KEEP A KNOCKIN'
Little Richard
1957
Available on : The Specialty Sessions
Specialty : 1990
[Buy It]

IF YOU PICK HER TOO HARD (SHE COMES OUT OF TUNE)
Little Richard
1972
Available on : King of Rock and Roll: The Complete Reprise Sessions
Rhino Handmade : 2005
[Buy It]

SLIPPIN' AND SLIDIN' (TAKE 2)
Little Richard
1956
Available on : The Specialty Sessions
Specialty : 1990
[Buy It]

LUCILLE (FALSE START)
Little Richard
1957
Available on : The Specialty Sessions
Specialty : 1990
[Buy It]

OOH! MY SOUL (TAKE 9)
Little Richard
1958
Available on : The Specialty Sessions
Specialty : 1990
[Buy It]

RIP IT UP (TAKE 14)
Little Richard
1956
Available on : The Specialty Sessions
Specialty : 1990
[Buy It]

FREEDOM BLUES
Little Richard
1970
Available on : King of Rock and Roll: The Complete Reprise Sessions
Rhino Handmade : 2005
[Buy It]

DIRECTLY FROM MY HEART
Little Richard
1956
Available on : The Specialty Sessions
Specialty : 1990
[Buy It]

Little Richard turns seventy-six tomorrow.

Most of what needs to be said about him has been said, some of it here, on this site, by me.

Last September, on my birthday, I wrote about the epochal fifties hit "Keep A Knockin'." I will now idiotically quote myself at length:

"Keep A Knockin'" wasn't original, of course. It was an old Louis Jordan number from 1939 that goes back even further, to Lil Johnson's "Keep On Knocking" in the early thirties. At that time, the (double) meaning was clear: it's a woman singing and a man knocking, and what he's knocking on is her front door (you know--the kind of door you can slide a key into and out of until that key ejaculates), and she's not letting him in no matter how much he knocks, so he might as well not even bother. When the gender switches, and it's a man singing, the knocking is a little stranger. Is it a woman knocking? How persistent is she? And why does the man have to bar the door, anyway? And when the gender switches again, and it's Little Richard singing, the strangeness turns into something tremendous--something threatening and seductive and terrified and terrifying, all at the same time. The same theme recurs in other Little Richard songs, like "Heeby-Jeebies" from the previous year, where he says, somewhat sadistically, that he's going to "ring your door til I break your bell." These songs rarely raise the issue of Little Richard's sexual orientation, even obliquely, but they frequently raise the issue of his sexual aggressiveness. If Louis Jordan swings, Little Richard swings a hammer.

About a month later, I posted "If You Pick Her Too Hard (She Comes Out of Tune)," a bit of country soul from a shelved early seventies record on Reprise.

Richard's Reprise period yielded four records: The King of Rock and Roll (1970), Second Coming (1971), The Rill Thing (1972), and Southern Child. They were roots records, reaching back into country and jazz as well as taking a stab at the rock-and-roll of the time. The vocals weren't as volcanic as the Specialty sides, but they were more than just respectable, and the songwriting was sometimes fascinatingly personal.

Respectable and fascinating sold poorly. Sales were so sluggish that the fourth album of the series, Southern Child, wasn't even released at the time, and only saw the light of day thanks to bootleggers and, eventually, a Rhino anthology of the Reprise years. Southern Child is of a piece with the others, with some key differences: more original songs, subtler vocals, and a more mellow feel. It also contains Little Richard's mid-career masterpiece, a country-folk composition called "If You Pick Her Too Hard (She Comes Out of Tune)." The song has many assets (arresting title, peaceful acoustic guitars, unorthodox structure) but its real strength is in its wordless opening, which consists of some two dozen sweet exhales and then a rousing cry that communicates some kind (and maybe all kinds) of freedom:

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
Whoa whoa whoa yeah yeah yeah

Those are just two of the songs. I wish I could post all of them. There's the second take of "Slippin' and Slidin'," which has a fairly mannered performance, and the significantly accelerated master take. There's the brilliant false start of "Lucille." There's the ninth take of "Ooh! My Soul," when he is asked by Art Rupe if he wants to rest. He doesn't need to. At the end he asks to move on to another piece. "We've got to leave here in about five minutes," Rupe says. "We'd never get it done in time." Ye of little faith. There's the fourteenth take of "Rip It Up." Fourteenth!

Beyond the songs, and within them, there is the man. He appeared onstage at the Grammys last year with Jerry Lee Lewis and John Fogerty, looking frail but sounding fine. He's been in league with Geico. All of this has turned him into something cuddly and accessible, something beloved, which he deserves. But what about that earlier incarnation that you wanted to love but couldn't get near without burning up entirely? Eddie Murphy has a routine in which he talks about being asked by Little Richard himself to star in a official biopic based on Richard's memoir. Eddie asked for the book. Richard sent it. Eddie dove in. Everything was going well until he ran into this sentence: "In 1950 I sucked my first dick." The crowd laughs, but the tone isn't malicious, and certainly not to the degree of...well, almost every other Eddie Murphy routine about gay men. In the bit, Eddie calls Little Richard back and they have a conversation about honest self-presentation, and how Richard's irrepressible gayness is part of the package, and how Eddie feels wrong for it. He's trying to say that he's too manly to play gay, but he comes off as sounding inadequate. "You can't even put me on the piano and then cut to my face and then bring in a stunt ass." The punch line comes when Little Richard says, "Well, never mind. I'll get Prince to do it." But what's vivid about the man and the music has already taken hold, even in the bit. And Eddie Murphy's right, you know. You can't bring in a stunt ass. Though it was easy to see Little Richard as a cartoon--easy because he helped--there was always more to the man, always surprises and hidden shadings. "Freedom Blues," from the seventies country period, is a civil-rights minded piece that opens with an incredible bit of vocalizing. When he was little, his siblings called him War Hawk because of how he shouted; in every recording session, he seems to be going to war with (and for) his songs. When my son was little, I taught him to say this sentence, which he did: "Little Richard is a big deal."

For reasons I may never fully understand, Little Richard means more to me than nearly every other rock singer. The fact that he's the best doesn't hurt. Every time I think that connection may be ebbing, I put on "Poor Boy Paul" or "I'm A Lonely Guy" and hear it all come through again. So, for voice and ass both, for body and soul and then some more soul, for slippin' and slidin' and knockin' and rippin', I'd like to wish Little Richard a happy birthday. Directly from my heart to him.