By: David Schultz

Whenever a living legend - especially one you’ve never seen before - comes to town, there is no question about whether you go. The mistake would be to have expectations that you are seeing them in their prime or that you’re going for any other reason than to be in the same room and get a sense of what made them great. Sometimes you get something that seems ripped from a time capsule; other times you get Little Richard this past Sunday night at the BB King Blues Club & Grill in New York City’s Times Square.

Little Richard’s pedigree needs no embellishment and along with Elvis Presley, Ray Charles and others, deservedly was part of the first class inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. Now nearing 77 years old, in reportedly poor health and currently wheelchair bound due to a degenerative hip condition, Little Richard’s stage show felt a lot like sitting for ninety minutes with your senile grandfather, except his rambling stories involved him inventing rock and roll and every so often he let out a shout in which you could hear the genesis of The Beatles. A less generous interpretation would involve speculation about whether Little Richard had dipped a bit too deep into his pain medication but given how prone he was to distraction, his constant questioning of whether the audience was having a good time – think Eddie Murphy’s routine about his grandmother asking, “What time is it?" – and the somewhat bewildered expression on his face, clearly Mr. Penniman was not on the top of his game.

Playing with a full band, Richard showed glimpses of the musical innovator from the Fifties and even if dampened a bit, his extroverted personality and sense of humor are still present. Once settled at his piano bench, he joked about the difficulties of being in a wheelchair, revealing that when he tells whoever’s pushing it to “shut up,” they strand him. In running through classics like “Good Golly, Miss Molly,” “The Girl Can’t Help It,” “Keep A-Knockin,” “Jenny, Jenny” and, of course, “Tutti Frutti,” he played about a minute or two of each, enough to make you feel like he sang it but coming no where close to full versions. Rather than pad out the set with his sizable catalog of classics, Richard had a pair of guest singers come out and offer tepid covers of Jimmy Reed and Sam Cooke. Even if they were offering something better, everyone had come to see the man in the sparkly white suit.

Going on will more than anything else, Richard entertained in a manner that has been ingrained into his soul by more than half a century of experience. It’s likely something he can do without giving it too much thought. There was probably a way to write a more meanspirited account of the show but other than living up to the stereotype of bitter, harsh Internet journalism, what would that really serve? When I’m nearing 80, I hope to be able to bask in as much love from strangers as Little Richard did on Sunday night. Given the line full of people who wanted to meet him, shake his hand and get an autograph that snaked around the perimeter of the cabaret at the end of the show, it seems many are willing to remember him the way that he was: one of the greatest of all time.

Labels: Little Richard