The Drifters

Rhythm and blues lore abounds with vocal ensembles whose appellations, including the Orioles, Cadillacs, Crows, Flamingos, Moonglows, Coasters, and Penguins, command deep respect among enthusiasts and aficionados. Among these acts, the Drifters belong to an even rarer circle, having both secured their standing in the R&B pantheon and helped shape the genre itself during its emergence as a nationwide chart force in the early 1950s and throughout the decade that followed. Their historical position mirrors the intricate nature of their contributions, shaped by two separate eras in their sound and personnel continuity, together with their remarkable endurance; only the Platters could match such an extended run as a functioning recording entity, though that ensemble benefited from far greater internal stability and consistency because of fundamental differences in its organizational structure. The Drifters likewise occupy a singular niche in popular music annals as the foremost R&B collective established at the urging of a record-label executive.

Their narrative commenced in the opening months of 1953 after Clyde McPhatter, whose soaring high-tenor lead had defined the Dominoes, a vocal quintet assembled by Billy Ward three years prior, departed that unit. The Dominoes performed a booked engagement at New York’s Birdland club without McPhatter for one of the first times when a member of the audience inquired about the absent vocalist backstage. The inquirer was Ahmet Ertegun, a former record collector who had founded Atlantic Records in the late 1940s; upon learning of McPhatter’s exit from the Dominoes, he reached the singer directly and placed him under contract at Atlantic.

Ertegun supplied the catalyst within that agreement for McPhatter to assemble his own ensemble, which took the name the Drifters. The precise origins of the moniker and who first suggested it remain unclear, though no one at Atlantic initially favored it, regarding the choice as excessively country-and-western; those on hand sometimes explained that the members had simply drifted in from prior groups.

McPhatter drew his primary pool of backing vocalists from the former ranks of the Mount Lebanon Singers, the gospel outfit with which he had performed in the 1940s. He cycled through multiple configurations before satisfying Ertegun and producer Jerry Wexler, testing as many as a dozen acquaintances, several of whom reached actual recording dates. The first, unsuccessful roster—William Anderson, David Baughn, Dave Baldwin (brother of author James Baldwin), and James Johnson—cut four sides on 28 June 1953, only one of which, the McPhatter-penned “Lucille,” ever saw release. In August a second lineup coalesced, featuring experienced gospel tenors Gerhart Thrasher and Andrew Thrasher, bass singer Willie Ferbee, and guitarist Walter Adams. From the outset the Drifters stood apart among R&B vocal groups by retaining a guitarist as a core member and centering electric guitar within their arrangements; Jimmy Oliver soon claimed that chair and became a key songwriter for the Drifters, especially for tenor Gerhart Thrasher. This edition recorded five numbers on 9 August 1953, among them “Money Honey,” composed by arranger-pianist Jesse Stone. Issued shortly afterward, the track reached number one on the R&B chart by mid-autumn and was later cited on occasion as the first rock-and-roll record; it also entered the repertoire of Elvis Presley and numerous lesser artists. After that breakthrough the group’s path appeared secure, at least while Clyde McPhatter remained the lead vocalist.

The achievement did nothing to halt the frequent personnel shifts that would define the Drifters’ trajectory. Even as they savored their first major success, a refreshed configuration featuring bass singer Bill Pinkney and guitarist Jimmy Oliver alongside Gerhart Thrasher and Andrew Thrasher entered the studio. This roster endured through the ensuing year and delivered “Such a Night,” which peaked at number two on the R&B chart, plus a second R&B chart-topper, “Honey Love,” in early 1954. By then charts, radio exposure, and listener tastes had broadened, allowing “Honey Love” to climb to number twenty-one on the pop listing late that spring. Once more the Drifters seemed poised for larger accomplishments, yet by autumn 1954 a pivotal member had chosen another direction.

Although McPhatter had been promised substantial musical authority, Ertegun and Wexler, acting as producers, repeatedly steered the group toward sounds of their own preference. McPhatter harbored no objection to their pursuit of material that might appeal across racial lines, but he preferred not to join that effort. His ambition was to cross over to pop listeners as a balladeer and to fashion himself as a successor to Nat King Cole or a Black counterpart to Frank Sinatra or Perry Como. In October 1954 he severed ties with the Drifters to launch a solo career that would sustain his success through the remainder of the 1950s.

Rather than allow the ensemble in which they had invested eighteen months to dissolve, Ertegun and Wexler remained committed to recording the Drifters, though the group’s internal situation had changed dramatically with McPhatter’s departure.

