Gladys Knight: Neither One Of Us : Music Reviews : Rolling Stone

Album Reviews

For Gladys Knight and the Pips' final release on their label, Motown (with its usual sly, slick and wicked wit) assigned Gladys Knight a ballad called "Neither One of Us Wants to Be the Last to Say Goodbye." The irony is that the group had been trying to wrangle its way out of their Motown contract for over a year, finally signing with Buddah a few months ago. The album proves the wisdom of their decision to move to a label where they will be given more freedom and, hopefully, some respect.

During her six years at Motown, Gladys made a career out of rising above intransigent material. (The obvious exceptions were "I Don't Want to Do Wrong" and "I Heard It Through the Grapevine," one of the great records of the past decade.) Her producers would sometimes put the necessary effort into her singles, as on last year's "Make Me the Woman You Go Home To." But when it came to the release of an album, anything went. Gladys often sounds close to tears in her singing, and that tone seemed to fit her usual recording predicament.

This album has five separate producers and at least that many different styles. As in past efforts for the label, it's clear that no one ever stopped to think about what the group's strengths were and how they could be utilized in a personal, coherent way. The approach here is to try everything. Johnny Bristol tries to recreate some of the old Motown good-time feeling with two horribly insipid tunes. Clay MacMurray tries out a plodding Las Vegas version of "For Once in My Life." (Motown has the publishing rights to the song so at one time or another just about everyone on the label has taken a turn at it.) There's a neo-Bill Withers tune, a real (if emaciated) Bill Withers number and an unintentional parody of "Papa Was a Rolling Stone."

There are two moments of glory, the excellent title tune and a suburban romance called "And This Is Love." The latter could have been brilliant—Gladys does some phenomenal note bending and sings with all the appreciable fire and fury she can muster. But the lyrics have her playing checkers, kissing under the ole apple tree and drinking bubbly pink champagne at a birthday party. As hard as I try, I can't imagine her playing checkers and sipping champagne on a patio in New Rochelle. If only they had taken out another half hour to work on the lyrics.

No matter how ridiculous the number, Gladys keeps on trying, unlike Aretha Franklin during her Columbia days, who usually gave up after the second line of a bad song. But with her talent, it is exhilarating to contemplate what she will do when given the respect that is owed her.