Painted Black (14 page)

Bobby blushed. “No, of course not.”

Preston's voice boomed. “Hell no! I'm telling you, this man has the voice of the ages. He taught James Brown and Wilson Picket how to sing. He was in the Soul Stirrers with Sam Cooke. He was in the Sensation Nightingales. This man wrote the book on soul shouting. Every time you hear a great R&B singer get down and scream, you're hearing Julius Cheeks. When I say he is the greatest, I don't mean one of the greatest. I mean
the greatest of all
. Got that? Guys like Wilson Pickett would have to stand on a chair just to kiss Julius Cheeks' ass. Someday, all you'll remember about tomorrow will be
that was
the day you got to see Julius Cheeks in person
. I have given you a rare opportunity, my friends. Grab it while you can.”

Preston walked over to a bin of Gospel music and checked the Julius Cheeks section. He pulled out several rare Julius Cheeks records on the legendary Peacock Label

“How come I don't know about this?” Clovis asked.

“White people don't know shit about Gospel. You never got religion, so where would you hear it? I grew up in church.”

Brian's voice was soft. “Everything else this man has shown us has been absolutely brilliant. I have no reason to think it would end here. I say we go and hear the greatest singer of all time.”

Bobby said, “Then you'll tell us about Bruce Spangler's Achilles' heel?”

Preston Washington's eyes were big and watery. “Get right with Jesus, and I'll get right with you.”

Chapter Eleven

Play with Fire

Clovis and Bobby walked down East Baltimore Street on the infamous “Block.” It brought back memories for both of them. Clovis got his start by playing guitar in the strip clubs that lined the Block.

Most of the old places were still open, but with different management. Blaze Starr was no longer at the Two O'Clock Club, the place where Clovis had fallen in love with Erlene, watching her strip for the fat, bald men smoking cigars and stuffing twenties into her G-string from the front rows. They walked past the famous Gayety Theatre, past the peep-show sex shops, past countless bars, to the end of the block where Livingston's Loans pawnshop stood on the corner.

“Everything looks different,” Clovis said.

“Everything looks the same,” Bobby replied, “just dirtier.” They went inside the shop.

The walls were filled with instruments and the display cases were full of jewelry. Manny Brillstein was sitting in the same place he was the first time Bobby walked in years ago. He was eating a corned beef sandwich, just like he was the first time they met.

He eyed Clovis suspiciously. “I know you. You're that drunken guitar player who always got fired.”

“Yep.”

“Clovis Hicks! I never forget a face! Where have you been? I assumed you were in prison or dead.”

“Thanks for the vote confidence, Manny. Actually, I've been in England, working in a recording studio.”

“You mean you got a steady job? Hey, you ever seen Erlene anymore? She disappeared around the same time you did.”

“I married her.”

“Well, I'll be damned. And I remember you friend here, Robby the Limey, right? You bought the Gibson.”

“Yep.”

“What can I do for you?”

They explained about Brian and asked if he had any information about a certain well-known Baltimore narc.

Manny got real quiet. “Let's step out for a cup of coffee. What do you say?”

“Sure, Manny.” Clovis could tell that Manny didn't want to talk in the store. The place was probably bugged.

They stepped around the corner to a rundown luncheonette. Manny ordered coffee and a piece of cherry pie. Clovis had a Coke. Bobby had a cup of tea. Manny made small talk until the waitress walked away.

Once she was gone, he wrote something on a napkin with a disposable ballpoint pen. He looked at it for a moment, as if weighing whether to give it to them or not. He seemed torn. Then, after a few moments, he slid it across the counter to Bobby. There were just two words on the paper:
Angelo Arnello.

Bobby folded the napkin and put it in his pocket.

“Is that it?” he asked

Manny nodded. “You can take it from there.”

Bobby and Clovis got up and left.

The church was a storefront with whitewashed windows. Painted by hand in block letters at eye level on the door was the simple notice first pentacostal church of god along with a handpainted cross. Inside, the room was sparse and warm. There was a coffee urn at one end and some pastries on a table. Bobby began to sweat immediately. Rows of metal folding chairs filled most of the room. A single podium sat on a six-inch riser. On the riser were a set of pink champagne Ludwig drums, an upright piano, and a Fender Super Reverb amp with a beautiful sunburst Gibson ES semi-hollow body guitar leaning against it. It was the same model guitar Chuck Berry used.

“Check out that guitar,” whispered Brian to no one in particular. “I wonder if he'd sell it.”

