TIMELESS BY BOBBY CHARLES

Rice 'N' Gravy (RIC 517)

It is only fitting and proper that Bobby Charles' final album be dedicated to Fats Domino and by extension to New Orleans because it was this legend and the R&B music of the Crescent City that first seduced him during his formative years, serving as an inspiration and, much to his working class parents' chagrin, leading him into a life of singing and composing. So in essence, Bobby Charles, who died this past January 14, had come full circle, again fully embracing and paying homage to the timeless melodies and rhythms of Big Easy which had sustained him until the very end. Timeless has New Orleans written all over it, framed, like bookends, by the opening track, "Happy Birthday Fats Domino," and the closing, "Happy Halloween," each with its rollicking, infectious second line beat, inviting the reader to partake of the party atmosphere for which this city is most renowned. But in fact, as if to reinforce this Leitmotif or central idea, almost every cut of this CD, regardless of tempo, is a variation of New Orleans' signature rhythm, courtesy of the most sympathetic accompaniment on keyboards by none other than Dr. John (Mac Rebbenack), who co-produced this project. But other New Orleans references abound, like Bobby Charles' inclusion of a chart maker he penned especially for Fats, "Before I Grow Too Old." Nonetheless, Timeless is much more than just a paean to New Orleans and its music. It refers to enduring themes, particularly those viewed from a very mature perspective, from someone who senses that his time on earth is about up. There is a preponderance of compositions dealing with broken relationships of the past- -"Where Did All The Love Go," "Nickles, Dimes and Dollars," "Nobody's Fault But My Own," "When Love Turns To Hate," and the achingly emotive, "You'll Always Live Inside Of Me," bittersweet ballads all, expressing universal experiences of loss, regret, and longing. And Bobby dreams about some inaccessible, idyllic retreat south of the border in the mariachi flavored, "Old Mexico," where he can leave his cares behind and finally lay his burden down. Later, confronting his own mortality, he hopes to from the Great Beyond, if God grants him the ability, rectify society's entrenched ills- -poverty, hunger, and homelessness--- in the Gospel infused "Rollin' Round Heaven." The late, great Swedish filmmaker, Ingmar Bergman, likened growing old to the metaphor of climbing a mountain---as one ages, the breath gets shorter. But as one advances, the compensation is that each vista becomes infinitely more vast. Let's just say that in Timeless, Bobby Charles had reached that pinnacle of his perceptions. Over the years, Bobby Charles had become more and more politically aware and politically active, a transformation that first began while touring with black musicians in the 50s and then was fully realized by his association with the disenfranchised, counter culture artists based in Woodstock, NY, in the 70s. While often clashing with global oil companies, Charles especially espoused ecological causes, eventually creating a musical program, "The Solution to Pollution," to teach Louisiana school children the absolute necessity of having clean water to drink and, in fact, contributed to Dr. John's 2008 Grammy winning release, City That Care Forgot, no less than four numbers addressing this urgent issue. In that same package, he wrote "Time for a Change," which could have easily become a campaign anthem for the Democrats in that same year. So, it should not come as a great surprise that Charles had seen fit to include a couple of songs of a topical political nature in this CD, such as "Take Back My Country," a song in support of Barack Obama's presidential bid, wherein Bobby inveighs against the "politics, money, and power" of the former regime. In another, "Clash of Cultures," Charles is disillusioned with both the partisanship in Congress and ever increasing polarization of the nation. But despite the gloom and doom scenarios often depicted in such socially conscious compositions, Charles, always the eternal optimist, held out hope for an eventual resolution. And enough can't be said for Timeless as a whole, be it the content, the technical merit, or the musicianship. First, Charles, as a perfectionist, would not ever tolerate releasing to the public anything less than a flawless production and for the last two decades had availed himself (as does Dr. John) of the services of a relatively obscure gem of a studio, the state-of-the-art Dockside, on the Vermilion Bayou in Maurice, LA, and engineer David Farrell, who had distinguished himself in the same capacity for Ultrasonic and Black Top records in New Orleans. Over the years, out of respect for Charles' genius, many a celebrated performer- -Delbert McClinton, Willie Nelson, Ben Keith, Maria Muldaur, Neil Young, Tracy Nelson, Frogman Henry, and Fats Domino, just to name a few---have at the drop of a hat come to his aid, happy to lend a hand in any of his undertakings, grand or small. And Timeless in this regard is no exception. As usual, Charles surrounded himself with the cr¸me de la creme, a veritable all star cast of supporting characters, to see this project through to its fruition. Aside from Dr. John, there is his old standby slide player nonpareil, Sonny Landreth, the redoubtable Jon Smith, ex-tenor of the fabled Boogie Kings, keyboardist Dave Egan of Cajun rock fusion band, File, and Willie Nelson harp man extraordinaire, Mickey Raphael. Also making cameos are stalwart pianist Jon Cleary of New Orleans and the equally gifted blues guitarist, Derek Trucks. On a less serious note, for those that knew Bobby Charles well, he had his sense of humor and a playful side. Being a bird lover, he kept many of these pets, especially at his former abode not far from Dockside. But in Abbeville, where he had moved after being suddenly displaced by Hurricane Rita, he retained just one, a canary. And when this creature first heard the demos from Timeless, he chirruped all day. Well, Charles insisted that this songbird make an appearance on the cover of the CD, as if to give the entire endeavor his seal of approval. And, as far as I'm concerned, Domino has rendered an unimpeachable verdict.

