Not Brother Ray!

Afraid so. Ray Charles, who brought gospel into rock ‘n’ roll, held some of the slowest tempos in history, and fought a lifelong battle with microphones that wouldn’t stay in place, has died. It would have been impossible to have grown up in the ’60s without hearing some Ray Charles, but I didn’t really appreciate him until I saw him perform at the Landmark Theatre in Syracuse in 1979. A friend at the summer paper and I got some press tickets — he was going to do the review, I was going to take the pictures. The show was sponsored by the local country station, and I thought the whole thing was going to be some kind of goof. (This was the same summer I first saw the Ramones.) The curtain came up, and there was an enormous band on stage. But no Ray Charles. The band start to play. No Ray Charles. Three, four jazzy numbers go by, complete with featured soloists. No Ray Charles. Finally, an announcement, and Ray is led onto the stage. The band is warmed up and ready to go, and with a nod, he launches them into it. A few rockin’ numbers, and Ray announces that he needs a little . . . inspiration. Out come the Raelettes. They swing with him through a few more numbers, a duet, a couple of slow ones. He wraps the show — it may have been “What’d I Say” — and is led off the stage. The crowd goes wild, but Mr. Charles does not do encores. I was stunned — I had never seen such perfect musicianship (like James Brown, he insisted on it from his band) and such excellent showmanship. And he left you wanting more.

I saw Ray Charles just about every chance I got after that, including two nights in a row up at Saratoga way back when — the first night, a show with the Philadelphia Orchestra; the second night, his regular band. Two completely different shows, both amazing, and when he did his version of Jacques Brel’s “If You Go Away,” in the slowest tempo known to man, I was nigh onto tears.