One of the Boys

She does not have the passion of Aretha Franklin, the slim chic of Diana Ross or the earthy sexuality of Tina Turner. But whether she comes in singing sassy, sly or riding on velvet, Gladys Knight is a marvel of emotional energy. Behind her the three Pips--Brother Merald and Cousins William Guest and Edward Patten--walk, run, shuffle, tap in staccato choreographic counterpoint. With a current NBC-TV summer variety series plus a pair of Grammy awards and a platinum and two gold albums in the past two years, Gladys Knight and the Pips are considered this year's smash rhythm and blues act.

They are no overnight sensation, however. The grueling roadhouse gigs, dusty motel rooms and endless turnpike tours that attend the birth of almost every pop-music career merge in the show-business lexicon under the heading "dues paying." Hardly anyone escapes, least of all black rhythm and blues performers. This Georgia-born quartet spent nearly two decades in obscurity before finally scuffling into the big time.

Racism and Greed. If ever pop music claimed a child prodigy, it was young Gladys Knight. When she was four, her eager contralto, frequently on key, resonated through the adult ranks of Atlanta's Mt. Moriah Baptist Church choir. Three years later she won the $2,000 first prize on Ted Mack's Original Amateur Hour with a humid rendition of Too Young. When another cousin, James ("Pip") Wood heard Gladys and the boys sing, he encouraged them to turn professional and gave them his nickname. In 1954 they were booked into Atlanta's Royal Peacock Supper Club. Gladys was ten years old.

A veteran of the road by the time she was 13, Gladys had learned how to press clothes under hotel mattresses as well as to avoid drug pushers and to cope with racism and greed. Before every concert the four teen-agers joined hands in a prayer circle, a ritual they continue to observe. Small-town promoters quickly spotted their vulnerability. Once after they had given two performances in Paducah, Ky., the promoter pulled out a gun and refused to pay. Says Gladys: "There was nothing we could do except leave in a hurry because we were peace-loving people."

In 1961 the group came up with a hit single, Every Beat of My Heart, but it was not until 1966 that they landed a Motown recording deal. With almost all the top black songwriting and performing talent under contract, Motown encouraged rabid in-house competition. To keep its producers busy, all Motown's artists often recorded the same songs, knowing that only one version would be released.

Promising songs were doled out according to Motown Chief Berry Gordy's private caste system; the Supremes, the Temptations, Marvin Gaye, and Smokey Robinson and the Miracles had first choice. Such low-priority groups as the Spinners, the Four Tops and the Pips received the leavings. "We wanted to do a gospel album long before Aretha," says Gladys, "and Berry saved the soft songs for Diana Ross." But in 1967 a catchy soul rocker, I Heard It Through the Grapevine, sailed onto the charts for the Pips. Two other singles had scored for them by the time their Motown contract expired in 1973, and they quickly made a deal with Buddah Records.

Since then, Gladys and the Pips have sold $10 million worth of records. They have extended their repertory from soul and blues to Marvin Hamlisch and Burt Bacharach songs. Needless to say, Motown has unearthed several dozen old recordings--and the Pips have sued their former employer for $1.7 million in disputed royalties.

Butter Cutter. Meanwhile, they gross between $30,000 and $50,000 a concert, have an eight-week contract with the Las Vegas Hilton and spend lucrative summer weeks playing theaters and supper clubs. Last fall Gladys, now 31, married her second husband, Barry Hankerson, an executive assistant to Detroit Mayor Coleman Young. He calls her by her middle name, Maria--Gladys, after all, is a show business celebrity. In the industry there is some gossip that success has already created a wedge in the Pips' solidarity. "When vocal groups are hungry, you can't split 'em with an ax," Cousin William once remarked. "As soon as success comes, all it takes is a butter cutter." Gladys scoffs, maintaining that she is content to remain one of the boys. "I'm not afraid to stand alone professionally," she says. "I simply don't want to."

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.