Although the death of James Carr was barely noted in the mainstream media, for lovers of soul music it was a devastating loss. The singer, who would have turned 59 on June 13, possessed one of the most monumental voices ever committed to tape.
A native of Coahoma, MS, James Carr got his start on Quinton Claunch's fledgling Goldwax label in the mid-1960s. Based in Memphis, Goldwax would eventually release all of Carr's greatest records: "At the Dark End of the Street," "Pouring Water on a Drowning Man," "You've Got My Mind Messed Up" and dozens of others. Carr's voice on these is unearthly. By turns terrified, raging, playful, severe, his performances are thrilling three-minute operas, pop music novels that are completely self-contained, fully realized worlds unto themselves. It's a feat only the very greatest can achieve.
Audiences responded, and Carr had some modest success, but by the early 70s, after releasing three albums on Goldwax and a single for Atlantic, Carr found it impossible to cope with what appeared to be his impending superstardom. His health problems worsened, and he spent most of the next 30 years struggling to get well, going in and out of hospitals for various ailments before finally succumbing to lung cancer on Jan. 7. In recent years, it looked as though the singer was making a comeback of sorts, recording two more albums (1991's disappointing Take Me to the Limit and 1994's strong Soul Survivor.) He also toured occasionally, including a few memorable trips to New York. And at his side, helping and guiding him every step of the way, was Quinton Claunch.
In the annals of American music history there should be a special place reserved for Claunch. He is a brilliant producer with a long and fascinating career in the music business. While at Goldwax he chose impeccable material for Carr, and wrote some of his most memorable songs?this from someone who never really played an instrument and who readily claims he "never sang a note in my life." But it was his loyalty and devotion to the troubled Carr that really set Claunch apart. He stood by the singer when it seemed nobody else would?driving him to and from doctor appointments, gigs and recording sessions?and took care of his friend when there was nothing to be gained, no fame or money at stake. Such a friend, especially in the entertainment world, is as rare and beautiful a thing as the voice Carr possessed.
I recently spoke to Claunch by telephone from his home in Memphis.
Tell me how and when you first met James.
I met James in 1963. He and a guy by the name of Roosevelt Jamison, and O.V. Wright, came knocking on my door at midnight one night. They had this little tape recorder in their hands and they said that Jim Stewart from Stax Records had sent them by, they heard that I had started the Goldwax label. They wanted to know if I'd be interested in listening to their tape. So I invited them in and we sat right down in the middle of the living room floor and started listening. And it absolutely amazed me, I just couldn't believe what I was hearing, it was so good. I asked them what they wanted to do, and they said, "We want to make a record." So we started getting some material together, and we did O.V. Wright first. I did "That's How Strong My Love Is" and a couple of other sides. Then, later, we did James, we took him down to Muscle Shoals, AL, and did a song called "You Don't Want Me," and that was released on the label. Roosevelt had another group, called the Ovations. That was three good ones right there! [laughs]
And then you began producing all the James Carr stuff. At the time, what was the biggest hit for James?
Everybody thinks it was "Dark End of the Street." That probably got publicized more, but we got paid on "A Man Needs a Woman." But everybody knows James for "Dark End of the Street" and "Pouring Water on a Drowning Man."
He does a nice job on "To Love Somebody" too.
Well, I was in New York at a convention, and I picked up a Bee Gees album, and I ran across that song and thought, "Man, that would be good for James Carr." So when I got back home I picked up the album and he learned the song and we did it. I recorded that down in Muscle Shoals.
Do you remember any of the players on that?
Duane Allman was playing guitar on that. That slide guitar, that's him. My memory...that goes back a long way now.
"Life Turned Her That Way." What can you tell me about that?
That was an old country song, written by Harlan Howard. A real country song. So I took that and adapted it to James' style. We did that one down at Quin Ivy's studio on E. 2nd St. in Muscle Shoals. They're the ones who discovered Percy Sledge later on.
A part of James' legend is the personal issues or problems he had? What was actually wrong with James?
He was a manic-depressive. He had a heart big as a mountain, man, good as gold, but he just had that problem. You never really knew when he would be on or off. A chemical imbalance of the brain is what it amounts to. It wasn't because of drugs, even though later on he liked his marijuana, and women, and whiskey. He really didn't know how good he was, so sometimes they took priority over other things. We were best friends since 1963. I was the best friend he ever had, and he knew it.
That must have been very hard for you at times over the years.
Oh, man. See, he was basically illiterate. He could hardly write his name. But he could remember those lyrics, and at times he could go in there, and we'd do it in the first take. It was amazing, the talent the guy had, and not having an education.
So he memorized those lyrics?
Yes, absolutely. He'd come to my house, we'd work on those tunes, and then we'd go to the studio, he'd close his eyes and get with it.
Do you have any favorite memories of James?
He was just a guy you couldn't help but like. He'd call me two or three times a week. He'd come over and listen to a tape of new songs, or we'd get something to eat. He was a super guy, he just had that problem. For two or three years, I'd pick him up and take him to the doctor to get these shots. For a long time he took his medication in pill form, and he'd fail to do it, and when he did, he'd go into this problem, you know, and you'd have to check him into the psychiatric ward for two or three weeks. He'd come home, and he'd be okay as long as he was taking his medication. But finally they discovered they could do it in a shot form, and that would last for about two weeks. So every two weeks I would pick him up and take him to the doctor. That went on for two or three years. I took care of him. When that Soul Survivor record came out, I had him booked up on the East Coast for two or three weeks, and he took to dabbling in marijuana, and when he came home I couldn't get him to go to the doctor anymore.
I saw James twice in New York, at Tramps in '92 and Terra Blues a few years later.
I brought him there, to Tramps. My wife and I drove him up. Friday night, we got in there about the middle of the afternoon, and we had a rehearsal around 2 o'clock, and they did three shows that night, and he hadn't been singing too much. They worked him too hard that night. So the next night he couldn't get through the first song. They had to give the people their money back.
He looked?he had that look in his eyes, ghostly, like he was haunted. But when he got up there he looked so happy, and he was so strong as he sang, that he blew us all pretty much through the back wall of the place.
He was home up there on that stage. There was no one like him. I wish I could find another one like him, but there isn't. He was a natural. He's been written up in a lot of publications as "the world's greatest soul singer." And nobody's ever challenged that.