It all started with Quincy Jones. He was composing an immense oratorio called “A Black Requiem” for full orchestra and chorus, with Ray Charles as featured soloist. He was working on it with my composition teacher, Paul Glass. Quincy’s lessons each week were right before mine, and Paul introduced us. As we became better acquainted, I followed his progress on the work with great interest.
The Requiem was powerful and traced the history of black slaves coming to America, beginning with slave ships coming to America and continued through the Watts riots in Los Angeles. Ray was narrator, preacher, storyteller, and participant. When the work was premiered with the Houston Symphony, Quincy invited both Paul Glass and me to attend the rehearsals and premiere.
During rehearsals, when not onstage, Ray and Paul whiled away the time playing chess backstage.. Taking the opportunity to get to know Ray, I sat in as an observer on their games. Ray was curious about me and my work, and when I told him I was a composer, he quipped “If you are a legitimate composer that makes me an out of wedlock composer!” Ray was funny and witty and loved a good joke. He had an acute sense of hearing that allowed him to be aware of everything around him, and he was endlessly curious and inquisitive. Quincy had structured the Requiem with Ray’s talents in mind, and being close friends since their childhood in Seattle, he knew every nuance of Ray’s personality and musicianship. He created room for Ray to improvise and be spontaneous, and the orchestral and choral portions of the Requiem were organized around this.
However, during the rehearsals, Quincy made changes to the orchestral parts. His work in film and recording allowed him the freedom to change things on the spot, and he applied that experience to the less flexible world of the symphony orchestra. These musicians were accustomed to playing the repertory of composer long dead, who could not interrupt with any remarks or criticisms, and conductors rarely, if ever, changed the notes in the score unless there were errors. For Quincy to edit his music as the rehearsal progressed and to make changes to the musician’s parts as he discovered a better version than what was on the page, violated the norm. The players were not shy with expressing their displeasure, and Quincy was frustrated with their lack of flexibility. He was able to make some changes, but I am sure he would have wanted more had he not encountered such resistance.
The concert was a tremendous success and Ray’s part was so skillfully written that he appeared to be making it up on the spot. The choral and instrumental writing was powerful and the audience cheered and rose in a standing ovation at the conclusion.
Conducting Ray Charles in Richmond
That was the last time I saw Ray for several years. The next occasion was when I was invited to conduct the Richmond Symphony in a pops concert featuring Ray. The music consisted of his normal repertoire of rhythm and blues, country and western and standards. I expected to receive the kind of scores I was accustomed to using for a symphonic concert, with all of the parts notated. Instead, I received either a piano part with no indication of any other instruments, or worse, just one instrumental part. Standing on the podium in front of the orchestra with so little information was an exercise in Zen, and I had to recreate the score in my head as we played and I could hear what each instrument was doing.
Being someone who conducts a lot of opera, I was accustomed to working closely with singers and adjusting my tempos to their breath and the ebb and flow of the music. Few operas have steady tempos for long periods of time. Flexibility of the beat, known as “rubato,” is the hallmark of the romantic nature of opera, and allows the music to either hold back or rush forward as the emotion being expressed dictates. So when the first rehearsal began, I watched Ray and slowed down and speeded up when he did, matching the tempo of the accompaniment to his voice as I would do in opera. He stopped me and said, “No, no! You keep going and I will catch up with the bus.” This was completely new to me. I did what he wanted and held the tempo steady as he wove around it. Sometimes he was so far behind the beat that I thought he had forgotten what came next, but in an instant, he was right there, synchronized perfectly. This was one of Ray’s signature abilities. His voice had the natural flow of speech. It was never mechanical or stiff, but dipped, dived and vaulted around the beat, surprising the listener with the revelation that this music was alive, vibrant and spontaneous.
I was told that at the end of one of the pieces, Ray would improvise for a long time as the orchestra held the final notes, and I was to wait until a movement of his shoulder gave me the signal to stop. Anyone familiar with Ray’s playing style knows that he famously swayed from side to side, leaning left and right. We were in performance, at the end of the piece in question, and Ray was wailing on the keyboard, swaying back and forth. This went on for what seemed like an eternity and I watched his shoulder like a hawk to try and discover when I was to cut off. Just then, his left shoulder went down with a decisive motion and I thought this must be the signal, so I cut off the orchestra. Thankfully the audience cheered and applauded noisily afterwards, because Ray was furious. He started yelling at me right on stage because I had obviously mistaken his signal and should have continued to hold. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me. Here was my opportunity to work with the legendary Ray Charles, and I had blown it. I would surely never work with him again. I was shamed in front of the orchestra and was completely humiliated.
After the concert I slunk back to his dressing room to apologize, expecting him to fly into a rage for ruining the performance. He was, on the contrary, cheerful and forgiving. “Don’t worry,” he said, “You’ll get it right the next time!” The next time? I thought in disbelief. He actually wanted me to conduct for him again even after what I did? I had to be sure where to cut the orchestra off if there was to be a next time, so I checked with the drummer, perhaps the most important musician of the hand-picked soloists who traveled with Ray to each of his orchestral engagements. The drummer looked at me, knowing what had happened at the concert, and said “Watch the right shoulder, not the left one.” So that was it. I never made the same mistake again.
