Arthur Prysock and Me…

In the category of true and lasting greats - is Arthur Prysock. Here is a performer with the look and sound of a man who has lived and loved. His voice, a thoroughly matured instrument, has a warmth and power that is totally believable. The assurance with which he approaches a song, and the confidence with which his interpretation makes it so unmistakably his own - are qualities that emerge only when a rich natural talent is tempered by a good measure of experience. Prysock is clearly no adolescent, but it is at least equally clear that he is, and probably always will be, full of youthful vigor and fire.
producer Orrin Keepnews, Mister Prysock liner notes 1964

***A Portrait Of Arthur Prysock (1963) signed by Arthur***

Only in church. I didn't have any idea that I could sing, really. The people I got a room with, their son played piano. I sang in the bathroom, you know what they say, a singer in the bathroom sounds good. He was listening to me, and after a month or two, he asked me to come into his part of the house where he had a piano. He asked if I could sing in tune, and I said, 'I guess so. He hit a note, and I hit the note. He asked what songs I knew. One I knew was Nat King Cole's "That Ain't Right." It's a blues thing. He played it and I sang it. He said he'd teach me a lot of songs. He took me to the club and introduced me to his little brother and had me come up and sing a song. I almost fainted... I sang one song and the girls screamed. The man who owned the place came out and asked where I'd come from. He hired me for three dollars a night, which was a lot of money. I was working at Pratt and Whitney Aircraft, until they found out I was sixteen, and they fired me. So I stayed around there for about a year and became the biggest singer there.
Arthur Prysock and his early start in 1943 in Hartford, Connecticut

We got back after three months - all the way to California - and opened at the Apollo Theater. That was the biggest thing in my life. The fellows kidded me, "If they don't like you in the Apollo Theater, they'll throw tomatoes at you, and they're still in the can." I was scared to death. When I walked out on stage, the girls screamed. I went backstage for about five minutes, they couldn't get me out there. I was scared to death. Buddy (Johnson) was a quiet man, he said, "Come on Arthur, they love you." They brought me back on stage. I started singing and they started screaming again. Buddy said, "They love you." He was right. I became the number one singer with Buddy. My first record was a million seller - "They All Say I'm The Biggest Fool." I stayed with the band for about eight years as a singer, and when I left, I went out as a single. Of course, it wasn't too good for me. Then rock and roll came in, and it almost killed me, almost knocked me out of the business. But I stuck to it, and I'm very happy I did."
Arthur Prysock and his first tour with Buddy Johnson

"Here's to good friends, tonight is kinda special, the beer will flow...so tonight, tonight, let it be Lowenbrau." So intoned the dulcet baritone of Arthur Prysock as he implored the virtues of Lowenbrau, a Munich beer whose origins traced from the 14th century which was being mass produced by the Miller Brewing Company in the 1970s. Lowenbrau, a mainstay at Munich’s Oktoberfest since 1810, never caught on with North American, no account boozers like me. The recipe was different and Miller did not adhere to the strict German ingredient guidelines which proved prohibitively expensive to mass produce. As forgettable and horrid as the beer was, the jingle was inescapable and catchy. In those halcyon beer war days, Lowenbrau’s jingle was a valiant attempt to compete with Budweiser's spokesman, the incomparable Mr. Lou Rawls and, later, Colt 45's charismatic Billy Dee Wiilliams. Of the three, Arthur Prysock was, perhaps, less well known, but certainly no less talented.

Born in Spartanburg, South Carolina, Arthur grew up singing in the church. Like many in the 1940s, job opportunities were limited in the South to working in fields or picking cotton, so Arthur left to pursue a job in manufacturing in the North. He ended up working at a Pratt and Whitney Aircraft facility in Hartford, Connecticut. He worked there for a year until they found out he was only sixteen and he was unceremoniously fired. Fortunately, he was already singing at local clubs and he was hired by Buddy Johnson in 1944 to join his orchestra when the singer, Joe Medlin, fell ill. Aerospace’s loss was music’s gain!

Arthur remembered, “Buddy Johnson came through and I asked if I could sing a song. His singer was sick. He said, "Well, if you know any of my songs, yes." I said, 'I know them all. I do them nightly.' I sang three or four songs, and when it was over, he asked if I'd like to sing with his band. I said, 'I'd love it.' He said, "You'll hear from me in a couple of weeks." We got together in Hartford. Then I wrote a letter home telling everybody that I was singing with Buddy Johnson's band. The girl I was going with down there before I left said I was the biggest liar and that I should not write to her anymore. When we got down there, we played Greensboro, Spartanburg, Darlington, the cornbread circuit. Everyone knew then that I was singing with Buddy Johnson.“ Notwithstanding his (soon to be ex) girlfriend’s misconceptions, Prysock became Lou Gehrig to Medlin’s Wally Pipp as Arthur stayed with Buddy for the next eight years and recorded many celebrated and million selling records, including “They All Say I’m The Biggest Fool” and "I Wonder Where Our Love Has Gone."