McPhatter had placed the Drifters under the umbrella of his own company, Drifters Incorporated, ensuring he would receive a share of earnings that had been withheld from him during his Dominoes tenure; his readiness to divide those earnings with fellow members has never been disputed. He shared ownership equally with his manager, George Treadwell, a onetime jazz musician who had guided the solo career of his first wife, Sarah Vaughan. Upon leaving, McPhatter sold his stake in Drifters Incorporated to Treadwell instead of arranging for the remaining members or his eventual replacement to inherit that interest.

This transaction condemned the group to perpetual turnover. Thereafter every Drifter performed as a salaried employee, receiving as little as one hundred dollars weekly even into the early 1960s and enjoying no royalties, concert-fee participation, or continuing rights to the name “the Drifters” upon departure, regardless of the ensemble’s achievements. Consequently it became impossible to retain members who possessed genuine talent or long-term ambitions. For those who followed McPhatter’s exit, membership proved scarcely more appealing than his own earlier experience with the Dominoes, and he later expressed regret over the decision, recognizing both the ownership he had relinquished and the hardship he had imposed on his colleagues.

The immediate challenge in 1954 was locating a successor to Clyde McPhatter, and some observers maintain that none was ever found. David Baughn, who had appeared in an early Drifters configuration, entered temporarily, handling one session and six months of live dates, the primary source of the group’s income. Baughn’s voice was capable, yet the unit sounded like a mere echo of the McPhatter period, and Atlantic withheld those sides, possibly to avoid competing with McPhatter’s successful solo releases. The label remained uncertain whether to pursue an entirely fresh sound or to seek a McPhatter sound-alike who, by 1956, had become a major R&B star. Baughn’s unpredictable demeanor soon compelled Treadwell to add a second lead voice in Bobby Hendricks, previously of the Five Crowns and the Swallows. Further attempts were made with this lineup, including a lead vocal by Bill Pinkney, but none proved satisfactory.

The roster continued to fluctuate as Baughn departed, yet the Drifters maintained strong live attendance on the strength of prior recordings. In 1955 they auditioned a young singer who approached them after a Cleveland engagement. Johnny Moore, formerly of the Hornets, had recorded modestly without achieving more than local notice. His pleasing high tenor recalled McPhatter sufficiently for the group to offer him a position the following day. Moore would become a mainstay across two separate decades.

The Drifters returned to the studio in September 1955 with Nesuhi Ertegun and Jerry Leiber producing and Moore on lead. The session yielded the number-one R&B single “Adorable,” which helped solidify their post-McPhatter identity. This remained one of their few substantial chart entries during that period, however; they stayed absent from the upper reaches of the pop charts where the largest sales resided. Their late-1950s releases drew limited attention from young white listeners, even though future rock-and-roll standards such as “Ruby Baby” appeared in their catalog. Dion scored a far larger hit with that song in the early 1960s, yet the original recording marked the Drifters’ first collaboration with songwriters Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller, who later assumed production duties. The lineup also stabilized for the first time in over a year. Behind Moore’s cool high tenor, supported by Bill Pinkney’s bass and Bobby Hendricks’ tenor, the original Drifters entered what might be termed their silver age. “I Gotta Get Myself a Woman,” written by Jesse Stone and recorded in summer 1956, delivered a number-eleven R&B hit, and prospects again appeared bright.

Black record buyers, however, proved reluctant to embrace a Drifters without McPhatter, whose passionate following anticipated the later devotion accorded Sam Cooke. Meanwhile musical tastes were shifting: white teenagers now constituted a far larger market than in 1953–54, and Atlantic targeted that potentially more lucrative audience.

The close of 1956 brought the release of the group’s first album, Clyde McPhatter & the Drifters. McPhatter’s popularity and the enduring appeal of his earlier tracks ensured that those fourteen selections warranted an LP more than a year after his departure, an attempt to resell the material to his fans. In this respect Atlantic demonstrated foresight; few labels in 1956 issued LPs aimed at Black R&B listeners, and apart from Elvis Presley’s albums, little white rock and roll registered on the album charts.

Late 1956 also marked the point at which the Drifters’ business arrangement exacted its toll. Recent hits generated more bookings than at any time since 1954, benefiting Treadwell and his associates while burdening members who still worked on straight salary and, by Bill Pinkney’s account, meager wages. When Pinkney sought improved terms he was dismissed. His firing prompted fellow original member Andrew Thrasher to exit as well, leaving music entirely. Pinkney and former Drifter Bobby Hendricks formed the core of a new Atlantic act, the Flyers, whose single attracted little notice.

