overthebow
Laugh-a while-a you can-a
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ChilledVodka said:
I'll miss Ray Charles more than I will miss Reagan.
I'll miss Ray Charles more than I will miss Reagan.
G
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Guest
Fans say their goodbyes to Ray Charles - Joel Selvin, SF Chronicle Senior Music Writer, June 18, 2004
Los Angeles -- His people came to say goodbye. A line of more than 200 people at noon yesterday was wrapped around the entrance to the lobby of the Los Angeles Convention Center, where Ray Charles lay in state.
He will be eulogized more formally this morning at the powerhouse African American congregation, the First AME Church in South Central Los Angeles, in an exclusive private service with Stevie Wonder, Willie Nelson, B.B. King, Glen Campbell and other celebrated mourners from the world of show business. The Rev. Jesse Jackson will speak, and former President Bill Clinton will address the gathering via satellite.
But on Thursday, it was his people who solemnly came to pay their last respects to their Brother Ray, the world-famed entertainer who never lost the common touch.
A quiet, orderly procession, largely older blacks of his generation, filed along the red carpet in front of the open casket and one of his Yamaha baby grands. A signature satin stage jacket lay folded on the piano bench, sheet music to "What'd I Say" and "Georgia on My Mind" on the music stand, while a tape of his greatest hits echoed softly but clearly in the cavernous hall.
"As a child, he was one of the first black singers I saw on TV," said Elinor Pyburn, who lives in the same central Los Angeles neighborhood where Charles kept his recording studio for 40 years.
The huge glass lobby was filled with sunlight. Floral sprays and flags flanked the mahogany casket. Two large floral letters spelled "RC." A blind woman and her guide dog made their way down the aisle and paused in front of the casket.
"I used to go to all his dances in New Jersey," said 77-year-old Doris Ewing, another mourner. "I've been here 30 years. I forget all the names of the places, 'cause they all tore down now. But I danced to his music. He's one of the last of my era."
Some wore shorts and T-shirts. Some dressed in their Sunday best. Men took off their hats and women daubed their eyes with Kleenex as they looked at the familiar face in repose, a hint of a smile on his lips, decked out in his trademark ruffled shirt and tuxedo.
For these people, Ray Charles was more than a singer. He was part of their lives. His triumph in life was their victory, too. They all knew where he came from and what he overcame to get where he did, and it made their own lives seem more possible.
"He touched many lives. He was more than just an artist,'' said Gregory Kerr of Lynwood. "I had to come to pay my respects.''
Charles, 73, died last week of liver disease in his Beverly Hills home. He canceled his scheduled concerts last July -- the first shows he ever failed to make in 52 years of performing, said his longtime manager, Joe Adams -- to undergo hip replacement surgery. It was then that doctors discovered cancer in his pre-surgical checkup.
He underwent chemotherapy treatments and planned to be back on the road by spring. He was still going to the office until less than two weeks before he died, said the 80-year-old Adams, who handled the singer's affairs for 46 years.
"He went kicking and screaming," said Adams. "But he went."
David Ritz, co-author of Charles' autobiography, interviewed him for the current issue of Rolling Stone only weeks before he died.
"He was happy about his life," said Ritz, who was in the crowd milling outside the Convention Center. "He wanted to have money. He wanted to have hits. He wanted to have women. He got what he wanted. He didn't have any regrets."
Waiting at the front of the line in a wheelchair Thursday was Bob Moore, who took the bus at 8 in the morning from South Central to be there. Charles used to buy cigarettes from Moore when he ran a newsstand outside the Hollywood Palladium.
"He never forgot where he came from," Moore said.
Charles' publicist Jerry Digney recalled Charles' reaction after playing the White House Correspondents Dinner in April 2003, when he was told that President Bush wanted to pose for a photograph with him.
"Do I have to?" Digney said Charles asked him.
"It was just another gig to him."
In a career that stretched from backwoods roadhouses in the Deep South to the halls of the White House, Charles could always rely on his immense inner resources. Born poor, blinded as a child, orphaned by the time he was a teenager, he determinedly refined his voice as a musician, emerging from the nether world of rhythm and blues as the kind of transcendent figure that Duke Ellington was to the world of jazz.
After the star-studded service this morning, Charles will be buried in Inglewood Memorial Park, a 100-year-old cemetery not far from Los Angeles International Airport where he will join a pantheon of older R&B stars, such as Charles Brown, the crooner whom Charles copied early in his career; Lowell Fulson, in whose band Charles first toured the country; T-Bone Walker, with whom Charles used to play poker with pin-pricked playing cards after Mississippi juke joint shows. Jazz great Ella Fitzgerald and boxer Sugar Ray Robinson (who caused young Ray Charles Robinson to drop his real last name) also are buried in Inglewood.
-----------
fyi: Inglewood is a black neighborhood. White people don't go there; the Lakers used to play their ('The Forum') but they abandoned the 'hood for downtown.
Los Angeles -- His people came to say goodbye. A line of more than 200 people at noon yesterday was wrapped around the entrance to the lobby of the Los Angeles Convention Center, where Ray Charles lay in state.
He will be eulogized more formally this morning at the powerhouse African American congregation, the First AME Church in South Central Los Angeles, in an exclusive private service with Stevie Wonder, Willie Nelson, B.B. King, Glen Campbell and other celebrated mourners from the world of show business. The Rev. Jesse Jackson will speak, and former President Bill Clinton will address the gathering via satellite.
But on Thursday, it was his people who solemnly came to pay their last respects to their Brother Ray, the world-famed entertainer who never lost the common touch.
A quiet, orderly procession, largely older blacks of his generation, filed along the red carpet in front of the open casket and one of his Yamaha baby grands. A signature satin stage jacket lay folded on the piano bench, sheet music to "What'd I Say" and "Georgia on My Mind" on the music stand, while a tape of his greatest hits echoed softly but clearly in the cavernous hall.
"As a child, he was one of the first black singers I saw on TV," said Elinor Pyburn, who lives in the same central Los Angeles neighborhood where Charles kept his recording studio for 40 years.
The huge glass lobby was filled with sunlight. Floral sprays and flags flanked the mahogany casket. Two large floral letters spelled "RC." A blind woman and her guide dog made their way down the aisle and paused in front of the casket.
"I used to go to all his dances in New Jersey," said 77-year-old Doris Ewing, another mourner. "I've been here 30 years. I forget all the names of the places, 'cause they all tore down now. But I danced to his music. He's one of the last of my era."
Some wore shorts and T-shirts. Some dressed in their Sunday best. Men took off their hats and women daubed their eyes with Kleenex as they looked at the familiar face in repose, a hint of a smile on his lips, decked out in his trademark ruffled shirt and tuxedo.
For these people, Ray Charles was more than a singer. He was part of their lives. His triumph in life was their victory, too. They all knew where he came from and what he overcame to get where he did, and it made their own lives seem more possible.
"He touched many lives. He was more than just an artist,'' said Gregory Kerr of Lynwood. "I had to come to pay my respects.''
Charles, 73, died last week of liver disease in his Beverly Hills home. He canceled his scheduled concerts last July -- the first shows he ever failed to make in 52 years of performing, said his longtime manager, Joe Adams -- to undergo hip replacement surgery. It was then that doctors discovered cancer in his pre-surgical checkup.
He underwent chemotherapy treatments and planned to be back on the road by spring. He was still going to the office until less than two weeks before he died, said the 80-year-old Adams, who handled the singer's affairs for 46 years.
"He went kicking and screaming," said Adams. "But he went."
David Ritz, co-author of Charles' autobiography, interviewed him for the current issue of Rolling Stone only weeks before he died.
"He was happy about his life," said Ritz, who was in the crowd milling outside the Convention Center. "He wanted to have money. He wanted to have hits. He wanted to have women. He got what he wanted. He didn't have any regrets."
Waiting at the front of the line in a wheelchair Thursday was Bob Moore, who took the bus at 8 in the morning from South Central to be there. Charles used to buy cigarettes from Moore when he ran a newsstand outside the Hollywood Palladium.
"He never forgot where he came from," Moore said.
Charles' publicist Jerry Digney recalled Charles' reaction after playing the White House Correspondents Dinner in April 2003, when he was told that President Bush wanted to pose for a photograph with him.
"Do I have to?" Digney said Charles asked him.
"It was just another gig to him."
In a career that stretched from backwoods roadhouses in the Deep South to the halls of the White House, Charles could always rely on his immense inner resources. Born poor, blinded as a child, orphaned by the time he was a teenager, he determinedly refined his voice as a musician, emerging from the nether world of rhythm and blues as the kind of transcendent figure that Duke Ellington was to the world of jazz.
After the star-studded service this morning, Charles will be buried in Inglewood Memorial Park, a 100-year-old cemetery not far from Los Angeles International Airport where he will join a pantheon of older R&B stars, such as Charles Brown, the crooner whom Charles copied early in his career; Lowell Fulson, in whose band Charles first toured the country; T-Bone Walker, with whom Charles used to play poker with pin-pricked playing cards after Mississippi juke joint shows. Jazz great Ella Fitzgerald and boxer Sugar Ray Robinson (who caused young Ray Charles Robinson to drop his real last name) also are buried in Inglewood.
-----------
fyi: Inglewood is a black neighborhood. White people don't go there; the Lakers used to play their ('The Forum') but they abandoned the 'hood for downtown.
Lovepotion69
Going with the flow
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- Feb 4, 2002
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My dad was sad. He's been a Ray Charles fan for ages. Has all his records except from one. They are in the bank vault.
G
Guest
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Wish I'd been there
Homage in L.A.: 'We can't stop loving you' - B.B. King, Willie Nelson, Stevie Wonder bid an emotional farewell to Ray Charles - Joel Selvin, SF Chronicle Senior Pop Music Critic, June 19, 2004
Los Angeles -- Willie Nelson sang "Georgia on My Mind." Stevie Wonder brought down the house with impassioned gospel. B.B. King kept wiping away tears as he recalled his lifelong friend. Wynton Marsalis played on trumpet a one-man New Orleans jazz funeral, walking back and forth in front of the rose-covered casket.
The elite of the music world gathered Friday to bury Ray Charles, the American musical giant who died last week but whose music will live forever.
Mourners alighted from limousines on a sunny cul de sac at the top of a central Los Angeles hill to attend the services at the First African Methodist Episcopal Church. Police kept crowds across the street, where they could hear the proceedings broadcast on speakers.
The Rev. Jesse Jackson read from Corinthians ("O death, where is thy sting''). "Ray, before you meet the Count and the Duke,'' he said, "there's a man across the river giving sight to the blind.''
Revered by his colleagues in the world of music, who were perhaps in a special position to appreciate his rare gifts, Charles was the voice of a generation. A tape of his music greeted the 1,500 friends and family who filled the church to capacity, and a new duet with Johnny Mathis of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," the last song Charles ever recorded, played as the congregation filed past his coffin once it was opened for a last look at the familiar face and dark glasses.
"I never imagined in my life that I would meet Ray Charles," said Stevie Wonder, whose first album was all Ray Charles songs.
"But God knows more. I never imagined in my life that I would write a song that Ray Charles would sing."
Wonder belongs to a generation of black musicians who grew up with Ray Charles looming over their musical universe. But Charles' reach was not limited by such boundaries as race or musical genre.
Country music star Glen Campbell strummed guitar and sang an old hillbilly gospel song, and Willie Nelson, dressed somberly in black suit and crew neck, stood behind the podium and sang the Hoagy Carmichael classic that he, too, has recorded, but that is primarily associated with Charles.
Nelson, who now holds the "Georgia on My Mind" franchise by himself, recalled playing chess with Charles and finally figuring out how Charles beat him every time.
"I asked him, 'Next time we play, can we turn the lights on?' " he said.
The life of Ray Charles was that of an American classic. Born into poverty in the Depression-era South, Charles lost his sight at age 7.
His mother sent him to a segregated school for black, blind children in Florida, where he learned to read, write and play music. She died when he was 15, and Charles was on his own.
His career went from the most miserable backwoods shacks of Mississippi to the greatest concert halls of Europe. Long before he died of liver disease at age 73, he was probably the most famous black entertainer of his time, a man who knew no barriers, who sang for kings and presidents but never forgot where he came from. He was an inspiration to all who knew him.
"We can't stop loving you," Jackson thundered in full voice, echoing the title of one of Charles' most famous hits. "No, we can't stop loving you."
