Song to Soul
How Ray Charles Spoke to Me
Story by Patricia Black

I turned on the radio yesterday to find that clear channel still rules the airways.   I was hoping that some cataclysmic event occurred, and   public radio had taken over every thing. In place of Britney Spears, I was looking forward to hearing Ray Charles.   But this wasn't the case.  

The idea of music having different qualities and depths is something very new to me.   I grew up in a house that one could say was musically challenged.  

Music never was given a second thought in my parents' house, the TV reined supreme. When my father would come home from work, the television would be turned on various sitcoms glowing on its screen. My mother was too busy with cooking   dinner and taking care of my brother and I to contest this lack of culture.   We would then, as a family, convene at the kitchen table, TV still on, for dinner.   Then my dad would fall asleep in the living room. We couldn't turn the TV off and put on music, the change in sound would disrupt his sleeping pattern too much.  

I remember very few times where music was actually played.   The music I really remember is the creepy theme song from Unsolved Mysteries.   I tried many times to retreat to musical solitude in my bedroom.   I would close the door, put on headphones and try to listen in hiding.   In the corner or at my desk, I would sneak hot 97.7, secretly loving TLC.   Once, in sixth grade, I borrowed the CD "Crazy Sexy Cool" from a friend.   God I still remember how much I loved the horns in "Creep" and the sultry sound of "Red Light Special."   My mom found it and said I couldn't listen to it anymore. It was too vulgar.  

What makes this so sad to me now is that at that time I couldn't tell her why I liked it.   That it wasn't about sex but about the music and how it spoke to me.   If I had, maybe she would have understood, she was a musician once.

My mother actually loved music and was a talented pianist.   She dreamed of teaching the piano to kids but because she didn't understand music theory (and had low self esteem) she didn't believe that she was talented enough to make a living at it.   To add more damage, my father didn't support her.   So, at the signing of their nuptials thirty years ago, she threw away music (and might I add, much of her soul) like a piece of trash destined for the dumpster.   All that is left to remind her of her former glory is a piano that has sat silently in the living room of their house for over twenty years. Because of my mother's lack of self esteem and my father's general lack of support for the woman that would become my mother, I grew up without her soul and without music, without understanding the impact of music and the different emotions and connections I could feel to others.

I've been blessed though, because two years ago, I met a new friend who schooled me in life and in music.   I never knew so much music existed and that so much new and interesting music was being created.   It's been an introduction into a universe that I have the chance to explore.   He helped me to hear what music gives a person, especially an artist.   I remember the first time I painted to music.   My heart pounded in my chest, brushes and paint flew onto the wood board with the rise and fall of instruments and voices, my hair and body flew in loud motions.   It was nearly orgasmic.   The passion and connection I felt to another artist at that moment was nothing I had ever experienced before.  

Even now remembering that unabashed un-shameful moment where it was just me and the musicians? souls communicating together makes my heart beat just a little faster and chills run down my spine.

I began to learn about music and musicians, the histories and lives of those who play to live.   In one of these conversations Ray Charles came up.   I knew so little about him that I didn't even know he was blind.   Soon after this conversation I learned that there was a new movie coming out about his life and music.   I had to see it. So, this good friend of mine and I a few weeks ago, decided to see the movie "Ray," starring Jamie Fox.

Watching the film, I was instantly time warped into the 1950's deep south playing blues music with Ray.   The piano thumping, while voices and other instruments surround people jumping and jiving on the dance floor.   Gospel songs mixed with blues to transform song into soul.   Smoke wafts around Ray, his voice and words speaking directly to me.   Our souls have deep conversations about life, love and trying to live as who we needed to be.   I was and am still taken away by his music.

I think that what makes his music amazing is that he was the true essence of a man.   To me, he is a man of impeccable measure because his heart created a willingness to live for what he believed in and believe in what he loved.  

Ray slept, ate, breathed, and bathed music.   It was his soul sanctuary, giving him a way to cope with life and perhaps the most beautiful thing was he chose to share himself, intimately with the rest of us.   He might have been worried or insecure, but he still played.   He had to.   If he didn't he would have died, his soul would have died.

I know so few people who believe in themselves and what they love enough to live it.   I struggle, just as my mom has, with the confidence to live with the dire need and devotion of artists like Ray Charles or my friend, Troy.   For me though, I see now that music and art may be the most important way to impact life.