Stax Supper

Do not be saddened by death, says the ancient philosopher Socrates just before his own execution in 399 BC, for in death the mind is liberated from the confines of the body—which is troubled by necessity for food and exposure to disease, and comprised of earthly desires, lust and fears, constrained in constant torment and misery, seeking the stuff of endless uselessness, forever suffering—and one’s soul ascends unto wisdom in the non-material world where it can obtain supreme virtue and justice, not in life but only through death.

In truth, we will never fully or wholly know what Socrates thought, as of all that he wrote in his lifetime, only his lecture-notes have survived. There remains almost no record to his life, his philosophy. What we know of Socrates, was written by one of his students named Plato, who was about 26 years old when he died.

2000 years after his death, the image of his execution was painted by Jacques-Louis David in 1787, during a period and culture of art, influenced greatly by ancient philosophy and biblical imagery, known as the Renaissance, a French word meaning rebirth, as though, among the many paintings and artists of this era, The School of Athens by Raphael and The Last Supper by Leonardo Da Vinci and the interior of the Sistine Chapel painted by Michelangelo, all strove for a rising of the soul of earth, its history, through the strokes of a paint brush.

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Stax Records, on McLemore Avenue in Memphis, Tennessee, in the 1960’s—at the height of a world meeting a long-coming crossroads, with the musicians on the label delivering through their songs, from their soul, a voice determined to part seas—conjures up imagery reminiscent of a Renaissance painting.

The rolling current of the Mississippi River. Dark and muddy waters below a starry black sky. Some of the stars, Cursa and Acamar and Eridani shine upon the river and cut the waters pale and luminous and aqua-blue, revealing the motion underneath of channel catfish, smallmouth bass, common carp and bluegills. The ghosts of a runaway slave named Jim and reject of civilized society Huckleberry Finn riding down the river together in a log-slated raft. An integrated church congregation in the process of baptism. Old ropes tied to the branches of live oak and magnolias along the banks.

The Hernando De Soto Bridge, linking Tennessee to the world west, still under construction. Teal blue and steel arched brackets shaped as two Egyptian bread loaf hieroglyphics.

The middle of the canvas, a urine and dirt colored building called Satellite Record Shop with two large storefront windows on either side of the entry door. Customers outside, holding albums by Ray Charles and Little Richard and Etta James.

Right beside the shop, connected as one building in whole, a two-story faded red brick theater. A triangle shaped marquee hanging over the sidewalk in a red and blue border. Red electric bulbs on top of the sign spell out STAX, and slapped on the sign itself, where movie titles would be or the dates for a concert, spelled out in buzzing red, glows Soulsville USA.

Church-like wooden doors swinging open, revealing inside a studio with music being made like a gospel choir in practice. A fiery tint from the ceiling lights, sunset shaded curtains along the walls, a semi-circle of plastic and metal framed school chairs, a drum set lifted slightly off the floor on a wooden platform, a walnut made electric organ, guitar cases with Gibson Flying V and white Sears Silvertone and blazing orange Jazzmaster Fender electric models and a red-faced acoustic guitar, chest high amps and speakers, a half dozen microphone stands, snare drums and conga drums, gold and silver tenor saxophones and trumpets and a grand piano with a few musicians sharing the seat and a few more gathered around the cover lid, titian stranded shag carpet covering the floor as though where they recorded music were a corridor within the sun’s metallic heat and hydrogen.

In the control room, the engineers and owner Jim Stewart, wearing a bow tie and Atticus Finch styled glasses, dance a honky-tonk type shuffle. Vice President Al Bell nodding his head in a cool rhythm, wearing dark shades, a shiny dark suit and a shiny watch, a stylish anchor beard with a few inches of hair hanging just below his chin, pointing with his left index finger to the singers through the glass.

Along the walls hang portraits of the Jordan River with channel catfish and common carp seen through the surface, Martin Luther King, Jr., Langston Hughes and Walt Whitman.

An integrated house band playing the instruments, heeded by Booker T. & the M.G.’s, laying down tracks for Sam and Dave in matching black suits without ties, the Staple Singers with Pops in funky dark and gold framed glasses and his daughters Mavis and Cleotha and Yvonne with natural afro hair styles wearing cheongsam flower printed dresses, Albert King playing a Flying V guitar in a checkered jacket and a pipe in his mouth with smoke coming out his nostrils like a bull, Rufus Thomas in a silk onesie suit that cuts off at the knees with a cape over his shoulders and his daughter Carla Thomas in a gold sparkling dress, Eddie Floyd in all dark blue denim and Wilson Pickett with an afro, mustache, gold chain, green silk shirt and jacket made of gold jewels. In the center there is the King of Soul, Otis Redding, wearing an oversized double-breasted jacket and big-knotted tie like a Baptist preacher, singing from down on his knees, moved that way, from the prowess of his own voice, singing as though he were a direct descendant of God, singing so one can see the walls crumpling from the breath of his lungs.