Wilson supervised a wealth of remasters for The Supremes, where projects from their respective 1960s and 1970s catalogs received the velvet glove treatment.
More important than any hit record or accolade received was Wilson’s strength of character that defined who she was as a woman. Even in the face of professional hurdles and personal tragedy her indomitable spirit never faltered—and she never lost her joy. Journey onward Ms. Wilson, thank you for the music.
LISTEN: