js “Spotlight on Ray Charles” is a Pickwick label compilation from 1962 that shows up a lot in thrift stores and used record shops, yet no one seems to know much about it. Pickwick is one of the most notorious cheap labels ever. The unwitting buyer of this album should be glad that the songs are actually performed by Charles, because Pickwick was known for putting out albums on which a famous artist’s songs would be played by Pickwick staff musicians, without a trace of the artist featured on the album cover, a fact often hidden with tiny print.

This album comes with very little information, except some false information about a George Brown Orchestra that apparently does not appear on any tracks. Instead, about half of the songs on here feature Charles from very early in his career (approx 1949) playing and crooning in a laid back jazz/blues trio in a style very similar to Nat King Cole. If you are mostly familiar with Ray’s later revved up RnB hits such as “What I’d Say”, these songs show a whole nother side to brother Ray. The other half of the songs on “Spotlight” are totally different and feature rough early rock n roll/jump blues instrumentals with a very loud honkin saxophone in the style of Arnett Cobb or Jay McNeely. Since the album cover is no help, a little research reveals that several of these rockin tunes come from a session in 1952, but no credits were given for that session. Ray was working with a variety of tenor players at that time, so its hard to tell who the lead sax man is. All of these songs are quite good and this could have been a decent compilation if they had put one style on one side of the album, and the other on the other side, but instead they mixed them together in strict alternation for irrational reasons unknown.

Even with the obtuse mixture of styles, this still isn’t too bad of a compilation, and since its Pickwick, it sells for cheap. Anyone interested in hearing what Ray Charles was doing before he became a well known RnB singer should pick this up. The early jazz/blues tunes are nice, and the honkin RnR should liven up any social occasion. Its interesting hearing some of this old ‘honkin’ rockin sax style, listening to the horn used in such a loud forceful and almost primitive way makes you realize where early 60s avant-garde guys like Albert Alyer and Archie Shepp were coming from, in many ways, they were just bringing back the prevalent jump blues style of the 40s and taking it for an extended ride.

Chicapah I once saw an interview with the accomplished actor Morgan Freeman in which he expressed how much he disliked being referred to as a black actor. “I’m an actor,” he stated flatly. In the same vein, if Ray Charles was still with us I expect that he’d prefer not to be revered as a blind, black musician but simply as “a musician” in the broadest and most respectful sense of the term. Yet his importance can’t be overstated. Beginning his career in the midst of an era when the color barrier in America was still as strong as steel he played a big part in punching some sizeable holes in that wall simply by carrying on as if it didn’t exist. He refused to be quarantined in any particular niche of music and certainly didn’t limit himself to just being a soulful R&B singer. This is especially remarkable considering he’d just set the world on fire with his first big hit tune, “What’d I Say,” as the revolutionary 60s started up. His new, game-changing contract with ABC-Paramount records had granted him unparalleled artistic freedom and he wasn’t about to squander the opportunities it afforded him. “Genius + Soul = Jazz” offers proof positive that he felt he could successfully do any style he felt a passion for because most of the songs included are jazzy instrumentals. The man was a phenomenon. And he was fearless.

In December of 1960 Ray went into the studio with a slew of musicians borrowed from Count Basie’s renowned ensemble and, along with the experienced arranger Ralph Burns as well as the heralded up-and-comer Quincy Jones, knocked out a host of dynamite songs that featured him comfortably seated in front of the incomparable Hammond organ. I guarantee that if you’re even a casual fan of big band jazz you’d be doing yourself a huge favor by acquiring a copy of these sessions. What these tunes lack in technical proficiency they more than make up for in unbridled excitement and raw enthusiasm. If you didn’t know Mr. Charles had this side to him then I urge you to explore “Genius + Soul = Jazz” ASAP. It’s quite unique and a hell of an entertaining listen.

