Ray Charles – Genius Loves Company

It’s the music-business equivalent of a gold watch: the all-star supersession, heavy on big-name guests. Take a venerable, well-respected act past his commercial prime; pair with a bunch of famous friends and admirers; cross fingers that fans of the latter will flock to hear the combination. A precious few of these projects turn out to be artistically admirable (Los Lobos’ recent The Ride), and fewer still pay off commercially (Santana’s Supernatural). Most yield a mixed bag like Genius Loves Company, a duets album the late great Ray Charles recorded before he died in June.

When it works, Genius Loves Company is so good it’ll make you miss him even more than you did before. Charles and Norah Jones open the proceedings with a first-pitch home run on “Here We Go Again”. Jones proves to be the perfect accompanist, sounding completely comfortable and wise beyond her years in that she knows to respect her elders and keep out of the way. Since Jones is essentially a latter-day Bonnie Raitt, it’s also no surprise that Raitt sounds equally great on “Do I Ever Cross Your Mind?” And jazz diva Diana Krall acquits herself well enough on “You Don’t Know Me”, despite co-producer Phil Ramone’s overblown orchestral arrangement.

On the other hand, long stretches of Genius Loves Company amount to too much company, not enough genius and an overabundance of cheese. Michael McDonald sounds even more labored than usual on “Hey Girl”, and Elton John’s “Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word” was a regrettable choice. “Sorry” was whiny and annoying in its original 1976 incarnation, and is no less so here.

But the final coup de goof is the Frank Sinatra chestnut “It Was A Very Good Year”, with Willie Nelson. It’s a true they-have-GOT-to-be-kidding moment, approaching William Shatner’s 1968 meltdown version on the preposterousness scale. As Ramone’s orchestra surges with all the subtlety of the Hindenburg exploding and Nelson’s earthy warble bears down — “When I was seventeeeeeen…” — all the participants sound like they’re having trouble keeping a straight face. It becomes even stranger when Charles improbably provides a measure of redemption on the haunting final verse: “But now the days grow short/I’m in the autumn of my years…”

Rest in peace, Brother Ray, your work here is done.