His World
Ray Charles on rap, country, and pitching for Pepsi
Request, July 1993
Not for nothing do they call him “the genius.” Ray Charles’ recording career spans 44 of his 62 years, and in that time he has worked in an amazing array of styles, from gospel, blues, and country to jazz, soul, and middle-of-the-road pop. An original inductee of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, Charles’ hits include “What’d I Say,” “I’ve Got a Woman,” “Hallelujah I Love Her So,” “Unchain My Heart,” “I Can’t Stop Loving You,” and “Hard Times,” to name only a few. With his gospel-based piano style and a vocal technique that ranges from his familiar rasp to abrupt shouts and falsetto shrieks, he has proven himself one of the premiere interpreters of other songwriters’ work, making songs as diverse as Hank Williams’ “Your Cheatin’ Heart,” Paul McCartney’s “Yesterday,” and even “America the Beautiful” utterly his own.
Of late, though, his genius has dimmed. Throughout the ‘80s, Charles recorded a string of mostly bland country albums that barely hinted at the brilliance of his groundbreaking 1962 album, Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music. And his 1990 Warner Bros. debut, Would You Believe? was an almost unlistenable, demo-quality disappointment.
Yet, Charles bounces back somewhat on his recent effort, My World, which features his best selection of material in many years, including a pair of compelling calls for brotherhood, “None of Us Are Free” and “My World,” along with the gospel-influenced “So Help Me God” and the heartfelt ballad, “If I Could.” Best of all are Charles’ first-class interpretations of Paul Simon’s “Still Crazy After All These Years” and Leon Russell’s “A Song for You.” Recently Charles talked to Request about his new album, playing chess with Willie Nelson, and his job as a Pepsi pitchman.
As an artist, you really have nothing left to prove to anyone, but is there anything you still have to prove to yourself?
Well, first maybe I should explain to you, make it where you can understand where I’m coming from. See, music to me is not something I do on the side. Music to me is like my breathing. It’s like the blood running through my veins. For me, it’s a case of waking up in the morning, like how do you get yourself together, how do you brush your teeth, take a shower? That’s the way music is to me. It’s a part of me, which is why I can’t retire. You understand what I’m saying: It’s like retiring from eating or going to the bathroom. Can’t do it. So when I go into the studio or when I’m onstage, it’s nothing I have to prove. When I walk out on the stage and even before I sing a note, the people are standing and giving me an ovation. That is the most wonderful, marvelous thing in the world, to have people love you so much and to love what you do. Of course, they don’t know you personally, but they know your work, they know what you stand for.
You’re known for your distinctive interpretations of standards like “Georgia on My Mind” and even songs that are considered to be other artists’ signature songs like “Eleanor Rigby” and “Yesterday.” On your new album, you do Paul Simon’s “Still Crazy After All These Years” and Leon Russell’s “A Song for You.” What drew you to these particular tunes?
I heard a version of “A Song for You” by a cat, he’s gone now, but his name is Donny Hathaway, and in my mind, he sung the shit out of it. So I thought, hey, you know, I would like to do that myself. Not to compete with Donny Hathaway, ‘cause what he did, that was it. But just to put my own stamp on it, ‘cause it’s such a pretty song. And you mentioned the Paul Simon song. I love the lyrics: that’s what captured my attention. They’re very expressive. You can just see the guy: “I met my old lover on the street last night/She seemed to glad to see me, I just smiled.” You can just picture that. So I did it my way to see how it would feel to me. And once I started fooling with “Still Crazy,” I just loved it.
Not everybody can do that, though. Some people run for cover when they hear Michael Bolton’s version of “Georgia.”
Well, you know, “Georgia” has been done by a lot of people since I did it, and from what I know of it, Michael’s version sold pretty good. But the trouble with something like that is, when you have a signature that’s put on a song like what I did to “Georgia,” or Nat Cole’s version of “Mona Lisa,” you have many other people that’s gonna record it, but it’s never gonna be the pedigree, the original thing. It’s like Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata.” It’s gonna be there forever, man.
On My World, you’ve got hip-hop beats and scratching in the mix. Is it important for you to stay contemporary in terms of your sound? Do we really need scratching on a Ray Charles Record?
