Presenting Isaac Hayes

What follows this bit of theater is an hour of beautifully executed lounge music, supplemented by Isaac's exhortations ("Is there soul in the hall!"), his droll raps on the twin themes of jealousy and infidelity, his long, monotonous vocals, and his organ playing. As the show progresses he becomes less and less redoubtable. He introduces his vibraphone solo with the words: "If I miss a couple of notes, y'all figure it's 'cause the sticks are crooked." The shaman, it turns out, is just folks.

After the stunning entrance, the rest of the show is one long, smooth ride downhill—which is how many observers see Ike Hayes' career of late. Of course, with both Black Moses and Shaft hovering around the top of Billboard's LP chart, Ike has never enjoyed greater fame or commercial success. But this is the man who with David Porter created an electrifying repertoire of soul songs for Sam and Dave, including "Soul Man" and "I Thank You"; it is hard to hear any of that rhythm and blues magic in most of the Middle-of-the-Road music that Ike is turning out today.

A prominent black writer privately accuses Ike of perpetrating "the ultimate degradation of black music." A white critic calls him "the black McKuen." A jazz musician from Isaac's hometown of Memphis offhandedly explains the change: "It's simple. Ike fried his mind on acid and his music's never been the same."

When I asked Ike whether psychedelic drugs had caused him to write a new kind of music, he simply shook his head and in his firm, polite way said, "No."

"The drug thing did not have an effect on me," he said. "For one thing, I'm not singing the same kind of song because I cannot sing as strong and as hard and as driving as Sam and Dave."

Ike sat back on the orange sofa in his small suite at the Summit Hotel. With his beard, baldness and shades, he looks of indeterminate age; actually he is 29. He was wearing a long robe of Indian cloth and wine-colored silk socks. Saving his worn voice for two evening shows at Philharmonic Hall, he spoke softly and quickly, with none of his measured stage cadences. He answered all questions with unshakable Southern courtesy. As he addressed himself to the matter of the change in his music he looked into space, occasionally darting his eyes to check for reactions.