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The sweet soul music of Al Green
by Steve Beard

When the British musician Elvis Costello was asked if he had ever had a religious experience, he responded: “No, but I have heard Al Green.” Not a bad compliment coming from Costello, a musical legend in his own right.

Al Green rose to international fame with timeless hits such “Let’s Stay Together,” “Call Me,” “Take Me To The River,” “I’m Still In Love With You,” “Tired of Being Alone,” and “Love and Happiness.” In the early 1970s, he sold more than 20 million albums. He was the Prince of Love, the man with the trademark smile that made women swoon in near-riotous concerts as he tossed long stem red roses to adoring fans. Rolling Stone recently declared that Green is “the greatest popular singer of all time,” describing his songs as “unsurpassed in their subtlety, grace, intimacy, and invention.”

Like many great artists before and after him, he wrestled with the holy and the hedonistic. Green comes from a lineage of other phenomenal vocalists such as Sam Cooke, Marvin Gaye, and Aretha Franklin who grew up in the Church, cutting their teeth on hymns and spirituals. “Anybody can tell you that all the great soul singers learned their best licks in the choir loft, that the Church is the mother of R&B and the grandmother of rock & roll,” says Green. “But no one can tell you the pain of having the choice between lifting up your voice for God or taking a bow for your third encore. That’s something you have to experience for yourself.” And he did—over and over again.

His silky smooth voice was coupled with stage charisma, sex appeal, and undeniable charm. Green provocatively pranced about in feathers, rabbit fur coats, brightly colored paisley prints, gold chains, pinky rings, and the highest pair of platform shoes money could buy. “They say that clothes make the man, but I say God made the man,” Green says. “He just left the decorating up to us.”

He was the consummate Ladies Man. His voice was a liquid calling card, wooing the listener into a sensuous and lush boudoir of his own creation. “Al Green was a dream to them, a voice they heard on the radio, singing about all the romance and the passion that was missing from their own lives,” he says.

In his magisterial book Sweet Soul Music, Peter Guralnick says that a gospel singer is “often described as ‘worrying’ the audience, teasing it, working the crowd until it is on the verge of exploding, until strong men faint and women start speaking in tongues. This is commonly referred to as ‘house wrecking.’” It is more than fair to say that Al Green perfected the fine art of wreckin’ the house. 

In the summer of 1973, he had an experience that would forever change his life. He had flown from San Francisco to Anaheim, California, for his next show. Shortly after four in the morning, he was awakened by the sounds of shouting. “I sat bolt upright in bed, frightened that some crazy fan had broken into the room,” he remembers. Green then realized that the commotion he was hearing was coming from his own mouth. “And while the words I shouted were of no earthly tongue, I immediately recognized what they meant. I was praising God, rejoicing in the great and glorious gift of salvation through his son, Jesus Christ, and lifting my voice to heaven with the language of angels to proclaim his majesty on high.”

He laughed. He cried. He tried to cover his mouth with a rolled up towel. “I was knocking on doors of the hotel, telling complete strangers I’d been born again,” says Green. “Some lady slammed the door in my face, I went to the next door and said, ‘I been born again!’ They called security.”

The Apostle Paul was accosted and converted by Jesus on the Road to Damascus, Al Green was made righteous off Interstate 5 near Disneyland.

Green was singing about love and happiness, but there was a war going on inside—a battle for the substance of his soul. He eventually abandoned his mainstream singing career and began pastoring Full Gospel Tabernacle in Memphis, Tennessee.

For eight years, Green sang only gospel until he had a conversation with God while praying and fasting in the mountains of Trinidad. He says the Lord told him, “I gave you the songs. Those are your songs. I gave them to you in your own heart,” Green recalls. “You wrote the music. I gave it to you. Use those songs, sing your songs. People are going to disagree with you—they disagree with me. But while you’re singing—what I called you for—drop a little seed over their head.”

Today, the soul man still puts on the pizzazz with roughly 20 concerts per year in mainstream venues. Resplendent in his white suit, Ray Ban™ sunglasses, and loaded with long stem roses like a florist, he still has the magic to commandeer the human heart, making it pulse in romance or worship—our very own funky St. Valentine. “Now I am comfortable mixing everything up, and my audience has responded favorably,” he reports. “When I finished a short prayer at this gig…, people stood up and cheered. That told me that I could give audiences a little bit of the Reverend and they’d likely rejoice.” He sings “Amazing Grace” in casino showrooms in Las Vegas and Lake Tahoe knowing that many of his admirers hunger for redemption just as he once had.