Now, I’m gonna tell you something, OK? Warner Bros. is probably gonna kill me for telling you this, but I’m gonna tell you anyway. The producer on this album was Richard Perry. That was his idea, not mine. He made the [instrumental] tracks, and I sung to it. I’m being very honest with you. For me, if I had produced the album, a lot of the stuff you’re talking about now, I wouldn’t have done it that way. I had promised Warners I would work with one of their producers when I went over there, and they chose Richard Perry, so I said OK. I won’t work with something if I think it’s detrimental, but it doesn’t have to be my particular way in order for me to work with it, as long as it’s not destructive.
At least there’s a mix of styles on the album. It sounds like “Still Crazy” and “A Song for You” weren’t too adversely affected.
I’ll tell you this, then I’ll leave it alone. On the Paul Simon song, if you listen to that, that’ll tell you the difference between the way I think and the way Richard Perry thinks. For the Paul Simon thing, I did the arrangement. I went with the musicians and did the arranging in the studio myself. That was all me. You didn’t hear no hip hop in that, did you? But on this particular album, I was not the producer; I just worked with the gentleman. He made the tracks and sent them over to me at my studio, and I put my voice on. And that was that.
Are there contemporary styles of music that you do like or new artists that you’d like to work with?
Uhh…no. Most of what I guess you call contemporary is the rap stuff, and I’m just not into that. I’m not knocking it, don’t get me wrong. It’s good for the youngsters and the people that’s doing it, and they’re making a lot of money with it, OK? But it’s not the kind of thing…I mean, I been talking since I was three years old. And I made some records where you just talk on them, like “It Should’ve Been Me,” “Greenback Dollar,” and “Gang Number Nine.” That was long before it was called rap. All you’re doing is reciting poetry and making it go with the music. Well, I can’t learn anything from that. See, I’m a musician; at least I like to think I am. So I want music. I want somebody to play something that makes me sit up and say, “Hot damn, did you hear what that guy just played?” That’s what I want to hear. Talking just don’t do it.
Let’s talk about another kind of music. Country music is enjoying a real renaissance these days, and it seems strange to me that after you recorded Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music, no other black artists followed you in crossing over. The door just seemed to slam shut again.
I won’t say that it was a case of the door slamming shut. It may well be that there just wasn’t any other blacks interested in it at the time. The only person that I know that came along after I did was Charley Pride. I wouldn’t say anyone was prohibited from doing it, but it could have been, I don’t know. But I would just rather think that no other black people were interested. When I decided to do the country album, at ABC they were a little reluctant, because they thought that maybe I might lose a lot of fans. At the time, I had been pretty popular in the R&B field with “What’d I Say” and “Hallelujah I Love Her So,” and all that kind of stuff. But I told them, “I may lose some fans, but I think if I work this right, the fans I lose, I think I’ll gain two-to-one. At the time, I was just talkin’, trying to get them to do what I wanted, but as it turned out, I was right.
There’s a perception that the white middle class flocking to country music lately is somehow fleeing rap and other primarily black forms of music.
I have to tell you, my friend, I mean I’m no expert in this matter, you know, I’m no psychoanalyst, but I do think there’s an element of truth in that. Let’s face it, how long can you stand there and jabber? How long can you take that? Don’t you want to hear a melody? Don’t you want to hear somebody actually sing something? Everything is good in its way. It’s like talking about synthesizers. Nothing wrong with synthesizers; I’ve used them. They’re good. But I still prefer a violin, or a trumpet, or a trombone. Real drummers. But there’s nothing to be learned from just reciting rhymes to rhythm. And when I hear people talk about the message and this kind of stuff, getting into the politics and this and that, a lot of the stuff I hear is way off line in my mind. Maybe I’m just too conservative, but hell, I live in the community and I know what’s going on, but I still feel that some of the music, you can still get your point over without some of the graphics. I can say something to you, man, and break your heart and never have to call you a motherfucker. The good writers, they know how to take stuff and kill you with it.
Still, it seems a shame that the audience is divided so strictly along racial lines. If you think about the origins of country music and blues, the people singing in those styles weren’t so far apart. And when you recorded Modern Sounds, both audiences could find something on it to appreciate. But that’s very rare these days.
I guess if somebody else comes along and does what I did, it will happen again. I love country music so much I went down to Nashville around 1982, ’83 when I was with Columbia, ‘cause they had a lot of cats on the label that I like, like Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, the Oak Ridge Boys, Ricky Skaggs. They had a lot of people that I wanted to record with, so I went down there and did some records with the real guys. I really enjoyed myself, and we came up with a couple of hits. I had a hit with George Jones, “I Didn’t See a Thing” and we had a hit with Willie Nelson, “Seven Spanish Angels,” out of that.
Willie Nelson is a lot like you in some respects, especially the way he can take a song and make it his own.
That’s my man, Willie. He’s all right with me. That’s my chess partner. Every time we get together, we have to play chess. But I trick him. I won’t let him turn on the lights when we’re playing. [laughs]
Who wins?
Well, I had been winning, but the last time we played, he finally beat me. I had won about four or five games, but the last time, he lucked out and beat me.
Do you have other interests outside music?
Well, like I say, you can wake me up in the middle of the night for a good chess game. I like sports, too: baseball, basketball, football. I’m sort of a Lakers fan and I’m a Dodgers fan, and I guess I’m a Raiders fan when it comes to football. But you know, I don’t have a wide array of things I’m involved in because I’m sort of a private person. When you see all these big Hollywood parties, if you notice, you never see my name. You never see me at any of the big things that are going on, unless it truly involves me. Otherwise, I’m pretty much to myself. I love people when I’m on the stage; you can’t have too many people for me. But after that, if you get past four or five people, you got a crowd.
Let’s talk about your Pepsi commercials. It seems like the “Uh-huh” thing has taken on a life of its own. For instance, you have a new greatest-hits package out. “Ray Charles” is printed on the box in rather small type, and then across the top, in big bold letters is “Uh-huh.” Do you think that being known as the “Uh-huh” guy trivializes your very real accomplishments?
Nah, of course not. You see, what you’ve done is what you’ve done. Nobody can take that away from you. It’s like when you get a good education in your head: People may hate your guts, but they can’t take it away from you. You see? So whatever I’ve done, I done that. As a matter of fact, with the Pepsi commercial, I look at it like it was a plus for both of us. They did very well with it, and I did very, very well with it. Because a lot of little kids, three and four and five years old, who, when I’m in the airport, they go, “Hey, mama, there’s Ray Charles!” And it gives people a good feeling. I have people 75, 80 years old, and they come up to me and say, “Hey, Ray, you got the right one baby!” It’s been a nice little saying that went around for about a year or so, and I don’t feel it’s belittling anything to have Ray Charles in little tiny letters and have “Uh-huh” in big letters. After all, they’re paying the bills.
Ray Charles on rap, country, and pitching for Pepsi
Request, July 1993
Not for nothing do they call him “the genius.” Ray Charles’ recording career spans 44 of his 62 years, and in that time he has worked in an amazing array of styles, from gospel, blues, and country to jazz, soul, and middle-of-the-road pop. An original inductee of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, Charles’ hits include “What’d I Say,” “I’ve Got a Woman,” “Hallelujah I Love Her So,” “Unchain My Heart,” “I Can’t Stop Loving You,” and “Hard Times,” to name only a few. With his gospel-based piano style and a vocal technique that ranges from his familiar rasp to abrupt shouts and falsetto shrieks, he has proven himself one of the premiere interpreters of other songwriters’ work, making songs as diverse as Hank Williams’ “Your Cheatin’ Heart,” Paul McCartney’s “Yesterday,” and even “America the Beautiful” utterly his own.
Of late, though, his genius has dimmed. Throughout the ‘80s, Charles recorded a string of mostly bland country albums that barely hinted at the brilliance of his groundbreaking 1962 album, Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music. And his 1990 Warner Bros. debut, Would You Believe? was an almost unlistenable, demo-quality disappointment.
Yet, Charles bounces back somewhat on his recent effort, My World, which features his best selection of material in many years, including a pair of compelling calls for brotherhood, “None of Us Are Free” and “My World,” along with the gospel-influenced “So Help Me God” and the heartfelt ballad, “If I Could.” Best of all are Charles’ first-class interpretations of Paul Simon’s “Still Crazy After All These Years” and Leon Russell’s “A Song for You.” Recently Charles talked to Request about his new album, playing chess with Willie Nelson, and his job as a Pepsi pitchman.
As an artist, you really have nothing left to prove to anyone, but is there anything you still have to prove to yourself?
Well, first maybe I should explain to you, make it where you can understand where I’m coming from. See, music to me is not something I do on the side. Music to me is like my breathing. It’s like the blood running through my veins. For me, it’s a case of waking up in the morning, like how do you get yourself together, how do you brush your teeth, take a shower? That’s the way music is to me. It’s a part of me, which is why I can’t retire. You understand what I’m saying: It’s like retiring from eating or going to the bathroom. Can’t do it. So when I go into the studio or when I’m onstage, it’s nothing I have to prove. When I walk out on the stage and even before I sing a note, the people are standing and giving me an ovation. That is the most wonderful, marvelous thing in the world, to have people love you so much and to love what you do. Of course, they don’t know you personally, but they know your work, they know what you stand for.