Ray comes out with guns ‘a blazin’ for his cover of “From the Heart.” It’s an excellent, aggressive jazz orchestra performance that lets the budding prodigy (Charles was but 22 years old at the time) show off his skills on the mighty B3. He was no stranger to its aural charms, so it seems. This album is not without a few vocal numbers and their bawdy rendition of the blues standard “I’ve Got News for You” is priceless. Ray belts out this classic as well as anyone ever has and the bold horn section kills without remorse. They follow with a strong, in-your-face version of “Moanin’” and then spring into “Let’s Go,” an energy-filled number possessing tightly-knit horn harmonies and a handful of blistering solos from selected boys in the band. The light Bossa Nova rhythm they build “One Mint Julep” upon provides a nice change-of-pace and I always love it when the hired help gets to vocalize en masse as they do from time to time here. Charles mans the microphone once again for “I’m Gonna Move to the Outskirts of Town” and his young, unfettered voice is impeccable as he fronts this devastatingly great and confident collection of seasoned professionals. Ray’s organ solo sizzles and pops like bacon grease frying in a hot cast iron skillet.

A traditional big band groove propels “Stompin’ Room Only” gracefully through a series of ascending key changes that hoist your mood up along for the climb. A walking bass line pushes “Mister C” relentlessly and the brazen brass arrangement is loud and sassy. “Strike Up the Band” is more high-quality stuff. They just don’t put ‘em together like this anymore, ya know? They take a much more subtle approach for “Birth of the Blues” and you’ll be mesmerized by the lazy momentum that lopes underneath the lush horns. This repackaged CD also includes several vocal pieces from that same era of Charles’ distinguished career, starting with his gruff but delightfully jazzy cover of “Alabamy Bound.” For “Basin Street Blues” Ray slides over to his trusty piano and does the old gem true justice. The disc ends with “New York’s My Home” where his playful, conversational vocal breakdowns showcase Charles’ uncanny phrasing and God-given technique to the max. It’s not to be missed.

In various biographies it’s been documented that during this period Ray was intent on further exploring his interpretative side by taking on some of the recognized chestnuts of big band jazz music and adding his own personal twist to them. As good a bandleader as he turned out to be, I can’t say enough about the crackerjack arrangements scored by Burns and Jones, though. The blasts jump right out of the speakers at you and make you feel like you’re right there in the cozy studio with the fellas. The release of the original LP didn’t exactly set the world ablaze but I’m sure that Charles didn’t mind for he didn’t do it for the moolah it would bring in. He did it because he had no doubt it would be worthwhile and, more importantly, because he could.

Chicapah Often when a famous person passes away and a great memorial is held to celebrate their life the sentiment is expressed that such a respectful gathering of their peers and admirers should’ve been done while they were still alive. In rare cases someone recognizes that time is running out for a beloved icon and they go about arranging for a host of their friends to pay homage to them while they’re still able to not only enjoy but to take part in the occasion. That’s what happened when John Burk, Executive V.P. of Concord Records, instigated and headed up the project that became Ray Charles’ final studio album, “Genius Loves Company.” Ray had terminal lung cancer and his days were numbered so between June ’03 and March ’04 Burk arranged for some of the biggest names in music to pair up with Charles, thereby paying tribute to him in the way that was most appropriate; by making music with him.

The album starts with a cross-generational duet featuring Ray and the relatively young Norah Jones on “Here We Go Again.” This light piece of countrified blues provides a smooth entry point for this record and their unique yet very different voices match up surprisingly well. Special mention must be made of Billy Preston’s Hammond B3 solo. It cuts like a hot knife through butter. James Taylor joins the party for his swinging, Motown-flavored R&B ditty, “Sweet Potato Pie,” in which Randy Waldman’s horn arrangement nearly steals the show. Irvin Kramer’s guitar tone is excellent and his punctuating licks are tasteful as can be while the vocal interplay between Charles and Taylor is playfully entertaining. The beautiful, heartbreaking “You Don’t Know Me” is next and, while it would be impossible for Ray to top his original vocal performance from ’62 (he doesn’t), Diana Krall’s sexy voice more than fulfills her role in the rendition and she does the tune proper justice. Session producer Phil Ramone is to be commended for including some intriguing accents in the score that keep it from being an exact copy. All of the tracks on this album are high quality but some rise to exemplary status and the first of them to do so is Charles and Elton John’s collaboration on “Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word.” Victor Vanacore played a big part in this record by providing several orchestral arrangements that are absolutely scintillating, none more so than on this cut. His dramatic strings make this an incredibly intense and moving number from top to bottom as both singers emote magnificently on this resonating song of remorse. Neither of them have the chops they owned in their prime but their undaunted passion is ageless.