Full Gospel Tabernacle’s unassuming geodesic sanctuary is tucked in on the left side of a quiet residential road, a few miles south of Graceland, off Elvis Presley Boulevard. It has played host to a myriad of music fans who make it a part of their Memphis pilgrimage. They stick out like sore thumbs, showing up promptly at 11 a.m. for a service that will not start for another half-hour. One Sunday while I was visiting, they appeared from Ireland, Arkansas, Nebraska, Minnesota, North Carolina, and England. A handful of students even showed up from the nearby Rhodes College for a religious studies course. When I ask them how much they know about Al Green, one turned to me and said, “‘Love and Happiness,’ man.”

The visitors are greeted warmly. After all these years, the congregation has become very familiar with the novelty factor involved with having a musical icon behind the pulpit. Nevertheless, they are here to get down with God, not impress the guests (for example, there are none of Green’s Greatest Hits collections sold in the church lobby). The choir marches in and the B-3 Hammond organ starts to crank up the funk, while the electric guitar starts to wail (one imagines this is what the psalmist had in mind if he would have had electric instruments instead of a harp).

Reverend Al walks around the sanctuary fiddling with his lapel microphone, gently patting visitors on the shoulder as he glides to the back of the sanctuary to adjust his own sound at the mixing board. 

Back at the pulpit, Reverend Al is feeling the “unction of the Holy Ghost,” as he calls it. He starts to bob and weave like a boxer as he delivers his sermon on faith. “Hold on, God is coming!” he shouts. “Help is on the way,” he purrs. When he calls for the assembly to give a wave offering by lifting our arms, you can see the nervousness rise in the visitors. Awkwardly, we wave our arms in the air. Who is going to refuse Reverend Al? “Thank you, Jesus! Thank you, Jesus! Stop looking at Al Green,” he says. “Al Green himself came to worship God. He’s been soooo good to me,” he starts to sing as the musicians crank up the volume.

When he starts singing “One Day at a Time, Sweet Jesus,” you know you have been to church. “You are not here by accident,” he says. “I am the same person you heard sing all those songs, but I am not the same person,” he testifies. “I couldn’t preach for twenty-five years if something didn’t happen to me.” Speaking to the visitors with a winsome grin, he says, “Come and see Al, but Al doesn’t hold the key to your salvation. I can sing ‘Love and Happiness’ four times and I still will not hold your salvation.” I grin, wondering if the college student caught the remark.

The Reverend closes out the 11 o’clock service at 1:25 p.m. with a soul-felt version of “Gonna Sit Down on the Banks of the River” by the blues legend Rev. Gary Davis. He leaves us at the banks, and the decision is ours. Shall we jump in or walk away? You can tell what Green has done. You can see it in his eyes, in his smile, in the intonations of his honey-like voice. Otis Redding died in a plane crash at twenty-six, Sam Cooke was shot at thirty-three, Jackie Wilson’s career was over at forty-one, and Marvin Gaye was killed by his father at forty-four. Al Green is alive—and he is grateful. Somebody shout, Amen!

Every Sunday that Reverend Al preaches to his congregation he sees two enormous folk-art style murals on the back wall of his sanctuary. On the left, he sees the portrayal of what theologians call “the rapture” during the Second Coming. Cars and trucks are overturned on a highway and an airplane crashes into the top of a building while the souls of the departed cruise through the sky, launching toward Jesus. On the right, he sees a peaceful, African-looking Jesus striding on water towards him.

All at once, he is reminded of urgency and tranquility—twin messages for the preacher. It is one thing to sing about love and happiness, it is an entirely different enterprise to experience it. As he grabs hold of the pulpit, festooned in his preaching robe, you can see it on his face. He has left the long stem roses at the rivers edge and taken a dive. He looks up at us with a grin and seems to say, “Hop in. The water’s fine.”

Steve Beard is the editor of Good News. This is adapted from his chapter on Al Green in the newly-released book Spiritual Journeys (Relevant). It also includes his chapters on Johnny Cash and U2’s Bono.



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