Little Richard Still the Handsomest Man in Show Biz October 8, 1982 Little Richard today “I gave up rock and rollfor the Rock of Ages. If God can save me, an old homosexual, He can save anybody. ” — Richard Penniman, aka Little Richard K ittle Richard is in Portland. He JL/ and -his long-time manager, Bumps Blackwell, have rented the Northwest Service Center for three days to conduct a crusade for Christ. This is his life now, travelling from city to city testifying about how the Lord has made him into a new man. Co-hosting the event are Portland’s Youth Retreat and pastor Moses Brown. By 7 p.m., the Service Center (a converted Church of Christ, Scientist) has been filled with a curious mix of mostly black church-goers and mostly white rock and rollers. The former are here presumably to honor the Lord arid listen to the testimony of a reformed sinner. The latter have come to find out what’s happened to one of the legendary Founding Fathers of their music. While my respect is greater for the worshippers, my heart is with the rockers. From 1955 to 1957, Little Richard helped define what rock and roll is all about in an unforgettable streak of hits beginning with “Tutti Frutti” and continuing through “Long Tall Sally,” “Slippin’ and Slidin’,” “Rip It Up,” “The Girl Can’t Help It,” “Lucille,” “Jenny Jenny,” “Keep A Knockin’ ” and “Good Golly Miss Molly.” These records broke out of the “race music” bins to appeal to both black and white audiences. Richard’s outrageous screams and moans contained a barely concealed sexual excitement. His lipstick, mascara and six-inch pompadour gave him a sweet but maniacal appearance. As one writer put it, “He looked the way the devil might look if he descended upon us as a rock and roll singer.” Of course, when I first heard Little Richard, I was but an innocent pre- teen. I knew nothing about homosexuality, and very little about heterosexuality either. But I knew what I liked when it came on the radio, and Little Richard’s anarchic, pounding “A Wop Bop Alu Bop A Wop Bam Boom!” put him right up there with Elvis’ hiccuping “All Shook Up” and Buddy Holly’s stuttering “Peggy Sue” on my personal pop chart. Tonight, a six-year-old black gospel singer from Portland named Master Goldie has just lit up the crowd at the Service Center with his enormous voice and intuitive dynamics. Women are standing and 1 clapping and chanting, “Well . . . Waaaal . . Little Richard approaches the mike, looking distinguished and well-preserved for his fifty years in a conservative gray coat, white shirt and dark tie and slacks. He praises Goldie’s performance and points to Blackwell, who recorded Ray Charles, Sam Cooke and many other gospel and R&B singers in their prime, saying “My manager’s very interested in this young man here. The boy’s goodlookin’ too, ain’t he? Reminds me of myself!” The crowd laughs hesitantly, perhaps a little uncertain as to what Richard’s real intentions are with this young boy. The convert reassures them by shouting, “Tell your friends The King of Rock and Rhythm Richard's outrageous screams and moans contained a barely concealed sexual excitement. His lipstick, mascara and six-inch pompadour gave him a sweet but maniacal appearance. “He looked the way the devil might look if he descended upon us as a rock and roll Little Richard’s in town! I came to tell the truth, not to satisfy nobody’s curiosity or entertain you, but to tell you that Jesus is gonna come!” The faithful shout back “Yes! Yesss!” 1957 Zittle Richard, at the peak of his fame, is on tour in Australia. He awakens from a horrifying dream of the Apocalypse and his own damnation onboard a flight to his next concert. Richard becomes convinced the plane is about to crash and prays to God to hold them in the air. When the plane lands in Sydney, he throws his jewelry in the harbor and vows to cease his evil ways. Upon his return to America, Richard enrolls in Oakwood College, a bible school in Huntsville, Alabama, to begin a new career as an evangelist. October 8, 1982 g g o you like country music?” JLr asks Richard. There is a muted response. “Well, you gonna hear some tonight,” he laughs. Someone clicks on a tape of prerecorded back-up music. “Here’s a song I sang on the Grand Ole Opry. I’ve always loved country music, ever since I was a little boy in Nashville. I was singing it befofe Charlie Pride.” Little Richard’s voice rises to begin the song and swoops down through the first verse, “One day at a time, sweet Jeeeee-sus . . He still sounds good, I think. Before long, the crowd is clapping in waltz-time and singing along. Richard’s big, raw voice dips around the notes with a slight yodel. He ends with one of his patented whoops, the kind, he is ever-ready to remind us, that he taught to Paul McCartney when The Beatles backed him in Germany in 1960. 1963 Zittle Richard is on tour through the small town “chitlin circuit” in the South. His evangelical pursuits have failed to turn him into a black Billy Graham, and he has rejoined the world of rock and roll. But styles have changed. The hard- rocking late ’50s have given way to the wimpy, white-washed early ’60s. The British Invasion, when a generation of bands led by The Beatles and The Rolling Stones would bring recycled Little Richard and Chuck Berry licks back to their native soil, is just around the corner, yet few can see it coming. Little Richard is not making much money. He constantly complains to his ban'd that white singers like Pat Boone have received most of the cash and credit for his original ideas. He is still playing his old hits, but the music has become little more than a backdrop for his singing and dancing and display of effeminate plumage. Once when a young guitarist in his band appeared onstage in a fine, ruffled shirt, Richard got mad. “I am Little Richard,” he screamed. “I am the King, the King of rock and rhythm. I am the only one allowed to be pretty. Take off those shirts!” The guitarist’s name was Jimi Hendrix, and he left the band shortly thereafter. October 8, 1982 K-S ave you ever made so much J U money you didn’t know what to do with it?” Richard rhetorically inquires. “No!” answers someone in the assemblage. “I did!” he yells. “I just threw it in the trunk of the car and drove off. I didn’t even 38 Clinton St. Quarterly
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