The fantastic “Fever” follows and it’s given a slinky jazz feel accentuated by Waldman’s cool keyboard work. Natalie Cole and Brother Ray, as expected, expertly avoid over-singing this Peggy Lee staple. Bonnie Raitt stops by to help out on “Do I Ever Cross Your Mind?” and her pleasant rasp and fluid slide guitar injections are nice but I kept waiting for something exceptional to happen as they strolled through the track and it never occurs. This well-intentioned but ultimately bland blend of country and blues marks the nadir of the album. No one on the planet can successfully meld with Willie Nelson’s nasally timbre. Even the astute Mr. Charles can’t do it. But despite that dilemma, “It Was a Very Good Year” works brilliantly due primarily to Vanacore’s lush orchestration. It adds a terrific classical personality to this Sinatra mainstay and emphasizes both vocalists’ ability to tell a story rather than forcing them to sing like canaries. “Hey Girl” is a simple tune I’ve always liked a lot and I’d have liked it plenty enough here just because of Michael McDonald’s inimitable crooning so the addition of Ray is a delightful bonus. The unaccredited trumpet solo is striking and the song sports the most stylish ending on the entire record. “Sinner’s Prayer” is nothing but da blooz since it brings B.B. King into the spotlight and, as such, it’s quite predictable. B.B. is no spring chicken himself, though, and Charles gets the best of him vocally. Unfortunately, while King is a true legend, his guitar ride is way too tentative to adequately supply the pizzazz the track cries out for.

“Heaven Help Us All” with Gladys Knight is a gem. This glorious mix of R&B and Gospel fires on all cylinders as the bright horns and the full choir grace this inspiring tune with a classy sheen. Gladys is still as good as gold. The aging chestnut “Over the Rainbow” receives an engaging jazz treatment and the combo of Johnny Mathis and Ray is to be savored like a fine bottle of wine. Once again it’s Vanacore’s symphonic score that sends this soaring into the stratosphere. The cream of the crop, however, was saved for last. Van Morrison is one of my favorite singers of all time and with he and Ray Charles both doing their thing on “Crazy Love” I can only ask “What’s not to love about it?” Great tune, great vocals and great performances all around the horn and the fact that it was captured live only adds the intangible magic of spontaneity. They couldn’t have closed this record any better than that.

Sadly the world lost Ray in June of 2004 so he didn’t get to witness what a huge smash this album became after its release 2 months later. It went triple platinum, won 8 Grammy awards (including Album of the Year) and became the 2nd #1 album of his marvelous career. I can’t think of a more fitting send off for this bonafide legend who touched untold millions with his music. There’ll never be another one like him and even though this is far from being a masterpiece it more than stands on its own as a damn fine record. It shows that Ray Charles was singing his heart out till the last curtain call and that he left this mortal coil doing exactly what he was born to do.

Chicapah As primitive as studio environment recording technology still was in the late 50s (relative to today’s standards, at least) taping music in a live setting was downright archaic. That’s why so few of the in-concert albums released before the game-changing innovations in aural science were inaugurated in the 60s (making such a thing practical) are worth listening to. In the rare instances that an on-stage record was above average in sound quality it was due more often than not to a deity-ordained stroke of dumb luck and atmospheric conditions that were absolutely perfect for one solitary microphone to capture a decent mix of instrumentation. Evidently that’s what happened on May 28th, 1959 when Ray Charles and his band played at Herndon Stadium in Atlanta, Georgia.