The funeral mixed his famous friends with people such as David "Fathead" Newman, who played saxophone on Charles' classic '50s hits and traveled the world with his band, and Susaye Greene, a former member of the Raylettes, his backup singers, who raised lusty amens from the crowd with a fiery version of "The Lord's Prayer."
Joe Adams, Charles' manager for 46 years, acted as emcee, making little jokes as he introduced speakers, such as Clint Eastwood: "You look at him, and you'd think he was kind of square," he said.
In blue and gold robes behind the stage, the 60-voice Crenshaw High School Choir, whose tour of Japan last year was underwritten by Charles, kept the spirit in the room, clapping hands, shouting and raising the roof when they put their voices together.
The Rev. Robert Robinson, one of Charles' 12 children, showed some of his father's flash and fire in shouting out the 23rd Psalm. All his children attended the event and were represented by a dozen floral treble clefs along the sides of the church wall.
In addition to the artists who actually performed, actress Cicely Tyson greeted a long list of local politicians and show business celebrities that included Johnny Mathis, Little Richard, Billy Gibbons of ZZ Top and Motown Records founder Berry Gordy.
Billy Preston, onetime organist in the Charles band who was scheduled to perform at the funeral, was under doctor's orders not to leave his hospital room. Quincy Jones, Charles' best friend since they were teenagers in Seattle, sent his regrets from Russia. Former President Bill Clinton wrote a letter.
"He leaves behind an incredible legacy as a singer, musician and piano player," Clinton wrote. "His soulful voice will forever live in our hearts and minds."
Bespectacled, gray-haired B.B. King apologized for sitting down ("I have bad knees") and gently stroked a black electric guitar while he spoke, breaking down and lapsing into a long, uncomfortable silence.
"Take your time, B.B.," a voice shouted out.
"I don't feel worthy sitting up here trying to sing," the great bluesman said. "But I'll do it for my brother Ray."
He sang an old, little-known blues song he recorded many years ago, "Please Accept My Love," which ends with the lines, "If you should die before I do, I'll end my life to be with you."
The Rev. Cecil L. Murray, pastor of the First AME Church, pounded the lectern and forcefully delivered the final words of comfort before the family filed into 10 waiting limousines. The procession later followed the hearse carrying Charles' casket, passing his old recording studio headquarters on its way to Inglewood Park Cemetery.
Murray quoted Charles as telling him, "I don't feel sorry for people who can't see -- I see more than most people -- I feel sorry for people who can't hear."
"Sing your song with joyous mirth," Murray said. "You are only lost when you lose your song. ... Ray Charles always saw the objectives, not the obstacles. ... I don't know about you, says Ray, but I saw the light."
Homage in L.A.: 'We can't stop loving you' - B.B. King, Willie Nelson, Stevie Wonder bid an emotional farewell to Ray Charles - Joel Selvin, SF Chronicle Senior Pop Music Critic, June 19, 2004
Los Angeles -- Willie Nelson sang "Georgia on My Mind." Stevie Wonder brought down the house with impassioned gospel. B.B. King kept wiping away tears as he recalled his lifelong friend. Wynton Marsalis played on trumpet a one-man New Orleans jazz funeral, walking back and forth in front of the rose-covered casket.
The elite of the music world gathered Friday to bury Ray Charles, the American musical giant who died last week but whose music will live forever.
Mourners alighted from limousines on a sunny cul de sac at the top of a central Los Angeles hill to attend the services at the First African Methodist Episcopal Church. Police kept crowds across the street, where they could hear the proceedings broadcast on speakers.
The Rev. Jesse Jackson read from Corinthians ("O death, where is thy sting''). "Ray, before you meet the Count and the Duke,'' he said, "there's a man across the river giving sight to the blind.''
Revered by his colleagues in the world of music, who were perhaps in a special position to appreciate his rare gifts, Charles was the voice of a generation. A tape of his music greeted the 1,500 friends and family who filled the church to capacity, and a new duet with Johnny Mathis of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," the last song Charles ever recorded, played as the congregation filed past his coffin once it was opened for a last look at the familiar face and dark glasses.
"I never imagined in my life that I would meet Ray Charles," said Stevie Wonder, whose first album was all Ray Charles songs.
