Floyd
Cramer.
Ray Charles.
Jerry Lee Lewis.
Fats Domino.
There’s an
all-star list of performers who have done magical things with the 88 keys of
the piano, but these four are near the top for me.
New Year’s Day
1998 was a sad one for me. The cold
headline—there in black and white, just like those 88 keys—banged out the
news. Floyd Cramer, one of the
architects of the Nashville Sound and master of the slip-note-piano-playing style,
had slipped away the day before.
One of my
bucket-list concerts was to hear Floyd play “Last Date.” To console myself, I struggled for a year to
learn to play a sloppy version of his signature song. I never practiced enough to do the song or
him justice, but the in-the-back-of-my-mind jukebox plays it perfectly.
I didn’t make that
I-could-have-should-have blunder with my all-time favorite, Ray Charles. In January 2003, when Gov. Sonny Perdue
celebrated his inauguration, I heard Ray wail, “Georgia,
Georgia ….” As a small boy, Ray fell in love with the
piano. He said that once he discovered
he could “mash” those keys, that’s what he wanted to do. Pair that “mashing” with his soulful voice,
and we were blessed with a genius.
Not to make the
same mistake as with Floyd Cramer, I checked the Jerry Lee Lewis box. He might
have shuffled from behind those Tunica curtains to the piano bench, but the
Killer killed it that night on the Mississippi stage. The grand’s 88 keys smoked as he pounded out
“Great Balls of Fire.”
And that brings me
to Antoine Domino, better known as Fats.
The jukebox of my youth is loaded with The Fat Man’s classics. He, too, was on my must-see list. Somewhere in the 1990s, I told myself, “Fats
is out of the limelight. Maybe we can get him to entertain us.”
With a few phone
calls, our senior editor, Phil Hudgins, tracked down the legend’s agent. “Yes,” he said, “Fats might
be interested in coming to Georgia.” All
we needed to do was send half of the $50,000 fee, while guaranteeing 12
first-class airline tickets, 12 first-class hotel suites and enough limousines
to transport Fats and his band. If we
did that, Phil was assured Fats would consider the invitation. So much for feeling sorry for the
not-so-much-in-demand Domino.
Phil humored me
with: “Guess that’s why they call him Fats.”
My reality-based
budget responded with a CD-box set with all of Fats Domino’s hits—on sale for
$49.95. At our next company gathering, I cranked up my boom box. When Fats
belted out “Blueberry Hill,” I said, “Phil, we just saved about $60,000.”
Still, when I read
of Fats’ obituary, I mourned and hummed a few bars of “Ain’t That a
Shame.” To lift my spirits, I punched in
Malcolm John Rebennack on YouTube and listened to “Right Place, Wrong Time.” With his growly, bluesy voice and
his jazzy, boogie-woogie touch of the 88 keys, Grammy-winner Dr. John, as Fats
did, has made a big name for himself in the Big Easy and beyond.
Before I read
another you-waited-too-long headline reminder about Dr. John, I need to get
busy to be in the right place in the right time for an upcoming concert.
Stay tuned.
dnesmith@cninewspapers.com
