"(Your Love Keeps Lifting Me) Higher and Higher" (Jackie Wilson)

Jackie Wilson had an affinity for womanizing and bird dogging.  He lost a marriage and almost lost his life after a jealous girlfriend shot him in 1961.
He also had financial troubles galore.  He was notorious for borrowing money from his label and managers to bankroll his lavish lifestyle, thereby digging himself into debt.  
By the same token, his record label screwed him out of royalties to the tune of about $1 million.
His financial troubles necessitated his breakneck touring schedule in the early 70s, which no doubt led to his on-stage heart attack in 1975 while performing his hit "Lonely Teardrops."  (Legend is that he fell to his knees after the line My heart is crying, and onlookers thought it was all part of the performance.)  He fell into a coma for almost nine years, finally passing away in 1984 with barely a penny to his name.
But there's a reason why they called the man "Mr. Excitement."
Check out any footage of Jackie Wilson performing live, and you'll see that the moniker was well earned.  Not only did he have a vocal instrument that was capable of soaring to operatic heights, but his dance moves and swagger also kept audiences right in the palm of his hand.  
If you ever wonder who inspired James Brown's dramatic splits or Michael Jackson's spins, look no further than Wilson.
My favorite track of Wilson's is his 1967 single "(Your Love Keeps Lifting Me) Higher and Higher," which was originally written for and performed by The Dells with slightly different lyrics.  
From moment one, Wilson's version is pure electricity.  He delivers a consummate performance, slipping from his pure gospel-tinged tenor to soaring falsetto to impassioned growl, often within the space of a single note.
As for the instrumental backing track: if you don't feel compelled to shake something after hearing that bassline and rhythm guitar drop in, you're either asleep or dead.
Little factoid: members of Motown's Funk Brothers (including drummer Richard "Pistol" Allen and bassist/funk machine James Jamerson) played on the backing track, which explains the song's Detroit feel, even though it was recorded in Chicago.  Although Motown kept these musicians working on a consistent basis, it didn't pay too well.  Consequently, the musicians would take on numerous side gigs, recording for artists like Jackie Wilson and his producer Carl Davis, who paid them well by comparison.

"Nightshift" (The Commodores)

The Commodores' 1985 single "Nightshift" is a touching tribute to recording artists Marvin Gaye and Jackie Wilson, who both passed away in 1984 (Gaye died after being shot in the back by his father; Wilson, who'd suffered a heart attack on stage in 1975, died from pneumonia after nearly a decade in a coma).  
It was one of my favorite songs as a kid.  Admittedly, though, I didn't have a strong emotional connection to the subject matter at the time.  (As I learned more about Gaye and Wilson later in life, the words took on a new resonance.)  But, I liked the sound of the song.  Its celestial synthesizers, rumbling keyboard bass, Latin-tinged beat, and soulful vocals evoked the calm, reverent feeling of nighttime.  I also found its message—that everything was going to be okay, even in the midst of grief and loss—to be really soothing.  
In fact, I listened to the song quite a bit to help make sense of things after my great-grandmother passed in 1986.
My favorite parts of the song (then and now) are the bridges leading from the first and second verses into the choruses: the key changes, the drums kick in, and an angelic synth choir rises in a soft, blue mist behind Walter Orange and J.D. Nicholas's lead vocals.  I've always thought it was a clever bit of songwriting/arranging to have the rhythm and key shift in tandem with the emotional shift in the lyrics.  On the verses, they're singing about remembrance and loss; on the bridges, however, they're singing about the musical legacies of Gaye and Wilson and how each will live on through the music.  It's subtle, but it reflects movement from grief to acceptance.
It's one of the few true soul songs of the 1980s and one of the most sincere tribute songs ever written.