I
am content when I write happy stories: where my heroes enjoy either
professional success or personal fulfillment (or preferably both). There has
only been one person so far that belonged in neither category: Steven Grossman.
Today we get to meet the second.
James
Booker was born in New Orleans in 1939. He was the son and grandson of Baptist ministers,
both of whom played the piano. As a young boy he too demonstrated a strong
interest in the keyboard. Booker attended the Xavier Academy Preparatory School
and was highly skilled in classical music and played Bach and Chopin and
others. He also mastered and memorized solos by Erroll Garner and Liberace.
He
made his first recording in 1954, not yet 15. One of the first tunes that he
recorded was Doin' the Hambone:
In
1958, 18-year-old Booker was introduced to the famous concert pianist Arthur
Rubinstein and played several tunes for him. Rubinstein was astonished, saying
"I could never play that ... never at that tempo."
In
1960, Booker released Gonzo. It was to be his most succesful single, peaking at
#3 in the US R&B chart and #43 in The Hot 100.
In
the 60s Booker began using drugs regularly. His flamboyant behaviour on and off
stage became more extreme as his addiction took hold, and he increasingly
suffered from severe depression and extreme paranoia. The musician Charles
Neville links his mental decline to the deaths of his mother and sister in
1970, and remembers Booker becoming increasingly obsessed with "plots"
and "threats" against him at that time. Soon after, he was
arrested for heroin possession and sent to jail. As Booker became more familiar
to law enforcement in New Orleans due to his illicit drug use, he formed a
relationship with Harry Connick Sr., who was occasionally Booker's legal
counsel. Connick Sr. would discuss law with Booker during his visits to the
Connick home and made an arrangement with the musician, whereby a prison
sentence would be nullified in exchange for piano lessons with Connick Sr.'s
son Harry Connick Jr..
Here's
Junco Partner, a song that he wrote about his time in jail:
The
song was included in the album The Lost Paramount Tapes which he recorded in
1973 with members of the Dr. John band. The master tapes disappeared from the
Paramount Recording Studios library, but a copy of the mixes that were made
around the time of the recordings was discovered in 1992.
Also
in the album was his version of the classic Stormy Monday:
Booker
played organ in Dr. John's Bonnaroo Revue touring band in 1974, and also
appeared as a sideman on albums by Ringo Starr, the Doobie Brothers, Labelle,
John Mayall, Maria Muldaur and Jerry Garcia.
Booker
recorded a number of albums while successfully touring Europe between 1976 and
1978. In a 2013 interview, filmmaker Lily Keber, who directed a documentary on
Booker, provided her perspective on Booker's warm reception in European nations
such as Germany and France: "Well, the racism wasn't there, the homophobia
wasn't there—as much. Even the drug use was a little more tolerated. But really
I think that Booker felt he was being taken seriously in Europe, and it made
him think of himself differently and improved the quality of his music. He
needed the energy of the audience to feed off."
Here's
On The Sunny Side Of The Street, from a 1977 live show:
Upon
his return to the US, he was forced to adjust to a lower level of public
recognition, as he performed in cafes and bars. Keber believes this shift was
"devastating" to Booker, as he was aware of his own talent. His last
commercial recording came in 1982 and was called Classified. Here's the title
track:
Booker
died aged 43 on November 8, 1983, while seated in a wheelchair in the emergency
room at New Orleans' Charity Hospital, waiting to receive medical attention.
The cause of death, as cited in the Coroner's Death Certificate, was renal
failure that was related to his chronic history of heroin and alcohol use.
Dr.
John described Booker as "the best black, gay, one-eyed junkie piano
genius New Orleans has ever produced." Harry Connick Jr. said of his piano
style "Nothing was harder than that. It's insane. It's insanity." and
called him "the greatest ever."
Influential
New Orleans musician, composer, and producer Allen Toussaint said of him:
"There are some instances in his playing that are very unusual and highly
complex, but the groove is never sacrificed. Within all the romping and
stomping in his music, there were complexities in it that, if one tried to
emulate it, what you heard and what excited you on the surface was supported by
some extreme technical acrobatics finger-wise that made his music extraordinary
as far as I’m concerned. And most of all, it always felt wonderful ... He was
an extraordinary musician, both soul wise and groove wise ... He was just an
amazing musician."
James
Booker had the talent and the personality of a star. But his personal demons
and the prejudice of his time did not allow this to happen. At least, his
talent was recognized by his peers. It wasn't all for nothing.
Personal demons and unfulfilled public recognition. That's an all too familiar and lethal combination for anyone with talent that goes begging. Maybe I should be thankful for the mediocrity that tempers my ego? At any rate, the circumstances surrounding his demise are so sad and unfitting for someone who deserved better.
ReplyDeleteGood evening RM and a very pleasant weekend to you! We do agree in our assessment. By the way, here's something that struck me as odd: while I could find many stories concerning Booker's drug-taking antics, I found no stories concerning his sexual life, apart from the fact that he was gay. No mention of long-term partners or torrid love affairs, or even of promiscuous behavior. Was his sex life so well-hidden, or was it so unremarkable? I wonder...
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