REMEMBERING BOBBY CHARLES (1938-2010)

Beloved Cajun songwriter and singer, Bobby Charles, who authored some of New Orleans' most indelible compositions, died this past January 14 of complications from diabetes at his home in Abbeville, LA. He was 71. What was perhaps most amazing about Charles' enormous creative output was that fact that he could neither read music nor play an instrument. And he considered the telephone answering machine a godsend, and one of society's greatest inventions. Often inspired while away from home, he used it as a handy mnemonic device, leaving his smoky baritone on the tape, until one of his loyal musician friends could transcribe it. As a result, Charles' recording sessions had been variously described by studio members as "off the cuff," "a challenge" and "unorthodox," but no one ever denied that the finished product was not worth the collective effort. Charles, who became a recluse for the latter part of his life, explained his choice of a solitary existence. "It's not that I despise humanity. It's just that I don't have a lot in common with other people. And if I did try to talk to them, they wouldn't believe half the things that happened to me," he was wont to say. And he indeed would have had quite an incredible tale to tell. Robert Charles Guidry was born in Abbeville, LA, on February 21, 1938. Being musically predisposed at an early age, he was recruited as a vocalist by a combo of older players, the Cardinals, who specialized in New Orleans R&B and who played teen dances at Charles' alma mater, Mount Carmel High. After Charles' novelty number, "Later Alligator," started making some noise in the region, Charles "Dago" Redlich, a Crowley record store proprietor and sometime talent scout/liaison for Chess Records of Chicago had Charles sing the tune over the phone to Leonard Chess, head honcho of the famed independent race label, who was duly impressed as to its commercial potential. But assuming that Charles was black, he dispatched him to Cosimo Matassa's studio in New Orleans in order to receive a full R&B treatment of his number from pianist Paul Gayten's powerhouse outfit. In short, Charles wouldn't record without being backed by the Cardinals, and Leonard Chess, sensing a major hit within his grasp, relented. But when Chess suggested that he shorten his name, Charles acquiesced. "Later Alligator" in late 1955 immediately began ascending the R&B charts and by the time Chess discovered that his new find was actually white, contracts had already been signed and the mechanism was already in place for Charles to tour in company with other Chess artists on the so-called "Chitlin' Circuit" of black theatres (including the Apollo) in order to promote his record, a practice which hitherto was unheard of during that Jim Crow era. And Charles' life, especially in the Deep South, was in danger on many occasions, being menaced and threatened by the strict segregationists who wished to exact retribution for this "abominable crime" of mingling the races. As was the custom of the day before the proliferation of black R&B radio stations, white performers like Pat Boone would attempt watered down "cover" versions of race records for the consumption of the white market and Bill Haley in like manner soon appropriated Charles' song, converting it into a 1956 million seller, and thereby taking a lot of wind out of Charles' sails. But instead of jettisoning Charles after his hit ran its course, the Chess brothers, Leonard and Phil, decided that the seventeen-year-old Charles with his dark hair, good looks, and spit curl just might be their answer to Elvis Presley, a white boy who could sing R&B. So, they had Charles record with black session men both in Chicago and New Orleans hoping to duplicate the success of Presley. But after a half-dozen subsequent singles, Charles' expected widespread popular acceptance never materialized. In 1958, Charles signed with Imperial records, a West Coast mostly R&B concern run by Lew Chudd. But Imperial with trumpeter Dave Bartholomew acting as arranger, producer, talent scout, and A&R man, had a huge presence in the Crescent City with artists on the roster, such as Smiley Lewis, Chris Kenner, Roy Brown, the Spiders, Bobby Mitchell, the Barons, and, last but not least, Fats Domino. Bartholomew as Chudd's right hand man, assumed the role of recording director for many of Charles' singles and although Charles himself could not duplicate the triumph of "Later Alligator" during his Imperial tenure, he really blossomed as a composer, augmenting the repertoires of both Fats Domino and Clarence "Frogman" Henry with substantial smashes, including respectively the million sellers, "Walking To New Orleans" and "But I Do." After Lew Chudd sold Imperial to Liberty in 1962, Charles became a free agent and returned to the Lafayette area. There he formed his own label, Hub City, a moniker for the Cajun town. But since Charles had no reliable distribution network, his two releases on this short lived enterprise withered on the vine. In 1964, Charles thought he found his salvation in former Chess A&R man, Stan Lewis, who was about to launch his own label, Jewel/Paula, in Shreveport, LA. Charles entered into an agreement with Lewis whereby he would own half the label in return for his services as singer and songwriter. And in the mid-60s, Lewis issued several moderately performing 45 rpms with Charles experimenting in both C&W and soul orientations. But when it came to collecting his royalties, Charles discovered that Lewis had surreptitiously rewritten the contract, leaving him nothing. It was most certainly not the first and the last time that Charles would be manipulated by an unscrupulous record producer. After this unfortunate turn of events, Charles, now thoroughly disenchanted with the music business, took a temporary hiatus from recording and later relocated to Nashville in quest of new opportunities. In the summer of 1972, on the lam from a minor drug possession charge and traveling under an alias, Charles found himself in the unlikely locale of Woodstock, NY. Seeking a hideout/retreat in the mountains, Charles had a real estate agent direct him to a possible refuge whose tenant just happened to be noted bassist, Jim Colegrove. It was Colegrove who introduced Charles to all the musicians living there (to whom Charles would forge lifelong bonds) like Paul Butterfield with his Better Days sidekicks, guitarists Geoff Muldaur and Amos Garrett. And just down the road in Saugerties, the Band was still ensconced in its venerable rock and roll shrine, Big Pink. Moreover, Colegrove arranged to have Charles meet record mogul, Albert Grossman, who had parlayed his formidable earnings as "uberagent" (Janis Joplin, Bob Dylan, Simon & Garfunkle, etc.) into a studio and new label, Bearsville, named for a hamlet just a rock's throw away. After Charles "made himself handy" in the recording facility there, Grossman suggested that he create an album of his own in exchange for Grossman relieving him of his legal difficulties. The result of this negotiation was the 1972 LP of original compositions, Bobby Charles (BR 2104), which was co-produced by Rick Danko and featured Dr.John, David Sanborn, Ben Keith, Garrett, Muldaur, and other members of the Band. Although far from being the anticipated blockbuster, it nonetheless received much critical acclaim. But evidently Grossman was sufficiently satisfied with the outcome and wanted a follow up. However, it wasn't long before Charles realized that he was being held virtually as hostage, just as long as Grossman acted as mediator for his precarious position with the court system. Escaping Grossman through a loophole in the "conveniently redrawn" contract, Charles returned to Louisiana a sadder but wiser man. Nevertheless, Charles still cherished his relationship with the Woodstock community and in fact was invited back to participate in the Band's farewell concert in November, 1976, a star-studded affair which later evolved into a 1978 Martin Scorsese documentary, The Last Waltz. Following his final relocation to Louisiana, Charles sought to at last found a label in which he had total artistic control, which meant including material that furthered his environmental agenda. And by the late 70s, he copyrighted the Rice 'N' Gravy (his favorite Cajun dish) trademark. After finding a manager and producer, Jim Bateman, in whom he could rely implicitly, Charles inaugurated his logo by releasing a handful of 80s singles, including "Clean Water." By 1995, he issued his first CD on Rice 'N' Gravy, Wish You Were Here Right Now, followed by Secrets of the Heart in 1998 (both picked up by the Canadian roots label, Stony Plain) In 2003 came the magnificent double CD, Last Train to Memphis, and Homemade Songs, his penultimate venture, appeared in 2008. In the thread of the years, Bobby Charles, with such an immense oeuvre of memorable classics to his credit, could not help but be "discovered," both by other artists wanting to interpret his compositions or by Hollywood directors wishing to utilize them as backdrops to their cinematic releases. Among the notable versions of his tunes by other singers is Joe Cocker's 1976 take on "The Jealous Kind," Kris Kristofferson's reading of the haunting and wistful, "Tennessee Blues" (from the Bearsville album), Muddy Waters' inimitable, bluesy rendition of "Why Are People Like That," and UB40's reggae "spin" on his "Groovin' Out on Love" from the 1989 multi-platinum CD, Labour of Love 2. And a song like Frogman Henry's "But I Do" made its way on the 1994 Forrest Gump soundtrack; whereas one of Charles' Chess singles, "You Can Suit Yourself," can be heard in the background of the 2004 film, Miracle on Ice. As time goes by, Bobby Charles will undoubtedly be more and more acknowledged and appreciated for his enduring contributions to the Great American Songbook. Keith Spera in his thoughtful obituary of Charles in The Times-Picayune included a quote so typical of his: "I never wanted to be a star. If I could just make it writing, I'd be happy. Thank God I've been lucky enough to have a lot of people do my songs." But actually it is we that are truly the lucky ones. Although this American original is gone, we'll always be able to share the treasures that Bobby Charles left behind for us.

Larry Benicewicz, Baltimore Blues Society