The air in the studio must have been charged with a volatile electricity. It was 1957, and Jack Leroy Wilson Jr.—better known already from his time with Billy Ward and His Dominoes—was stepping into the booth not just for a new session, but for his first solo single. He was a man of kinetic, almost unsettling, energy, a performer whose stage presence would soon earn him the nickname “Mr. Excitement.” The challenge was how to capture that controlled chaos on tape, how to translate the acrobatic flips and sweat-drenched spectacle of his live show into a two-minute, forty-second piece of vinyl.
The answer, as history shows, was “Reet Petite (The Sweetest Girl in Town).”
The Motown Origin Story You Didn’t Know
To appreciate this track is to rewind the cinematic reel of American popular music to a precise moment of inflection. This single, released on the Brunswick label, is an essential footnote in the history of soul, R&B, and rock and roll, not least because of its songwriters: Berry Gordy, his sister Gwen Gordy Fuqua, and Wilson’s cousin, Roquel “Billy” Davis (credited as Tyran Carlo). Yes, that Berry Gordy. The modest success of “Reet Petite”—it became a solid Top 10 hit in the UK and charted on the US Billboard Hot 100—reportedly provided Gordy with the funds he desperately needed. The royalties from this frenetic, joyous piece of music were, in a very real sense, the foundational capital, the seed money that would soon sprout into the gargantuan cultural force known as Motown Records. It is a staggering contrast: the singular, raw energy of Wilson’s solo debut underwriting the birth of a global pop machine.
Wilson himself was in a pivotal career moment. He had broken free from the constraints of the Dominoes, ready to unleash the full force of his operatic, church-trained voice. The song, co-written for him by the young, hungry Detroit trio, was tailor-made for his showman persona. It was included on his debut album, He’s So Fine, released the following year, but its impact came as a standalone single—a glorious, uncompromised explosion. The whole arrangement was put together by producer Dick Jacobs, a man known for his work in pop and easy listening, whose stylistic breadth allowed him to orchestrate the sophisticated rawness of Wilson’s new sound.
Sound and Fury, Signifying Joy
From the downbeat, “Reet Petite” is a kinetic marvel. It starts with a burst of bright, brassy syncopation that sounds like a cartoon character tumbling down a staircase in time. This is not the clean, polished brass of later Motown; this is a jump-blues sound, thick with a powerful, joyous attack. The rhythm section—drums, upright bass, and a prominent, swinging piano—maintains a relentless, breathless pace, a chugging engine driving the entire affair. The drums are mixed forward, particularly the crack of the snare, giving the track its irresistible dance floor grit. The bass provides a foundational walk, simple and insistent, locking in with the driving piano chords. There are moments where a simple, clean guitar line provides a small, bright flourish, a detail easily missed beneath the vocal acrobatics, but critical for the song’s overall texture.
The sheer volume and range of Wilson’s vocal performance remain staggering. He employs every weapon in his arsenal: the shouted introduction (“Well, look-a there, look-a there, ooh wee!”), the sudden, dramatic shift into a smooth, melodic croon, and then the trademark guttural squeals and playful scatting. The word “Reet” is turned into a spectacular, impossibly rolled tongue-twister, a moment of pure, show-stopping bravado. His delivery is an urgent, call-and-response dialogue with the exuberant horns. The way he launches into the word “fine” on the chorus, stretching it into a five-syllable declaration of love—“She’s so fi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yine!”—is the definition of electric performance.
“Reet Petite” is not just technically impressive, it is emotionally overwhelming. The dynamism is palpable; one can practically hear Wilson leaping from one side of the microphone to the other, completely unbound by the expectations of the time. The simple, mono room sound gives the recording an undeniable authenticity, a feeling that you are standing in the corner of a small, packed club watching a giant of a man give everything he has to the microphone.
“The royalty check from this two-minute storm of pure, unfettered joy became the cornerstone of a musical empire.”
A Timeless Rush of Adrenaline
For a piece of music from 1957 to experience a resurgence strong enough to reach number one on the UK Singles Chart in 1986, nearly three decades later (and posthumously for Wilson), is more than a cultural curiosity—it’s a testament to the song’s inherent vitality. The claymation video used to promote the re-release certainly played a role, but the song itself had to be powerful enough to engage a new generation already accustomed to synthesizers and new wave. It was a raw, analog shot of adrenaline in an increasingly digitized era.
This track is an object lesson in why people invest in things like premium audio equipment. The layers of the brass section, the subtle click of the rhythm guitar against the relentless piano, and the incredible texture of Wilson’s vocal cord gymnastics demand clarity. You need to hear the attack of the horn line, the quick, sharp breaths Wilson takes before unleashing another torrent of sound.
It’s a song that speaks to the simple, untainted joy of infatuation. It’s too fast and too manic for a slow dance, yet too irresistible not to move to. It’s the moment the lights come up just as you walk into a party. It remains an essential artifact not only for its historical importance in the transition from R&B to rock and soul, but because of its sheer, unrepeatable quality. Wilson, the master showman, had arrived, and the world of music would never be the same.
The beauty of listening today is understanding that this single track is a complete, miniature universe: the legend’s solo birth, the spark of Motown, and a timeless, joyful noise all wrapped up in a tidy two minutes and forty seconds. Turn it up. Let Mr. Excitement take the stage.
Listening Recommendations
- Little Richard – “Good Golly Miss Molly” (1958): For a similar feeling of unrestrained, joyfully manic energy and a voice pushing past all sensible limits.
- Ray Charles – “Mess Around” (1953): Shares the driving, barrelhouse piano rhythm and the sense of playful, high-energy R&B shouting.
- Sam Cooke – “Twistin’ the Night Away” (1962): Captures the smooth, sophisticated swagger and a similar lyrical focus on celebratory dance and romance.
- Solomon Burke – “Everybody Needs Somebody to Love” (1964): Features a high-velocity, gospel-infused vocal delivery and powerful, driving brass and rhythm section arrangement.
- Louis Jordan – “Caldonia” (1945): A foundational jump blues track that predates “Reet Petite,” sharing the fast tempo, big brass, and witty, enthusiastic vocal style.
- The Contours – “Do You Love Me” (1962): Exhibits the raw, frantic energy of early Motown, before the polish, which shares the foundational fire lit by the Gordy/Wilson collaboration.