Robert Cray
by Dean Bonzani 1.9.00
Robert Cray is one bad-ass guitar player, with a voice to match. Go see him play.
The essentials having been conveyed, I’m left wondering how much of my bumbling phone interview with this absolute monster of contemporary R&B inflected blues-rock I can salvage in an effort to convey even the thinnest slice of the success story that is Robert Cray’s career. Bear in mind that this man has been nominated for eleven Grammies, walking away with four. In fact, his last eight recordings have each been Grammy nominees- no mean feat of rock-steady consistency. With eleven albums under his belt, and collaborations with the likes of Eric Clapton, John Lee Hooker, and B.B. King, to name a few, Robert Cray has risen to the top of his game. In keeping with my long-standing tradition of being the Rip Van Winkle of contemporary musics, I hadn’t the slightest idea what Robert Cray had been up to since I heard his collaboration with Clapton, “Old Love,” in which Cray’s blistering guitar tone and stinging leads give the elder guitar god a good run for his money. After a crash course in Crayology, and with the kind assistance of his consummately professional publicist, Kathy Johnson, I was prepared to ask Robert a series of truly dumb questions, which he answered with unswerving poise and graciousness.
When naively asked why his songs seemed to be primarily concerned with people cheating on one another, a laughing Cray replied, “Those songs are a reflection of the earlier days of the Cray band, when I was writing songs with a guy named Dennis Walker. I wrote the music and Dennis wrote the words. I just dug the feel- they always painted great pictures. There was something evil and exotic about them- something slinky and funky.”
It’s that evil, slinky guitar work and funky rhythmic sense that allows Robert Cray to so deftly straddle the zones between R&B and blues, a source of constant misunderstanding and mislabeling of his craft. The recent release of “Heavy Picks- The Robert Cray Band Collection,” showcases his work from the 1980 debut “Who’s Been Talkin’” to 1997’s “Sweet Potato Pie,” and reveals an artist whose stylistic range has never been restricted to a narrow genre or a rehashing of clichés. Each cut is a vivid stop on a tour through seventeen years of passionate devotion to his gift, delivered with unflinching soul, confidence, and fire- without the faintest trace of trend-hopping or fashion-whoring. You have to check the date to place Robert Cray’s music in time, as it has a sound that won’t go stale on the shelf.
When asked how he avoided being cast upon the sharp stones of the music industry’s whims, a benevolent Cray replied, “I think anybody who is subjected to those whims brings it on themselves. You have to know what you want to do. Or somebody else will try to figure it out for you. We’re a rhythm and blues band, and we’ve known that from the start. We’re not about to change to satisfy the current trends.”
Succumbing to a growing sense of panic in the face of greatness, and cursed with a burgeoning provinciality, I asked the fleet-fingered Cray whether people still got excited about seeing live music- still bought CD’s- still supported their favorite bands. With profound compassion, he spake. “Yeah, people ARE excited about seeing live music. If you just watch the Billboard charts, or VH-1, or MTV and all that stuff, you get the idea that it’s all about that. But it’s not all about that. There’s a lot of music being played in clubs and festivals. There’s a lot of bands out there carving there way through the music world.”
Robert’s certainly carved his own rather large chunk out of the music world. His songs have been covered by giants like B.B.King and Albert King. He’s sung duets with Tina Turner, Mick Jagger, and John Lee Hooker. His work has appeared on ten movie soundtracks. His desk at home is a terrible mess, and he can’t find the itinerary for his current tour. Undaunted, he will go on the road, delivering a soulful message of messing with evil women, most of whom are in steady relationships with men who, upon learning that they have been caught in a web of slinky funkiness, grow quite upset. Japanese audiences will be singing along, saddened by the thought that the characters in the songs are sleeping around, then getting found out. Then the guitar will unleash a torrent of weeping blue notes, and many will feel a deep sympathy, and blushing, will vow to make a definite effort to avoid cheating on their loved ones for at least a week. This is the awesome power of Robert Cray’s category-defying music.
©2000 by Dean Bonzani. All Rights Reserved.