The new Drifters configuration first featured bass singer Jimmy Ricks, then settled more permanently with Tom Evans, late of the Dominoes, and baritone Charlie Hughes. Fortunes shifted again when Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller began producing sessions in late 1956, yet their arrival coincided with Johnny Moore’s receipt of his draft notice in early 1957. The group once more found itself without a fixed sound or stable lineup. Bobby Hendricks returned, and Jimmy Millender assumed baritone duties, but the resulting material lacked distinction. For a time Atlantic appeared to steer the Drifters toward a Coasters-like approach, offering light-hearted renditions of pop standards. The strategy was understandable: Black listeners kept this era’s Drifters at a distance, while white teenagers dominated the pop charts and seemed receptive to new recordings; Atlantic therefore courted that demographic in hopes of a breakthrough.

By late 1958 Hendricks announced his departure, and guitarist Jimmy Oliver, who had contributed several songs across four years and anchored the instrumental sound, also quit. The remaining members, still working intensively, requested higher pay; when Treadwell refused, they all walked out or were dismissed collectively.

Treadwell now faced the prospect of no group and upcoming commitments at the Apollo Theater. He discovered a solution at the Apollo on 30 May 1958, where the soon-to-be-replaced Drifters topped the bill. The Five Crowns, or Crowns as they were known, had been a Harlem fixture throughout the 1950s, predating the Drifters yet never achieving recording success or widespread performing acclaim. Treadwell proposed to their manager, Lover Patterson, that he was disbanding the existing Drifters and required a replacement to meet performance obligations. Patterson consented, the members agreed, and all but one baritone’s contract transferred to Treadwell. Such arrangements later became somewhat common—the Grass Roots and the performing version of Steam evolved similarly—but remained unusual then and difficult to execute; the maneuver chiefly kept Treadwell out of litigation.

The incoming lineup comprised Charlie Thomas on lead, baritone Benjamin Earl Nelson (later Ben E. King), Dock Green (who had held the Crowns together), and bass singer Elsbeary Hobbs. They fulfilled the agreement and, for ten months, performed in the shadow of the prior group, delivering earlier material as though it were their own to predominantly Black audiences who recognized the substitution. Atlantic nevertheless sought to capitalize on the new ensemble, issuing a second LP, Rockin’ & Driftin’, in late 1958 drawn entirely from 1955–58 single sides. Ironically, across nineteen years with Atlantic the Drifters never recorded a dedicated album session; every LP was assembled from existing singles and B-sides, and with the exception of the first release, each reflected a patchwork of personnel and vocalists.

The group retained its Atlantic contract, and despite modest recent sales the label elected to try once more. On 6 March 1959, with Leiber and Stoller producing, they cut four songs. Charlie Thomas was slated to lead but suffered microphone fright, so Nelson was assigned “There Goes My Baby,” which he had co-written with “Hey Senorita” and “Oh My Love.” The track, co-authored by Nelson and orchestrated by Stan Applebaum, proved as pivotal to R&B and soul history as “Money Honey” had been six years earlier. At the time no one was certain of its value; the arrangement sounded chaotic, strange, and intricate—no prior R&B record had featured a string section so prominently or dared such complexity, layering Latin percussion, violins, and a fiercely emotional vocal. It diverged sharply from the earlier Drifters and from anything previously heard on a commercial release. Some observers, including Jerry Wexler, viewed it as a mess, likening the sound to a radio receiving two stations simultaneously.

“There Goes My Baby” reached number two on the pop chart, their strongest showing to date, becoming their biggest seller thus far and winning both R&B and pop listeners while reshaping the group’s image. It also registered the Drifters’ first significant overseas impact; the earlier incarnation, despite its rock-and-roll influence, had never secured a European release, whereas this new unit and its sound soon reached a substantial audience in England. The group appeared headed for greater success until the business structure again intervened. Additional sides from the session included “Baltimore,” reminiscent of the Cadillacs’ “Speedo,” yet the strings-percussion-echo texture of “There Goes My Baby,” draped over extended melodic lines, became the Drifters’ signature for the decade ahead.

