Frankie Beverly: 1946–2024
He looked like a brother you knew. He looked like a brother who fixed transmissions. He looked like he was the second chair at a barbershop. He looked like he did the books for Walgreens, then went home and cut grass. He looked like he was second pastor at the community church and then coached the little league football team. He looked like every good black man I knew who was about that action of raising and protecting his wife and family and didn’t have time for a second of bullshit. Brothers who so often didn’t get their flowers from the world because they weren’t obvious; they just were. They just did it every day of their life.
And when Frankie Beverly opened his mouth on a record, he made those brothers sound as majestic as they were. The stoic striving in the common language of so many black men was his great theme, and he took his grasp of the majestic in-the-pocket vocal runs of Marvin Gaye and Clyde Mcphatter and his gift for intricate and beautiful jazz funk grooves to become one of the most iconic figures in black poplar culture. Beverly was a mixture of James Evans and Jacque Brel, alluring and obscure, drawing the outsider in while not giving anything for free.
What was most significant about Beverly was who he didn’t have to draw in (and, to be more specific, who he centered). I’m reminded of a Chris Rock quote about George Clinton, which also speaks the…
