Beg, Scream & Shout: The Big Ol' Box of 60s Soul

Buying a box set is usually a massive musical investment, and never a purchase to be entered into lightly. Good box sets always cost more than $50, always contain three or more CD's, and MUST be crammed to bursting with adequate booklets, flyers, and pictures to preserve the "archival" feel. It's never an impulse purchase; buying a box set is a lot like buying a car. You shop around for good prices, do extensive research into the various possible sets to purchase, and ultimately ask yourself the question: what kind of box set will best suit my current musical needs, and yet will also stand up in ten years' time?

Recommending a box set becomes more than just commenting on the music it collects. You can't justify shelling out $70 on four CD's for a few good dance tunes. The total package must be considered, from the worth of the music collected to the authors of the critical essays inevitably included in the booklet. The information and music must convey a sense of completeness while at the same time leading down avenues toward possible future music purchases.

Considering the box set as a total package and not just on the basis of the music presented, Beg, Scream & Shout: The Big Ol' Box of `60s Soul is a disappointment. It retails for around $90, which makes it a good item to ask for as a gift but a piss-poor purchase to justify to yourself. Luckily, there's some value involved; you get SIX CD's and cool packaging for your ninety dollars. The set is packaged in a box modeled after those old carrying cases for 45's (much like the recent Smashing Pumpkins singles collection) and each individual CD is packaged in a cardboard replica of a 45, complete with record sleeve and a mock-up of a classic sixties soul record label.

The frills and bells of the packaging aren't justified by the liner notes provided. A box set for music as indescribably awesome as 60's soul deserves a thick, informative booklet with tons of biographical info on the artists and complete session information. THAT is what "record geeks" want, and since this set seems to be aimed at that type of listener, it would have made sense to aim toward their expectations in a good box set. Instead of that thick, cool booklet, we get a flimsy booklet containing four pages of worthless "essays" by the box set's producers and scant track info (basically only songwriters, label, and chart info for each track).

Ostensibly, the material lacking in the booklet is supposed to be offered instead on the back of the "sixties soul cards," baseball-style cards for each artist featured in the set that are supposed to give biographical info on the back side. But the producers of this set, in their role as "authors" of the text for the flip sides of the cards, seem more enamored in sharing anecdotes about their youth and worthlessly gushing about their love for these tracks than with offering any illuminating information about the artists or songs. Here's an example, from Suzan Jenkins's blurb about the Dells and their song "Stay in My Corner": "When the missionaries in my San Juan school realized that I had imported this album from the States, they spent the majority of our junior high sock hop shoving 6-inch rulers between those lucky enough to score a partner for the declaration." To put it succinctly, WHO GIVES A FLYING FUCK?! What do we learn about the Dells, the song itself, the production of the song, the musicians who play on the song, or anything at all relevant to the music? If I wanted to hear funny stories about great soul music, I'd join a fan club. Liner notes are no place for therapy or reminiscing. The cards and booklet are a massive disappointment and are virtually useless.

What makes the failings of the liner notes even more disgusting is the fact that this music is amazing throughout and demands not just to be heard, but to be learned about. The track selections do a great job of balancing well-known songs with obscure songs by well-known artists, successful artists with one-hit wonders, and easily-found material with hard-to-find singles. Through the music, a clear portrait emerges of the vivacity, exuberance, and sheer emotional power of sixties soul. In the tepid world of 90's soul and R&B, it's easy to forget that belters like Otis Redding, Joe Tex, and Aretha Franklin could achieve emotions in three notes that Mariah Carey would dedicate an entire song to exploring. The love songs are full of pure emotional truth, minus the cloying sentimentality and irony of what has followed. And the party tunes are ten times more fun than anything disco, hip-hop, or rap has produced in the past thirty years. Throughout, the willingness to take musical and emotional risks is pervasive. These are not marketed products which must calculate each move to appeal to the broadest possible audience, but true artists who value musical and emotional honesty above all else. When they're having fun, they're not doing it to sell you a record, but to make you SHAKE YOUR BOOTY. These six CD's stand as a powerful testimony to the brilliance of this musical genre.

So the music is awesome and the packaging is neat, but if you're expecting The Big Ol' Box of `60s Soul to reveal new insights into timeless music, it's not worth your time. Better to buy the set, groove out on the amazing music, and seek answers elsewhere. Then get a lynch mob of your buddies together and strangle those idiots who put together the essays and "collector cards." Truly, for the injustice they do to this remarkable art, they deserve to die.