The Matre d at the Ivy in Beverly Hills has seen it all, but when I told him I was waiting for Solomon Burke, he stopped in the midst of his frantic schedule to inquire, “the Solomon Burke? When I said, yes, he gave me his card, adding, “If you ever need a table here, just call me.” Even in this star watcher’s paradise, every neck spins as Mr. Burke is wheeled from his limo into the house. He is dressed immaculately, like some grand duke, with a presence that drifts above the crowd in this and every other way. Even if you had never been blown out of your seat by that hurricane on a tin roof voice, you knew that a man among men was with you.
He has been called the king of Rock ‘n’ soul, and he holds court like any great monarch, a compassionate ruler that acknowledges each subject by name, bestowing little bundles of wisdom grace, not unlike the King of all Kings whom this lesser king is now resting in the loving arms of.
Solomon Burke requested that I have the best food and drink the best wine this prestigious house had to hand, even though he had neither. When I offered to pay to the bill, he cupped his ear and said, “I can’t hear you.” Before the king was wheeled back to his waiting car, he turned to me and said, “Next time I’ll barbecue for you at my house.” There was no next time. The one and only Solomon Burke, born above a church, rocking his crib to that Philly choir in 1940, took the next big step in an endless journey on October 10th of this year. He was a member of the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame, writer of the song made famous by the Rolling Stones, Everybody Needs Someone to Love, considered by many, including Jerry Wexler, who signed both Ray Charles and Solomon Burke in 1960, the greatest soul singer of all time. The man/king is survived by 21 children and 90 grandchildren. Long live the King. There will never be another.
~Lucas Parable - Notes From A Cultural Wasteland
