Motown superstar Stevie Wonder in his prime. (Evening Standard/Getty Images)

On Jan. 12, 1959, helped out by an $800 US loan from his family, a moderately successful songwriter named Berry Gordy Jr. founded Tamla Records in Detroit. The next year, the enterprise became better known as Motown, short for "Motor Town." Perhaps inspired by his city's auto industry, Gordy created a hit factory, a musical assembly line that churned out a quality product combining rhythm and blues, pop and soul.

Motown advertised itself as "The Sound of Young America." One could argue that the record label advanced the idea of racial integration as much as any politician.

Motown advertised itself as "The Sound of Young America." That was no overstatement. The label dominated the pop charts in the '60s, releasing countless three-minute epics about love: anticipating it, losing it or trying to regain it. Both black and white kids were listening, dancing along to the sleek soundtrack. One could argue that Motown advanced the idea of racial integration as much as any politician.

In the '70s, label stalwarts Marvin Gaye and Stevie Wonder added a political edge to the material, but by the end of that decade, the label's golden age was essentially over. Gordy sold his interest in the business to MCA in 1988 for $61 million US. Today, the label has little to do with tastemaking for America's youth. It even signed Lindsay Lohan – a far cry from the creative genius of past decades. Still, Gordy's musical legacy is undeniable, and he created a new business model for black Americans in the entertainment industry. Here's a sampling of the label's highlights from the past half-century.

(Please click on song titles to see video for each song.)

Money (That's What I Want), Barrett Strong (1959)

Tamla/Motown's first hit single was a raw tune about lust — not for a woman, mind you, but for cold, hard cash. Here's a solid candidate for the least sentimental lyric of all time: "Your love give me such a thrill / But your love don't pay my bills." Ouch. Paired with Norman Whitfield, Strong went on to write some of the label's most enduring tracks, including Heard It Through the Grapevine, War and Papa Was a Rollin' Stone. Ironically, he didn't write Money; the song was composed by Janie Bradford and label founder Berry Gordy. No doubt the lyrics reflect, at least in part, Gordy's single-minded obsession with making it in the music business. The tune later became a staple in live performances for Motown's greatest British advocates, The Beatles.

Please Mr. Postman, The Marvelettes (1961)

Motown spawned scads of "girl groups," including The Velvelettes, Martha and the Vandellas and, of course, The Supremes. The Marvelettes paved the way for all those acts, and scored the label's first U.S. No. 1 hit with this sugary confection. The act of waiting for a postal worker to hand over a written expression of affection is becoming increasingly rare in these electronic times, but we must be grateful for this sublime couplet: "Deliver the letter, the sooner the better." Was there ever a more concise expression of romantic longing?

Diana Ross and the Supremes in 1968. Left to right: Mary Wilson, Diana Ross and Cindy Birdsong. (Keystone/Getty Images)

Stop! In the Name of Love, The Supremes (1965)

The real-life "dreamgirls" kicked off their career with a remarkable string of chart successes; this was their fourth consecutive No. 1 hit. Berry Gordy made sure that Diana Ross, Florence Ballard and Mary Wilson worked with the label's top talent, including the production team of Holland-Dozier-Holland, and in-house instrumentalists The Funk Brothers (who were featured in the 2002 documentary Standing in the Shadows of Motown). Gordy sent the trio, as he did all of his female acts, to finishing school to add polish to their presentation. Obviously, it worked. Their brand of clean, elegant pop enabled The Supremes to become Motown's biggest-selling act. Watch out for the hokey hand gesture when the ladies sing "Stop!" – it's been replicated in countless karaokes around the world.

The Tracks of My Tears, Smokey Robinson and the Miracles (1965)

Smokey Robinson didn't write breakup songs – he wrote breakup epics.The Tracks of My Tears is grand opera masquerading as a three-minute pop tune. Robinson documents his life since the "permanent one" left him: he's smiling, telling jokes, even dating other women. But it's all a façade; in fact, he's barely hanging on. "I need you, need you," he sings in that perfect tenor. He's pleading for all he's worth, but there seems to be no hope of redemption. It's a devastating, almost nihilistic track, probably best avoided if you're going through romantic turmoil yourself.

