By New Times
By Derek Askey
By Mark Deming
By Serene Dominic
By Jason Keil
By Robrt L. Pela and Amy Silverman
By Jeff Moses
By Serene Dominic
Irony visited Charles Brown in his final months.
The great rhythm-and-blues pianist and vocalist, best known today for having penned "Merry Christmas, Baby," made it through one last Christmas, but he couldn't make it to what probably would have been the biggest celebration of his career--his Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction in March.
Almost as proof of Brown's wide-ranging influence, one of his co-inductees will be Bruce Springsteen, who recorded a famous cover of "Merry Christmas, Baby" (as did Elvis Presley). The celebration will be a eulogy now, but at least Brown--who died January 21 of congestive heart failure at age 76--went out knowing that he was appreciated.
Things were different before he was "rediscovered" by blues-rocker Bonnie Raitt in the late '80s. For all his influence on rock 'n' roll, Brown was virtually forgotten for two decades. Even today, at the mention of Charles Brown, most people would probably assume you were making a formal reference to Charles Schulz's most famous Peanuts creation.
The mild-mannered musician, who always expressed great pride in his college education (he had a degree in education), even had to work as a janitor to make ends meet during the '60s and '70s.
How could that happen? "I could have taught school," Brown said in a 1996 interview, "but I didn't want to teach school, and I didn't want to be in the music business because I was way down. And I didn't want to go back up unless somebody saw to it to give me a break. You know what I mean?"
He'd been a major headliner in the early days of R&B, and the list of his opening acts reads like a Who's Who of American soul. "I took out the Clovers, Billy Ward and the Dominoes. I took out Jackie Wilson. I took out Big Mama Thornton and Johnny Ace. I took out Etta James. I took out Ruth Brown. I took out the young Ray Charles, who was imitating me and Nat Cole, but I wonder if they thought about that . . . nobody ever gave it back to me."
That's about as close to petulance or bitterness as Brown ever got. Nonetheless, he was clearly hurt that the music business turned its back on him when the hits stopped coming. After all, the hits dry up for every chart-topper. It's a simple music-biz fact.
Brown knew he was not a one-hit wonder but rather a career musician, like Louis Armstrong or Frank Sinatra, who continued to be high-profile players well after they fell from the top of the pops. That was the kind of career he wanted, and the kind he deserved. Brown never stopped playing music, but he didn't want back into the music industry until it would show him the respect he felt he'd earned.
When that respect finally came, Brown was proud, but humble. The first thing he said when I interviewed him in 1996 was, "I'm so glad you called me. I'm so glad you chose to do a write-up about me." Even though his career had been resuscitated years before, he was still grateful to be back. Definitely not your superstar attitude.
Talking about nearly every aspect of his life, he displayed the same gentility. For instance, he told the story of a little run-in he had before he became a professional musician. Brown was working as a junior chemist at a government facility in Pine Bluff, Arkansas, when he suddenly requested a transfer to a facility in Berkeley, California.
Asked why, Brown said, "This lieutenant disliked black folk. I decided that I wanted to . . ."
He paused to consider his words. "Let me see, how I'll put that. I want to be nice." Fifty years after the fact, Brown still wanted to be "nice" to a buffoon.
Brown was not the cultural juggernaut that Armstrong or Sinatra were, but his influence on musical trends was nearly as great, especially on a young man who would go on to eclipse him, a virtuoso named Ray Charles. Brown's hits--such as "Drifting Blues," "Black Night" and "Fool's Paradise"--were big on the "race records" (later, "rhythm and blues") charts from 1945 through 1960.
Although Brown ranks with Nat "King" Cole as one of the originators of West Coast blues, he was a native Texan. However, unlike some of his peers, he didn't come to the blues through the roadhouse.
"My grandmother had me do classical piano, [with] a teacher," Brown recalled. "So when I went to college, we listened to great music--classical pianists, Jimmy Dorsey, Helen O'Connell, Tommy Dorsey, Sy Oliver arrangements, Art Tatum, Eddy Duchin, Earl Hines, Billy Eckstine, Claude Thornhill. And you know, that enhanced my music because my classical training went into the blues. Sophisticated blues, I call it, because now I didn't come from Mississippi."
After working as a teacher and a chemist, Brown volunteered for the Army in 1943, but was disqualified because he had asthma. "And then I told Papa, 'I'm going to California. I want to go back out there to make some records.'"
After a disappointing stint playing music for a little church that had just five members, "I found a job as an elevator operator at the Broadway store at Fourth and Broadway. And then I heard about the Lincoln Theater; it was like the Apollo Theater, had the young-folk auditions, you know what I mean? Then, I auditioned down there, and it was $25 if you win."