If you’ve ever exchanged emails with me- something I neither encourage nor discourage as of this writing- you are at least somewhat aware of my affinity for the late, great Lou Rawls. And while I won’t get as specific as to actually tell you my exact email address for fear of consequences that could destroy us both, I can tell you that way back in the nineties, when a young Dave Hill, eager to experience the wild frontier of the Internet courtesy of one of those free AOL discs that seemed to show up in the mail at least every fourteen minutes or so, I chose a Lou Rawls-inspired AOL screen name out a combination of admiration for the legendary singer, songwriter, and actor and a fundamental lack of understanding of exactly what email was and how referencing Lou Rawls in my email address just might lead to people asking me about him pretty much every day for the rest of my life, especially after I switched from AOL to another email service but kept the rest of the email address the same anyway even though that would have been the perfect opportunity to get a fresh, non-Lou Rawls-based start in life, at least in terms of electronic correspondence anyway.

I realize it might sound like I’m complaining, but I’m not. Quite the opposite, in fact. You see, I love Lou Rawls and, as such, also like talking about Lou Rawls. A lot. In fact, I’ll keep doing it now.

If you grew up in the seventies or eighties, which I did even though my soft, soft skin tells another story entirely, it was damn near impossible not to experience the magic of Lou Rawls on a near daily basis whether you were trying to or not. Songs of his like “You’ll Never Find Another Love Like Mine,” with its seductive piano line that echoed the vocal melody over and over again so as to transport even a small child (me in this case) to a place of soul music ecstasy or “Lady Love,” which made even a small child (Yes, I am talking about me again) want to hit the dance floor covered from head-to-toe in velvet while twirling effortlessly through a cloud of Hai Karate and secondhand smoke, were seemingly on every station on the radio dial. Likewise, you couldn’t turn on the television without Lou waltzing across the screen at some point or another, maybe as a guest on “Hollywood Squares,” as a spokesman for Budweiser, or even on the western drama “Big Valley,” a show that seemed to be on a rerun loop for at the least the first ten years of my life and still haunts my dreams today. And, of course, the Lou Rawls Parade of Stars Telethon, which raised over $250 million for the United Negro College Fund by the time of his death fifteen years ago, was destination viewing for any and all connoisseurs of quality showbiz entertainment.

But despite everything I’ve just told you, what caught my attention the most about Lou Rawls was, of course, that voice of his- that cool baritone that made you sit up, pay attention, and order a bourbon neat even if- and not to drag the small child who by now we all know is me into this yet again- you were just six years-old and sitting at the kitchen table in front of a bowl of soggy Frosted Flakes at the time and your mother might take such a request as equal parts concerning and just plain weird. When Lou sang it was like he was sitting right next to you and it didn’t matter if the club was closing because he knew the manager. And while, sure, things between Lou and the waitress maybe ended a bit messy a little while back, she just couldn’t stay mad at him. And yes, I realize we’ve somehow moved from my childhood kitchen to some strange nightclub of the mind all within the matter a couple sentences, but I ask that you just stick with me on this.

With over four decades-worth of music to choose from, I won’t tell you where to start when it comes to Lou other than to say my personal favorite song of his is “Groovy People,” an anthem for all of humanity if there ever was one and also the song I will use as my at bat music should I ever break out of the minors. I also recommend “A Natural Man.” And “Dead End Street.” And 100 others. And while I’m at it, I should probably also back up to “Groovy People” for a moment and apologize to all those people at some bar in Buffalo called the House of Quinn, where my friends and I must have played “Groovy People” fifty times in a row one night back in the nineties because it’s just that great. Also, I’m not really apologizing and I’d do it again without even thinking about it. Try me.

I suppose I’d be remiss at this point not to mention that, yes, Lou Rawls also played a character in season one of the hit TV series Baywatch Nights, a nightclub owner to be exact, which yes, I recognize is a slight twist from the fantasy nightclub scenario I needlessly dragged Lou into just two paragraphs ago. Anyway, it goes without saying that, Lou or not, Baywatch Nights was flawed. After all, how in the hell is David Hasselhoff, after a full day of keeping everyone safe at the beach, supposed to muster the energy for a full night of detective work? It’s just not plausible. Still, the fact the Lou Rawls was a part of things somehow gave the show some much-needed class, just like everything else he touched.

I probably don’t need to tell you what happened to my inbox when Lou Rawls passed away on January 6 of 2006. I’m still not done replying to everybody. And if, by chance, you are one of the roughly 7000 people who dropped me a line that day and I have yet to respond, may I suggest putting “Groovy People” on repeat until I get back to you.

[Editor’s note: We would also suggest his much sampled take on Blood, Sweat & Tears “You’ve Made Me So Very Happy.”}

Lou Rawls photo by MiliHell, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

Dave Hill is a comedian and musician who plays in the bands Valley Lodge, Painted Doll, and Witch Taint. He is the author of three books - Tasteful Nudes, Dave Hill Doesn't Live Here Anymore, and Parking the Moose. And his new comedy album The Pride of Cleveland is out now on 800 Pound Gorilla Records. Get it here.

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