Music moves fast. It’s kinda crazy how a song can feel like it’s been around forever, floating in the ether of classic soul, only to find a second life decades later through a high-profile cover or a lucky sync placement in a movie. If you’ve been humming the melody lately, you’re likely thinking of the Bobby Wright classic. All you have to do is call is more than just a catchy hook; it’s a masterclass in mid-70s R&B songwriting that bridges the gap between the rough-edged blues of the 60s and the polished disco-funk that was about to take over the world.
It’s an earworm.
Most people don't realize that the track wasn't some massive, chart-topping behemoth when it first dropped in 1974. Released on the ABC Records label, Bobby Wright—son of the legendary "Sunshine" singer Bill Wright—delivered a performance that was surprisingly understated. While his contemporaries were screaming for attention with heavy brass and psychedelic synths, Wright kept it smooth. It’s got that specific "Midwest Soul" vibe, recorded in a way that feels like the band is sitting about five feet away from your head.
The Anatomy of a Soul Sleeper
Let’s be real: soul music in the 70s was a crowded room. You had Marvin Gaye reinventing the concept album and Stevie Wonder literally owning the Grammys every year. In that environment, a song like all you have to do is call could easily get lost in the shuffle. But collectors and DJs—the real crate-diggers—never let it die.
The magic is in the simplicity.
The rhythm section carries the heavy lifting. You’ve got a bassline that doesn't try to be fancy; it just thumps along with a syncopated kick drum that makes you nod your head without realizing it. Honestly, it’s the kind of song that works just as well in a dark lounge as it does in a summer backyard BBQ. The lyrics don't try to solve the world's problems. They don't preach. They just offer that universal promise of availability—a theme that has been the backbone of pop music since people first started recording it.
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Why Does It Keep Coming Back?
Why are we still talking about this specific track fifty years later? It’s not just nostalgia. In the world of rare groove and Northern Soul, certain songs possess a "transcendental" quality. Basically, they sound "now" regardless of when they were recorded. When Tinashe released her own track with a similar title or when various R&B artists sample those iconic progressions, they are chasing that specific warmth.
Analog tape has a sound. You can't fake it with a plugin.
When Wright recorded all you have to do is call, he was working in an era where the room acoustics mattered. You can hear the bleed of the instruments into the vocal mic. That "imperfection" is actually what makes it feel human. Today’s music is often snapped to a grid, perfectly in tune and perfectly sterile. Wright’s version breathes. It speeds up just a tiny bit during the chorus when the energy lifts, and it drags slightly during the bridge. That's heart.
The Bobby Wright Legacy
Bobby Wright is one of those names that fans of the "Deep Soul" genre whisper about with a lot of respect. He wasn't a one-hit wonder in the traditional sense because he didn't even get the big hit he deserved. But his influence on the Los Angeles soul scene was palpable. He was a musician’s musician.
If you look at the credits of the era, these guys were all playing on each other's records. It was a community. The session players who helped craft the sound of all you have to do is call were likely the same ones backing up major stars on the Motown or Stax rosters who had migrated West.
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- The song represents the "Common Man" of soul music.
- It avoids the over-the-top theatricality of Las Vegas-style R&B.
- It relies on a steady 4/4 beat that DJs find incredibly easy to mix.
Interestingly, the song has seen a massive resurgence in the UK and European soul scenes. Over there, the "Modern Soul" movement prizes mid-tempo dancers—songs that aren't quite ballads but aren't high-energy disco either. Wright’s track fits that pocket perfectly. It’s the "Goldilocks" of soul songs. Not too fast, not too slow.
Modern Interpretations and the "Call" Motif
Music history is full of these "call" songs. Think about it. Bill Withers had "Lean on Me," and there’s the Motown staple "Reach Out I'll Be There." The idea that all you have to do is call is a recurring fever dream in songwriting. It’s about reliability. In an age of ghosting and digital distance, the literal idea of picking up a phone—or just shouting into the wind—and having someone show up is incredibly resonant.
Some modern listeners confuse Wright's track with later iterations of the same title. It’s important to distinguish the 74’ ABC recording from the 90s New Jack Swing or 2000s era tracks that used the same phrase. They might share a title, but they don't share the DNA.
The 1974 version is built on a Rhodes piano foundation.
The 1974 version uses real strings, not a synthesizer.
The 1974 version features a vocal that is slightly "behind the beat," a technique that gives it a relaxed, confident swagger.
Where to Find the Best Pressings
If you’re a vinyl nerd, finding an original 7-inch of this track is a bit of a hunt. The ABC 12015 single is the one to look for. It’s got "Hey What’s That You Say" on the B-side, which is also a decent track, but it doesn’t have the same staying power. Because soul collecting has exploded in the last decade, prices for clean copies have crept up.
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But you don't need a turntable to appreciate the nuance. High-bitrate remasters have cleaned up some of the mud in the lower frequencies, allowing the percussion to pop. When you listen to it on a good pair of headphones, you can really hear the subtle guitar licks that sit deep in the left channel. They’re barely there, just providing a bit of "chank" to keep the rhythm moving.
Sorting the Misconceptions
People often think this song was a Motown track. It wasn't. The "Detroit Sound" is usually characterized by a very specific, driving tambourine on every backbeat and a more aggressive "pop" sensibility. All you have to do is call is more laid back. It’s got more in common with the Hi Records sound coming out of Memphis (think Al Green) than it does with the Temptations. It’s "greasier." It feels like it was recorded in a room with wood paneling and ash trays.
Another common mistake? Attributing the song to Bill Wright Sr. while the father-son connection is strong, Bobby had his own distinct voice. Bill was more of a shouter, a true product of the gospel-to-blues transition. Bobby was the evolution—smoother, more refined, and better suited for the FM radio era.
Actionable Insights for Soul Fans
If you want to dive deeper into this specific sound, you shouldn't stop at Bobby Wright. The "all you have to do is call" ethos is a gateway drug to a whole world of 70s soul that didn't necessarily make it to the top of the Billboard Hot 100 but defined the sound of the decade.
- Check out the ABC Records catalog from 1973–1975. This was a weird, experimental time for the label where they were trying to find their footing in the soul market, resulting in some incredibly unique releases.
- Compare the original with the covers. Search for live versions or contemporary R&B takes on YouTube. You’ll notice how modern singers often "over-sing" the melody, missing the cool, detached vibe that Wright nailed.
- Look for the "Soul Train" archives. While not every artist got a full televised set, many of these mid-tier soul legends appeared in the background or as part of reviews. Seeing the fashion and the dance moves of the era provides the visual context this music was built for.
- Explore the "Mid-Tempo" playlists on streaming services. Use Bobby Wright as a seed for your algorithm. It will lead you to artists like Leon Haywood, Gwen McCrae, and even some of the deeper cuts by The Main Ingredient.
The reality is that all you have to do is call is a survivor. It survived the death of vinyl, the rise of the CD, the piracy era of the early 2000s, and the transition to streaming. It stays relevant because it’s honest. It doesn't pretend to be something it’s not. It’s just a three-minute promise set to a really good beat. Sometimes, that’s all you need.
Next time you hear that opening drum fill, stop for a second. Listen to the way the bass interacts with the vocal. You’re hearing a moment in 1974 when everything just clicked, and a singer decided to tell the world that no matter what happened, he was just a phone call away. It’s a simple message that hasn't aged a day.