He's still standing here

By GRAHAM REID

The great soul singer Ray Charles has often said that Joe Cocker is his foremost disciple.

He reiterates that compliment - Cocker has "tears in his voice," he says - at the start of tonight's documentary Joe Cocker: Have A Little Faith (Prime, 10.35).

Charles is only one of many who pay handsome tribute to Cocker and his singular career.

Eric Clapton calls this former gasfitter from Sheffield "one of the most gifted singers England ever produced" and astutely notes that while Cocker sometimes goes for notes and nothing comes out, the genuine, human effort he makes ensures you somehow hear it anyway. True, funnily enough. The live footage included from across the decades provides ample evidence.

Tom Jones offers "what comes out of him is what he feels," and an obviously stoned Chris Robinson from the Black Crowes insists it's impossible to fake what Cocker does while taking a well-judged swipe at faux-soul singers like Michael Bolton.

Former backing singer Rita Coolidge speaks of Cocker's "loving spirit" and how during the hippie travelling road show that was the Mad Dogs and Englishmen tour in 1970 - which left Cocker emotionally adrift and with some seriously bad habits - Cocker was the only one who didn't have an ego.

All agree Cocker is a soul singer without peer.

As much as any one-hour programme can encapsulate a 35-year career, Have A Little Faith is an honest overview of the life of man seemingly without guile, blessed with a voice he is at a loss to explain, and a career which has seen him hit horrendous lows (he tells of his directionless, heroin-sniffing years after Mad Dogs) and of a career rehabilitation and subsequent successes, one of which was a Grammy in 1983 for his duet with Jennifer Warnes on Up Where We Belong.

Cocker speaks candidly of his life. There is some hilarious archival footage from an Ed Sullivan Show which looks like an Austin Powers' outtake, and John Belushi's wicked Saturday Night Live parody.

A long-time friend and former producer says Cocker was "a guy who could not say no." Cocker's dad, a plain tight-lipped speaker who apparently has yet to see his son perform live, also has his say.

Today, with a wife and family and a remote farm in Colorado, Cocker is a legendary figure in popular culture, his booze and dope days long past and he has, for many years, been accorded the respect which he was long due.

This programme, which indulges in an overlong coda of testimonials and afterthoughts when the career synopsis is complete, reminds you of the struggles Cocker had.

But best of all, it sends you back to the music and his extraordinary treatment of lyrics as lean as You Are So Beautiful in which he invested so much meaning - and to that terrifying scream he threw into With A Little Help From My Friends at Woodstock, and still manages with alarming frequency even today.

Songwriter Tony Joe White says, "Joe's tough" but as one of Cocker's recent hits had it, "I'm so glad I'm standing here today."

For a while there, Joe, it looked touch and go.