THE LATE GREAT SOLOMON BURKE

Solomon Burke died. He was 70 years old and on an airplane in Amsterdam.

The Philadelphia Inquirer describes him this way: "Solomon Burke -- preacher, funeral home director, father of 21 children, and one of the great, if chronically underrated,  American soul singers of the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s...." And it's all true.

The first time I saw Solomon Burke, the only white people I knew of in the arena besides me and my four friends were a bunch of bad-ass cops (they thought so anyway) armed with billy clubs (which they fondly called "nigger knockers" and still might for all I know). In those days black people went to black music shows; white people got to hear the Beach Boys. Some people still called Burke's kind of music "race music" (cops, parents, etc.) but my friends and I rejected that notion and we were out to prove it. So there we were. Burke was part of a much bigger show, a touring "revue" of black singers and acts, and I think James Brown was the actual star of the show. I didn't even know who Solomon Burke was, but once he hit the stage I never forgot him. He was not a small man even then, a thickish bundle of soul and energy who drove women into a screaming frenzy. There were girl-fights all over the place when he flung his jacket into the crowd in a moment of passionate showmanship. Driven by his music, I suppose I would have fought for his jacket too if he had tossed it in my direction. I bought his records after that but didn't see him again in person for about 40 years. By the time I saw him at Austin City Limits Music Festival, he had been rediscovered by Joe Henry, who produced the album Don't Give Up on Me with songs written by Dan Penn, Brian Wilson, Van Morrison, Bob Dylan, Nick Lowe, Tom Waits and others. Up to that point the festival had been a disappointment. The sound was bad for The Blind Boys of Alabama. There were 500 chattering women on cell phones between us and Neko Case. People were more interested in being at the festival than hearing the music. Phone yackers. View blockers. Scene makers. We set up early in a good spot to hear Burke (no race music, no cops, only a bunch of yacker/blockers standing in front of us and pulling out their cell phones). Up to then it had not been a good day. Then Solomon Burke came on (a giant of a man, 400 pounds or so, wheeled to his throne in a wheelchair) and made everything all right. He sat there and drove the crowd soul crazy. Of all of the great music shows I have attended, Solomon Burke starred in two of them. He made more albums in recent years, including Nashville produced by Buddy Miller on which Burke (who always understood how close country music and soul music are to each other) does a wonderful version of Tom T. Hall's "That's How I Got to Memphis" and a bunch of other country songs. A third album Make Do With What You've Got belongs on the 21st century Solomon Burke shelf along with the other two. Get all three and the old stuff too. Here are 10 good ones.

Solomon Burke died. I saw the news today, oh boy. Listen to him sing.

“I love beautiful women, and I’m not going to tell anyone different...Sam Cooke was packing out churches at the same time as me, but when he was singing sacred songs, the young girls were thinking, ‘Lord, Jesus, if I could just get with that Sam Cooke. Brother Sam, come over and pray for me one time!’ All of that was in the room, it’s what life is about.”  -- Solomon Burke