Below The Fold

Although most of the world’s eyes remain glues on the casket where The Great Communicator lies in repose, we suffered another death today easily as great, if only in another realm.

Ray toured through Denver a couple of years ago, playing a one-night stand at the Paramount Theater. I had two tickets comped from House of Blues to review the show, which I believe I gave a passing mention to in my column in the Boulder Weekly that week.

No one could go with me. The wife was working, the friends were all too busy. Normally, I probably wouldn’t have gone… But this was brother Ray. He was aging fast, and I knew that if I didn’t take this opportunity this time, then I might not get another one.

It was the single, most pure performance I have ever seen in my life. From the moment Ray walked out to the bop-shoo-bops of the Raylettes to the moment he walked off the stage, Ray gleamed like star shine glinting off chrome.

Magic.

I’ve never seen a man who so truly enjoyed something so much. His love of performing—the way he soaked up the adulation of the crowd, the love from the audience—bordered on religious fervor. After every tune, the thunderous applause seemed to move him almost to tears, as he’d beam an open-mouthed, toothy smile at the house and hold his arms across his chest, rocking back and forth. It was like he was sending each of us a hug, a personal embrace from his heart.

Ray transcended everything. The music, the industry, even his own talent. No musician crossed over as many genres with anything approaching a sconce of his talent. Jazz. Blues. Rock. R&B. Soul. Gospel. Country and Western. His music appears on over 1,000 different albums by over a thousand different artists. He recorded commercial jingles and TV show themes dating back decades.

He influenced legions of musicians, from Elvis Presley to Beck, Sam Cooke to KISS. He played with everyone. Frank Sinatra. Willie Nelson. Aretha Franklin. Quincy Jones. John Lee Hooker. Milt Jackson. Tony Bennett.

People who recorded his tunes: The King. Jerry Lee Lewis. The Beatles. Jimi Hendrix. Bobby Darin. Little Stevie Wonder. The Chairman of the Board. Johnny Cash. The Dixie Chicks. Perry Como. Ella Fitzgerald. Van Morrison. Roy Orbison. Etta James. Dusty Springfield. Tina Turner. The Animals. And a thousand more.

As my pop said when he heard, “The man was a giant.”

He stood maybe 5’8” on the slightest of frames. He was frail and old. And he completely filled the Paramount with his humble presence.

I never got to see Elvis. I never got to see Johnny Cash. I never got to see Frank Sinatra.

But I got to see Brother Ray.

And he was. He really was.

A giant.