Watch: Curtis Mayfield on the Beat Club, 1972

In 1972, Curtis Mayfield was on the cusp. “Move On Up,” released the previous fall on his debut solo album Curtis, had become both a commercial breakthrough and a statement of purpose, carrying its mix of uplift, grit, and resolve onto R&B and pop charts without softening the message. His long run with the Impressions was firmly behind him, and going solo had widened the frame: longer grooves, layered orchestration, lyrics that trusted implication as much as declaration.

When he appeared on Beat Club in January 1972, Mayfield was already deep into the work that would soon emerge as Super Fly. Rather than promoting a moment, the performance captures a position. An artist fully inside his language, letting rhythm, restraint, and a gliding falsetto carry ideas that never needed to announce themselves to register.

By then, Beat Club was nearing the end of its run, but its reputation was already fixed. Produced in Bremen, Germany for Radio Bremen, the show had earned rare trust by giving airtime to artists far outside pop television norms, including Captain Beefheart and Can, along with groups like Soft Machine, Amon Düül II, and Van der Graaf Generator. The through line was seriousness: long takes, minimal chatter, music trusted to unfold at its own pace. Even late in its life, Beat Club still believed in getting out of the way.

Mayfield arrives with a lean, disciplined band. Tyrone McCullen plays the kit with a light but insistent touch, Joseph “Lucky” Scott’s rubbery bass stays elastic and melodic, Henry Gibson’s brilliant percussion deepens the pocket without crowding it, and Craig McCullen’s guitar work remains sharp and economical, especially on the brief interpolations of “Inner City Blues” and “Ain’t No Sunshine.” The setlist traces a wide arc: “Check Out Your Mind,” “Mighty Mighty (Spade And Whitey),” “We People Who Are Darker Than Blue,” “We’ve Gotta Have Peace,” “Keep On Keepin’ On,” “Stare And Stare,” and “We’ve Only Just Begun,” songs that move with patience and moral weight.

When “Move On Up” finally arrives, it doesn’t come smoothly. There are a couple of false starts, brief stumbles the cameras leave intact. In one of them, Mayfield turns toward drummer McCullen and scolds him for losing the beat. McCullen looks genuinely devastated, eyes staring straight ahead, shoulders tight, as Mayfield resets the band with a quick, no-nonsense gesture. It’s a rare crack in the surface, Mayfield the taskmaster bandleader asserting control in real time. When the groove finally locks in, the lift feels earned rather than automatic, discipline made audible.

(We’ve included the clip above because, well, it’s wild.)