Gravel and velvet

With the death of Joe Ligon on Dec. 11 at the age of 80, one of the mightiest voices of the last half-century was silenced.

Calling Ligon “mighty” was not hyperbolic. The gospel group for which he sang lead, after all, was called The Mighty Clouds of Joy, and what made the Clouds mighty was Ligon’s vocal stamina and intensity. On a good night, he could make comparisons between him and other gravel-voiced, church-bred shouters such as Archie Brownlee and Julius Cheeks seem like understatement.

Ligon co-founded The Mighty Clouds of Joy as a teenager in 1955. In 1964 they recorded their first (and still thrilling) album, Family Circle, and they festooned their performances with showbiz trappings to distinguish themselves from the competition and to attract the unchurched.

By the 1970s, they had signed to ABC Records and begun enjoying crossover success. Their album It’s Time (1974) garnered deservedly enthusiastic reviews, and its follow-up Kickin’ (1975) yielded the disco hit “Mighty High.” Three years later, Live and Direct brought them the first of their three “Best Traditional Soul Gospel Album” Grammys.

Live albums would come to define the Clouds. Besides capturing the excitement that they generated, such recordings saved for posterity Ligon’s gift for stretching out songs with emotionally charged sermons. The title cut and “I’ve Got One Thing You Can’t Take Away” of 1990’s Pray for Me (another Grammy winner) reached lengths of eight minutes and 11 minutes respectively on the strength of fervently impassioned, real-life narratives intended to melt the resistance of the staunchest unbelievers.

In the studio, Ligon’s emotionalism could turn awkward, particularly when he attempted to gild secular lilies (“You Are So Beautiful,” “Have I Told You Lately”) with gospel gold. But there was no gainsaying the goodness of his intentions or his conviction that the roads he was paving with them led heavenward.

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Preceding Ligon into eternity was Attrell Cordes, the velvety-voiced rapper and singer better known as Prince Be who passed away in July at the age of 46 after years of battling diabetes-related complications.

As the leader of the 1990s duo P.M. Dawn, Cordes purveyed a sleek, coolheaded blend of pop and hip-hop with soft, downtempo contours that had nothing in common with Ligon’s scorchingly direct approach.

Religiously speaking, however, the two enjoyed an attenuated brotherhood. From the titles of P.M. Dawn’s first and third albums (Of the Heart, of the Soul and of the Cross: The Utopian Experience [1991]; Jesus Wept [1995]) to lyrics such as “I swore I spent my life trying to be Christ-like” (“Even After I Die”), Cordes seemed attuned to things Christian.

Three of P.M. Dawn’s first four singles went Top 10. But, as the ’90s ended, the hits stopped coming, Cordes suffered a stroke, and he turned bitter, recording a final P.M. Dawn album, the title of which began with the F-word.

Ironically, the album itself begins with a message left on Cordes’ answering machine by the former Run-D.M.C. member-turned-pastor Joseph “Rev. Run” Simmons.

Responding to Cordes’ profane taped greeting, Simmons says: “Don’t feel like that. That’s a terrible message for a Christian man as yourself. Your life is great. You have a lot to live for. … I had a great time laying hands on you and seeing your children. I’d love to work with you in the future.”

P.M. Dawn’s first album began with Cordes saying, “I’d like to say ‘What’s up?’ to God.” One hopes he finally has the chance.