This summer marks the 30th anniversary of the Black Rock Coalition (B.R.C.), an arts organization founded by Living Colour guitarist Vernon Reid, writer/musician Greg Tate and filmmaker Konda Mason. Their mission is to educate the public on the contributions of colored folks in the pale-faced world of rock-n-roll, while also facilitating opportunities for those who do their thing on stage and in the studio.

Although Black folks definitely made significant and enduring contributions to the invention and ascendance of rock-n-roll, we have often been forced to prove that we’re good enough to actually play it. Chuck Berry, Big Mama Thornton, Little Richard, Arthur Lee, Jimi Hendrix, Sly & the Family Stone, Phil Lynott, Bad Brains, Death, Ernie Isley, Brides of Funkenstein, LaBelle, Rotary Connection (featuring Minnie Riperton), Prince, Living Colour, AR Kane, Felice Rosser, Garland Jefferies, DK Dyson, Cindy Blackman and TV on the Radio be damned, all the Rocks Against Racism, Black Rock Coalitions and Afro Punks in the world won’t change narrow minds on the subject of race when it comes to rock-n-roll music.

Despite immersing myself in the B.R.C. during the mid 1980s by going to shows at C.B.G.B.’s, buying countless records from Sounds, a cool record shop on St. Marks, and writing articles about a few of my favorite bands includingPBR Streetgang, Eye & I, JJ Jumpers and others, somehow it would take me another eleven years to discover rock diva Betty Davis. While listening to the advance of Joi’s wonderful, but never-released Amoeba Cleansing Syndrome in 1996, she covered the shattered glass declaration of “If I’m Lucky I Just Might Get Picked-Up,” and, after playing it over and over, I decided to do a little digging and go straight to the source.

Back in 1973, the former fashion model, friend of Hendrix and influential ex-wife of genius jazz trumpeter Miles Davis released her self-titled debut album. “She never had a hit record, so a lot of people don’t know who Betty Davis is,” Joi explains from her home in Los Angeles. “In her music, you can hear the passion and artistry as well as the complexity and discipline. But, most of all, there is also a sense of freedom in her music.” Beginning her musical career as a songwriter, she wrote “Uptown” for The Chambers Brothers and later penned some funky songs that the Commodores recorded for the demo that convinced Motown Records to sign them. However, when Motown founder Berry Gordy told Davis she’d need to relinquish the publishing rights to the label as well, she took the songs back and decided to record them herself.

Davis had been both model and muse to the legendary Miles, who she met in 1967 and married a year later. Her picture even appeared on the cover of his 1969 album Filles de Kilimanjaro. It wasn’t until after their divorce that same year that Davis was able to step outside of her ex-husband’s musical shadow and do her own thing. Davis had helped Miles cross the threshold from cool jazz cat to space fusion cowboy by turning him on to what he described in his autobiography as the “avant-pop” of Hendrix and Sly Stone, bugged-out music that inspired his transition into an electric warrior. Soon thereafter, she began applying those lessons towards developing her own sound.

A groundbreaking earthquake of a woman with a powerful voice, Davis was as much of a force in the studio as she was on stage. Writing all of her own lyrics and humming grooves to the band that turned them into joyful noise, Betty teamed-up with former Sly Stone drummer Greg Errico, who produced the project. “The female recording artists at the time were nothing like her,” Errico said in 2011. He recruited Family Stone veteran bassist Larry Graham, a couple of Tower of Power horn players and Bay Area soul stirring backup singers The Pointer Sisters and future disco star Sylvester. On Betty Davis, you could hear a little Tina Turner in the raunchy eroticism of her voice, feel a little Sly in her sound, but fused into her own swag and brand new sonic bag.

A cross between sacred gospel wailer and sinful blues brawler, she didn’t just sing the lyrics, she screamed, yelped and shouted like a woman possessed, as her band played with aggressive power. Of course, surviving in America as a Black bohemian original doesn’t always translate to success or help pay the bills, but Davis wasn’t about to let anything stand in her way. She signed to the small label Just Sunshine Records, which released “If I’m Lucky…” as the first single. Rolling Stone magazine loved her, but reviewer Joe McEwen warned that Davis “…may be a shade too brazen and harsh for a wider audience.” He was right. Although the record didn’t do well commercially, it served as the perfect funky rock introduction to a badass broad who wanted to rock the boulevard, and rock it hard.

http://www.soulhead.com/2015/07/28/nasty-gal-on-betty-davis-by-michael-a-gonzales/