When I think of Isaac Hayes, I don’t think of lyrics—at least not his own (except for that one line that I know you know). I think of spectacular arrangements, tambourines, flutes, horns, organs, strings, and of course I think of that hot buttered voice. Some people think of Chef, and that’s cool, too.

Striking and strong, with his full on beard and shaved head, wearing a hooded robe or golden chainmail, Isaac Hayes could still deliver a tender, sentimental, soul-felt tune for real. From cinematic to funky to turn out the lights, Isaac Hayes could do it to it.

Yes, that cat Isaac Hayes, he was a bad mother.