Throwback: Black History Month: The Whispers

Today is the second day of Black History Month. And over the course of the month, I’ll spend some time paying tribute to Black artists across a wide and diverse array of genres and styles. My hope is that these posts should serve as an important reminder that the Black experience is the American experience, that Black culture is American culture — and importantly, Black lives and Black art matter. You can’t love Black art and Black artists without giving a shit about Black people.

This month won’t be a comprehensive study of Black music. It’ll be more idiosyncratic because — well, JOVM after all. Now, if you’ve been following this site, you may recall that so far I’ve paid tribute to Chaka Khan and to the Reverend Al Green.

I’m a huge fan of The Whispers. Whether it’s a DJ set or Clem’s Video Request Night, I frequently make sure that at some point The Whispers must be played. It’s an unwritten law for me. Plus, many of their songs fucking slap and slap hard.

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