HOFFSTACK PLAYLIST #10 - Billy Paul, "Let 'Em In"

Let's recognize Black History Month before doing so is turned into a federal crime.

The truth is I’d never heard this recording until a few weeks ago. I found an exhaustive, 17-hour Spotify playlist of The Sound of Philadelphia, and let it run on shuffle one day. This popped up and I knew immediately it was a) Billy Paul and b) my new favorite thing. I’ve played it six hundred times since.

“Let ‘Em In” is, of course, a Paul McCartney composition, originally recorded by Wings in 1976. It was an enormous success at the time, as many Wings songs were. To this day people kinda trash Wings, and I don’t really see why. It’s a perfect pop confection with McCartney’s closely recorded vocals, an instantly hummable melody and all the production effects he loved going back to “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer.”

Here’s the original if you want to hear it again. It’s a fun one to listen to when you are half asleep, because the loudness of that false ending can kinda scare the crap out of you.

The following year, Billy Paul recorded “Let ‘Em In” (and made it the title track on his album) for Philadelphia International, but unless Discogs in lying to me (they rarely are) this was not produced by Kenny Gamble and Leon Huff or Thom Bell, but by Jack Faith. I only mention this to underline just how much of a house style was in effect, and that The Sound of Philadelphia—that inimitable collision of driving soul and syrupy strings—was clearly beat into anyone within ten feet of the recording booth.

The first thing you’ll notice is that it’s faster, more urgent, has some razzle-dazzle T.S.O.P. horns and … includes Malcolm X?

Billy Paul’s magic act here was to take a very pleasant Paul McCartney pop song and turn it into a salute to Black leaders. There’s nothing in the original to suggest that there’s any weight to the lyrics. It’s about a bunch of people coming over to someone’s house. The list of people arriving (e.g. “Auntie Gin”) were all people in McCartney’s family, or his close friends. Well, that’s not exactly true. He also mentions Martin Luther. I suppose it is possible that McCartney (whose father was Protestant) was singing about history’s most famous constipated apostate, but one suspects this is not the case.

Anyhow, Paul’s version inserts speeches from Malcolm X, Dick Gregory and, for the big finish, Martin Luther King. He also changes the names of all the ones who are being “let in” to the house, and turns it into a celebration with people who had passed away. “Pauline Williams was my twin,” is autobiographical. Billy Paul was born Paul Williams, and he had a twin sister, Pauline, who died shortly before the song was recorded. “Elijah and Malcolm,” are clearly references to Elijah Muhammad, who had died two years prior, and Malcolm X. Paul adds that the two “still are friends,” which seems like revisionist history to me, but it’s not my song. “Brother Martin” seems obvious but “we can’t forget John” is not. I guess it is John F. Kennedy. I suppose in the mid-1970s JFK was still lionized as a hero, and not the depraved lunatic as seen in the Netflix film Blonde. “Bobby and Medgar” is also open to interpretation. Medgar is Medgar Evers, but Bobby is … Bobby Kennedy, as Bobby Seale was still alive at the time. (Holy shit: Bobby Seale is still alive now!)

He wraps up the shout-outs with the best of all, Louis Armstrong. (Paul pronounces it Lou-EE and not Lou-IS, which was what he preferred, but he was pretty easygoing about it. Not like if you called Charles Mingus “Charlie.”)

The name changes makes the song more touching and inspirational, no disrespect to Auntie Gin. But let’s get into the true genius of this track, and of Billy Paul in general.

Billy Paul, whose high-registered voice has something of a narrow range and an unusual texture—there are times when he sounds a bit like Kermit the Frog—is the absolute master of unexpected cadences and little ad-libs. Go back and listen to “Am I Black Enough For You?” and try to find a time in which he repeats the title phrase the same way twice. You can’t do it. He’s like the Phillip Glass of Philly Soul, endlessly playing around with permutations and dodging expectations.

It’s particularly noticeable here, because the additions are so different from the Wings original.

It begins in the very first line. McCartney sings “door,” Paul sings “do-WAH.” By the end of the first verse he’s throwing in a “oooh child, let the beautiful peo-ple innnnn,” and we’re just getting warmed up.

Before hading the mike to Dick Gregory, Paul adds a little shuffle, rhyming “let the folks in” with “washing their sins,” which later turns to “let the folks in/I wanna see my twin/let the folks in/We gonna sit in my den.” WE GONNA SIT IN MY DEN!

If we let ‘em in where are they gonna go? We’ll put ‘em all in my den, of course.

In the middle of this dippy Paul McCartney pop song, now a salute to Civil Rights, but also celebration of lost loved ones, Billy Paul blows everything open with this incredible image, crammed right into the cadence where most people would just rest. Neither Paul, nor John, nor George, nor Ringo could EVER come up with an out-of-left-field line brilliant as that! (Well, maybe Ringo.) If you missed it the first time, I cued it up here.

This continues, after a second Malcolm X speech about unity, when Paul repeats the line about “somebody’s ringing the bell.” He’s in an even higher register here, but goes down low to comment on the bell-ringing (“they’re pushing hard”) and door-knocking (“they’re kicking hard.”) Could you imagine watching a movie with Billy Paul? The commentary track would be incredible.

If you have the opportunity, I recommend listening to this song while taking a stroll. You’ll find yourself passing everyone else on the street. While not at supersonic speed, the beat is incredibly driving, urgent and persistent—a true motivator to get to your next appointment a little early. It’s a perfect recording and an example of a cover version taking an already great song and transforming it into something totally original.