“That would be in bad taste,” Bobby pointed out. “It's an instrument of God.”

“Don't you already own an Gibson ES?” Clovis asked.

“No, I have a Thunderbird.”

Clovis nodded. Brian loved the way Gibsons played. The neck felt very comfortable his hand. It wasn't too thin like a Rickenbacker or too wide like the Vox Phantom series. Gibsons were just right.

Dust Bin Bob, Clovis, and Brian Jones were the only white faces in the crowd. Preston had insisted that Erlene stay home because, with her stripper's body, “she might start a damn riot” among the brethren.

To say that they stood out would have been an understatement. Everyone stared. Especially at Brian. He appeared to them like a visitor from Mars.

A few people approached Preston Washington and greeted him warmly. He hugged all of them, his bulk swinging freely around the room.

Preston introduced his white English friends. Just before the service, the great Reverend Julius Cheeks came out in all his glory, surrounded by his entourage, and personally worked the room. He had a handshake and a good word for everybody there. He made a special point of welcoming Preston Washington and his white guests.

“Well, well, what have we here?” Julius said. He nodded at Brian and the outlandish way he was dressed.

“This man looks like the King of Something.”

Julius Cheeks was dressed like an R&B singer in a shiny silver sharkskin suit, baby blue tab shirt, and crisply tied black silk tie. He sported a processed pompadour haircut and a Clark Gable-style mustache, trimmed to a tight line just above his lip.

You wouldn't know to look at him now, but Julius had lived an incredibly hard life. His childhood was spent in deep poverty, and he suffered every indignity of an uneducated black in the segregated south. He'd left school in the second grade to pick cotton in the fields. Singing his heart out in church was his only release.

Julius's smile was incredibly soulful.

Preston did the introductions. “This is Brian Jones of the Rolling Stones.”

Julius looked Brian up and down. “You don't say.”

Brian shook his hand manfully. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cheeks.”

“That's Reverend Cheeks, son.”

“Yes, of course. Reverend Cheeks.”

“They tell me you're a famous rock star. That's the devil's music. Are you ready to accept the Gospel of Jesus?”

“I am.”

“Have you ever been to a Gospel program like this?”

“No, never.”

“Get ready to be sanctified in the eyes of the Lord.”

Preston said, “We don't get too many white Englishmen here. In fact, you're the first. I hope you dig it.”

Julius went backstage and the band warmed up the crowd with some instrumentals. Every seat was packed. The anticipation mounted. Reverend Julius Cheeks was a holy man, and he was bringing his gift from God into this place.

When Reverend Julius Cheeks entered the church this time, it was as the one true voice of God. His background group, the Sensational Nightingales, struck up an a capella call-and-response chorus. Everyone clapped on the beat.

“
Welllllll, you know I'm all right now, I said I'm all right now
…” they sang. “
I'm all right now, I said I'm all right now!
”

Julius Cheeks's voice exploded behind them.

“
Since I fixed it up with Jesus
…
I'm all right now!
”

The very foundation of that old church began to rumble. Julius Cheeks's voice was beyond anything Bobby, Clovis, and Brian had ever heard. It was a revelation. And the band hadn't even come in yet!

Julius Cheeks was in his own personal Gospel tent, talking and shouting at his own God. His gravelly voice pushed past James Brown, Wilson Picket, Ray Charles, and every other singer in the world. He made those R&B shouters sound as smooth as Mel Tormé. His voice was like forty miles of bad road. He shouted the lyrics until they ceased to be musical tones. They became pure energy. He screamed, but he screamed on key. Julius's raised his voice by increments. Each phrase a little higher, a little more insistent, a little more intense then the last.

Julius sang with astonishing conviction.

“
He taught me how to walk, and he taught me how to talk
…” Julius voice rose again. “
SINCE I FIXED IT UP WITH JESUS, I SAID I'M ALL RIGHT NOW!
”

The three white men, two of whom were English, had trouble making out the words, but the overall message was solid as a rock. They were transfixed. Julius never let it fade. Reverend Julius Cheeks was the master.

“
Since I
…
since I
…
since I
…
since I
…
SINCE I FIXED IT UP WITH JESUS, I'M ALL RIGHT NOW!
”

As Brian and Bobby watched, Julius came down the aisle and into the audience. People were singing and wailing and crying out “Amens!”

Julius Cheeks touched people on their heads and on their shoulders as he went. He looked into their eyes and shouted the words of the Lord directly into their faces.

