A healthy dose of skepticism is expected whenever critics ascribe icon/innovator status to musical figures. But there are some individuals, such as Sam Cooke, whose abilities and contributions to popular music more than justify their reputations. While soul and gospel fans have long celebrated his accomplishments, Cooke still lacks his deserved profile among the general music fandom, partly because the secular portion of his catalog has been in disarray for years; and, until recently, relatively little has been written about him. This situation is, however, slowly being addressed: A recent biography by English author Daniel Wolff, You Send Me (William Morrow), comprehensively covers both Cooke’s personal and professional exploits, while two superb reissues, Night Beat and The SAR Records Story (ABKCO) illuminate Cooke’s expertise both as a musician and as a producer.

Sam Cooke began singing gospel as a teen in Chicago during the late ’40s. He came under the spell of the legendary R.H. Harris, arguably the genre’s greatest pure vocalist. At the time, gospel stars were idolized, adored and imitated the way rockers are today; they didn’t earn similar monetary rewards, but they were otherwise the toast of their communities. Likewise, the church was the most powerful organization within the segregated African-American nation; preachers ruled their domains with both iron hands and charismatic personalities. This was the backdrop that spawned Sam Cooke, which Wolff’s book documents as clearly and effectively as any work since Tony Heilbut’s groundbreaking The Gospel Sound.

Around the time Cooke began singing, there was a creative tension emerging within the black gospel world. Its greatest stars were aware that they were limited to a lifetime of meager earnings, small venues and little notoriety outside religious circles. Cooke, like many others, grew up in a family that discouraged any involvement with the evolving blues and R&B scene, yet he found a way to hear those sounds on his own. He was fascinated by the power and emotional scope of blues and R&B—and instinctively able to understand their similarity, in everything except lyrics, to the gospel sounds he was then performing.

While most prior accounts have cited Cooke’s gospel period as his greatest, Wolff tabs him as a more natural pop and soul singer than a spiritual artist. He depicts Cooke’s earliest days with the Soul Stirrers as a trying period: Audiences rejected his smoother, still formative voice and were angry at his having replaced the legendary R.H. Harris. According to Wolff, Cooke eventually became popular more because of his looks and sexual presence than because of his skills as a vocalist.

Still, there were signs of greatness even then. Cooke built and honed his delivery, mastering a tone that was alternately sweet and somber, moaning and celebratory. He also patented the swooping near-yodel that became his trademark. Wolff traces Cooke’s frustration with gospel music and makes it clear that he was the ideal person to make the historic move to soul and pop.

You Send Me nicely documents the concessions and production maneuvers that helped turn Cooke into a household name in the late ’50s and early ’60s. His songs often had lush, sometimes sappy orchestrations, faceless background singers, and lyrics that tried so hard to be coy they often lapsed into tastelessness. But for every dud, there were unforgettable gems: “You Send Me,” “What a Wonderful World,” “Chain Gang,” “Another Saturday Night” and “Cupid” were all triumphs in which Cooke’s sensuality and sophisticated, yet emphatic singing weren’t compromised by studio gimmickry.

Wolff also reveals Cooke’s visionary side: He was among the first vocalists to be as interested in pop’s ancillary markets of publishing, production and recording. He founded both a label, SAR, and a publishing house, and helped launch the pop careers of Bobby Womack and Johnnie Taylor, among many others. He wanted to expand into film and sports management as well; among the projects he supervised was a spoken-word album by then Cassius Clay. Sadly, Cooke’s life was cut short when he was shot at a motel in 1964. This incident was never solved, and Wolff has little new to tell us. It’s a disappointing to find out that, three decades afterward, no one can still adequately explain why Cooke was shot. This omission aside, You Send Me is still the finest work available thus far on Sam Cooke.

Night Beat was widely considered Cooke’s best LP when it was issued in 1963, though there’s reason to debate this today, now that such masterpieces as Live at Harlem Square 1963 have found their way into circulation. Nonetheless, Night Beat was perhaps Cooke’s most versatile album; he covered songs ranging from “Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child” to straight Chicago blues, and he did them all with a directness and an edge often missing from his softer pop fare. The use of three guitars was a nice musical touch, with jazzman Herb Ellis’ leads frequently featured as the dressing on Cooke’s transcendent vocals. Though Cooke wasn’t always at his best with 12-bar blues, he sounded more at home here than on many other occasions.

The release that truly showcases Sam Cooke’s versatility and wide-ranging importance, however, is the two-disc The SAR Records Story. This collection covers artists Cooke recruited for his fledging label in the late ’50s and the early ’60s; they ranged from old friends The Soul Stirrers to then unknowns The Womack Brothers. The compilation also features some surprises—such as a youthful Billy Preston—and rare cuts from artists like Johnnie Morrisette and the Sims Brothers, who had the skills but not the connections or polish to cross over to a wider audience. Cooke sometimes served as producer on these sessions and can occasionally be heard in the background exhorting performers to “sing it like this” or “make it sound like that.”

The SAR Records Story is also instructive in that it shows the stylistic ties between gospel and soul. Cooke and the Womacks in particular weren’t shy about adapting gospel numbers: Just as Cooke turned his spiritual tune “Wonderful” into the pop version “Lovable,” he presided over the Womacks and others reworking spiritual songs into secular remakes. Unfortunately, Cooke never got the massive hit he was looking for from the SAR roster, and after his death his artists scattered and the songs were forgotten. This anthology revives their brilliance and also shows that the label’s inability to sustain material success wasn’t due to a lack of content.

Miller time

Country box sets have all too frequently been reduced to quickie repackages or questionable hits compilations that gouge hardcore fans. An exception that ought to be the rule is the just-released King of the Road: The Genius of Roger Miller, a lovingly compiled three-disc set on Mercury Records that features not only a wealth of hits but also dozens of album cuts, outtakes, unreleased tracks, and even a bit of amusing studio chatter.

One of the most self-consciously literate and ambitious country songwriters ever to grace Music Row, Miller remains best known for such zonked singles as “Dang Me,” “You Can’t Roller Skate in a Buffalo Herd” and the blockbuster “King of the Road,” songs that were treated as novelties at the time. Those hits are here, of course, along with hilarious numbers like “Kansas City Star” and the frenzied “My Uncle Used to Love Me She Died,” but Country Music Foundation compiler Daniel Cooper places them in a context that emphasizes the darkness underlying Miller’s light treatment. “Dang Me,” for example, is a pretty damn miserable song, despite Miller’s lackadaisical vocals. And it pales alongside “One Dyin’ and A-Buryin’,” a grim suicide ballad all the more chilling for Miller’s offhand delivery. Even better, the unreleased tracks will delight Miller’s fans, especially the fragmented studio outtake “Treat Me Like a Human” and a rip-roaring live version of “Orange Blossom Special,” on which the late Danny Gatton fires off a ballistic electric guitar solo.

Not all of Miller’s songs are gems—at his worst, his songs seem overly mannered and cutesy—but the best material here showcases a remarkably adventurous and restless talent. With three solid hours of music, thorough (and thoroughly entertaining) liner notes, and a beautifully designed package with tons of stills, snapshots and album art, King of the Road: The Genius of Roger Miller sets a standard that all country box sets should follow.