The Spinners, " 'They Just Can't Stop It' the (Games People Play)"

Time has not been terribly kind to the Spinners, nor terribly fair. They were a marvelous vocal outfit with a long string of hits, yet they're not treated with anywhere near the critical reverence of, say, the Chi-Lites or the Dramatics. And with their bass voice, Pervis Jackson, having passed away yesterday, now seems as good a time as any to offer a bit of reclamation.

To be fair, the group could be a bit silly and cloying at times, "Rubberband Man" being nothing short of supper-club vaudevillian novelty and Phillippe Wynne frequently veering off into eccentric/batshit land with his inflections and ad libs (but then, what do you expect from a guy who spelled his name Phillippe and pronounced it Felipe?). But their harmonies were spot on, their arrangements tight yet free-flowing, their productions sterling (especially "I'll Be Around," one of the half-dozen greatest single productions ever).

I could have cited any number of songs to make a critical case for them: "It's a Shame," titularly appropriate for the R.I.P. sentiment and an interesting story in its own right; "Ghetto Child," with its honest assessment of class-based realities; "Then Came You," their sole #1 pop hit, with the immortal coda comment "I'm a contented man!"

But today I'd like to shine a spotlight on my favorite song of theirs, " 'They Just Can't Stop It' the (Games People Play)". And not just because its title, aiming to avoid confusion with another hit song called "Games People Play," pulls off the worst execution of grammar and punctuation in chart-pop history. It's a marvelous vocal effort on all counts: second-lead vocalist Bobby Smith's reliable (if overacted in that Soul Train clip) lead; the feminine response vocal (sung by Barbara Ingram but rendered weirdly in that clip by the guy in the waxy handlebar 'stache); and Pervis's perfect pop moment expressed in one word: "12:45." This is soul-pop done right, folks, and it's our loss that there's no room on the pop-culture radar for these kinds of variety-show-worthy singles anymore.

I once spent a late night carousing in NYC's West Village with my friend the Princess of Cairo singing a medley of all the Spinners' great and wacky hits, random lines from "Sadie" and "Mighty Love" and "Love Don't Love Nobody." And, of course: I'm a contented man!