Reach Out I'll Be There, The Four Tops (1966)

The Four Tops had several tasty hits in the '60s, including Standing in the Shadows of Love, I Can't Help Myself and It's the Same Old Song. But none of these managed to jam as much raw excitement into three minutes as Reach Out I'll Be There. It's an electrifying declaration of loyalty, a love song for grown-ups anchored by perhaps the catchiest Motown chorus ever, and the passionate vocals of lead singer Levi Stubbs (who died in October). Check out the sleek suits, the choreography and the pure joy in performing.

The Jackson Five. (Frank Barratt/Getty Images)

I Want You Back, The Jackson 5 (1969)

The Jackson 5's first hit is a perfect slice of bubblegum pop, a reminder that before the family's morbid soap opera started, Michael was blessed with incredible talent. Yes, it's a bit weird to hear a pre-teen MJ belting out an adult-sounding tune about jealousy, regret and resentment, but, man, the kid had an enviable set of pipes.

War, Edwin Starr (1970)

The Temptations were the first Motown musicians to record this anti-war tune, but their version – found on the Psychedelic Shack album – was curiously restrained. They were concerned with the tune's political ramifications and decided not to release it as a single, fearful of offending fans who were actually in favour of the Vietnam War. In stepped Edwin Starr with his version, featuring a from-the-gut vocal that's as intense as anything James Brown recorded. Producer Norman Whitfield (who co-wrote the song with Barrett Strong) throws in some stirring background singers and a super-tight horn section. A protest song for the ages.

Marvin Gaye (with hand upraised), surrounded by fans. (John Minihan/Evening Standard/Getty Images)

What's Going On, Marvin Gaye (1971)

Motown founder Berry Gordy initially didn't want to release Marvin Gaye's What's Going On as a single. He thought that the record's laid-back vibe and profoundly political message had no commercial potential. Certainly, it represented a lyrical sea change for the musician, who had previously recorded pop hits like I Heard It Through the Grapevine and How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved by You). Eventually, the label owner relented, and Gaye's song stands as the benchmark for social criticism at Motown.

Papa Was a Rollin' Stone, The Temptations (1972)

Maybe the catchiest tune ever recorded about parental neglect. Once again, producer Norman Whitfield creates an astounding sonic stew: the strings, handclaps and that quintessential '70s guitar wah-wah sound make a perfect backdrop as The Temptations (who weren't actually brothers) conduct an inquisition with "Mama" about their father's irresponsible behaviour. Yes, it's danceable, but there's palpable anger in the vocals.

Superstition, Stevie Wonder (1972)

Child prodigy "Little Stevie Wonder" started recording with Motown when he was 12, and churned out several hits in the '60s, including Fingertips (Part 2) and My Cherie Amour. But his early '70s output is truly pioneering, a wondrous mix of musical innovation and poetry that documented the American inner-city experience. At age 22, he released Superstition, which features a sparse, opening drumbeat that practically defies you not to move. This amazing performance comes from, of all places, a 1972 episode of Sesame Street.

Don't Leave Me This Way, Thelma Houston (1976)

Motown never really had much success with full-on disco; this is one glorious exception. The song had been a 1975 hit for Harold Melvin & the Bluenotes, who released it on the rival Philadelphia International label. Thelma Houston took that laidback classic and reinvented it for the dance floor, which resulted in one of the greatest disco records of all time. Propelled by Houston's soaring vocals and a thumping bassline, it went to No. 1 worldwide.

The Commodores, from left: Thomas McClary, Milan Williams, Walter Orange, William King, Lionel Richie and Ronald LaPread. (Hulton Archive/Getty Images)

Brick House, The Commodores (1977)

Long before Sir Mix-A-Lot gave the world Baby Got Back, The Commodores sang this ode to voluptuous women. Although the band notched several languid, romantic hits (Easy, Three Times A Lady, Just to Be Close to You), this state-of-the-art funk workout remains their greatest contribution to Motown.

I'm Coming Out, Diana Ross (1980)

Having flown solo since 1969, Ross was hoping to contemporize her career at the start of the '80s. She hooked up with producers Bernard Edwards and Nile Rodgers (from the legendary disco act Chic) and the subsequent album, diana, was a massive chart success. With its infectious guitar riffs, I'm Coming Out became a dance-floor smash and was quickly recognized as an unofficial gay anthem. Its insanely catchy opening was liberally sampled on The Notorious B.I.G.'s 1997 hit Mo Money Mo Problems. Check out this 1981 performance of the song at the L.A. Forum: Miss Ross certainly knew how to make an entrance.

What's your favourite Motown song? Leave a comment below.

Greig Dymond writes about the arts for CBCNews.ca.