You’re known for your distinctive interpretations of standards like “Georgia on My Mind” and even songs that are considered to be other artists’ signature songs like “Eleanor Rigby” and “Yesterday.” On your new album, you do Paul Simon’s “Still Crazy After All These Years” and Leon Russell’s “A Song for You.” What drew you to these particular tunes?
I heard a version of “A Song for You” by a cat, he’s gone now, but his name is Donny Hathaway, and in my mind, he sung the shit out of it. So I thought, hey, you know, I would like to do that myself. Not to compete with Donny Hathaway, ‘cause what he did, that was it. But just to put my own stamp on it, ‘cause it’s such a pretty song. And you mentioned the Paul Simon song. I love the lyrics: that’s what captured my attention. They’re very expressive. You can just see the guy: “I met my old lover on the street last night/She seemed to glad to see me, I just smiled.” You can just picture that. So I did it my way to see how it would feel to me. And once I started fooling with “Still Crazy,” I just loved it.
Not everybody can do that, though. Some people run for cover when they hear Michael Bolton’s version of “Georgia.”
Well, you know, “Georgia” has been done by a lot of people since I did it, and from what I know of it, Michael’s version sold pretty good. But the trouble with something like that is, when you have a signature that’s put on a song like what I did to “Georgia,” or Nat Cole’s version of “Mona Lisa,” you have many other people that’s gonna record it, but it’s never gonna be the pedigree, the original thing. It’s like Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata.” It’s gonna be there forever, man.
On My World, you’ve got hip-hop beats and scratching in the mix. Is it important for you to stay contemporary in terms of your sound? Do we really need scratching on a Ray Charles Record?
Now, I’m gonna tell you something, OK? Warner Bros. is probably gonna kill me for telling you this, but I’m gonna tell you anyway. The producer on this album was Richard Perry. That was his idea, not mine. He made the [instrumental] tracks, and I sung to it. I’m being very honest with you. For me, if I had produced the album, a lot of the stuff you’re talking about now, I wouldn’t have done it that way. I had promised Warners I would work with one of their producers when I went over there, and they chose Richard Perry, so I said OK. I won’t work with something if I think it’s detrimental, but it doesn’t have to be my particular way in order for me to work with it, as long as it’s not destructive.
At least there’s a mix of styles on the album. It sounds like “Still Crazy” and “A Song for You” weren’t too adversely affected.
I’ll tell you this, then I’ll leave it alone. On the Paul Simon song, if you listen to that, that’ll tell you the difference between the way I think and the way Richard Perry thinks. For the Paul Simon thing, I did the arrangement. I went with the musicians and did the arranging in the studio myself. That was all me. You didn’t hear no hip hop in that, did you? But on this particular album, I was not the producer; I just worked with the gentleman. He made the tracks and sent them over to me at my studio, and I put my voice on. And that was that.
Are there contemporary styles of music that you do like or new artists that you’d like to work with?
Uhh…no. Most of what I guess you call contemporary is the rap stuff, and I’m just not into that. I’m not knocking it, don’t get me wrong. It’s good for the youngsters and the people that’s doing it, and they’re making a lot of money with it, OK? But it’s not the kind of thing…I mean, I been talking since I was three years old. And I made some records where you just talk on them, like “It Should’ve Been Me,” “Greenback Dollar,” and “Gang Number Nine.” That was long before it was called rap. All you’re doing is reciting poetry and making it go with the music. Well, I can’t learn anything from that. See, I’m a musician; at least I like to think I am. So I want music. I want somebody to play something that makes me sit up and say, “Hot damn, did you hear what that guy just played?” That’s what I want to hear. Talking just don’t do it.
Let’s talk about another kind of music. Country music is enjoying a real renaissance these days, and it seems strange to me that after you recorded Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music, no other black artists followed you in crossing over. The door just seemed to slam shut again.