After Reverend Julius Cheeks worked his way down to the first and second aisles of seats, he stopped and looked into Brian's incredulous white face and cupped his hands around Brian's jaw.

“Do you feel it, son?”

“Y-yes,” Brian sputtered.

“Do you
FEEL IT
?”

“Yes!”

“Can I get a witness?”

“Yes! I'll be your witness!”

Julius had started the a capella song “All Right Now,” strong and compelling, and then moved effortlessly into his sermon as part of the song, which he sang with incredible fervor.

Then, suddenly, he dropped down on his knees and balled his hand into a fist and pretended to pound the music home. The room reacted as if they'd been shocked in their seats. It reminded Clovis of when he saw
The Tingler
at the Boulevard Theater in Baltimore and everyone jumped when William Castle's seat buzzers went off. They jumped up as one, raising their hands in the air, and started singing along.

Brian looked around him. He couldn't believe it. Here he was in a storefront church in East Baltimore singing along with the great Julius Cheeks. Nothing else mattered anymore. Brian had been transported to another world, one that few Englishmen would ever see.

He looked over at Preston Washington who had his eyes closed and was shouting out vocals like Solomon Burke.

Several female members of the congregation were singing professional harmony, adding more layers of soul to the already heady gumbo Julius cooked up.

Reverend Julius Cheeks had some athletic moves. He jumped to his feet and began to wave his hands above his head.

Julius belted his sermon between the background vocals.

“
When I was in trouble, I didn't have no God on my side, Jesus came unto me, said I am the truth and the light!
”

Brian was mesmerized. Julius Cheeks was a giant, and he couldn't believe he'd never even heard of the guy.

“
I been to the water, been baptized, soul been converted, I feel all right, I said FATHER! FATHER!
” Julius's voice was on the verge of a super nova.

“
Father, Oh Father!
”

Brian felt the hair on the back of neck stand up. Julius cheeks took it even higher with an octave jump that made time stand still.

“
Yeeeeeaah!
”

The energy level had doubled. The song ended and everyone fell back, exhausted. The old ladies fanned themselves with the printed program, and Julius Cheeks took his place behind the podium.

Julius was breathing heavily, having given the opening song all he had. Rivulets of sweat traced down the sides of his face.

Brian and Bobby exchanged glances.
Where did this guy come from?
They were astonished. This was better than James Brown at the Apollo!

Preston Washington patted Brian's knee.

“See? What did I tell you? This man is the greatest singer of all time.”

Julius wiped his face with a white handkerchief. He paused and smiled at the congregation.

“Praise Jesus!”

“Praise Jesus,” they replied.

The piano started playing.

“You know, I went home the other day … and a ooooold lady was a-sittin' on the porch. She had a son … he and I were raised together … and she asked me if I'd seen him … and I said no … I COULD SEE THE TEARS IN HER EYES!”

Julius second sermon had already begun in the guise if another song. The band vamped behind Julius, shouts of “Amen!” and “Praise the Lord!” erupted spontaneously from the people in the pews. His backup singers sang a chorus of “Ahhs” behind him, reminiscent of doo-wop harmonies.

Bobby got a good look at the patrons as the program unfolded. The congregation was made up of families, couples, old ladies, and well-dressed and polite children. Julius went out and laid hands on his flock. He sang and shouted and hugged and whispered and prayed. Every single moment of it was riveting in a way Brian Jones had never imagined. He'd seen greatness, he'd been part of greatness, and he'd found greatness thrown out with the trash, but he never dreamed of finding greatness here in East Baltimore. God bless Preston Washington.

Reverend Julius Cheeks worked his way through a program of Gospel music and sermons, mixing the message just right. His charisma was tremendous. He dominated the room preaching and pontificating from the ceiling to the floor. When he rocked, it was with such force that the whole building shook. These people had come to receive the word! To them, Julius Cheeks was as close to the voice of God as they were going to get in their lifetime.

Julius fell on his knees, cried out to the Lord, and beseeched the crowd to join him. He crawled around on the floor. Bobby could see the root elements of R&B; going from a whisper to a scream, getting down on the stage, even the famous cape routine. Julius invented it all and was content to do it for small groups of people in churches for a fraction of the money a guy like James Brown would get. In fact, if Julius Cheeks ever decided to go secular and leave the Gospel scene, he could be the one of the greatest entertainers of all time. All this was going through Bobby's head as he watched the master create his magic. It was a whole new world. It was the world where the R&B that he loved was born. Little by little, Bobby heard the staples of R&B plucked directly from what Julius Cheeks was doing.