The Secrets of Bobby Womack

Now that the last “soul man” has been honored by the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, he can finally put his demons behind him.


Mention the phrase “soul man,” and a litany of names runs through your mind: Otis Redding, James Brown, Wilson Pickett, Al Green, Isaac Hayes, Marvin Gaye, Jackie Wilson, Teddy Pendergrass and, of course, Sam Cooke. Even newbies like Anthony Hamilton and Jaheim are likely to make the cut, particularly for those who like their contemporary soul, down home and gritty.

For far too many, Bobby Womack is unfortunately an afterthought. But that should change with Womack’s induction into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame on April 4. Womack joins the ranks of many of the aforementioned legendary soul men including his late friend and mentor Sam Cooke.

At the height of soul music’s popularity in the 1960s and early 1970s, the male soul singer’s status rivaled that of his “race man” peer. The soul man icons of that era congealed grand narratives of tragedy—shot dead in a motel; shot dead by your father; shot dead in a game of Russian Roulette; killed in an airplane crash; scorched by a pot of boiling grits—wedded to even more complicated personal demons—physical abuse of wives and girlfriends; sexual assault of younger female artists; sex with underage girls.

So, at a time when Martin Luther King Jr. and others presented African Americans as the moral compass of American society, the soul man signified a noble and decidedly secular struggle against good and evil.

Bobby Womack’s path to the Hall of Fame is filled with such battles. Did God punish the singer for abandoning gospel music? Did Womack betray his mentor Sam Cooke by marrying his wife? In the end, was he “commercial” enough to crossover?

Sam Cooke was first to create the template for the soul man. His good looks and virile masculinity helped him become gospel music’s first sex symbol. While Cooke clearly sang of the Lord—often in that fluttering, feathery riff that became his signature—he clearly desired the flesh as evidenced by the philandering that purportedly instigated his murder in 1964.

Though Cooke’s posthumously released “A Change is Gonna Come” became a civil rights era anthem, some “true believers” thought his death was punishment for the sin of breaking ranks from the gospel world and opening up the floodgates for many others—most famously Aretha Franklin.

One of those who came through was Bobby Womack. Recording with the Valentinos in the early 1960s, Womack and his brothers were tutored by Cooke on the professional aspects of the recording industry.

Shortly after Cooke’s death, Womack offered counsel and comfort to Cooke’s widow Barbara. But three months after Cooke’s death and just as Womack turned 21 years old, he went a step further, marrying Cooke’s still-grieving wife. “They didn’t let his body get cold in the ground,” family members sniffed in the Pittsburgh Courier.