Tracks: 1) Alabamy Bound; 2) Georgia On My Mind; 3) Basin Street Blues; 4) Mississippi Mud; 5) Moonlight In Vermont; 6) New York’s My Home; 7) California, Here I Come; 8) Moon Over Miami; 9) Deep In The Heart Of Texas; 10) Carry Me Back To Old Virginny; 11) Blue Hawaii; 12) Chattanooga Choo-Choo.
REVIEW
Surprisingly, Uncle Ray did not hit it right off the bat after signing up with ABC-Paramount: his first single, released in January 1960, was not even that much of a song, more like a typical warm-up jam for himself and the Raelettes. It’s like he walked into the studio, sat down at the piano, quickly improvised something along the lines of ‘I Got A Woman’ and ‘Talkin’ ’Bout You’, and then the clueless studio executives picked it up, decided that it was a completed product, called it ‘Who You Gonna Love?’, and put it out for fans of the master. It probably did not happen that way, but the record bombed anyway. At least it does have the classic Ray Charles R&B vibe, and the B-side, ‘My Baby (I Love Her So)’, is another of those awesome Ray / Margie Hendricks duets, though it adds little to the legacy of ‘The Night Time Is The Right Time’. (There’s a well-preserved live version from the Newport Festival of 1960, which illustrates the connection between Ray and Margie just a tad more realistically than Jamie Foxx and Regina King do it in the Ray movie).
Second time around was much more convincing, with Ray picking up a recent recording by fellow Georgian Titus Lee Turner, a catchy little mix of Latin rhythms with R&B called ‘Sticks And Stones’, and adding an extra level of sophistication to it with a couple of ‘What’d I Say’-style piano solos. This was far closer to what the people needed, and the record nearly shot to the top of the R&B charts — boosted as well by the B-side, a moody and vocally epic interpretation of the old classic ‘Worried Life Blues’, albeit slightly spoiled by the corny vaudeville intro in which a seemingly clueless white guy begins by addressing the singer: "say Ray, you sure look mighty sad". "Yeah man", Ray responds, "that’s because I have the blues". Thus do we learn, in our belated day and age, what it really means to have the blues. Ironically, the person to insult our intelligence is reported to be none other than Sid Feller, Ray’s principal conductor and arranger throughout the ABC years, who would be equally responsible for much of the class and the cheese on what would be coming.
Interestingly, both sides of the single would be eagerly picked up by UK fans overseas, who did their best to improve upon Ray’s performances: ‘Sticks And Stones’ would become one of the finest early R&B recordings by the Zombies (chiefly since it gave Rod Argent a good chance to display his fluency and virtuosity on the organ, definitely «out-rocking», if maybe not «out-souling» Ray), and ‘Worried Life Blues’ would be elevated to further heights by the Animals, with Eric Burdon and Alan Price adding even more aesthetic and psychological layers to the song. (The difference being that for Charles, it was probably «just another blues number», whereas the Animals set about to transform it into an «art song»). This just goes to show how much in line these recordings were with Ray’s old Atlantic R&B sound — something that, unfortunately, would not apply at all to his first full-fledged LP for the label, which, in contrast, yielded almost no «role models» for the aspiring British disciples overseas.
I do not know if it was Ray himself who came up with the concept of making a «travelog album», or if the concept was suggested to him by some other «genius» at ABC, be it Sid Feller or somebody else. This is hardly important, though. What is important is that the record was clearly supposed to highlight the towering status of «The Genius» over everybody else in the business: by singing twelve different songs about twelve different American states, Ray would look like the spiritual conqueror of all these places. Move over, Uncle Sam, ’cause Uncle Ray is movin’ in. The idea of the man with the golden touch, an artistic genius who can put a deep personal imprint on any form of musical or verbal art he chooses to approach, could reach a true pinnacle here, and ABC put all the necessary resources at Ray’s disposal.
