Soulin' & Sweet-Talkin'

For more than ten years, most U.S. jazz polls have named Frank Sinatra the top male vocalist. Now, for the first time, a rank outsider suddenly shows every sign of deposing the "Chairman of the Board." Lou Rawls is his name, and "soulin' " is his game.

The elusive, bittersweet quality that gives bite to the blues, soulin' is a Rawls specialty. His style is all his own. Drawing from a mixed bag of songs, he improvises effortlessly within a three-octave range, spiraling up to a keening, gospel wail, then swooping down to a gritty, resonant bottom. Betwixt and between, he intersperses rhythmic lick-ety-split soliloquies. He will lead into Streetcorner Hustler's Blues, for example, by telling of a two-timing hippie who pleads with his knife-wielding wife to take his white-on-white Cadillac "butjustdon'tcutmynewsuit'causeljustgotit outofthepawnshopandlgottohavemy-frontsolcankeepmakingmygame." The tumbling litanies lend a lively, mirthful twist to the songs' plaintive themes.

From Chitlins to Champagne. No one is more dazzled by the sudden mass acceptance of the Rawls style than Rawls himself. Only four months ago, he completed what he hopes was his last engagement on the "chitlin circuit"--a string of small Negro nightclubs such as Cleveland's Corner Tavern, San Francisco's Sugar Hill, St. Louis' Riviera. In most of them, the singer perches on a dime-sized platform above the bar and tries to make himself heard above the jingle of the cash register and the jangle of the audience. And it was in just such places that Rawls learned how to grab attention by spitting out rapid-fire monologues about anything that came to mind. Then, when everybody sat up to ask "What did he say?", he would slyly slide into a song.

Now that Rawls is riding the champagne circuit, his audiences are as attentive as seers at a seance. But he still talks, talks, talks. Rewardingly so. In a performance at Carnegie Hall last week, on the first of a series of tours booked into virtually every major U.S. nightclub and concert hall, his blend of spiel and song was an unqualified success.

On the Outskirts. A baby-faced bantamweight of 31, Rawls prepped in the choir loft of the Greater Mount Olive Baptist Church on Chicago's South Side. In 1959, he began scuffling around the chitlin circuit, patrolling the outskirts of success with a series of recordings that at various times labeled him as a jazz, pop, gospel and even folk singer. Then, early last year, he decided to dish up some good old chitlin-style singing and sweet-talking. He invited a bunch of friends to the recording studio and recorded Lou Rawls LIVE! to their finger-popping, hand-clapping accompaniment. The album took off. In a few short months Rawls was commanding $5,000 for a one-night stand.

Today, sporting a powder-blue tuxedo, monogrammed shirt cuffs, alligator shoes and a diamond ring on his pinkie, Rawls is savoring the sweet life to the utmost. After all, he said last week as he looked back on his grubbing chitlin days, "I paid my dues."

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