The finest example of a soundtrack enacting its own Death of the Author before the book was even opened, Curtis Mayfield’s lyrics for Super Fly did everything in their power to snark at, ironize, pity, and flat-out denounce the glamorized milieu of the freshly-minted Blaxploitation hustler archetype the movie depicts — even as his musical compositions simmer with the kind of power that makes that life seem so appealing. Sure, Ron O’Neal’s cinematic coke dealer Priest says he wants to get out of the game, but Curtis emphasizes why he has to — the exploitation of his criminal enterprise’s underlings (“Freddie’s Dead”), the false-friendly face of his criminal capitalism (“Pusherman”), and the miserable existence experienced by the casualties of his trade (“Little Child Runnin’ Wild”) are killing the kind of struggling human soul that Curtis refuses to take for granted. Since it’s also the simultaneous peak of late-period psychedelic soul and orchestral horns-and-strings action-flick bombast, you believe every single word, right down to the closing title theme’s guarded optimism that this man really could turn himself around.

The highly influential Superfly soundtrack was put together by the Chicago soul dream team of Johnny Pate arranging and orchestrating Curtis Mayfield’s funk and soul parables and paeans. It stands above most early seventies Black film soundtracks because of the quality of the songwriting and with only two instrumental tracks, this is a soundtrack full of exquisitely crafted soul songs. From the unexpected string coda at the end of ‘Little Child Running Wild’ to the pitched percussion on ‘Pusherman’ or the circular un-resolving chords of ‘Think,’ Superfly is a highly inventive album too, setting a standard that Mayfield’s contemporaries would struggle to reach.