The bad news is that, as a rule, megalomania is not the best thing for one’s artistic health (let alone psychic and physical health, which depends very much on one’s inborn constitution). The Genius Hits The Road largely adopts and expands the approach already tried out on Ray’s previous «Genius» album, which basically ended up burying the «genius» in question under thick layers of musical makeup that had nothing to do with «genius» in the first place. Had Ray decided to write those songs about the various US states himself, or at least commissioned new creations from contemporary Brill Building songwriters, things might have been different; but all of these tunes are oldies, mainly out of the vaults of various white Tin Pan Alley composers (only ‘Basin Street Blues’ is associated primarily with Dixieland), and Sid Feller’s production of them strictly concentrates on Ray Charles as the suave singer in a ballroom jazz band, downplaying his piano skills and almost completely foregoing the wild energy of his classic R&B recordings.
My main problem with this album, actually, are not the big band arrangements per se; my main problem is that the big band arrangements almost completely neutralize the differences between these songs. What is the point of namedropping twelve atmospherically, culturally, spiritually different locations all across the USA if you do not even strive to reflect those differences in the music? When ‘Moonlight In Vermont’ is reflected across your living room at the exact same angle as ‘Moon Over Miami’, and when the musical celebration on ‘Basin Street Blues’ is barely distinguishable from the welcome ceremony of ‘California, Here I Come’, then how exactly does this concept rise above the status of a mere promotional gimmick? I fail to discern anything properly Hawaiian about ‘Blue Hawaii’, anything specifically Texan in ‘Deep In The Heart Of Texas’, and when a song like ‘Mississippi Mud’ gives off the scent of a Las Vegas casino rather than any actual Mississippi mud, you know you’re in for a classic, proverbial Artistic Failure.
I wouldn’t want to imply that somebody like Ray Charles could be altogether unqualified to put out a large conceptual album about America. After all, he did tour all across the country, and as we know, lack of one particular sense (vision) is often compensated by intensification of all other ones, so that the sounds, smells, tastes, feels of all those places he sings about could very well be imprinted in his mind and soul. But he does absolutely nothing here to make us sense these imprints, leaving most of the musical direction to Sid Feller and, for the most part, just feeling happy being his usual Ray Charles self. When Gordon Jenkins wrote his ‘Manhattan Tower’ suite back in 1946, or when Sammy Davis Jr., with his own long story of Broadway work, sang it back in 1956, this made perfect sense. When Ray Charles complains about St. Louis, singing "let’s face it, it hasn’t got the opera in The Met, it hasn’t got a famous string quartet", it sounds ridiculous. As in, utterly and completely ridiculous. Why not ‘Autumn In New York’ at least, pitting Ray against Billie Holiday, rather than a song that directly clashes with both the concept and Ray’s own spirit?..
Occasional attempts at extra humor are no good, either: on ‘Deep In The Heart Of Texas’, for instance, Feller keeps trying to engage in a «dialog» with Ray ("The stars at night are big and bright..." – "Where does that happen, Ray?"), posing as a certified idiot ("The coyotes wail along the trail..." – "Did this happen in New York, Ray?") in order to turn the song into an official bit of musical comedy; but the effect is not funny, it is annoying, and the whole thing sounds like a mockery of the Lone Star rather than a tribute — and even then, in name only, because the lumbering brassy arrangement is not reminiscent of Texas in any way possible, unlike, say, the classic Gene Autry version (and I am quite indifferent to Gene Autry in general, but at least here we can talk about certain authenticity).
Every once in a while, Ray does hit on a nice vibe; a bunch of these tracks could probably be salvaged and make decent inclusions on any non-conceptual record where they would simply be enjoyed by themselves, rather than become inevitably diminished by their status as parts of a bulky unconvincing whole. The vocals are particularly friendly and inviting on the closing ‘Chattanooga Choo Choo’, for instance; and the change of pace for ‘Carry Me Back To Old Virginny’, with emphasis on Ray’s piano rather than horns and with the Raelettes providing a suitable gospel backing, is very welcome — it is probably the only song on here that truly sounds like classic, «authentic» Atlantic-era Charles. Omitting all of the song’s controversial original references to "darkies" and "laboring so hard for old massa" that were way too much for black artists back in 1960, Ray pretty much turns "old Virginny" into an allegory for Heaven itself (not that this wasn’t the original composition’s intention, of course), and it works out beautifully for him — and for us.
