I just finished Tony Fletcher’s “In the Midnight Hour: The Life & Soul of Wilson Pickett”.
You couldn’t have grown up in the City of Detroit in the ’60s or ’70s and NOT know who Wicked Pickett was. As a matter of fact, I told a few friends that I was reading this biographical perspective about a cat who ALWAYS moved the crowds — in case they didn’t know.
I even texted my Mother to ask if she knew that Wilson Pickett had been a member of The Falcons in the late 1950s, along with Eddie Floyd:
Ma said that even she didn’t know. Which was cool with me. Because, at least, she didn’t tell me that she didn’t remember and whatnot. THAT would’ve meant that she’s starting to slip a little bit and I’ve got to pay closer attention. Or, it might explain to me precisely why she’s currently vacationing in Norway some damn where.
I digress.
And, as I’m reading Tony Fletcher’s book, I notice that he describes Wilson Pickett’s career by milestones that are tied to various recording sessions. Then, it dawns on me, “Oh yeah. My man’s a music critic.”
You might want to check out the BBC documentary, narrated by The Who’s Roger Daltrey.
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