A hybrid of pop sensibility and down-home blues feeling, those recordings established him as a soul singer whose roots might have been in the south (he was born in Eberton, Georgia, near Macon) but whose affinities were with the urbanized northeast (he moved to Philadelphia as a very young child, and today makes his home in nearby Southampton, New Jersey). Yet Tate regards himself as a southern soul singer.
“I have lived in the Philadelphia area, sure, during my life, but my musical inspiration all comes from the south,” he explains. “I grew up listening to blues and gospel, and liked the Dixie Hummingbirds, groups like that.”
Given his role models, he’s sanguine about his early career expectations. “I was ignorant back then,” he says. “I probably thought the size of the blues and soul field was greater than it really was. I should’ve known better, because records had to cross over to become monumental hits. And today, it’s not a large market, that’s for sure.”
From 1966 to 1968, Tate had four charting singles. “Ain’t Nobody Home” broke in ’66, and “Stop” ended his run in ’68. When “Ain’t Nobody Home” began climbing to #12 R&B (#63 pop), Tate was working construction. “I think my career was very exciting, going from mortar mixer to having a hit record overnight,” he says. “When it happens so quick, you’re forced to learn. You can’t stop a hit record. Back then, Joe Tex helped me out a lot — I was green as a cucumber, and Joe told me how to have suits made, that sort of thing.”
Tate’s Verve sessions produced a few hits. A wide variety of artists covered Ragovoy’s songs, although one could argue that Tate’s interpretations have remained definitive. Most famously, Janis Joplin cut “Get It While You Can”, Ry Cooder covered “Look At Granny Run Run”, and B.B. King attempted “Ain’t Nobody Home”. Still, Tate’s reputation remained high, mostly among the soul cognoscenti.
He made a fine, self-titled record for Atlantic in 1972, again produced by Ragovoy, that featured first-rate originals such as “8 Days On The Road” along with an inspired cover of Bob Dylan’s “Girl From The North Country”. (Reaction, made for Lloyd Price’s Turntable label in 1969, was less satisfying, though Tate was in good voice throughout.) Tate did a few sessions, under Ragovoy’s direction, for Epic in 1975, then left the music business almost entirely.
The next 25 years were challenging for Tate. He lost his oldest daughter to a house fire in the late ’70s, went through a divorce a few years later, and spent time, as he puts it, “hanging around with the wrong crowd.”
Music was on a distant back-burner. “I did try something in ’82, which never came to fruition,” Tate says. “But my life back then was darker than I would have liked it, until I found the Lord. I had a religious background, but it wasn’t prominent in my life then. I was young and probably wild.”
After his religious awakening in 1994, he began working with the homeless, the mentally ill and the drug-addicted. Phil Casden, a New Jersey disc jockey, had been searching for Tate, and when Tate found out about it, he gave Casden his phone number. The phone started to ring, and Tate began working again with Ragovoy again.
The resulting record, Rediscovered, was a partial return to form that was slightly hobbled by Ragovoy’s production, which included using a keyboard bass on most songs.
“I don’t think the material was strong enough,” Tate says now. He has a point: The performances are good, with Tate’s voice virtually intact, but the Ragovoy material seemed a bit mannered, and Tate was probably better off not doing a version of Prince’s “Kiss”.
Rediscovered didn’t do much business. Tate was dropped by BMG (which had released the disc) and was once again without a record deal, even as his live performances garnered rave reviews.
Although Howard Tate Live superbly captures Tate’s stage show, A Portrait Of Howard takes chances that few contemporary soul recordings would. Along with the Newman songs, Tate does a surprisingly moving version of Burt Bacharach & Hal David’s “Close To You”, which Weisberg reharmonized.
“I always wanted to do ‘My Way’, songs that I could do, put my spin on, see how they come out,” Tate says. Weisberg adds, “I wanted him to do ‘Close To You’ because I thought it could be interesting….I wanted to re-approach the song. The chord changes are totally different from the original, jazzier.”
Lou Reed’s “How Do You Think It Feels” is the record’s high point. An intentionally meandering string arrangement gives the impression of a disorganized mind. And when Tate sings, “How do you think it feels/To always make love by proxy,” the audacity of the conception, and Tate’s marvelous voice, combine with Reed’s queasy electric guitar for a heroic moment of conflicted spirituality.
With its sophistication, and its embrace of what soul purists might call artificiality, Portrait works outside the idiom to create its own. (What other “soul” record features Reed, Thomas, jazz bassist Steve Swallow and composer Carla Bley?) It reveals Howard Tate as he’s always wanted to be heard: as a song stylist — a musician, if you will.
“We worked hard on these songs,” he says. “They felt a little strange because it was a new area I was venturing into. But knowing where I wanted to go, I knew I would have to try new things. My mind was open.”
Edd Hurt has long been seeking the elusive ultimate soul experience; he hasn’t found it yet, but he strives every day. His searches have taken him to points south and to way stations in the cold northeast. Howard Tate’s recordings come as close any he’s found. And indeed, the lesson of soul music is that the pleasure is inseparable from the striving.