***The Best Of Arthur Prysock (1967) signed by Arthur***

Though he was only sixteen when he joined and too young to go into clubs, the experience was invaluable performing with these older musicians. Arthur remembered his time with Buddy fondly, "Yes, I wouldn't give it up for anything because Buddy Johnson was like a teacher. He would write the songs, and he would teach them to you the way they should be sung. Today, when I sing one of Buddy's songs, I always think about how he brought me up, teaching me how to present myself to the audience, lyric-wise. He couldn't sing too good, but he was a heck of a teacher." No, not many singers were blessed with the mellifluous and buttery tone of Arthur’s bass-baritone, a style that Arthur admittedly copied from Billy Eckstine: "Billy Eckstine was my idol. I loved his singing. We had similar voices... I still like him and we're good friends. Whenever we're around, we see each other. We almost spend the night together, just talking."

***I Must Be Doing Something Right (1968)***

After eight years with Buddy, Arthur decided it was time to move on, as he wasn't making enough money to support his growing family. Arthur credited his wife with her enduring support in those early, trying years, "It was tough. My wife also worked to help the family and to help me. She said, 'As long as you want to try it...' After about a year, she said, 'Are you sure you don't want to get a job?' "No," I said, "I gotta stick it out." It's good when you got a good woman, because you can have a bad one and that's the end of it. They don't care whether you make it or not. The first thing they want is the lawyer."

Arthur stuck with it and enjoyed an acclaimed forty-two year career as a singer, mixing Jazz, Rhythm and Blues, and Soul in an intoxicating stew. He released more than thirty records and was nominated for two Grammys late in his career. He also recorded with jazz legends, including Count Basie who wanted Athur to join his band to replace the departing Jimmy Rushing. He spurned Basie's offer, as well as an opportunity from Duke Ellington, preferring to remain independent.

***Here’s To Good Friends (1978) Tonight is kinda special!***

The Lowenbrau fame came later in Arthur's career when he had been reduced to performing in cabaret style supper clubs. Arthur recounted, "I was in the studio at the time making Miller commercials. When I finished, the producer asked, 'Arthur, would you like to try out for a new beer, Lowenbrau?' I said that I had never heard of it, but I'd be glad to do it. He said, "Next week, maybe." I said OK. He called and asked if I had a key on the Lowenbrau commercial. I said, "Sure." He said, 'That's mighty low.' I said, "Don't worry about it." So I went into the studio and did it, and he said, 'Damn, I didn't think you were going to make it. I almost put it a half tone higher.' They loved the commercial because of the depth of it. I was contracted to them for eight years." And the royalties, as Arthur confirmed, were "lovely."

Erin and I were lucky to see Arthur at a now forgotten club in Washington DC in the early 1990s. A friend of mine, William Claire, a rare book purveyor by vocation and a jazz lover by avocation, was an investor in a short lived cabaret style club a block off Wisconsin Avenue NW on Van Ness. The name of the club escapes, lost to the mists of time. I had used William’s considerable skills to sleuth copies of Fatso, a memoir by Arthur Donovan, the great Hall of Fame Baltimore Colt whose son was a college friend of mine, and I was blessed to spend many afternoons with them at the Valley Country Club. After securing several Fatso books, William said with a little exasperation, "You know, Neil, I do sell other books than Fatso. I'd be happy to find other names for you." I thanked William for his efforts but my bibliophile interests were decidedly low brow. However, when William told me that he was opening a jazz club, Erin and I leapt at the opportunity to see Arthur Prysock and his band.

***The Country Side Of Arthur Prysock (1969)***

The show was phenomenal. Arthur was in great form and his band was led by his older brother Red, a hard driving, honking saxophonist who was more comfortable in a R&B milieu than in a bebop environ. Red had performed (uncredited) on many of Arthur's hits on Old Town Records in the 1950s and 1960s, and they had been touring together for the past decade. Highlights at the show were "I Didn't Sleep A Wink Last Night," "The Very Thought Of You," "Good Rockin' Tonight," and a sumptuous cover of the Righteous Brothers' "Unchained Melody."

***The Big Sound Of Red Prysock (1964)***

After the show, I approached Red as he walked off the bandstand, "Hey Red, that was a great show, would you mind signing this?" and I handed him The Big Sound Of Red Prysock. "No," he said as he hurriedly brushed by me. I was a bit disappointed, so I warily approached Arthur who greeted me warmly, "Yes, I'd be happy to sign some records." When I mentioned that Red had just blown me off, Arthur said, "Oh, please don't take any offense. Red suffered a partial stroke awhile back and he's embarrassed by his signature." 'Wow, I didn't see that, I thought his playing was really good,' I said. "Yes, he hides it quite well," Arthur replied. I thanked him again for his time and especially his music.

***Today’s Love Songs, Tomorrow’s Blues (1988)***

The end came too soon for Red Prysock in 1993 and for Arthur in 1997. Red died of a heart attack and Arthur died of an aneurysm in Hamilton. Bermuda where he had retired years earlier. In September 1996, I spoke with Don Williams, a gifted drummer who was playing our wedding with the great Jimmy McGriff. Don noticed the framed, signed Arthur Prysock record on our wall and said dolefully, "You know, Arthur bought me my first real drum set, he was such a beautiful man. I played with him for a long time.” 'What's he up to now? I haven't seen him touring lately," I asked cheerfully. "Oh, it's such a shame. He's down in Bermuda, talking to the coconuts in the trees. He's in bad shape," Don sadly related. Unfortunately, Alzheimers was taking its ravaging toll and we heard the sad news that Arthur had passed nine months after our joyous wedding. But Arthur’s music plays on and on...

A gifted singer, the night wasn’t “kinda special”when Arthur Prysock sang, it was glorious.