But it certainly wasn’t ‘Carry Me Back To Old Virginny’ that would become Ray’s defining moment from this album — the song is way too old, creaky, and controversial for that. If, on the other hand, you happen to have grown tired and weary of the ubiquitousness of ‘Georgia On My Mind’, re-appreciating the song after it’s been done to death in a million ways after Ray’s version might be a little easier if we go all the way back to the pre-Ray versions — starting with Hoagy Carmichael’s original and including, for instance, Billie Holiday’s rather light take on the song, or Jo Stafford’s somewhat more pompous delivery — and realize that it was Ray and only Ray who finally realized all of its potential. The simple truth is that nobody, not even the song’s own composer, ever had the right idea of how to sing the line "No peace I find" until Ray came along and showed us all what it really means to not be able to find any peace.
There’s a lengthy historical debate about the song — of whether it was really written about the state of Georgia or about Hoagy Carmichael’s sister — but in reality it was written about the exact same thing as ‘Carry Me Back To Old Virginny’: the idea of an unreachable ideal of beauty, a coveted Platonic state of bliss that may not even exist in reality but feels perfectly real in one’s mind. It’s a millennia-old artistic trope, of course, but all great artists have their own ways of expressing it, and all musical works that use it wait for the perfect artist to come along and express it. Here, even Sid Feller, a guy for whom I do not feel that much love, to be honest, gives the song a perfect extra touch with that opening heart-tugging string intro — old-fashioned, yes, Hollywoodish, yes, but how many songs that open with old-fashioned Hollywoodish strings are instantly recognizable in the first two seconds? And the real reason we love Ray’s version is precisely because it puts so much emphasis on the here and now of it, on the where we are rather than where we’d like to be. In his vision, it is not a song about Georgia, whoever and wherever she is — it is a song about his mind and the state it is in: weary, worn-out by toil and disappointment, only finding salvation in an unattainable dream which he knows very well is unattainable, but as long as he is free to dream that dream, it’s something worth living for. All of this was, at best, implied in the previously recorded versions of the song; much of it, I think, remains poorly understood and thought out by people who spam the YouTube comment section with happy outbursts of "hey, I’m a 50-year old Georgian and I love this song!", but I don’t doubt for a second that their basic emotional reaction to the song is exactly the same as mine.
It’s actually quite instructive to compare ‘Georgia On My Mind’ with some of the other slow, sentimental ballads on the album — like ‘Moon Over Miami’, for instance. All the ingredients — strings, backing vocals, soulful lead — are essentially the same, but the final result is, at best, «pleasant» in a background-muzak kind of way, and at worst, «detestable» in a corny-sentimental kind of way. This is because there is no depth to the song, open or hidden, and Ray is unable to find any interesting approaches to make it come to life. It’s just a generic crooning serenade, and he cannot make it extra sexy, or extra ironic, or extra angelic (as, perhaps, the Beach Boys could have). When the opportunity arises, few people in the world can sing about looking for a break from hundreds of years of trouble and toil as fine as Ray. But singing about people who know not what trouble and toil is in the first place? Better leave that to white California kids, Brother Ray.
All said, The Genius Hits The Road is, at the very least, an interesting and — as you might already have guessed — quite a thought-provoking misfire. Even if I won’t ever be putting more than two songs off it (you already know which ones) on my general Ray Charles playlist, the concept itself and the reasons for its poor realization are a useful-and-fun topic for analysis. And, at the very least, it shows that Ray’s search for new ways of making music and expressing himself was anything but done with his transition to a bigger, more lucrative label — and, as it happens, a great artist’s failures can sometimes be far more impressive than a mediocre artist’s mediocre stability.
Only Solitaire reviews: Ray Charles
“And the real reason we love Ray’s version is precisely because it puts so much emphasis on the here and now of it, on the where we are rather than where we’d like to be. In his vision, it is not a song about Georgia, whoever and wherever she is — it is a song about his mind and the state it is in: weary, worn-out by toil and disappointment, only finding salvation in an unattainable dream which he knows very well is unattainable, but as long as he is free to dream that dream, it’s something worth living for.”
This is probably the most accurate description of the vibe of the song I’ve ever read. This is EXACTLY what makes this song special!