A tribute to two legendary vocalists

NICK EICHER, HOST: Today is Friday, April 11th.

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Good morning. I’m Nick Eicher.

MYRNA BROWN, HOST: And I’m Myrna Brown.

That unforgettable voice you heard a moment ago belonged to Bobby Hatfield. But it was Bill Medley’s baritone that anchored the Righteous Brothers’ sound—and carried their biggest hits.

EICHER: There was a time when pop music gave us voices like those that you could feel in your bones—deep, steady, unmistakable. And though that era is slipping away, a few of those voices still echo.

WORLD’s music critic Arsenio Orteza has a tribute to two of them—one departed, one still singing—with a sound that won’t be easily forgotten.

ARSENIO ORTEZA: In 1964, a duo calling itself the Righteous Brothers scored a worldwide number-one hit performing a song written by Barry Mann, Cynthia Weill, and Phil Spector called “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feelin’.” The record is a dramatic condensation of heartbreak into three minutes and 45 seconds, and it established the Righteous Brothers—Bill Medley and Bobby Hatfield—as prime purveyors of what would come to be known as “blue-eyed soul.” More specifically, it introduced the world to Bill Medley’s rich, baritone voice.

MUSIC: [Excerpt from “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feelin’” by the Righteous Brothers]

With the exception of their 1965 smash “Unchained Melody,” which Hatfield sang by himself, it was Medley’s lead singing that would define the Righteous Brothers chart-topping sound throughout the decade. It was also the most distinguishing characteristic of “(I’ve Had) The Time of My Life,” the song that Medley recorded with Jennifer Warnes in the late ’80s for the Dirty Dancing soundtrack.

MUSIC: [Excerpt from “(I’ve Had) The Time of My Life” by Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes]

It too went to number one.

Hatfield died in 2003 at the age of 63. Thirteen years later, Medley recruited Bucky Heard and relaunched the Righteous Brothers as a touring act. (They’re on the final leg of the Lovin’ Feelin’ Farewell Tour as I speak.)

Over the years, Medley also recorded a string of solo albums, most of which went unnoticed. But he has a new one, Straight from the Heart on Curb Records, and it’s an exception. It’s possible that his advancing age and the growing awareness that he won’t be around forever have something to do with the attention that the album is getting. But what’s more likely driving the media coverage and positive reviews is the album’s quality. Medley covers 12 country songs, many of them classic, such as Hank Williams’ “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry,” George Jones’ “He Stopped Loving Her Today,” and Buck Owens’ “Crying Time.” They’re songs that unfold slowly and allow Medley to bring his voice to bear on the mysteries arising from between their lines. Four are duets, matching Medley with Michael McDonald, Keb’ Mo’, Shawn Colvin, and Vince Gill in that order. Medley handles the other eight by himself, and none more effectively than the Gilbert Bécaud-Mann Curtis love song “Let It Be Me.”

MUSIC: [Excerpt from “Let It Be Me” by Bill Medley]

The singer David Johansen of the New York Dolls didn’t enjoy the same acclaim or the success as Medley, but he had a similarly commanding, if altogether different, voice. And because of his talent and adaptability, he not only survived in the music business for almost 50 years but also left his mark.

David Johansen on April 11, 2023 in New York Associated Press / Photo by Christopher Smith / Invision

Johansen died at the end of February at the age of 75, three years after the release of a documentary about his life, Personality Crisis: One Night Only. Martin Scorsese directed it, and its title had a double meaning. “Personality crisis” referred, on the one hand, to the best-known song of the New York Dolls, the band that first presented Johansen to the world in the early ’70s.

MUSIC: [Excerpt from “Personality Crisis” by New York Dolls]

But “personality crisis” also referred to the wide range of guises under which Johansen performed. As a New York Doll, he was an outrageously androgynous provocateur. Later, he morphed into a solo rocker with soulful roots and album-cover photos that looked like a model’s portfolio. Later still, he’d lead an acoustic blues band called the Harry Smiths, and even later he’d lead a reunited version of the Dolls.

But it was in the middle of his career that he hit upon his most unusual—and most commercially successful—persona: the tuxedo-wearing, good-time nightclub singer Buster Poindexter. With an infectious grin and a gravity-defying pompadour, he became a regular on Saturday Night Live. He recorded four albums under the Poindexter name, each a masterclass in showmanship. And it was as Buster Poindexter that he unleashed his best-known recording, a cover of the soca song “Hot Hot Hot.” He came to regret the degree to which it overshadowed everything else he’d done, but it’s ubiquity did guarantee him a kind of musical immortality.

MUSIC: [Excerpt from “Hot Hot Hot” by Buster Poindexter]

I’m Arsenio Orteza.

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