Ertegun did indeed sign McPhatter and Atlantic gave him free rein to form a group of his choosing. He enlisted Bill Pinckney, Gerhart Thrasher, and Andrew Thrasher from various gospel groups he admired.
There was nothing prim about the material the aggregation offered the public on its records, however. The first single, “Money Honey” was penned by Jesse Stone and given an arrangement with a beat that’s slammed home and vocals that whoop and squeal. It’s a humorous little narrative about a guy with a cash-flow problem. “Honey Love,” a musically softer piece with a vaguely Latin rhythm that hinted at later Drifters records in the same vein, evinced a lyrical friskiness. Combined with another dose of McPhatter’s hormone-charged squeals, the record was deemed too risque for airplay in some quarters of the radio world. A fine r&b version of “White Christmas” followed, and then McPhatter was drafted into the army. (He would return to the label as a solo artist, but heavy drinking took its toll. He died a broken man in England in 1972.)
The Drifters pressed on with 1954’s “Adorable,” with Johnny Moore (not to be confused with the west-coast cool-blues guitarist of the same name) on lead vocals. George Treadwell, a longtime veteran of the black-music scene, managed the group. Treadwell, one of Sarah Vaughan’s husbands and managers, had played trumpet with Tiny Bradshaw and Cootie Williams, among others. He also managed The Drifters’ labelmate, Ruth Brown.
In 1958, he fired the entire roster of The Drifters and scouted the New York area for replacements. He settled on The Five Crowns, fronted by Benjamin Nelson, who was dubbed Ben E. King. He sent the group into the studio to work with Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller, who had recently moved their base of operations from southern California. The result, “There Goes My Baby,” is characterized by a cavernous echo and a symphonic string arrangement by Stan Applebaum. According to Jerry Wexler in his autobiography Rhythm and the Blues, Wexler hated the sound of it so much that he had to be talked into releasing it. Legend even has it that he threw a sandwich against the wall of the control room upon his initial listening. It was a huge hit. The next record, ther Doc Pomus-penned “Save the Last Dance For Me,” had a Latin lilt that both The Drifters and Ben E. King upon going solo would continue to incorporate into their sound. Wexler’s book also speculates that Pomus, handicapped in both legs, was inspired by nights of having to watch his woman dance with others.
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