"But God knows more. I never imagined in my life that I would write a song that Ray Charles would sing."
Wonder belongs to a generation of black musicians who grew up with Ray Charles looming over their musical universe. But Charles' reach was not limited by such boundaries as race or musical genre.
Country music star Glen Campbell strummed guitar and sang an old hillbilly gospel song, and Willie Nelson, dressed somberly in black suit and crew neck, stood behind the podium and sang the Hoagy Carmichael classic that he, too, has recorded, but that is primarily associated with Charles.
Nelson, who now holds the "Georgia on My Mind" franchise by himself, recalled playing chess with Charles and finally figuring out how Charles beat him every time.
"I asked him, 'Next time we play, can we turn the lights on?' " he said.
The life of Ray Charles was that of an American classic. Born into poverty in the Depression-era South, Charles lost his sight at age 7.
His mother sent him to a segregated school for black, blind children in Florida, where he learned to read, write and play music. She died when he was 15, and Charles was on his own.
His career went from the most miserable backwoods shacks of Mississippi to the greatest concert halls of Europe. Long before he died of liver disease at age 73, he was probably the most famous black entertainer of his time, a man who knew no barriers, who sang for kings and presidents but never forgot where he came from. He was an inspiration to all who knew him.
"We can't stop loving you," Jackson thundered in full voice, echoing the title of one of Charles' most famous hits. "No, we can't stop loving you."
The funeral mixed his famous friends with people such as David "Fathead" Newman, who played saxophone on Charles' classic '50s hits and traveled the world with his band, and Susaye Greene, a former member of the Raylettes, his backup singers, who raised lusty amens from the crowd with a fiery version of "The Lord's Prayer."
Joe Adams, Charles' manager for 46 years, acted as emcee, making little jokes as he introduced speakers, such as Clint Eastwood: "You look at him, and you'd think he was kind of square," he said.
In blue and gold robes behind the stage, the 60-voice Crenshaw High School Choir, whose tour of Japan last year was underwritten by Charles, kept the spirit in the room, clapping hands, shouting and raising the roof when they put their voices together.
The Rev. Robert Robinson, one of Charles' 12 children, showed some of his father's flash and fire in shouting out the 23rd Psalm. All his children attended the event and were represented by a dozen floral treble clefs along the sides of the church wall.
In addition to the artists who actually performed, actress Cicely Tyson greeted a long list of local politicians and show business celebrities that included Johnny Mathis, Little Richard, Billy Gibbons of ZZ Top and Motown Records founder Berry Gordy.
Billy Preston, onetime organist in the Charles band who was scheduled to perform at the funeral, was under doctor's orders not to leave his hospital room. Quincy Jones, Charles' best friend since they were teenagers in Seattle, sent his regrets from Russia. Former President Bill Clinton wrote a letter.
"He leaves behind an incredible legacy as a singer, musician and piano player," Clinton wrote. "His soulful voice will forever live in our hearts and minds."
Bespectacled, gray-haired B.B. King apologized for sitting down ("I have bad knees") and gently stroked a black electric guitar while he spoke, breaking down and lapsing into a long, uncomfortable silence.
"Take your time, B.B.," a voice shouted out.
"I don't feel worthy sitting up here trying to sing," the great bluesman said. "But I'll do it for my brother Ray."
He sang an old, little-known blues song he recorded many years ago, "Please Accept My Love," which ends with the lines, "If you should die before I do, I'll end my life to be with you."
The Rev. Cecil L. Murray, pastor of the First AME Church, pounded the lectern and forcefully delivered the final words of comfort before the family filed into 10 waiting limousines. The procession later followed the hearse carrying Charles' casket, passing his old recording studio headquarters on its way to Inglewood Park Cemetery.
Murray quoted Charles as telling him, "I don't feel sorry for people who can't see -- I see more than most people -- I feel sorry for people who can't hear."
"Sing your song with joyous mirth," Murray said. "You are only lost when you lose your song. ... Ray Charles always saw the objectives, not the obstacles. ... I don't know about you, says Ray, but I saw the light."
EnglishMuffin
Literotica Guru
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- Jul 20, 2002
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Re: Re: Ray Charles
Without anger we are nothing.shereads said:Still dead.
Still sucks.
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