Carolyn Crawford is the best Motown singer you've never heard of

In a bright On a Saturday morning in the summer of 1963, 13-year-old Carolyn Crawford walked onto the stage of Detroit's Fox Theater and sat down behind a piano. She had to bring her A-game to this show, the finals of the Tip-Top Talent Contest, hosted by a local gospel and R&B station. Crawford had collected untold Tip-Top bread wrappers to get there, and now it was her turn to compete for the grand prize: a four-year contract with Motown Records.

She began singing 'Laughing Boy' by her idol Mary Wells, throwing in an extra verse for good measure. Her inventiveness, combined with honeyed vocals that stung with the emotional depth of someone at least twice her age, secured Crawford's top spot.

Shortly after the competition, Crawford and her mother met with Motown founder Berry Gordy. “He asked me if I had any questions for him, and I had three,” says the now 74-year-old from her home in Detroit. “The first one was, 'Can I write my own songs?' And he said, “Can you write?” And I said, “I think I can.” Her second request was to keep her name. And the third was that he wanted to be on the Motown label, “the one with the big blue M — I didn't want to be on VIP or Gordy or Soul or any of those other ones,” he says.

Considering how many of today's artists struggle to maintain creative control over their work, from Tinashe's record label woes in the 2010s to Taylor Swift's fight for her teachers' rights, it's hard not to admire a 13-year-old's viciousness of a girl who requires a strong willpower strain of music – let alone the fact that she did it six whole decades ago. But within minutes of meeting Crawford, whom friends call a “cannon,” it's clear she's always been fearless. She's the kind of woman who, in her twenties, would show up unannounced at the offices of Philadelphia International and ask for a meeting with songwriting and production duo Kenny Gamble and Leon Huff. “He wasn't there, but I left my name and number,” says Crawford. “About a week later Leon Huff picked me up and said he was interested. He gave me a plane ticket to go out and record.”

She's also the kind of woman who would write a handwritten note with her resume and contact information for a music journalist visiting her current workplace, a fantastic used record store in Detroit that specializes in rare soul 45s. This, by the way, is how we met last year and why I've been thinking about her resume ever since, from Motown to Philadelphia International to working with Chapter 8 and Hodges, James, Smith and Crawford to her collaborations with drummer Hamilton Bohannon on classics. disco hits like “Let's Start the Dance,” not to mention the two solo albums he released on Mercury Records in the late 70s. To this day, Crawford is playing club gigs and even has a new old record coming out this month – a seven-inch two unreleased songs recorded with former Motown songwriter and producer William “Mickey” Stevenson in 1972, due February 23 on UK reissue label Ace/Kent.

But back to that initial meeting with Gordy: “Whether I was a big star or not, or ever will be, he gave me those three wishes, and I'm very happy with that,” Crawford says. “I did my first Motown recording at midnight on my 14th birthday.” Produced by Holland & Dozier and written by Crawford, “Forget About Me” appeared at number 51 on Motown's singles chart. Unfortunately, the track, which is as dynamic and bittersweet as some of the label's biggest hits, has been largely forgotten.

Crawford's second Motown single, “My Smile Is Just a Frown (Turned Upside Down),” fared better, peaking at No. 39 Advertising sign Rhythm and Blues Charts. Motown receptionist-turned-songwriter Janie Bradford calls the track a “favorite” in Susan Whitall's 2017 oral history, Women of Motown (Second Edition). “I thought it was very unique,” Bradford said of the song, which she co-wrote with Smokey Robinson and Stevenson. “It has hit and missed the charts, never made it to the top. But we've gotten a cult following from that song over the last 30 or 35 years. Everybody abroad knows about that song and Carolyn Crawford, but she didn't do anything here.”

One of those overseas fans, Phil Dick, was introduced to 60s soul music at a local youth club in Yorkshire, England. By then, American audiences had moved on to funk and disco, he says, but interest in the music released by labels like Motown, Stax and Volt “never really waned in the U.K. In the north of England, we wanted to keep listening music with that particular beat and sound, so we looked for darker and darker records.” A local scene began to coalesce around all-night dance parties playing the style of music known as Northern soul (coined by London journalist Dave Godin in 1968). “Listening to music became a way to let off steam after working hard in a factory all week,” says Dick. “It was a way to become someone other than another person on the assembly line.”

Dick was particularly fond of the Motown label and began collecting every record he could get his hands on. He has visited Detroit about 60 times. he and his wife, Kim, even got married under the Hitsville USA sign at the Motown Museum. In 2017, the pair began organizing Detroit A Go Go, a recurring event that draws a group of northern soul fans to the city for concerts by some of the label's most beloved—and unknown—stars. Crawford has played in every one.

“Carolyn is a force of nature,” says Dick. “He is very honest. You know exactly where you stand with her at all times, but she's had a rough time in the music industry. They are extremely talented and really should have been international superstars. Of course, there are many people who are very talented – and talent is only part of the secret to success – but he had a lot of hard knocks and not enough of the breaks that he really should have. She should be set, not having to worry about how she's going to pay her utility bills or if she can afford to put a clutch in her car.”

Dick's voice softens as he adds, “It's sad, but her music is just wonderful. The fact that she was able, at the tender age of 13, to convince Berry Gordy to let her write her own songs — that's really quite special,” she says. It urges me to listen to the 1964 recording of “I'll Come Running,” Crawford's “My Smile Is Just a Frown,” and his personal favorite.

Dan Austin, a Detroit based DJ with Motor City Soul Club, says Crawford's story mirrors that of the hundreds of talented but forgotten soul artists in Detroit and across the country. “Everybody loves Motown and the greatest hits, but don't you know 'Baby Love' or 'Sir Duke' by now?” Don't you want to hear something this good?' he asks. “It always bothered me that there were all these people in Britain who knew all the words to a JJ Barnes song from 60 years ago, but seemingly nobody here in his hometown of Detroit even knew who he was. And now he's gone, and we're losing these legends at an alarming rate. That's what makes Carolyn even more amazing – she's a dynamo on stage who can still give many of today's performers a run for their money. It's an increasingly rare link to an era and quality of music that I personally don't think will ever be matched. It is an international treasure.”

When I ask Crawford what advice she might give that 13-year-old girl onstage at the Fox Theater, she lets out a sigh. “I have no advice for that girl then,” she says. “I think he did what he had to do. He had to live what he had to live, and it's brought me to this point now where I don't try to be everyone's friend or even be that likable. I'm not trying to shut anyone out either, but I am who I am because of what I've been through.”

Crawford plans to continue singing for as long as she can. “When I opened my mouth, nothing could come out,” he says. “I've seen people go through things like that.” Crawford does not offer a specific name, but it is possible that it refers to her character, Mary Wells, who suffered from throat cancer. “You have to get knocked down and bruised so you know how to get back up because it's a fight to the end no matter what you do,” she says. “But I'm good with what I've been given.”

A few days after our conversation, I see news on social media about the UK label releasing two of her old recordings, 'Get Up and Move' and 'Sugar Boy'. When I text Crawford to congratulate her, he replies, “She's 52, and I'm grateful to be alive to see it.” Captioned at the end of her text: a thumbs up and glowing heart emoji.