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Johnnie Ray
Johnnie Ray
The first time I saw Johnnie Ray was in 1952 on stage at the jammed Riverside Theater in Milwaukee. Basking in the glow of his two-sided record hits “Cry” and “The Little White Cloud That Cried,” the rail-thin crooner brought down the house with his trembling voice and trademark herky-jerky moves.
Backed by The Four Lads—who later scored with “Moments to Remember,” “The Mockingbird” and “Down by the Riverside”—Ray’s emotional song-stylings evoked an audience response not seen since the salad days of Frank Sinatra. And just as they did then, teenage girls in attendance went wild.
That day marked my coming of musical age. Before discovering the sounds of original Black rhythm and blues, the nonpareil Sinatra topped my list of White male pop vocalists. He was, very simply, “The Voice.” But then along came Johnnie Ray—a new thin man who took me, and American pop music, by storm.
This is not to say I didn’t enjoy some of the fine White female singers holding forth. Indeed, I grooved on Peggy Lee, Doris Day, Kay Starr, Patti Paige, Chris Connor, Jeri Southern, Anita O’Day, June Christy, Julie London, Joni James, Georgia Gibbs, and Mary Ford—with Waukesha’s Les Paul. The latter two were married in Milwaukee.
Extra Special
But Johnnie Ray was different. He was extra, extra special. He literally lit up the pop music universe in a way that would have put Elvis to shame.
Indeed, so spectacular was the 1951-52 success of his signature “Cry” and “The Little White Cloud”—back-to-back on the Okeh label, that they charted No. 1 and No. 2 at the same time. He followed these with big hits such as “Brokenhearted;” “Please Mr. Sun;” “All of Me;” “Just Walkin’ in the Rain;” “Walking My Baby Back Home;” “Tell the Lady I Said Goodbye;” “Don’t Blame Me,” and “Whiskey and Gin.”
Ray’s unique song styling was no accident. Once the only White singer on Okeh’s Black roster, he often talked of being influenced by the great LaVern Baker, with whom he worked in a Detroit night spot. The gutteral-voiced Baker happily confirmed this to me when I interviewed her in New York for the Daily News in 1991 at an R&B awards show.
Although terrific on records and countless TV variety shows in the 1950s and 60s, Johnnie Ray was simply mesmerizing in person. The consummate showman, his passion for his music would burst forth as he’d jump around, bend his knees and cup his hand to his bad left ear, where he wore a hearing aid—making his vocalizing all the more appealing.
Face contorted and hair askew, Ray would tilt the mike almost to the floor and wail away, simulating sobs and emphasizing syllables in a way I’ve only heard by the Spaniels’ great James (Pookie) Hudson.
Indeed, watching him in person wailing soulful renditions of his big hits in a spastic, gut-wrenching manner, was like nothing anyone ever experienced. The peak for me was a memorable night in 1988, in Las Vegas. My wife, Janice, and I, happened upon a theater marquee with the name Johnnie Ray. Of course, we went inside.
After wangling front row seats in the packed house by crossing the palm of the head usher, we nervously awaited. When he appeared—clearly retaining his electric stage presence—he did his sensational thing just as in past years. For me, it was Milwaukee and the Riverside Theater, all over again.
Then it happened. During one song, the energetic crooner leaned over and shook both our hands. My heart almost stopped. I hadn’t been that close to tears since my 1967 interview of handless Harold Russell, of The Best Years of Our Lives. When finished, everyone chanted “more, more, more,” and he happily obliged.
Although I didn’t see or hear much about Johnnie for the next couple of years, I didn’t forget him. And, to this day, I often play his old sounds, closing my eyes and reliving my youthful Milwaukee musical awakening.
When I learned of Johnnie Ray’s passing at 63, in 1990, I was immensely saddened. And as he emotionally intoned in his first hit, I actually sat down and cried.
So long live the sounds of the great Johnnie Ray, “Mr. Emotion.” There will never, ever, be another one quite like him.