The occasion was the 5th anniversary of radio station WAOK and Ray was just one of many stars who were asked to perform. Ruth Brown, Roy Hamilton, The Drifters, Huey Smith and the Clowns, Jimmy Reed, B.B. King and Buddy Johnson were also on the bill. As is usually the case with outdoor extravaganzas, it rained cats and dogs and the enormous crowd that had been anticipated dwindled to around nine thousand because of the weather. Yet those hardy souls who endured the elements were treated to what was said to be a stellar day of music and by the time Charles and his ensemble took the stage the mood-killing precipitation had ceased to be a threat. According to the liner notes a single mike was set up on a stand 100 feet from the front of the platform and the tiny reel-to-reel tape deck it was attached to was dutifully placed in record mode. The result is a journey back in time before elaborate, efficient public address systems were even dreamed of coming into existence and the distance between an artist and his audience was kept to a minimum out of sheer necessity. However, this is no novelty album to be admired because it’s “quaint.” The quality of the musicianship and the energized response of those in attendance one can noticeably detect in the background make this a special album, indeed.

Starting off with “The Right Time,” what jumps right out at you is Ray’s incredible voice. It’s flat-out amazing and this blues standard never sounded as good as it does here because of it. Marjorie Hendricks steps up in the middle segment and conveys true, sassy anger in her singing but she’s no match for Ray’s soaring, in-his-prime chops. They don’t skip a beat in leaping right into the inimitable beginning of his huge hit, “What’d I Say,” and you can sense the excitement rising in the gathering up until the moment Charles’s inimitable vocal cuts through the tension like a samurai sword. The playful exchanges that take place between him and the Raylettes are fantastic and the crowd responds accordingly. “Yes Indeed” is an up-tempo shuffle with a hint of gospel tossed in. David Newman’s tenor saxophone solo is sharp and clear. Ray and his talented group then present a great rendition of Milt Jackson’s jazz classic, “The Spirit Feel.” On this instrumental everyone in the horn section gets a chance to shine in the spotlight and you get the sensation that this is the song they looked forward to performing at every gig.

An unusual intro graces “Frenesi,” an instrumental tune by Alberto Dominguez that sports a cool, slinky Bossa Nova rhythm slithering underneath an intriguing melody. Once again the saxophones and trumpets take turns in making strong personal statements. The apex of the proceedings just may be their inspired take on “Drown In My Own Tears.” They lay down a smooth, slow-as-dripping-molasses groove for this big band version of a revered blues mainstay. The tightness of the group shows off their professionalism and experience while Charles delivers a devastating vocal performance that sends the audience into a frenzy. When the Raylettes appear towards the end of the number it’s akin to a visitation by the angels. The album closes with the infectious R&B rhythm of “Tell The Truth.” Marjorie takes over the lead singing duties for this one and, while she’s nothing extraordinary, the track is worth sitting through just to hear Ray whoop and holler with abandon in the late goings. Let’s just say that James Brown had nothin’ on this cat!

The crowd reportedly stood on its feet and screamed for an encore for ten minutes after Charles bid them “adios” but other acts were waiting to go on and Ray declined to return to the stage in deference to them. I don’t doubt for a second that he left ‘em begging for more, though. I can only imagine how exhilarating one of his shows was back then and, thanks to fortune smiling on mankind that night in ’59, we can catch a glimpse of the magic spell he could almost effortlessly weave for his legion of fans. Ray Charles was swinging the world by the tail in that era and there was no stopping him. Check it out.

Chicapah The impact that the great Ray Charles had on music in the 60s is immeasurable. He did more to break down barriers between blacks and whites through the unbiased power of music than all of the brave freedom riders put together. His stubborn determination in refusing to limit himself to any particular genre (as exemplified by his groundbreaking album “Modern Sounds in Country & Western Music”) opened countless doors that might’ve remained closed for several more years if it wasn’t for his taking such a risky, courageous stance. But the 70s weren’t as good to Ray. Aural artists of all races and creeds sped around him and through the very breaches in the walls that he helped to make possible. In retrospect Charles wasn’t so much an innovator as he was a fearless pioneer so while the likes of Stevie Wonder and Miles Davis used advances in sound technology to expand the horizons of what was possible Ray was figuratively left behind in their wake. In a way he was like Moses in that he proved to his brothers and sisters they could (and had every right to) live and thrive in the promise land of unlimited opportunity while he himself could only gaze upon it from the mountain top.