Recording A Black Requiem
After the concert I reminded Ray that we first met when I had attended the rehearsals and concert of “A Black Requiem” and asked him if he had performed it since then. He told me that Quincy had been so upset with the orchestra’s behavior and never wanted to have it performed again. I asked Ray if HE would want to do the work again if I could program it on a concert, and he assured me that he would. “You’ll have to convince Quincy first,” he warned me, skeptical that Quincy would budge from his position. I told Ray that at the time I was the Music Director and Conductor of the Roanoke Symphony in Virginia and was sure that the orchestra would be thrilled to perform the work. Now my challenge was to convince Quincy.
I contacted him, explained the situation and emphasized that Ray was eager to do the Requiem again, and that I had an orchestra ready and willing to perform it. As is turned out, Quincy lived a short walking distance from my mother’s house in Los Angeles, and several months later, when I was visiting my mother, he invited my husband Stephan Peskin and I to lunch at his home. He met us at the door, casually dressed and elegant. He had a full-time cook and we ate a delicious lunch, listening to stories about his many projects. After lunch I finally broached the subject of the Requiem. “There’s no score,” he said. “It’s all little bits and pieces in a big box. Nothing has been touched since the premiere.” I asked if there was a recording, and there was an archival one made at the concert. I explained that I could match up the bits and pieces of the puzzle to the recording and create a score. I told him that Ray was eager to do it again and that I had an orchestra and chorus eager to present it, and I was eager to conduct it. I pleaded with him to let me try to put it all together. Reluctantly he agreed, not certain that I could decipher his scattered notes and make sense of them.
He went over to a cupboard and started to pull things out of it. “Come here and help me, Steve,” he said to my husband. As the two of them sat on the floor, Quincy began to hand him statues and plaques, one after another. It was an amazing sight – Grammy Awards, Emmy Awards, Academy Awards and Tony Awards – all hidden away in a cupboard! Finally he found the box he was looking for and dragged it out. It was piled high with loose pages and bits of paper, scraps of music and assorted messages – a real mess! “Here it is” he said, looking at me with an “I told you so” expression that challenged me to make some semblance of order out of this chaos. “Do you think you can do it?” he said. “If I can have the recording, I KNOW I can do it” I confidently replied, all the while wondering if I actually could.
That was the beginning of the great adventure. The bits and pieces were not as disorganized as I had feared, and once I was familiar with the recording, I was able to put them together into a cohesive score. The set of parts followed and after a Herculean effort, the work was ready for performance. Ray was excited. The Roanoke Symphony was ecstatic. Gospel choirs from local churches rehearsed for months to learn the choral portions of the Requiem. The community was at fever pitch. To have Ray Charles in person performing with their orchestra, conductor and choirs was nothing short of a miracle.
Ray arrived and immediately everyone wanted to have their picture taken with him. He was courteous and generous, and very patient. The first rehearsal went smoothly and the minute I got home, there was a message on my phone from Quincy. I called him back immediately and he was as excited as kid, wanting to know how it went, and if there were there any problems, and asking me how did it sound, etc. I reassured him that it was a brilliant work and the orchestra and the choir loved it, and that Ray was as pleased as could be. “You know he can be the Ayatollah” Quincy warned me. “Look out for his temper. It is fierce!” I assured him that Ray had been a perfect gentleman and hadn’t yelled at me once, remembering the dressing down I had received years earlier.
The performance was a sensational success, and Ray was so impressed with the performance of the orchestra, the choir and me, that he told me he wanted to return with a recording crew and record the work! This was a heady prospect. The date was set, the orchestra and choir rehearsed again, and Ray arranged for an enormous truck, filled with recording equipment to park in front of the Roanoke Civic Center. There were cables everywhere and technical crew rushing about adjusting microphones and rearranging the stage. Ray flew in and supervised the setup, listening with superhuman precision to the takes as we recorded them. At one point when the orchestra was playing a particularly complex passage, layered with contrapuntal textures and thick harmonies, Ray shouted “Where’s the harp? I don’t hear the harp!” How anyone could possibly hear such a soft instrument in the midst of that din was unbelievable. Sure enough, the harpist had lost her place and was not playing. What an ear! I was impressed. We all were impressed except Ray. That was how he heard. It was just normal for him to hear every detail.
On Tour with Ray
After that recording session, I became Ray’s regular conductor for his orchestral concerts and traveled all over the country and even to Poland with him. It was what I called my post-doctorate musical training, as I learned so much from working with him that I had never learned at Juilliard. The schedule generally consisted of flying to the location, having one rehearsal and a concert and flying back the next day. Very often Ray would not show up for the rehearsal, and I attributed this to his confidence in me. I must confess, however, that the first time this happened, I was surprised and concerned, never having done a performance without the soloist being at the rehearsal. Ray, of course, had performed thousands of times, knew his repertoire and was the consummate showman in front of an audience. He was always on the road and hardly ever stayed at his Los Angeles studio and home for very long. The audiences gave him energy, and he loved them and needed his intense schedule for sustenance.
He always stayed at Holiday Inns because he knew the configuration of the rooms, which were always identical, and he could maneuver them without assistance. He did have someone who was always with him, guiding him onto the stage and helping him with the everyday assistance a blind person would need. I remember walking through the airport with Ray and his assistant. I was a few steps behind them and as they walked, I saw people do a double take once they realized who he was.
In September of 2000, I was in the midst of rehearsals for an opera in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania when I got a call from my husband. “Ray just called and he said he needs you right away!” I called Ray’s manager Joe Adams who said yes, Ray wanted me to conduct his 70th birthday concert and he needed me to come the next day. “Where is the concert?” I asked. “In Warsaw, Poland” was the surprising answer. “We have a first-class ticket waiting for you. Just get to JFK tomorrow. This was a real challenge. Of course I was honored to be asked to conduct Ray’s special birthday concert and I wanted to go, but I did have an obligation to the opera company and I would need to get their permission to leave the rehearsal for a few days. I spoke to the director. “Are you kidding?” he said. “Of course you should go. This is a historic moment. We are OK managing the staging rehearsals without you. Just let us know when you will be back.” The schedule was tight: I would fly overnight to Warsaw, rehearse that afternoon, perform the concert that evening and I would fly back the next day. There would be no problem missing two days of rehearsal.
The last concert I conducted with Ray was at the New Jersey Performing Arts Center. As we were about to go onstage, Ray said to me “You play piano, don’t you?” I confirmed that I did. “At the end of the concert you and I are going to play a little duet!” I gasped. I was going to play a duet with Ray Charles? Where was the music? How could I do this? But Ray was off, walking onstage to the huge ovation of the thousands of fans in the audience. I panicked. Was I about to crash and burn in front of thousands of people? Maybe Ray was only kidding. Maybe he would forget. Throughout the concert I was praying that he would forget.
But sure enough, at the end of the concert Ray made an announcement. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, I have a little surprise for you. The Maestro and I are going to play a duet. Come on over to the piano bench, Victoria,” he commanded. What was I to do? Shaking all over, I walked like a condemned woman to the guillotine. “Sit down beside me, Victoria,” and I obeyed. Then he whispered in my ear “just follow me. The song has only three chords. It’s very easy.” And so it was. Ray was as relaxed as though he was entertaining a few friends at his house. His relaxation infused me and calmed my agitation. He began alone so that I could hear and see the chords and what he was doing, and then I joined him. This was fun! It was such an exhilarating feeling that I didn’t want it to end, but finally we had to, and the crowd went wild!
Ray’s Final Years
A couple of years later, I saw Ray in New York where he had invited my husband and me to attend a performance with his big band at a jazz club. At the end of his set, he announced that his favorite conductor was in the audience and asked me to stand. People looked around in amazement to see a petite, white woman. “Come backstage and say hello” he said as he left the stage. My husband has been with me to many concerts where I go backstage to congratulate the artist, particularly when it is someone I know. He hates this ritual, which he calls “kissing the ring” as though the artist in question were royalty, expecting a sign of obsequious fealty from his subject. So when I dashed back to see Ray and was met by him giving me a huge hug that lifted me clear off the floor, Stephan hung back. “Where is that man of yours?” he bellowed. “Or is he too proud to come backstage to see me?” Stephan heard this, as did everyone in a 10 block radius, and he came backstage where he and Ray embraced warmly.
The last time I saw Ray was at his studio in Los Angeles. My husband and I drove there at his invitation. He was very sick, and had not been performing for some time. We were met by his manager, Joe Adams, who brought us inside. “Look out!” Joe shouted, “Blind man driving!” and just then, Ray sped towards us in an electric wheelchair. He was thinner and frailer than I remembered him being, but his robust personality was undiminished. He laughed and joked with my husband and me, and although we did notice a large number of medications covering his desk, he seemed his old self. I was devastated by the news of Ray’s death in June 2004. We knew it was coming when we saw him, but wanted to hope that somehow he would charm even death and live many more years.
Conducting Ray Charles’ Music with Stockton Symphony and Billy Valentine
I am grateful for this opportunity in February 2023 to bring Ray’s music to a new audience at Atherton Auditorium with the Stockton Symphony and with the brilliant singer/songwriter Billy Valentine. Billy knows Ray’s style so intimately, and he brings an impressive background of his own accomplishments to the program. He grew up in Columbus, Ohio where his parents owned a nightclub, Club Faces, where his five brothers and seven sisters worked. “We had people lined up around the block to get in because my mother and father greeted you at the front door,” Valentine recalls. “And my sisters would work the cash register while brother and I worked the stage. When there was a break, we would call our sisters to come up on stage to sing with us as well. It was a family operation.” His skills as a song writer allowed him to collaborate with greats like Will Jennings, the Neville Bros. and the immortal Ray Charles.
It is a privilege to work with Billy Valentine and the Stockton Symphony, and we both look forward to bringing Ray Charles’ songs to life at Atherton Auditorium.
