The Genius of Jeff Healey

This article is from the archive of The New York Sun before the launch of its new website in 2022. The Sun has neither altered nor updated such articles but will seek to correct any errors, mis-categorizations or other problems introduced during transfer.

The New York Sun

Any discussion of blind idols in the movies would probably start with the comic book hero “Daredevil,” move to the fictional Frank Slade (portrayed to Oscar-winning effect by Al Pacino) in “Scent of a Woman,” and arrive at the very real Ray Charles (Jamie Foxx, also an Oscar winner for the role) in “Ray.” But to me, the greatest of them all was the real-life guitarist and trumpeter Jeff Healey in 1989’s “Road House,” because his was the only such character played by an actual sightless superman.

Healey, who died of cancer in March at 41, was an incredible, larger-than-life personality. Beginning with his 1988 debut album, “See the Light,” and the success of “Road House” a year later, he was Canada’s mainstream superstar of the blues, as well as the contemporary successor to such iconic masters as Blind Willie McTell and Blind Lemon Jefferson. That aspect of his artistry is represented on the recently released “Mess of Blues” (Ruf Records), Healey’s final studio album.

But there was another side to his music. Much as he loved the blues, Healey was obsessed with early jazz, playing it forcefully on trumpet and collecting hoards of original records. Despite his untimely death, he was well on his way to filling his house in Toronto with virtually every jazz and dance band record ever made before World War II. In the world of 78 rpm phonograph buffs, Healey was as legendary for his knowledge of the music as he was for his virtuoso musicianship; it went way beyond encyclopedic — the encyclopedia that knows as much as he did has yet to be published. He could identify any record, even tell you what take it was, just by hearing the first few notes. In fact, all he needed to do was feel the grooves to tell you exactly when the disc was pressed and what label had manufactured it. I saw him do it — honest!

But back to the blues. “Mess of Blues” is the last project Healey worked on, but with any luck it will not be the last of his records to be released commercially. Although he is generally categorized as a “blues-rocker,” the album, recorded both live and in studios in Toronto and London, draws on an agreeably eclectic mix of sources, from “How Blue Can You Get?” (associated with both Louis Jordan and B.B. King) to Robbie Robertson’s folkish “The Weight,” Elvis Presley’s 1960 hit “A Mess of Blues,” and a fast-shuffle treatment of Hank Williams’s “Jambalaya” that’s more rockabilly than country or Cajun.

The album’s penultimate track, “Sittin’ on Top of the World,” is an ancient blues that appears in many forms; Healey doubtless owned the original 1930 Okeh Records side by the Mississippi Sheiks, though on “Mess of Blues,” he and his band follow the rough outline laid down by Bob Dylan and Ray Charles. He closes up with another R&B classic, Big Joe Turner’s “Shake, Rattle and Roll,” on which, like most of the tracks here, he plays a blisteringly intense guitar solo. Healey, whose sight was taken by retinoblastoma, a rare cancer of the eyes, when he was 8 months old, played his guitar much like a piano player tickles the keys. He’d lay his signature Fender Stratocaster across his lap and play its neck by tapping down with his left hand rather than clutching it and playing with the insides of his fingertips.

Healey also possessed a “super” sense of humor: His final performance in New York, in September 2006, was at a benefit concert for the trumpeter and author Richard Sudhalter. He was about to go on when he was informed that one member of his band was absent. Without missing a beat, Healey offered, “You want me to go look for him?” That dry sense of humor comes through strongest in the fast “Shake, Rattle and Roll” and the slow “How Blue Can You Get?” in which he delivers Leonard Feather’s stop-time lyrics with wry wit and perfect comedic timing: “I let you live way up in my penthouse, which you claimed was just a shack / I gave you seven children, and now you want to give them back.”

For those seeking a genuine, live Jeff Healey experience, the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation has just a released a remarkable concert on its Web site (www.cbc.ca/radio2/cod/concerts/20080303heale). The performance, recorded last June at the Palais Royale in South Bend, Ind., is a striking document of Jeff Healey’s Jazz Wizards, the band that also played every Saturday afternoon at the club that bore his name in downtown Toronto. The sound quality isn’t great — somehow the acoustics added so much vibrato to Dan Levinson’s clarinet that you could mistake him for George Lewis — but I still hope someone will release the show commercially in true CD quality.

For this special performance, three traditional jazz stars — Mr. Levinson, the bass and tuba titan Vince Giordano, and the guitarist Marty Grosz — flew up from New York to join Healey. For the last 60 years, Mr. Grosz has kept Fats Waller’s exuberantly jokey style of singing alive, as he shows on “I’m Building Up to an Awful Let Down.” As a singer of standards, Healey learned a lot from Waller and Mr. Grosz. When they sing, the asides are just as important as the original lyrics. This is notable on Waller’s “I’m Crazy ‘Bout My Baby,” which features a wild scat exchange between Healey and Mr. Grosz. Although Mr. Giordano takes the spotlight on “My Bluebirds Are Blackbirds Now,” Healey’s exuberant, forceful trumpet solos are the chief attraction on every number.

Singing the blues was a logical outlet for a man who lost his eyesight to cancer before his first birthday and would lose his life to the disease 40 years later. But he reached the same depths of expression in his vocals on pop song, too. “Sing You Sinners” was Hollywood and Tin Pan Alley’s idea of a spiritual in 1930, yet Healey sings it like it was the real thing. If anyone could convince us that music and singing could really save our collective souls, it was he, a man who repeatedly did the impossible. He could even make being a nerdy record collector seem somehow hip and cool. The Palais Royale concert is saturated with his indomitable spirit and the remarkable energy that was Jeff Healey. In the end, that’s what I’ll miss most about him.

wfriedwald@nysun.com


The New York Sun

© 2024 The New York Sun Company, LLC. All rights reserved.

Use of this site constitutes acceptance of our Terms of Use and Privacy Policy. The material on this site is protected by copyright law and may not be reproduced, distributed, transmitted, cached or otherwise used.

The New York Sun

Sign in or  Create a free account

By continuing you agree to our Privacy Policy and Terms of Use