When Leon Russell was helped on to Auckland’s Powerstation stage in April 2011, he was 69, overweight and walked with a cane. It didn’t look promising. But Russell made his career sitting down, and once at the electric piano, the magic flew. His most familiar songs ‒ snatches of the Beatles, Dylan and the Stones, blues, Southern soul and gospel; his encore (without leaving the stage) of late 50s rock’n’roll hits weren’t just a crowd-pleasing gesture. Russell had played on many of them.
Raised in Tulsa, Oklahoma, Russell soaked up musical influences from the church, jazz and emerging rock’n’roll. When his band opened for Jerry Lee Lewis, the star said half in jest, “He plays better than I do.”
Russell moved to Los Angeles, joined the Wrecking Crew studio musicians, played on dozens of Phil Spector recordings and did sessions for Willie Nelson, Pat Boone, Herb Alpert (a great supporter), Julie London, Aretha Franklin and Frank Sinatra. “The thing I remember the most,” he told this writer of the Sinatra sessions, “[was] the incredible number of policemen around. I wasn’t quite used to that. Can’t remember what we played, though.”
He churned out hits and arrangements for Gary Lewis and the Playboys in the beat-pop era (“That wasn’t my cup of tea”) and became Joe Cocker’s band leader on the notorious Mad Dogs & Englishmen 1970 tour. Some would say he hijacked it for his own purposes.
The following year, he was on stage at the Concert for Bangladesh beside George Harrison, Bob Dylan, Ringo Starr, Eric Clapton and Billy Preston.
In a decade, Russell – long, greying hair, beard to his chest, unnervingly dead eyes and a top hat – had gone from anonymous sideman to centre stage. His songs were turned into hits by artists as diverse as the Carpenters (Superstar), Cocker (Delta Lady), George Benson (This Masquerade) and Andy Williams (A Song for You).
Russell’s own voice was distinctive – some refer to it as the sound of a cat being throttled – and for a few years after the Bangladesh concerts, his albums sold well and contained exceptional material.
But by the ignored Life and Love album at the end of the 70s, his star had fallen: he had changed houses, wives, partners and record companies. The gigs, audiences, record sales and pay cheques were smaller. He’d faded as fast as he’d risen.
By the time Elton John resurrected him with their 2010 duet album The Union, Russell hadn’t had an album on the charts for three decades. “I hadn’t spoken to Elton in over 30 years. He opened for me when he was first starting out and after that we didn’t see each other. I was surprised to hear from him.
“I was always jealous of Elton because I would sit around for months and wait for inspiration, and Elton had Bernie Taupin handing him lyrics all the time.”
That late-career success was short-lived and attention dimmed again. But in advance of his Powerstation appearance he was philosophical: “I’ve enjoyed all of it, in one way or another. And it’s kept me from working in advertising.”
Russell died in 2016. This year, there has been a surge of interest in his life and diverse songcraft, kicked off by the scrupulously researched, brick-sized biography, Leon Russell; The Master of Space and Time’s Journey Through Rock & Roll History, by Bill Janovitz.
His 2001 Signature Songs solo album was recently reissued on the Harrison-founded Dark Horse Records label. At the piano, Russell encompasses gospel, blues, rock’n’roll, music hall, Southern soul and country. All with that distinctive voice.
And now there’s a fine tribute album, A Song For Leon, with Bret McKenzie and the Preservation Hall Jazz Band (a faithful treatment of the Back to the Island reverie); Orville Peck (This Masquerade); US Girls with Bootsy Collins (an idiosyncratic Superstar); soul man Durand Jones (Out in the Woods); Monica Martin (A Song for You); the Pixies (a psychedelic rock’n’roll Crystal Closet Queen), and others.
The musical breadth of those artists is testament to the compositional reach of Russell, a master in the piano-playing pantheon alongside Dr John, Ray Charles and Professor Longhair, with a voice which, once heard, is impossible to forget.
Leon Russell’s Signature Songs and A Song for Leon are available now.
