The music world has lost a true legend. LaMonte McLemore, the charismatic cofounder and singer of The 5th Dimension, has passed away at 90, leaving behind a legacy of smooth pop and soul melodies that defined an era. But here's where it gets even more fascinating: McLemore wasn't just a musical powerhouse; he was also a celebrated sports and celebrity photographer, capturing iconic moments beyond the stage. His journey from Navy aerial photographer to baseball player in the Dodgers' farm system, and finally to Grammy-winning artist, is nothing short of extraordinary.
McLemore's death on Tuesday at his Las Vegas home, surrounded by family, marks the end of a life filled with creativity and versatility. His representative, Jeremy Westby, confirmed that he passed away from natural causes following a stroke. Yet, his impact on music and culture remains timeless.
The 5th Dimension, known for their seamless blend of pop, soul, and psychedelia, achieved crossover success that was rare for an all-Black group in the 1960s and ’70s. They snagged six Grammy Awards, including Record of the Year for the iconic 1967 hit “Up, Up and Away” and the 1969 chart-topper “Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In.” And this is the part most people miss: their ability to appeal to both Black and white audiences sparked both admiration and controversy. Critics often labeled them as “not Black enough,” a claim that bandmate Marilyn McCoo addressed in the documentary Summer of Soul: “We happened to be artists who are Black, and our voices sound the way they sound.”
McLemore’s path to stardom began in St. Louis, where he later teamed up with McCoo in the jazz ensemble the Hi-Fi’s. After a brief stint opening for Ray Charles, the group disbanded, but McLemore’s vision persisted. Alongside McCoo, childhood friends Billy Davis Jr. and Ronald Towson, and schoolteacher-turned-singer Florence LaRue, he formed the Versatiles. Renamed The 5th Dimension in 1965, they signed with Soul City Records and quickly rose to fame with hits like “Go Where You Wanna Go” and “Up, Up and Away.”
Their 1969 performance at the Harlem Cultural Festival, dubbed the “Black Woodstock,” cemented their place in history. Chronicled in Ahmir “Questlove” Thompson’s Summer of Soul, the event showcased their ability to transcend racial boundaries—a feat that wasn’t always celebrated.
Beyond music, McLemore’s photography graced the pages of magazines like Jet, blending his artistic talents seamlessly. His warm bass voice and camera skills were just two facets of a man who lived life to the fullest. From performing at the White House to touring internationally with the State Department, The 5th Dimension’s influence was undeniable.
As McCoo and Davis, who married in 1969, mourn the loss of their friend, they remember his “energy and wonderful sense of humor.” LaRue reflects on their bond, calling McLemore more of a brother than a singing partner. He is survived by his wife of 30 years, Mieko, children Ciara and Darin, sister Joan, and three grandchildren.
But here’s a thought to ponder: In an era where artists are often boxed into categories, does The 5th Dimension’s ability to defy labels make them pioneers or outcasts? Let’s discuss—what do you think about their legacy and the criticism they faced? Share your thoughts below!
