Jazz on Film: Bayou Maharajah – The Tragic Genius of James Booker

“There are some instances in his playing that are very unusual and highly complex, but the groove is never sacrificed. Within all the romping and stomping in his music, there were complexities in it that, if one tried to emulate it, what you heard and what excited you on the surface was supported by some extreme technical acrobatics finger-wise that made his music extraordinary as far as I’m concerned. And most of all, it always felt wonderful … He was an extraordinary musician, both soul wise and groove wise … He was just an amazing musician.”              —Allen Toussaint

The film “Bayou Maharajah,” directed by Lily Keber (2013) was a long time in the making and it took a vigorous Kickstarter fund raising effort to finish it, but for fans of James Carroll Booker this is a most welcome addition. Anyone wanting to know who was James Booker was and where he fits in the great lineage of piano players who could have only that most unique of American cities (Jelly Roll Morton, Fats Domino, Professor Longhair, etc.), this is the place to start. Netflix has recently released it as well as Amazon Prime and commercial sales are available. My recommendation is to jump on it.

Matthew, Steve and Carlos discuss “Bayou Maharajah,” clip from film with Hugh Laurie, music

If there is one word that encapsulates New Orleans, it’s gumbo. Not only is it the state dish but as a metaphor it describes the merging of geographies, cultures, tastes, histories, and lifestyles that make up that city. Classically trained, as a child, Booker was a musical genius by all accounts. As a teenager, he turned out regional R&B jukebox hits, and had a national hit “Gonzo” in 1960 that became a favorite of and forever linked to the late writer Hunter S. Thompson. His playing could weave blues, jazz, funk, gospel, classical, Latin and rock and roll often in the same tune. His solo work was where he was the most astounding, turning the piano into a full orchestra and inventing techniques that no one had thought of before or since. Think Ray Charles doing Rachmaninoff doing Errol Garner at a Mexican bar banging out Calypso beats in gospel time. On top of that, his singing was so full of joy and sorrow, laughter and pain, soulful and aching. As a person, he was witty, well-read, funny and kind, but also paranoid, sad, unstable, and drug and alcohol addicted. A glorious wreck of a human being and set of contradictions that led to his way-to-early death but did little to interfere with his musical gifts. Booker was among the rarest of gumbos the town has ever produced.

James Booker only lived to 43 but he left an indelible mark on all those who heard him and who called him friend. His music lives on when you hear Henry Butler, Tom McDermott, and Dr. John. As remarkable as his piano playing was, as the film describes, his life, was equally as outrageous, tragic, and otherworldly. The film recounts his life and his story is told through his music, archival photography, and from those who knew him, each with a more remarkable story than the next about both his playing and his personality. Booker lost his left eye and wore a series of eye patches. We get no less than 12 different versions of how he came to lose it, from simple accidents to its connection to Jackie Kennedy or Ringo Starr. His talents were known early and he toured and performed with a staggering who’s who in the R&B and blues worlds beginning at age 12 or 13. But tragedy was also a formative factor. He was in the third grade he was hit by an ambulance and given morphine; the start of his drug use. He lost both his sister and his mother early in life. Later he was busted for drugs and sentenced to Angola State Penitentiary, easily one of the most brutal of all prisons in the 1970s. Although while there he was part of a great band the Knicknacks that featured saxophonist Charles Neville and drummer James Black, when asked how long he was incarcerated, Booker said, “long enough to feel the iron bars get in my head.” It’s amazing that his music contained so much joy considering the sorrows he experienced in his life. Some documentaries only provide a smattering of music. Not this one. Director Lily Keber unearthed all sorts of rare concert performances, many from Europe, and we are treated to a deep drink of his extraordinary talents interspersed with wonderful footage of old New Orleans.

As great as he was as a musician, he wasn’t equipped or inclined to court fame. The fact was Booker was a weird dude, full of eccentricities. He was unreliable and known to disappear for weeks at a time, probably linked to his addictions. As a performer, he was also so raw that whatever he felt came out. If it antagonized or bored his audience, Booker didn’t care. He played first for himself. As a regular at the Maple Leaf Bar, oftentimes a person had to sit through five to six listless performances before hearing music so powerful and profound that when you heard it all was forgotten and forgiven.

The film captures the love his friends and admirers had for him and their protective nature, even as they also were pushed to the brink by his behaviors. He was a family friend and teacher of a very young Harry Connick Jr. who loved him like a favorite uncle. In one segment, Connick demonstrates the genius of Booker’s playing by showing how he built a layer upon layer of dazzling accents, runs, and unique smears and trills on a song as simple as “Sunny Side of the Street.” In the late 70s, despite great regard and success he had in Europe, upon his return Booker couldn’t get a gig and wound up being an office worker in City Hall. His addictions persisted while his health deteriorated and he died while in the waiting room of the emergency room. But what a comet he was across the musical sky and what a legend he was among a city of great legends. “Bayou Maharajah” is a fitting tribute to the man also called The Piano Prince, the Black Liberace, and the Emperor of the Ivories.

By the way, there are no bad James Booker recordings.

(EDITOR’S NOTE: The name of the New Orleans bar that hosted James Booker was corrected to the Maple Leaf Bar.)