I was always more of an admirer of Ray Charles than a dedicated fan so when he disappeared from the spotlight in the early 70s I can’t say that I noticed or rued his absence. He was too young to be regarded as an iconic relic but too old to be considered relevant. In the 80s he would start to be viewed as a national treasure and be deservedly honored for his vast contributions to society and the music industry as a whole but until then he’d sadly become more of a follower than a leader. I sense that he was trying to figure out where and how he and his craft fit into the wild, ever-changing musical climate that was the 70s and “Brother Ray is At It Again!” is quite representative of that struggle. Being included in the cast of “The Blues Brothers” movie gave him a boost of much-needed exposure and that impressive cameo may have led me to consider this record in 1980. I was also curious as to how he would interpret two songs I was partial to so I took the big chance and brought this one home without hearing it.

Gene McDaniels’ “Compared to What” has always been one of my favorite tunes and Ray begins the disc with his own version. The disheartening disco rhythm he attaches to it is extremely unnerving and disappointing at first but its tight stops and his inimitable, one-of-a-kind voice goes a long way in making it somewhat palatable. There’s no listing of the studio cats that played on the sessions but the guitar and synth work are surprisingly exciting as they add a bit of pizzazz to what could’ve been an absolute travesty. The better cuts on the album are next and “Any Way You Want To” arrives first. It has a slow, funky groove and the number excels on many levels ranging from the female chorale to the subdued horns to the sprightly synthesizer solo. Ray’s vocal is as strong and confident as ever. “Don’t You Love Me Anymore?” is a fine contemporary ballad in which Charles brightens the mood with some of his trademark blues-styled singing to keep it from becoming too mushy. The flugelhorn ride is exquisite and is backed by a lush string section. “A Poor Man’s Song” follows but it signals a downturn in the proceedings. Yet another lame disco beat pulses underneath it but at least he doesn’t get lazy and let it run on and on interminably. Crisp horns embellish Mike Paul’s perky arrangement but they’re not enough to pull this tune from the pit of mediocrity.

“Now That We’ve Found Each Other” has a too-smooth AOR flow going on for me to fully endorse it but I can say that it’s pleasant enough for a basic love song. Other than an energized horn arrangement there’s not much to write home about, though. The other tune that I bought the LP for is The Band’s fun “Ophelia.” I thought this would be right up Charles’ alley but he makes the fatal mistakes of rushing it horribly and stupidly trying to turn it into a disco dance track. By 1980 that overdone, mind-numbing trend was finally falling from grace with the public but Ray didn’t get the memo, evidently, so it only further shows how far he was lagging behind the times. Somebody laid down some cool slide guitar but that’s the only upside I can find to report. “I Can’t Change It” is a bluesy thing delivered with a gospel feel, bolstered by a large chorale and some clever synth lines. Still, there’s an unsettling atmosphere hovering about it that emanates from it sounding like he was forcing the issue. Charles wrote the closer, “Questions,” and it’s a case of light funk interacting with a heavy dose of modern day blues. Ray has a touch of anger and a bitter, sarcastic attitude residing in his voice as he vents his unbridled complaints about the sorry state society was in and it’s refreshingly invigorating. The song isn’t much, musically speaking, but his fiery vocal is worth a listen or two.

From scanning over his lengthy discography it becomes clear that throughout his long life he continued to record incessantly and never lost his zeal for making music. The problem is that the majority of it was predictably safe and too much of it was pedestrian at best. Don’t get me wrong. I would never disparage Ray Charles or play down his immense talent and importance but I would be less than responsible if I didn’t warn you of what you might discover should you invest in some of the albums he made after the 60s were over. This record’s title of “Brother Ray is At It Again!” is appropriate but they should’ve added the subtitle of “…and it’s more of the same old stuff.” This is not how I choose to remember his legend or his legacy.