How Maze’s “Joy and Pain” Earned a Permanent Spot in the Black American Songbook
The soul band’s signature 1980 track taps into the small and fragile pleasures of enduring.
Our Classic Songs series highlights tracks from across music history that resonate loudly today.
Frankie Beverly holds his opening note on “Joy and Pain” for more than two time-stopping measures, levitating like an angel above the hard Earth. His voice is exultant and melancholic, not quite a funkster’s randy howl, or a loverman’s saccharine plea. There’s a touch of gospel and blues in his weary rasp, but he doesn’t sound anguished. He’s relieved, appreciative. Misery has delivered him, and perhaps it can save you too.
“It seems to me,” Beverly goes on to sing, “Joy and pain/Are like sunshine and rain.” It seems. That cautious optimism is the beating heart of “Joy and Pain,” funk and R&B band Maze’s signature song. Beverly, who died last year, spends much of the track’s seven minutes wavering before he’s convinced of the necessity of hurt and happiness. How could we even distinguish them without experiencing both? Are they even different?
That ambivalence, and the song’s rich and gentle rhythms, have earned it a permanent spot in the Black American songbook. “Joy and Pain” soundtracks and fosters Black sanctuary. It wafts through cookouts, kickbacks, and family reunions. It incites city blocks and nursing homes into electric slides. It’s not just a paean or floor-filler though. I most often listen to it alone or with my wife. It transports me to cherished spaces and experiences: the aromatic and cousin-filled kitchen of my grandmother’s home on a holiday, the fusty skating rinks where I learned to flirt, the sweltering Fort Greene Park dance party where New York City once briefly melted into my Southern hometown. It’s a sonic summoning circle.