I won’t say that it was a case of the door slamming shut. It may well be that there just wasn’t any other blacks interested in it at the time. The only person that I know that came along after I did was Charley Pride. I wouldn’t say anyone was prohibited from doing it, but it could have been, I don’t know. But I would just rather think that no other black people were interested. When I decided to do the country album, at ABC they were a little reluctant, because they thought that maybe I might lose a lot of fans. At the time, I had been pretty popular in the R&B field with “What’d I Say” and “Hallelujah I Love Her So,” and all that kind of stuff. But I told them, “I may lose some fans, but I think if I work this right, the fans I lose, I think I’ll gain two-to-one. At the time, I was just talkin’, trying to get them to do what I wanted, but as it turned out, I was right.
There’s a perception that the white middle class flocking to country music lately is somehow fleeing rap and other primarily black forms of music.
I have to tell you, my friend, I mean I’m no expert in this matter, you know, I’m no psychoanalyst, but I do think there’s an element of truth in that. Let’s face it, how long can you stand there and jabber? How long can you take that? Don’t you want to hear a melody? Don’t you want to hear somebody actually sing something? Everything is good in its way. It’s like talking about synthesizers. Nothing wrong with synthesizers; I’ve used them. They’re good. But I still prefer a violin, or a trumpet, or a trombone. Real drummers. But there’s nothing to be learned from just reciting rhymes to rhythm. And when I hear people talk about the message and this kind of stuff, getting into the politics and this and that, a lot of the stuff I hear is way off line in my mind. Maybe I’m just too conservative, but hell, I live in the community and I know what’s going on, but I still feel that some of the music, you can still get your point over without some of the graphics. I can say something to you, man, and break your heart and never have to call you a motherfucker. The good writers, they know how to take stuff and kill you with it.
Still, it seems a shame that the audience is divided so strictly along racial lines. If you think about the origins of country music and blues, the people singing in those styles weren’t so far apart. And when you recorded Modern Sounds, both audiences could find something on it to appreciate. But that’s very rare these days.
I guess if somebody else comes along and does what I did, it will happen again. I love country music so much I went down to Nashville around 1982, ’83 when I was with Columbia, ‘cause they had a lot of cats on the label that I like, like Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, the Oak Ridge Boys, Ricky Skaggs. They had a lot of people that I wanted to record with, so I went down there and did some records with the real guys. I really enjoyed myself, and we came up with a couple of hits. I had a hit with George Jones, “I Didn’t See a Thing” and we had a hit with Willie Nelson, “Seven Spanish Angels,” out of that.
Willie Nelson is a lot like you in some respects, especially the way he can take a song and make it his own.
That’s my man, Willie. He’s all right with me. That’s my chess partner. Every time we get together, we have to play chess. But I trick him. I won’t let him turn on the lights when we’re playing. [laughs]
Who wins?
Well, I had been winning, but the last time we played, he finally beat me. I had won about four or five games, but the last time, he lucked out and beat me.
Do you have other interests outside music?
Well, like I say, you can wake me up in the middle of the night for a good chess game. I like sports, too: baseball, basketball, football. I’m sort of a Lakers fan and I’m a Dodgers fan, and I guess I’m a Raiders fan when it comes to football. But you know, I don’t have a wide array of things I’m involved in because I’m sort of a private person. When you see all these big Hollywood parties, if you notice, you never see my name. You never see me at any of the big things that are going on, unless it truly involves me. Otherwise, I’m pretty much to myself. I love people when I’m on the stage; you can’t have too many people for me. But after that, if you get past four or five people, you got a crowd.
Let’s talk about your Pepsi commercials. It seems like the “Uh-huh” thing has taken on a life of its own. For instance, you have a new greatest-hits package out. “Ray Charles” is printed on the box in rather small type, and then across the top, in big bold letters is “Uh-huh.” Do you think that being known as the “Uh-huh” guy trivializes your very real accomplishments?
Nah, of course not. You see, what you’ve done is what you’ve done. Nobody can take that away from you. It’s like when you get a good education in your head: People may hate your guts, but they can’t take it away from you. You see? So whatever I’ve done, I done that. As a matter of fact, with the Pepsi commercial, I look at it like it was a plus for both of us. They did very well with it, and I did very, very well with it. Because a lot of little kids, three and four and five years old, who, when I’m in the airport, they go, “Hey, mama, there’s Ray Charles!” And it gives people a good feeling. I have people 75, 80 years old, and they come up to me and say, “Hey, Ray, you got the right one baby!” It’s been a nice little saying that went around for about a year or so, and I don’t feel it’s belittling anything to have Ray Charles in little tiny letters and have “Uh-huh” in big letters. After all, they’re paying the bills.