The recording seemed to offer renewed vitality, yet fresh internal difficulties arose from the group’s organizational model. Ben Nelson grew dissatisfied with one hundred dollars weekly amid extensive travel and up to six performance days each week. Feeling financially strained, he sold his songwriting share of “There Goes My Baby.” Accounts vary: some indicate he transferred the interest to Treadwell and his accountant, while Jerry Wexler recalled accepting a document assigning copyright in exchange for two hundred dollars; Wexler retained the paper and returned it after the song succeeded so Nelson could destroy it.

After requesting more money from Treadwell and being rebuffed, Nelson concluded there was no future with the Drifters and announced his exit just as a follow-up was due. Simultaneously Lover Patterson invoked a separate solo contract he had signed with the singer prior to Treadwell’s offer. The matter risked litigation, yet cooler heads prevailed. Nelson stayed with Atlantic on the Atco subsidiary as a solo artist while agreeing to continue with the group until a replacement was secured, appearing on “Dance with Me,” “This Magic Moment,” “I Count the Tears,” and “Save the Last Dance for Me,” their sole number-one hit, among other tracks through spring 1960. By the time his departure was finalized, Nelson had adopted the more memorable professional name Ben E. King.

The post-1959 Drifters, which also included guitarist Billy Davis, are often associated with the “Ben E. King Drifters,” yet King had already left by year’s end. His first replacement, Johnny Williams, departed abruptly in late 1960; the group quickly installed Rudy Lewis. An alumnus of the Clara Ward Singers, Lewis sang lead on “Some Kind of Wonderful,” “Up on the Roof” (a Top Five hit), “Please Stay,” “What to Do,” and “On Broadway” (a Top Ten hit), among other classics. Tragically short-lived as a lead vocalist, Lewis’s tenure alongside King’s nevertheless formed the second half of another golden age.

Regardless of exact personnel on any given track, this incarnation reached peak influence. “There Goes My Baby” foreshadowed a more pop-oriented soul style later embraced by Sam Cooke and, more emphatically, by Berry Gordy at the nascent Motown label. Its sound essentially supplied the prototype for Smokey Robinson & the Miracles’ “Way Over There.” Others absorbed the lesson as well, notably a young Phil Spector, then working at Atlantic as a session guitarist, who expanded Stan Applebaum’s string arrangements into his own signature. During the recording of “Please Stay,” Burt Bacharach first encountered vocalist Dionne Warwick, then part of the Drifters’ backing trio.

Between 1960 and 1964 the Drifters attained an unprecedented stability matched by commercial success. They were not immune to missteps—they declined “This Diamond Ring” and Atlantic never issued their version of “Only in America,” both of which became major hits for Gary Lewis & the Playboys and Jay & the Americans, respectively. Good fortune persisted even as key figures departed: in late 1963, after Leiber and Stoller focused on their Red Bird label, the Drifters gained producer Bert Berns, a songwriter attuned to commercial soul. “Vaya Con Dios,” from their first session with Berns and reflecting his affinity for Latin themes, registered a moderate pop hit. In spring 1964, with Leiber and Stoller no longer supplying material at their former pace, the group received “Under the Boardwalk” from composers Art Resnick and Kenny Young.

The song was slated for recording on 21 May 1964. On the preceding night Rudy Lewis was discovered dead in his apartment under circumstances that remain disputed; police suspected a drug overdose, yet associates maintained his only excess was binge-eating and that he had choked. With no time to reschedule, Johnny Moore, who had rejoined as second tenor in early 1963, stepped forward. Moore, who had earlier shouldered the thankless task of leading the late-1950s Drifters, delivered a memorable performance on “Under the Boardwalk,” the group’s final Top Ten hit of 1964, peaking at number four. He became the longest-serving of the Drifters’ lead vocalists, remaining into the 1970s and beyond their peak recording years.

By late 1964 Berns was pursuing other ventures, including early releases on his new Bang label, and the group worked with producer Tom Dowd in largely unproductive sessions. Bookings remained plentiful and prior hits ensured continued status as an established act, yet soul music itself was evolving around them, partly through other Atlantic-associated artists such as Wilson Pickett, Otis Redding, Sam & Dave, and Don Covay. The Drifters never comfortably adopted this harder soul approach, and Berns’s departure after 1965 appeared to seal their fate. Their sessions grew disorganized, exemplified by the unfinished “In the Park,” left without the group behind Moore and shelved for years. George Treadwell’s death in 1967 removed yet another source of momentum.

They continued recording for Atlantic under successive producers until 1972. By then the company belonged to a vast corporate conglomerate distant from its origins;