Happy 50th Anniversary to The Sylvers’ eponymous debut album The Sylvers, originally released February 17, 1972.
The story of the sprawling musical Sylvers family is a microcosm of the perils and thrills of being a Black musician in America. As their episode of Unsung ably demonstrated, their lives and careers were shaped and molded by a music business and wider society that casually took Black lives and squeezed them until they had nothing left to give, left broken and spent like some dispensable part of a manufacturing process.
But you wouldn’t necessarily think that to look at the cover of their debut album The Sylvers from 1972. Six young, impressionable, Afro-sporting teenagers dressed in the fresh fashions of the day stare down the camera lens full of hope and carefree nonchalance. That youth might persuade you that they were new to the game, but the roots of the family group extended further back. The parents (Leon Sylvers Jr. and Shirley) met in Memphis, Tennessee before moving the large family to South Los Angeles (Crenshaw) in 1956. Convinced their way out of poverty lay in music, both parents encouraged the children to perform and play their own music.
A group called the Little Angels consisting of Olympia, Leon Sylvers III, Charmaine and James, mastered the art of barbershop four-part harmonies under the guidance of Ray Charles (who they toured with) and played variety shows on TV at the very beginning of the 1960s. By 1964 though, Leon Sylvers Jr. (the father) had left the family of ten children in the lurch with mum Shirley and it was left to his namesake and son to lead the musical future of the family.
Accepting the huge responsibility to perform his way out of the increasingly dangerous projects, Leon Sylvers III bought the records he loved and learnt from them. Unsurprisingly, those records were Motown songs and if Leon could hear what made those records so special, he could create it and find his own way to take the influence and make new songs for him and his family. Eventually MGM/Pride took a chance and signed the group which had extended with the addition of Edmund and Ricky to create the six-piece group renamed as The Sylvers.
Given the love for Motown records that Leon enjoyed and the youthful and familial nature of the group, the obvious comparison to make is The Jacksons, but that does The Sylvers a massive disservice. The immediate thought of the record label was similarly unimaginative—they wanted to run through covers with their delicious harmony work the key selling point. But when Keg Johnson Jr. heard the bassline for “Fool’s Paradise” from Leon’s instrument, he knew the talent ran much deeper than the delightfully complex harmonies of the family’s voices. Here was a songwriter and musician of great potential.
That potential is as evident to those with open ears at it was to Keg Johnson from the very beginning of the album, when “Wish That I Could Talk To You” opens proceedings with a mournful piano line that erupts into a golden opportunity to hear those delicious vocal harmonies from the Sylvers family. Listening now, it seems impossible that the majority of these songs were written by a teenager. The stately drama of the opening track is complemented by the production courtesy of Jerry Butler (of the Impressions) and Keg Johnson.
The aforementioned “Fool’s Paradise” wouldn’t seem out of place on a Blaxploitation film soundtrack and wears its influence (Norman Whitfield era Temptations and Butler’s friend, Curtis Mayfield) proudly, while “Only One Can Win” has a quirky charm that is supported by the loose-limbed groove and the vocal prowess of the family. There is a teenaged sweetness to the Jerry Peters composed “I’m Truly Happy,” but it reveals the same tension that would arise later in the ‘70s. The song is pleasant enough, but it shoehorns the youthful but experienced group into a subject matter that is somewhat childish and underestimates their potential.
Any thoughts of that nature are banished by the Holland-Dozier-Holland track “Touch Me Jesus,” as the family take on the track written for Glass House on the songwriting trio’s Invictus label that they set up after their departure from Motown. It is a joyous slice of gospel soul music with youthful energy flowing through its veins—vibrant, uplifting and holy. Given that Leon shouldered the responsibility for getting the family out of the ghetto, it is unsurprising to hear the weight of the world in some of the sounds and lyrics on the album. It’s definitely there in the bass line and lyrics of “I Know Myself” and “Chaos,” before affairs of the heart take over with “So Close.”
In truth, this is one of the least successful tracks on the album even though it is illuminated (like all the tracks) with the family’s fine vocals. The final two tracks, however, up the quality again. The mid-tempo “I’ll Never Be Ashamed” (written by James) has a silky bass line that could have come from the master himself, James Jamerson and “How Love Hurts” rounds things off with a smooth slice of lovelorn soul.
The Sylvers was just the beginning for the family and its many and varied members. Two more albums followed on MGM/Pride before, in 1975, they signed to Capitol Records and began to work with Freddie Perren. This, of course, gave way to even more inevitable comparisons to the family group from Gary, Indiana, given Perren’s stellar work with the Jacksons. At this point, the group grew once again, expanding to nine members and the move yielded the biggest songs of the family’s career.
But it also sowed the seed for division within the group, as it became clear that the successes of both “Boogie Fever” and “Hot Line” with their teen pop-disco friendly sounds were identified as a template for future endeavors. Endeavors that didn’t necessarily need the songwriting and musicianship of leader and brother Leon III. Eventually, in 1978, Leon was approached by Dick Griffey to become in-house producer for the newly formed Solar Records and went on to write and produce for Shalamar, The Whispers and Lakeside (among others) with great success. In fact, in 1980 Billboard magazine dubbed him the “man of the hour in R&B.”
Further enormous complications came alongside the splintering of the family group with the familiar tale of managerial avarice and exploitation. Al Ross did more than just contribute to the departure of Leon Sylvers from the group by whispering in the ears of the younger family members about pursuing the more lucrative pop-disco pathway, in fact he had a contract with the group that was greed personified. He took a massive 50% of everything they made, leaving the group of 10 members (at its largest) to survive on scraps. Those plans to play their way out of the projects, thwarted by the gluttonous, soulless and racist music industry.
Beyond the stresses and strains of the music industry, life dealt the family further cards that were far from a winning hand. Olympia was kidnapped and seriously assaulted as a youngster and was diagnosed with schizophrenia in later life, Edmund died at 47 from lung cancer, Christopher (the youngest sibling who never performed) died from hepatitis in 1985 aged 18 and Foster went to prison and is a registered sex offender—the toll on the family has been enormous.
Despite it all though, the family has emerged in recent years not only to tell their story, but to take steps towards making new music. Leon III continued to succeed—he received a GRAMMY nomination for his production work on N’Dambi’s Pink Elephant album in 2009, mentored Jam and Lewis in their earlier days, worked with Teddy Riley and Dam Funk and often works alongside his daughter and son (Leon IV). But other siblings, now buoyed by the enduring interest in their work, are rediscovering a calling they left behind, no doubt worn down by the industry’s imperfections. They are most definitely owed a second chance to shine as this album convincingly offers testament to.
LISTEN: