Review
Belief
Culture
Music
Race
5 min read

Annie Caldwell: “My family is my band”

A force of nature voice that comes from the soul.

Jonathan is Team Rector for Wickford and Runwell. He is co-author of The Secret Chord, and writes on the arts.

A family group stand and sit for a photo.
Family album.
The Caldwells.

They say that good things come to those who wait. Annie Caldwell is someone who has experienced the truth of that proverb.  

The album she and her siblings (known as the Staples Jr. Singers) made and paid for themselves in 1975 sold only a few hundred copies but, when reissued in 2022, was received as a stone-cold classic and led to the recording of a second album 49 years after the first. Now, her other group, Annie and the Caldwells, have released their major label debut to rave reviews, 30 years after they first began performing. 

Annie Brown was 11 when the Staples Jr. Singers was formed in honour of Pops and Mavis Staples of the famed Chicago soul-gospel group, The Staples Singers. The siblings gained popularity at churches and functions throughout the American South and Midwest, being mentored by Mississippi greats like Lee Williams and Spiritual QCs. 

Back then, the South was desegregated on paper but not always in practice. Their parents found refuge and support in the church against the backdrop of an unwelcoming town (and nation), while the children found refuge and a greater purpose in life in the music. They were influenced by what they saw - the backlash after desegregation, Civil Rights - and wrote music with messages of community and social justice. “All the songs we were singing about,” said Annie’s brother Edward Brown, “We were going through it.” 

The Staples Jr. Singers got to make a single record together, one which, because of its rarity, became coveted by gospel soul collectors: When Do We Get Paid. They paid for the record themselves and pressed a few hundred copies, selling most of them on their front lawn to their neighbours. On its re-release in 2022, The Guardian called their socially conscious gospel album “Powerful,” and UNCUT said that it was “music that deserves your attention.” 

As a result, the Staples Jr. Singers finally had their time in the sun, including multiple European tours. Annie spoke then about being able to “do many things that we didn’t get the chance to do in the beginning of life … Because the time and money wasn’t there. It all came late, being in our sixties now—but it looks like it’s just beginning, you know? Life is just beginning for us.” She concluded that: “God has blessed us and opened up doors that we couldn’t even see,” and said that, “If I can help just one person, I know that I’m not singing in vain.” 

They play a powerful disco soul and delivering energetic and moving musical testimonies that blend the fiery sounds of gospel with the slow groove of soul. 

One warm evening in October 2023, the family gathered in a single-room church in West Point, Mississippi, called The Message Center to record their second album Searching. There, across the street from Annie’s house, they played songs they had written nearly fifty years before and did so together with four generations of their musical family. The original three Staples Jr. Singers, Edward, R.C., and Annie, were joined by some of the new vanguard: Edward’s son Troy on backing vocals, R.C.’s son Gary on bass, and R.C.’s grandson Jaylin on drums. “It was good to be able to go back,” said Annie, “and look back over our life. Some of the same songs that we had sung, those songs have a new meaning to me.” 

“The process was very easy,” said producer Ahmed Gallab, who performs as the artist Sinkane. “There’s nothing like a family bond/band. It was so special to watch how locked into each other everyone was. You can hear and feel that on this record.” He concluded: “I feel like I was able to witness part of this family’s continued story and legacy in real time. That was a very special thing to witness.” 

Annie and the Caldwells is also a family band, being led by Annie and her husband of the last fifty years Willie Joe Caldwell, Sr. (who plays guitar). Annie says, “My family is my band”: she is backed by their daughters Deborah Caldwell Moore and Anjessica Caldwell and goddaughter Toni Rivers; their eldest son Willie Jr. Caldwell is on the bass and youngest son Abel Aquirius Caldwell is on the drums. 

Annie traces the genesis of the band back to the moment she heard her daughters sing at a talent show: “They were really good. I said, ‘Let me get those girls before the devil gets them!’ Because I was raised up in gospel, so I think you should use what the Lord gave you for good. I decided to raise them with the values my father taught me – singing for the Lord.” 

They generally play on weekends, so for their day jobs Willie Jr. drives a forklift, Abel Aquirius drives hospital patients, Anjessica works in customer care for an insurance company, Toni is an elementary school teacher, and Deborah does hair. Annie runs a clothing store on Main Street called Caldwell Fashions, which has been a beloved staple for women dressing for COGIC (Church Of God In Christ ) convocations and anniversaries since the 1980s.  

Prior to the latest album, they released two albums under Ecko, a renowned soul and gospel label from Memphis. Influenced by The Gap Band, Chaka Kahn, and Bootsy Collins, they play a powerful disco soul and delivering energetic and moving musical testimonies that blend the fiery sounds of gospel with the slow groove of soul. Their music embodies the full power of gospel – the very kind The Message Center, where the family regularly performs, experiences on a weekly basis. The Message Center is also where Joe plays guitar every other Sunday, and where his father used to be a deacon.  

Like Searching, Can’t Lose My (Soul) was also recorded at The Message Center and produced by Gallab. He has said of the recording session: “Hearing Annie’s voice for the first time was like witnessing something rare. Like you’re in the presence of a force of nature that’s been here long before you. It’s visceral, almost like it’s coming from her soul. You can feel every part of her life, every little piece of her journey, in each note she hits. It’s pure talent: no effort, no pretense, just real and raw.” 

In his five-star review of the album for The Guardian, Alexis Petridis wrote: “These are great, powerful, moving songs, made all the more potent by the fact that they’re recorded live, without an audience, in a church …  their message is ultimately one of hope. You don’t need to share the Caldwells’ faith to find something powerful and inspiring in that, particularly given the current climate, which can easily incline you towards hopelessness …” 

Article
Culture
Film & TV
Trauma
Work
5 min read

What would Pascal make of Emmy-winner Severance?

Locking ourselves away in a room still doesn’t work

Rick writes and speaks on leadership, transformation, and culture.

Pascal ponders a steampunk TV showing Severance.
Nick Jones/Copilot.

Severance, the hit Apple TV series, garnered the most Emmy nominations at the star-studded 77th Emmy Awards. Colors and fame popped on the vibrant red carpet as Hollywood’s elite strolled along the walkway, exuding famous smiles, elegant evening wear, and their signature flair.  

It was strikingly ironic, however, to see the Severance actors in such formal attire, ripe with ready-made smiles. Their presence was, well, very Hollywood. This contrasted sharply with their on-screen characters, who are typically set against a dark, desolate backdrop of despair, compelled to force smiles as if it were an immense burden on their very souls.   

The stark contrast between the opulent Hollywood red carpet and the sterile, bland workspace Severance is set in underscores a core theme in the show: the tension between faith and doubt, belief and despair, light and darkness. 

In the show, the main character Mark S. grapples with the challenge of navigating his own tension in his own calibrated nightmare of hope and despair. He has to cope with the sudden loss of his wife, and it's suffocating him.  

His company, Lumon, helps him deal with this loss through a surgical procedure called Severance. This procedure implants a chip in his brain that creates two separate identities: an "Innie" for work and an "Outie" for home. These two co-existing selves are emotionally, physically, and psychologically unaware of each other, essentially severing the person's whole self into two pieces. Whatever they are trying to bury or escape, becoming “severed” keeps the person’s “Innie” from dealing with this delicate paradox of the “Outie”. In short, they don’t have to choose the light or the dark.  

For Mark S., severance offers a thin thread of disguised hope, a potential breach in his unbearable pain. 

In his Pensées, French philosopher Blaise Pascal explores this intrinsic human tension between faith and doubt, belief and despair - a fundamental aspect of the human experience. He says, "In faith there is enough light for those who want to believe and enough shadows to blind those who don’t."   

He posits that the evidence between the light and the shadow is just enough to sway us in one direction or the other. It’s calibrated on either side allowing us to lean into our personal autonomy. We are free to choose the hope of the light or succumb to the despair of the darkness; the outcome depends entirely on what we choose.  

Leaning into Pascal, the act of severance relieves Mark S. of this beautiful yet complicated tension.  

A review on Reddit said it simply, “Severing allows Mark to just literally shut his brain off, get the work done, then go home and distract himself with TV and alcohol... he doesn’t want to let it go.”  

It’s real pain and he doesn’t know how to manage it. The shadows are pervasive. However, by choosing severance, Mark avoids the light and the shadows. The more he relies on severance for hope or healing by attempting to bury the shadows, the more the shadows intensify - the shadows Pascal says will blind us in our disbelief.   

The battle that Mark S. faces embodies the very tension that Pascal is surfacing. This tension of choosing the light or the shadows is something we all must face.  

We all carry shadows wrapped in our own circumstances. I think many of us would likely prefer to avoid confronting them. They are painful. They are dark. They are heavy. In truth, if we had the choice I think many of us would likely choose an escape instead of dealing with the darkness, with the secrets and the pain that hide in our souls.  

For example, many of us show up to work or to life like Mark S. in some version of our “Innie” - a professional face of compliance, rule following, corporate persona, goal oriented, etc. and leave the version of our “Outie” at home alone and isolated to wrestle with our demons, with our painful, confusing questions. We curate our internal messiness and disguise ourselves with our own “Innie”. 

For some, our day job is an actual version of a self-imposed severance.  

I wish this tension between the light and shadows Pascal speaks of was less “tense” to say it plainly, and yet it is an inherent, essential part of the human experience.  

This faith that both we and Mark S. wrestle with, by its very nature, lacks complete clarity; this tension is, in fact, a testament to this profound mystery of life itself. It's the wonder of life. There’s just enough data for us to lean into the light and also just as much for us to lean into the shadows. What we see depends on what we choose to believe in.  

This tension is similarly addressed in the Biblical book of Hebrews. It highlights Pascal's subtle paradox and defines faith as "the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen."  

The freedom to choose “the substance of things hoped for”, this inherent tension of Pascal, is the true marvel and mystery of life. It’s both messy and wonderful.  

Our capacity for choice, to engage with the light and shadows and to lean into one over the other as we wish is a profound gift.  

While some find this very tension a reason for disbelief, Pascal tugs on this and says it's actually fundamental to belief, it's a wonderful component of the human condition - a true gift. It hints at the very essence of hope. It’s the same process we must engage when choosing to believe in or not to believe in something beyond our selves, and ultimately beyond this world.  

This struggle, the shadows of pain and suffering and the light of hope and belief is precisely what makes us alive; it’s what makes us human. It points us to the heavens where hope and faith were authored.  

The question isn’t whether we have an “Innie” or an “Outie”, a tension of light and darkness, of faith and doubt. We all do. We all wrestle with this essence. The question is do we have the courage to wrestle with these internal conflicts, enabling us to bring our whole selves - our flaws and pains, our joys and hopes  - into every interaction. 

This tension Pascal speaks of is ultimately a mirror that shows us, us. We are all tempted to numb our pain, divide ourselves, to compartmentalize the shadows. But Pascal reminds us there is always enough light to see, if we choose it.

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