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Otis Redding died on December 10, 1967 — can it really be half a century ago? The New Yorker looks back and sees what I do: a great creator, the first soul singer to thrill white audiences.

One of the greatest live recordings ever made begins with the corniest of introductions — a self-consciously “groovy” MC has the French audience spell out the star’s name. I cringed; you will too.

But all’s forgiven when the bass player delivers eight throbbing notes. Here comes the trumpet, playing tight little circles. And a drummer who’d rather pound on tom-toms than keep time on snares. And then here is Otis Redding, gripping a hand mike and taking one last deep breath.

And out comes…”Respect.”

“Respect” was so powerfully covered by Aretha Franklin that it’s easy to think she wrote it, that’s it’s a woman’s plea, but the trick of this song — in fact, the brilliance of so much of Otis Redding’s music — is the universality of need.

Do you regard male vulnerability as first cousin to weakness? Do you believe that big boys don’t cry? Otis Redding is the proof that machismo has nothing to do with masculinity — in his universe, the sensitive guy gets the girl. So his version of the best song he ever wrote delivers an urgent double declaration to his lover: I have love to give, but I also need love. (Pride? Not here. He goes so far as to give her permission to cheat: “Do me wrong/while you’re gone.”)

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In the fall of 1967, restless and searching for a new direction, Redding wrote “Dock of the Bay.” On December 10, 1967 — three days after recording the song — his plane crashed in a Wisconsin lake. Redding and all but one of his band were killed. He was 26.

I was in college when he died. I heard the news when a woman I barely knew but very much liked knocked on my door. Her face was streaked with tears. For half an hour, we sat together — a silent vigil, submerged in gloom.

This sounds ridiculous. Neither of us had ever seen Otis perform. And as an Ivy League English major, I had nothing visibly in common with a 6’2” African American from Macon, Georgia who owned, at his death, 200 suits and 400 pairs of shoes. But on the level of soul, he was my guy. And the same for my friend. There was no possible argument against him: He was the King of Soul. In fast songs, he was pure Id. On slower songs, he was the prince of passion, acting out the endless ache of love — Otis sang like he invented heartache.

Wait! Before you walk out that door,
hang your clothes in the closet.
You’re forgetting one thing —
I’m the one who saved you
From a long lonely life.
I’m the one who gave you
Your first taste of paradise
Look how you’re payin’ me back
Look how you’re packin’ your bag
Please don’t do me like this, honey
All this good love you’re gonna miss
Think about it, honey
You really ought to think about it
‘fore you leave

It’s hard to be that simple, that direct, that naked — it’s hard for a man to beg. But listen, for that is exactly what Otis does.

But the words almost don’t matter. Otis Redding’s genius was in his voice, easily the most distinctive in the history of soul music. “Rasp” doesn’t begin to convey how rough it was. Imagine someone who’s been yelling for hours, whose vocal cords are so ragged he should really be home drinking tea and honey. Instead, he goes on stage and shouts out his songs until he reaches a pitch so desperate he dispenses with lyrics entirely and barks: “Got to/got to/got to/got to….” No wonder Janis Joplin attended every Otis Redding concert she could, standing close to the stage and, in essence, going to school on Otis so she could learn how he made his songs — to use her word — “visible.” [To buy the CD of his magnificent “Live in Europe,” click here. For the MP3 download, click here.]

Loved? He was worshipped. His first release — “These Arms of Mine” — was the first of 17 hit singles in a row. Night after night, the reviews used the same word: pandemonium. In 1967, a major music magazine awarded him the title that traditionally belonged to Elvis: the most popular singer in the world, “Dock of the Bay” was, after his death, a #1 hit. [To buy the CD of “The Very Best of Otis Redding,” click here. For the MP3 download, click here.]

Redding had been spending long days in the studio in the last months of his life, and there’s no filler in two posthumous releases. [To buy the CD of “The Immortal Otis Redding,” click here. For the MP3 download, click here.]

And now, some videos….




Previously published on The Head Butler.

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