The title of Little Richard’s debut studio album is gloriously opaque. Here’s Little Richard. That’s it. The piano-playing wailer from Macon, Georgia is the kind of spectacular, over-the-top, world-shaking artist that he doesn’t need much of an introduction beyond that. Besides, one look at the cover and you’ll learn everything you need to know. The perfectly coifed hair; the gaping mouth, stretched to its absolute physical limits; the beads of sweat covering his entire face like a fine mist, running down his neck onto his perfectly tailored white shirt. There wasn’t anything like Little Richard when this record first dropped in 1957. There hasn’t been anything quite like him since.
Little Richard’s unmatched power and enthusiasm has been magnificently driven home once again thanks to a 60th anniversary reissue of his seminal debut that’s packed with shiny, remastered takes of some of the most classic, and beloved singles in his oeuvre, as well as a bevy of bonus content including demos and alternate takes of some of those same songs. It’s a fascinating set, expanding one of the greatest collections of rock music ever assembled by a full hour, while offering a different perspective on songs well-worn into the American pop music canon, and the man responsible for creating them.
If Elvis was “The King” and Chuck Berry was “The Father” of rock and roll, Little Richard is most assuredly the genre’s wild spirit. Born in Macon, Georgia on December 5, 1932, he got his start the same way so many others of his generation did — through the church choir. An exceedingly devout Christian, Richard’s devotion to the church would eventually call him away from the sin-rife world of rock, but that was still years in the future.
In 1947, his talents were meaningfully recognized for the first time by the guitarist Sister Rosetta Tharpe, who invited the slight young man to sing with her during a show in his hometown. It was his first taste of performing and he fell head over heels in love. “Everybody applauded and cheered and it was the best thing that had ever happened to me,” he recalled in his authorized biography. “Sister Rosetta gave me a handful of money after the show, about thirty-five or forty dollars, and I’d never had so much money in my life before.”
Of course, like Tharpe, Richard had a secret that he would hold on to for dear life as he ascended into the upper-echelons of pop fame in the years to come. He was gay. Though almost everyone who really knew him was aware of this fact, it was hard enough trying to make it as a black entertainer in 1950s’ Eisenhower-era America without also wearing that particular scarlet letter on your chest.
Richard himself had already been scarred by experiences from people in his neighborhood growing up. “I went through a lot when I was a boy,” he said. “They called me sissy, punk, freak, and f*ggot. If I ever went out to friends’ houses on my own, the guys would try to catch me, about eight or twenty of them together… They would jump on me, you know, ’cos they didn’t like my action. See, the girls loved you, but the boys hated you.”
Through the early 1950s Richard slogged it out, trying to make a dent on the R&B charts with little avail. Early efforts like “Taxi Blues,” “Thinkin’ ‘Bout My Mother” and “Rice, Red Beans, And Turnip Greens” showed promise, but failed to resonate with the public. Then in October 1955 everything changed. That month, Richard put out his first single for Specialty Records, a song titled “Tutti Frutti,” that would eventually become the opening track on Here’s Little Richard.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LVIttmFAzek
“A-wop-bop-a-loo-bop-a-wop-bam-boom!” Has there very been a more gloriously strung-together collection of nonsense syllables? It doesn’t really mean a damn thing — Richard came up with the line while trying to mimic a drum fill — but its impact was tremendous. It grabs your attention right from the jump, setting the table for the mania about to come. Richard doesn’t want to make you think, he wants to make you get up off your ass and shake it! It’s no coincidence that the first-known example of women throwing their panties onstage occurred during one of his shows in Baltimore in June 1956, shortly after this song debuted. That same show also saw fans jumping from the balconies in a frenzy long, long before Travis Scott made that particular trend happen again.
As many know, “Tutti Frutti” went through a major edit before Richard was allowed to record it. The song was a regular part of his live set for several years, but in its original state — a rip-roaring send-up to anal sex — it was so explicit that he couldn’t imagine how to package it for public consumption over the radio. “Tutti Frutti, good booty / If it don’t fit, don’t force it / You can grease it, make it easy,” go the early lyrics. Oh, and the opener was originally supposed to be, “Awop-bop-a-loo-mop a-good-goddamn.” Eventually, a few adjustments were made, and the song became the first major hit of Richard’s career.
Five months after putting out “Tutti Frutti,” Richard scored an even bigger success with his next single. “Long Tall Sally,” is a “woo!” riddled party anthem that remains Richard’s highest-charting offering ever. “Long Tall Sally” is the ultimate instance of style over substance. The song contains one of the rawest, most aggressive vocals ever committed to tape. Richard cries, wails, moans, and yes, “Woos!” with an intoxicating frenzy. Thousands of miles away, across the Atlantic, a young Paul McCartney was surely taking notice.
The power of “Long Tall Sally” comes into stunning focus when juxtaposed with the earlier versions included on the Here’s Little Richard re-issue. Take 1 and Take 6 of the song are stunning in their conventionality. Richard almost sounds sleepy as he sings the recognized opening line “Gonna tell Aunt Mary / ‘Bout Uncle John.” Somewhere along the line, somebody got the idea to hit the track with a little bit of Nitrous Oxide, and the world is unquestionably better for it.
Other revealing moments among the demos include the first take of “Rip It Up” where Richard quietly asks for a little help from the man upstairs — “Oh Lord take care of me.” From the sound of it, he’s already been in the studio for a while working on other songs, and the person at the controls is concerned he’s run out of gas. “As worried as I am, I ain’t got nothing but soul,” he tells the engineer. 30-seconds later, he’s in full, furious rocker mode. “Well it’s Saturday night and just got paid!” When the mics are on and the lights are shining, there’s hardly anyone better in the world.
Here’s Little Richard was a considerable success when it arrived 1957, hitting No. 13 on the Billboard charts; a big achievement back then for a rock and roll record, especially a Black one. The singer followed up his debut with two more albums of secular material in 1958 before re-finding Jesus after a tour of Australia with Gene Vincent and Eddie Cochrane and becoming a pure Gospel artist. It was a move that torpedoed much of his commercial impact, but Little Richard was never one for drawing inside the lines, and when the holy spirit gives you a ring, you better answer.
In addition to this enhanced version of Here’s Little Richard, we got another sad reminder of his critical place amongst the dwindling class of immortals last week following the death of Fats Domino, another pianist-par-excellence. Richard made a rare media appearance after hearing the sad news, calling Rolling Stone. “He could make a piano talk,” he said. “He could play anything. He’s not just a banger. He could really play for real, you know?”
Though he no longer tours, and hasn’t produced any new music for over two decades now, Richard, along with Jerry Lee Lewis, remains one of our last living links to rock and roll’s big bang moment. He’s a living legend in every sense of the word. An American original if there ever was one. Let’s salute him while he’s still here.
The reissue of Here’s Little Richard is out now via Craft Recordings. Get it here.
