Reflections on ... Little Richard: I am Everything (2023)

 

I finally watched the 2023 documentary Little Richard: I Am Everything. (It's streaming on Amazon Prime). Director Lisa Cortés succeeds in making it feel cinematic, and the archival performance footage of Richard in his prime alone is worthwhile. The best “talking head” contributors are Richard’s late exotic dancer girlfriend Lee Angel and pioneering transgender nightclub entertainer Sir Lady Java - and John Waters, of course! (Waters recalls he used to shoplift Richard’s records as a kid, and that his signature pencil-line mustache is a direct “twisted tribute”). By comparison, big name guests like Mick Jagger and Tom Jones mostly offer show biz platitudes (and Billy Porter is self-aggrandizing). 

One thing it accomplishes nicely: so often hidebound rock critics and filmmakers get hung up on "who influenced who" which descends into "who ripped off who" as if it’s always a negative thing. It's common knowledge that when “the Georgia Peach” was just starting out as a performer without his persona cemented, two flaming queer Black male rhythm and blues musicians - Billy Wright and Esquerita - inspired his musical approach and appearance (the towering, processed conk, thick make-up and mustache). As one of the talking heads savvily argues, Richard didn’t “steal” from them: rather, they provided a mirror for Richard to see his true self. 

Similarly, Cortés gives Ike Turner his due. A musical expert notes that Richard's piano playing was beholden to Turner’s, something Richard admitted (he raved about the impact of hearing "Rocket 88", the 1951 Kings of Rhythm track widely considered the first-ever rock'n'roll single). Yes, Ike was a monster to Tina, but his trailblazing musical genius must be acknowledged. 

Also: I am Everything zeroes in on Richard’s commercial eclipse. Various theories are offered: all the acclaim went to Elvis. Richard was simply so black and queer that he threatened the musical establishment. And, of course, he kept jettisoning rock’n’roll to record gospel music instead. But ultimately, as someone clarifies, in the fifties, Richard’s primary audience was teenagers – the ficklest audience of all! By the early sixties, they’d simply moved on to the next big thing. 

The finale where Cortés demonstrates Richard’s effect on modern pop culture with a montage presumably meant to represent his spiritual descendants (Cher! Harry Styles! Lady GaGa! Lizzo!) is misbegotten. Are we meant to think anyone who ever wore sequins owes Little Richard a debt? (At least the inclusion of Lil Nas X - a modern flamboyant Black male performer - is apt). Richard was instilled with a sense of shame and guilt as a child, and throughout his life alternated between extreme hedonism and extreme fundamentalist Christianity. Sadly, as one commentator argues, Richard set a great liberating example for other people but rarely truly enjoyed that liberation himself.

Reflections on ... Little Richard: King and Queen of Rock ’n’ Roll (2023)

Just before the new documentary Little Richard: I Am Everything hit UK cinemas, the BBC swooped in with its own feature length effort, Little Richard: King and Queen of Rock ’n’ Roll by James House. (Apparently many of the same talking heads appear in both. Nile Rodgers reportedly recycles the same anecdotes!). The film is streaming on iPlayer now. I watched it last weekend. My thoughts! 

With hideous inevitability, Keith Richards and Ringo Starr are featured, so we get too much emphasis on how the Beatles and the Stones couldn't have existed without Richard. Then Rodgers recalls how when they recorded the awful Let's Dance album together, David Bowie declared he wanted to “sound like Little Richard looked”. I always cringe when boomer cultural gatekeepers imply a Black artist’s greatest contribution is “inspiring” white musicians. (See also: “Tina Turner taught Mick Jagger how to dance!”). 

More happily, one of the more eloquent and knowledgeable talking heads is New Orleans’ fierce Big Freedia - truly a flamboyant androgynous Black performer in Richard's lineage. Then there’s the regal and fascinating pioneering transgender showgirl / comedian Sir Lady Java, who acknowledges an awkward fact: it’s correct and understandable that Richard is being embraced as a queer icon, but as far as we know the great love of his life was a woman - the spectacular stripper Angel Lee, who resembled an escapee from a Russ Meyer movie!   

Prepare to be enraged that Specialty (Richard’s record label) withheld royalties, and that the ultra-square Pat Boone’s white bread cover versions vastly outsold Richard’s originals. (Boone appears and I don’t know whether to admire his guts or marvel at his lack of self-awareness!). At the 1988 Grammy Awards, while presenting Best Newcomer with Buster Poindexter, Richard went gloriously rogue. “And the winner is … me! The winner is – still me!” Then he accurately points out, “Y’all ain’t never given me no Grammy, and I’ve been singing for years!” He plays it mock aggrieved, and the audience laughs, but behind the scenes, a friend reveals this lack of acclaim caused Richard genuine tears. I will never stop being fascinated by this man. 

Further reading: my reflections on Little Richard's obituaries in 2020.