From Saturday morning to Saturday night, Frankie Beverly & Maze had you covered
OPINION: The legendary and iconic soul singer Frankie Beverly died this week, and all of Black America felt it in our shando.
Editor’s note: The following article is an op-ed, and the views expressed are the author’s own. Read more opinions on theGrio.
Growing up in Black America makes you familiar with certain things, almost by default. Obviously, I can’t speak for any and all Black Americans, but it seems like many of us share common experiences around laughing, seasoning, head nods and a plethora of other cultural minutiae that, I don’t know, makes you realize that even if we don’t know the specifics of one another’s daily existence, we are all kind of in this thing together.
One of those cultural touchpoints that nearly all of Black America has in common was Frankie Beverly, who died on Sept. 10 at age 77. Frankie Beverly & Maze, or Maze featuring Frankie Beverly or simply, Maze, seems to have been a part of the growing up of nearly every Black person I know. Frankie was definitely part of my life; I actually have no idea when I was introduced to the music of Frankie Beverly & Maze; they were just, kind of, always there. I can remember listening to “Joy and Pain” ad nauseam — my father loved that record. It was the same with “Happy Feelin’s” and “Golden Time of Day.” Frankie Beverly’s music was just always playing, which is kind of crazy, because as I’ve been sifting through his discography since he passed, I can’t even pretend to know all of the songs or names of the albums, though I vividly remember the album covers that featured the Maze hand, which you either know or you don’t.
That the music of Frankie was always playing is a core memory of my youth. I associate Frankie Beverly & Maze with my youth as a kid growing into a teenager in Frankfurt, Germany. Stereotypically, music was always playing on Saturday mornings. I’m sure cleaning was happening, how much probably depends on if you ask my siblings or my parents, but I remember my dad turning on the stereo system and various artists playing through the speakers — artists from Kiara to Hall & Oates to Janet Jackson to, of course, Frankie Beverly & Maze. Based on conversations I’ve had over the years, Saturday mornings in many, many Black households were for cleaning but that cleaning always had a soundtrack. And it seems like the soundtrack to sweeping included a whole lot of Frankie Beverly.
What I find interesting is that Frankie Beverly followed almost all of us into adulthood. There’s a certain cookout soundtrack that Black people tend to trend towards. While crafting the definitive cookout playlist is a fool’s errand, I can guarantee without absolute certainty that every single one includes at least one Frankie Beverly & Maze song, “Before I Let Go.”
I don’t know when “Before I Let Go” became ubiquitous in Black America and a staple of Black American cultural expression, but, at this point, it is essential listening. I’m 45 years old and “Before I Let Go,” Maze’s ode to a love lost, plays at almost every single event I go to, whether at a club to let folks know it’s time to go or at an all-white party or any backyard cookout. The fact that you can hear “Before I Let Go” at a nightclub that also plays songs by Future, Meg Thee Stallion and “Insert Latest Fad Song Here,” is telling. Frankie and Maze created a song that will far outlive their careers and ensure they, essentially live forever. It’s funny, when the tributes started pouring in on social media for Frankie Beverly, my first thought was that Frankie will never be able to rest in peace because I guarantee they’re playing this song up in Heaven when God needs a moment to himself; no song sends more folks heading to the front door than “Before I Let Go,” not before, of course, a solid amount of line dancin’ has occurred.
That’s the other thing: Along with Cameo’s “Candy,” “Before I Let Go” is a song guaranteed to set off a round of doing the “Electric Slide.” Do you know how important your music has to be to be synonymous with a line dance that will, like the song, outlive everybody who has ever done it? I’m convinced that when the world finally explodes, the last thing that will happen is a roach doing the Electric Slide to “Before I Let Go.”
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I wonder what it felt like for Frankie Beverly in his later years. For many artists, the flowers often come once they’ve passed away. Frankie got to see his impact in real time. Beyoncé’s cover of “Before I Let Go” is popular, but I’m not sure it has surpassed the original nor do I think it ever will — I’m not sure anybody would let that happen. The reverence the Black community has for that one song is unparalleled. We argue about whether it is the true Black national anthem; imagine that — Frankie was alive to see people have actual, real-live debates about whether or not a song he and his group created was the most vital song in the Black community. While many of us were annoyed that the NFL decided to play “Lift Every Voice and Sing” before the first game of the past few seasons, I don’t think any of us would have a single issue with “Before I Let Go” because it’s a jam. and it’s that good.
It must be nice to have created something that significant to the culture — a true cultural staple. The Black community is truly better because of the music created by Frankie Beverly & Maze; lots of groups can say something similar but everybody doesn’t have songs that have had such generational traction over the years. That is special and I am thankful for every memory I have with my family, friends and community via the sounds of Frankie Beverly & Maze. It truly carried me from my Saturday mornings to my Saturday nights in Black America.
You made us happy, Frankie … before you let go.
Panama Jackson is a columnist at theGrio and host of the award-winning podcast, “Dear Culture” on theGrio Black Podcast Network. He writes very Black things, drinks very brown liquors, and is pretty fly for a light guy. His biggest accomplishment to date coincides with his Blackest accomplishment to date in that he received a phone call from Oprah Winfrey after she read one of his pieces (biggest) but he didn’t answer the phone because the caller ID said “Unknown” (Blackest).
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