Happy 30th Anniversary to Ephraim Lewis’ debut & only studio album Skin, originally released June 2, 1992.
Soul acts from the United Kingdom have never been given a fair shake of the dice on either side of the Atlantic. For every Soul II Soul that achieves #1 status, there are several, if not dozens, of others who could and should be able to take advantage of the slipstream those successful acts create.
Take a look at Britpop here in the UK as an example of the ease with which other white rock and pop acts were able to capitalize on the success of Blur, Oasis and Pulp—an entire ecosystem of acts with every level of musicianship, artistry and success represented across a thriving scene.
In the UK, British soul singers have never had the opportunity to become part of that (on anything other than a small scale) for a variety of reasons. There is no supportive network of clubs and venues up and down the country that allow an ecosystem to develop and grow—it has only ever been developed in pockets centered mainly on the biggest cities.
Club owners and other so-called “gatekeepers” like record companies are also complicit in the subduing of UK soul music. In an interview for an ongoing project of mine on the subject, UK soul pioneer Omar explained to me that his manager was told in no uncertain terms that there was no need for a particular radio station to put his new work on their playlists, as they already had Craig David there—tokenism exemplified, racist gatekeeping perfected.
In the US, UK soul music has had its moments, but as Jazzie B pointed out in the Classic Albums documentary about Soul II Soul’s mammoth breakthrough album Club Classics Vol. One (1989), there was an element of surprise in the States that Black people even existed in the UK, let alone the acknowledgment that they were capable of creating music to challenge and change the American music scene. Racism has played and continues to play a huge part in the ongoing struggle for UK soul music to be recognized for its beauty and impact beyond those relative few in the know.
One artist who most definitely bore the brunt of trying to succeed in a racist society and industry was Ephraim Lewis. Chances are his name means nothing to you, but it clearly should. Ephraim was born on November 27, 1967 to parents who were among the first wave of immigration that came to the UK from the Caribbean (and other parts of the empire) in the aftermath of World War 2. In the same way that Black people left the southern US states for the industrialized north in search of a better life, so these migrants came to Britain at the request of the UK government to help rebuild the nation after the destruction of WW2.
Lewis’ parents settled in Wolverhampton (a city northeast of Birmingham) and his father took a job at the Goodyear Tyres factory. Jabez (Lewis’ father) was a music lover himself and began to plot a well-worn path inspired by family acts from the US like The Jacksons or The Sylvers. He created a band—the Lewis Five—with Ephraim as lead singer, but he lacked any knowledge of the record industry that those prototype family collectives gained access to. Nonetheless, Ephraim was supremely talented and began the arduous road to a musical career.
In reading about Lewis (including this excellent piece), it is obvious that he was incredibly gifted in many ways. Sure, there was his musical ability, but he also appeared blessed with a determination to succeed and escape the challenges of his upbringing. It is universal in the aforementioned piece that Lewis seemed marked out for almost certain success. His first “real” experience of the industry came in 1990, aged 22. He was noticed by Kevin Bacon (not that one) and Jonathan Quarmby and worked alongside them at their studio in Sheffield. When Lewis was signed to Elektra in 1991, their hard work and his talents seemed to be on the brink of changing lives for the better.
Indeed, when label head Bob Krasnow heard Lewis’ debut album Skin, he poured almost everything into it and personally escorted Lewis around the States on his private jet to promote the record. Yet despite the huge amount of money injected into promotion, the album sold less than 150,000 units worldwide.
The record label though (and Krasnow in particular) maintained their faith in him and set about severing his ties to Bacon and Quarmby in England and ushering in proven hit songwriters like Glen Ballard. The second album was destined to be the perfect vehicle to propel Ephraim Lewis to stardom and success.
But a second album never came.
Lewis died in tragic and dubious circumstances in Los Angeles on March 18, 1994, just as it seemed he had the world at his feet. The details of the night he died are given close inspection in the piece mentioned earlier, but no absolutes are possible. It is, however, highly probable that the sheer stress of dealing with the world as a Black gay man in the face of racist law enforcement played more than a small part in his tragic death.
So, his debut album Skin is the only testimony to his talents that remains from his paltry 26 years on the planet, and it offers a bittersweet glimpse into what could have been. It’s immediately apparent that it was recorded in the early ‘90s due to the production choices, the keyboard patches used and the (almost) patented Soul II Soul beat that took over the entire world in its aftermath.
The basic tenet of the album is that when Lewis’ voice is given the chance to stretch and soar, it succeeds in showcasing the phenomenal talent that he possessed. When it doesn’t offer those chances though, it becomes less successful. It seems to me to be a cardinal sin to not put his fabulous voice front and center, but there are times when either the song meanders pointlessly or the music takes precedent over his voice—a peculiar choice to minimize the single greatest thing about the album.
That meandering often happens at the end of the songs and the title track “Skin” is a prime example. It starts strongly with a show of Lewis’ vocal abilities, but there is a lack of ambition, and the last minute is mostly a waste of time that could have been better utilized letting the delicious slide-up into falsetto take center stage more often. The same thing can be said of “It Can’t Be Forever,” although he gets the chance to drop down to his lower register and create delightful backing vocals during the song.
But then come three songs in a row that offer an insight into what could have been. “Drowning In Your Eyes” is a much better showpiece for his voice and comes complete with some deliciously muted trumpet work, while “Mortal Seed” has a chorus sung so wonderfully it could make the hardest heart swoon. When he sings “only we can decide,” it is quite clear that this was a voice to be reckoned with despite the issues already mentioned. The trio is rounded out by “World Between Us,” which has echoes of George Michael and a falsetto run at the 3-minute and 47-second mark that underlines what Krasnow and others heard in Lewis.
In truth, the album is far from perfect, but there is enough here to know that the world is a worse place for Ephraim Lewis’ demise at the hands of the police. The album collects influences from George Michael, Soul II Soul and Seal’s early work, but in a way that often feels derivative. It is understandable that Krasnow would want a proven hitmaker like Glen Ballard to coax more from Lewis’ voice, but I can’t help wondering what working alongside a producer and songwriter more in tune with his church upbringing and soulful voice would have brought.
The economics and cultural cache of a pop single success is one thing, but would it really have mined the depth and breadth of Lewis’ stunning voice? His tragic death leaves that and many more questions unanswered, but this album and Lewis’ short life demonstrate one thing for sure—it shows the struggles of Black artists to capture the rewards their talent deserves against the persistent backdrop of a racist industry and society at large. One listen to Lewis’ voice will certainly persuade you of that and that his was a talent gone much too soon.
LISTEN: