Items related to Bobby Womack My Story 1944-2014: Midnight Mover

Bobby Womack My Story 1944-2014: Midnight Mover - Softcover

Womack, Bobby

 
9781782199847: Bobby Womack My Story 1944-2014: Midnight Mover

Synopsis

Bobby Womack was born on 4 March 1944, and died on 27 June 2014, aged 70. In a career that spanned two centuries and seven decades, the soul singer, songwriter and guitarist carved a niche for himself that has rarely been equalled, and never surpassed. He is, quite simply, irreplaceable. A phenomenally gifted musician, his incredible talent helped him to escape the ghetto and become a star, with 30 million record sales to his name. Yet behind his beautiful music lay a life scorched by tragedy. Having trod the harsh edge of the music business for decades, he finally told his explosive story in Midnight Mover. From finding success with his family gospel group The Valentinos and being whipped into shape by James Brown and Jimi Hendrix on the chitlin circuit , to recording with Wilson Pickett, Eric Clapton and Elvis Presley, Womack s stellar career wove a colourful path through the history of soul, rock and R&B music. His collaborations with other musicians read like a roll of honour, from Aretha Franklin and Ray Charles to The Rolling Stones and Damon Albarn. Success came at a price, however. Womack lost his friend and mentor Sam Cooke when the soul star was gunned down in a motel. A doomed marriage to Cooke s widow followed, which severely damaged his reputation in the music business. Tragically, he lost two sons, one to suicide, as well as his brother Harry to a brutal murder. His escape was to turn to drugs. Years of riotous abuse took their toll on Womack and those closest to him including Janis Joplin, who spent her last night drinking with the singer. But Womack s talent, searing guitar and soulful voice always survived. Cited as an influence by myriad musicians, even in death he remains the epitome of cool. Honest, insightful and unflinching, this is the authentic voice of the Midnight Mover, a supremely talented legend of music whose every day was lived to the full.

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About the Author

Bobby Womack (1944-2014) and his four brothers had a childhood band which became The Valentinos in the early 1960s, one of the most successful gospel groups of all time. As a solo act Womack went on to sell 30 million records, penned the classics "Midnight Mover" and "Across 110th Street" and worked with such all-time greats as Elvis Presley, James Brown, Jimi Hendrix, Ray Charles, The Rolling Stones, Sam Cooke, and Sly Stone. Robert Ashton is the author of three books, "The First Rock n Roll Bodyguard," "Heroin," and "Waking Up." He has also written for numerous magazines and newspapers including "Elle," the "Independent," the "Guardian," "GQ," and the "Sunday Times.""

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Bobby Womack

My Story 1944–2014

By Bobby Womack, Robert Ashton

John Blake Publishing Ltd

Copyright © 2014 Bobby Womack
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-78219-984-7

Contents

Title Page,
Acknowledgements,
Bobby Womack (1944–2014): Tributes,
Prologue: Jealous Love,
1: The Facts Of Life,
2: A Change Is Gonna Come,
3: California Dreamin',
4: Across 110th Street,
5: All Along The Watchtower,
6: Somebody Special,
7: It's All Over Now,
8: Woman's Gotta Have It,
9: Crying Time,
10: Fly Me To The Moon,
11: More Than I Can Stand,
12: Fire And Rain,
13: There's A Riot Goin' On,
14: Hang On In There,
15: The Poet,
16: Harlem Shuffle,
17: Where Do We Go From Here,
Chronology,
Discography,
Discography 2010–2014,
Plates,
Copyright,


CHAPTER 1

THE FACTS OF LIFE


I was born in a ghetto. This particular ghetto was in Cleveland, Ohio. The neighbourhood was so ghetto that we didn't bother the rats and they didn't bother us. They walked past and hollered, 'How you doin', man?'

Everybody had to survive. You could hear babies crying all the damn time and I was constantly scalping myself trying to scratch out those damn flies.

My mom and pop had come up from the south. My mother, Naomi Reed, was from Bluefield, West Virginia. My old man came from Charleston. His name was Friendly. My father had seven brothers and eight sisters. On my mother's side there were eight brothers and seven sisters. It was a big family.

My father and his brothers all sang, called themselves the Womack Brothers. It was real gospel stuff. He and his brothers would go to the little church and meet up with my mom and her sisters down there. Well, you know, someone has got to fall in love with all those pretty girls around.

Friendly quit school early, in fact all his brothers did, and around 12 or 13 they all went to work down the coalmines. But they kept up the singing and pretty soon him and Mom were courting. They got married when my mom turned 13 and he was 19.

My father predicted that he would have five sons and they were going to sing and he was going to call them the Womack Brothers, just like the group he had with his brothers. And you know? He was right. Every year my mom had a baby boy until she got to five and she used to cry, 'You can have a girl now.' But it didn't happen.

The first son they had they called Friendly Junior. We called him Jim because that was how Junior sounded when you said it fast: Junior, Jun, Jim. His other nickname was Stony Brooks. Curtis came second. His nickname was The Colonel. I was the third brother. Robert Dwayne they called me, Bobby for short. I came along on 4 March 1944. Star sign: Pisces. My folks had moved up to Cleveland by then – the house in Charleston had burned down – and my old man got himself a job in a steel mill.

I was the sickly one in the family. My mother said I was real weak and every couple of months I came close to checking out. They'd say, 'He's going out.' But I hung on. They called me Nobinee on account of the fact I had a knobbly lump on the back of my head.

After me there was Harry, who was called Goat, though to this day I don't know why. Then Cecil, or Cornflakes, as we called him because his skin peeled right off his hands and to us that looked just like cereal.

The house stood on 63rd and Central, right in the heart of the city's ghetto. It was a pokey one-bedroom shack, a small bathroom about the size of a closet and a living room a couple o

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