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There is a devil and an angel in every man. In fact, much of modern American music owes its existence to the fevered battle between the angel and devil wrestling in the breast of just one man.
Thomas Andrew Dorsey was born 110 years ago in Villa Rica, Ga. As a child, he was exposed to influences both sacred and profane. Dorsey's father was a bombastic Baptist preacher, and his family spent much time in church or attending revival meetings headlined by the likes of popular baseball player-turned-evangelist Billy Sunday.
But at an early age, Dorsey was also learning about the other side of life inside Atlanta's 81 Theatre, which was owned by a wealthy white entrepreneur but which catered to an almost entirely black audience by booking early blues performers like Bessie Smith and Ma Rainey. As a precocious 10-year-old, Dorsey sold candies and soda to crowds fired up by the salacious hokum and rump-shaking dance onstage and, having learned to play the piano from his music teacher mother, was playing boogie-woogie piano in bordellos as “Barrelhouse Tommy” by the time he was a teenager.
When he was 17, the Dorseys moved to Chicago, and a couple years later, Thomas enrolled in the Chicago School of Composition and Arranging. Upon graduation, he was hired as an arranger by Paramount Records and tasked with finding blues artists to record for the label.
Dorsey was also active as a songwriter during the early 1920s, penning decidely secular songs like “I Want A Daddy To Call My Own” for Monette Moore and “Riverside Blues” for King Oliver. After a successful tour with the raunchy Ma Rainey in 1924-25 (during which time he met his wife, Nettie), Dorsey -- now known professionally as “Georgia Tom” — settled into a successful partnership with bottleneck blues guitarist Tampa Red, writing risque race records like “Tight Like That” and “Somebody's Been Usin' That Thing.”
During this time, Dorsey was deeply torn between his love for the earthy bawdiness of the blues and the celestial aspirations of his religion. For the better part of a decade, Dorsey teetered on a knife's edge between heaven and hell. It took a major tragedy for Dorsey to commit to one side over the other.
In 1932, Dorsey's wife died during childbirth. The newborn son perished later that night as well. At first, Dorsey — who learned of his wife's death while playing the blues for a crowd in St. Louis — railed against God. But after several days of anguish, the exhausted songwriter sat down at his piano and composed a new song called “Take My Hand, Precious Lord.”
“Precious Lord” was a bombshell in the world of spiritual music. Eventually recorded in more than 40 languages, it was the Rev. Martin Luther King's favorite song and was sung at his funeral by gospel great Mahalia Jackson. (Four years after that, Aretha Franklin sang it over Jackson's coffin.)
Dorsey went on to revolutionize church music in other songs like “Peace in the Valley” by transposing syncopated rhythms, African melismata and lamentative themes from the blues into the pews. Without him, there would have been no Elvis Presley and no Sam Cooke. What would our music sound like today without the devil and the angel inside Thomas Dorsey?
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Craven Lovelace produces Notes, a daily cultural history of popular music, for KAFM 88.1 Community Radio, kafmradio.org. You can visit cravenlovelace.com for more of his musings on the world of popular culture.
Notes is supported by the Gay and Lesbian Fund, promoting spiritual and religious expression throughout Colorado.
Thomas Andrew Dorsey was born 110 years ago in Villa Rica, Ga. As a child, he was exposed to influences both sacred and profane. Dorsey's father was a bombastic Baptist preacher, and his family spent much time in church or attending revival meetings headlined by the likes of popular baseball player-turned-evangelist Billy Sunday.
But at an early age, Dorsey was also learning about the other side of life inside Atlanta's 81 Theatre, which was owned by a wealthy white entrepreneur but which catered to an almost entirely black audience by booking early blues performers like Bessie Smith and Ma Rainey. As a precocious 10-year-old, Dorsey sold candies and soda to crowds fired up by the salacious hokum and rump-shaking dance onstage and, having learned to play the piano from his music teacher mother, was playing boogie-woogie piano in bordellos as “Barrelhouse Tommy” by the time he was a teenager.
When he was 17, the Dorseys moved to Chicago, and a couple years later, Thomas enrolled in the Chicago School of Composition and Arranging. Upon graduation, he was hired as an arranger by Paramount Records and tasked with finding blues artists to record for the label.
Dorsey was also active as a songwriter during the early 1920s, penning decidely secular songs like “I Want A Daddy To Call My Own” for Monette Moore and “Riverside Blues” for King Oliver. After a successful tour with the raunchy Ma Rainey in 1924-25 (during which time he met his wife, Nettie), Dorsey -- now known professionally as “Georgia Tom” — settled into a successful partnership with bottleneck blues guitarist Tampa Red, writing risque race records like “Tight Like That” and “Somebody's Been Usin' That Thing.”
During this time, Dorsey was deeply torn between his love for the earthy bawdiness of the blues and the celestial aspirations of his religion. For the better part of a decade, Dorsey teetered on a knife's edge between heaven and hell. It took a major tragedy for Dorsey to commit to one side over the other.
In 1932, Dorsey's wife died during childbirth. The newborn son perished later that night as well. At first, Dorsey — who learned of his wife's death while playing the blues for a crowd in St. Louis — railed against God. But after several days of anguish, the exhausted songwriter sat down at his piano and composed a new song called “Take My Hand, Precious Lord.”
“Precious Lord” was a bombshell in the world of spiritual music. Eventually recorded in more than 40 languages, it was the Rev. Martin Luther King's favorite song and was sung at his funeral by gospel great Mahalia Jackson. (Four years after that, Aretha Franklin sang it over Jackson's coffin.)
Dorsey went on to revolutionize church music in other songs like “Peace in the Valley” by transposing syncopated rhythms, African melismata and lamentative themes from the blues into the pews. Without him, there would have been no Elvis Presley and no Sam Cooke. What would our music sound like today without the devil and the angel inside Thomas Dorsey?
--------------------------------------
Craven Lovelace produces Notes, a daily cultural history of popular music, for KAFM 88.1 Community Radio, kafmradio.org. You can visit cravenlovelace.com for more of his musings on the world of popular culture.
Notes is supported by the Gay and Lesbian Fund, promoting spiritual and religious expression throughout Colorado.
