Tag: writing

Some day, our luck at the Osher Institute Of Lifelong Learning at the University of Richmond is going to run out.

We’ll submit a proposal, a topic for teaching a class, and we’ll be rejected.

And that will be ok, as it will be part of life’s learning curve for two rapidly aging geezers.

But so far, we’ve been lucky. We just completed our ninth collaborative class.

The we is my lifelong friend, Joe Vanderford, and me.

We grew up in Burlington, North Carolina.

Our original bonding came from church, church softball teams, and in our teenage years—a love for music.

On some Sunday mornings, we’d sneak out of the balcony of the sanctuary at Davis Street United Methodist Church and go to Central News. Central News sold magazines and newspapers. We’d be searching for the latest issue of Rolling Stone, Crawdaddy, or Creem. These periodicals covered rock and roll in America.

If we knew, a favorite artist had released a new album, we’d drive down North Carolina Highway 54 to Chapel Hill. In Chapel Hill, we had two stops, the Record and Tape Center or the Record Bar. In either of those record shops, we’d find the new album we were looking to purchase.

But that love of reading about music and listening to music never left us. It is still part of our lives. Thankfully for Joe and me, our wives support our annual collaboration for developing a class.

I don’t remember the precise moment when we decided to develop our ninth class on Leon Russell, but I can tell you this—neither Joe nor I will ever, ever forget our class on Mr. Russell.

When we started working on this class, Joe and I knew the basic information about Mr. Russell. However, we had no idea, I mean no idea how wide, long, and deep his career spanned in American music.

His career was like staring forever into the the Grand Canyon. No matter where you look into the vastness of the Canyon, Leon’s career could fill it. Not only fill it, but the colors, tones, shades, shapes, and moods of his music could match those found in the Canyon too.

It seems almost inconceivable that a kid from Lawton, Oklahoma would have such an impact as a band leader, session musician, arranger, producer, multi-instrumentalist, songwriter, singer, and performer, but he did.

His family called him Russell. His mother noted that young Russell was slow to speak, but according to family stories, his first words were, “What’s the matter, little birdie, you cry?”

By the age of four, Russell had started playing piano by ear. His mother recognizing the potential talent connected him with the best piano teacher in the area.

A birth injury impacted his left hand, but Russell figured out how to compensate with his piano playing.

Later in life, he described his piano playing: “My chops have always been sort of weak, because the right side of my body was paralyzed a little bit. I have damaged nerve endings on the right side, so my piano style comes from designing stuff I can play with my right hand.” (Bill Janovitz page 7)

In our prep for a class, we have two essentials—a worthwhile book about the artist and a documentary that captures the artist at work.

For this class, we had an unbelievable book, Leon Russell The Master of Space and Time’s Journey Through Rock and Roll History. This book written by Bill Janovitz is as good as any book I’ve ever read about a musician. In a Herculean effort, Mr. Janovitz captures all of Mr. Russell’s life.

To showcase Leon at work, we had three documentaries to consider—Mad Dogs and Englishmen, The Concert For Bangla Desh, and an obscure film made in 1970s A Poem Is A Naked Person.

We opted for Mad Dogs and Englishmen.

Our two part class on April 13 and 14, 2026 opened with a late Monday afternoon screening of Mad Dogs and Englishmen.

On Tuesday, we put our hearts and souls into covering as much of the essentials of Mr. Russell’s work as we could. From his early bands in Tulsa, Oklahoma, the road to Los Angeles, session work, arranging and production work for a who’s who’s list of artist, the quiet development of his own songwriting skills, how Mad Dogs and Englishmen came together, his first solo album, and how he in a short period of time became a top concert draw.

To tell this story we used recordings, assorted videos of performances, and a wide range of interviews with other artists and Mr. Russell to capture a sampling of his work and the admiration that other musicians had for him.

Leon’s sound and piano style were unique. Plus, he didn’t limit himself to rock and roll. His recording and live performances reflect an ability to play any style of music.

And despite all of his talent and success, his lows were at times as devastating as a tornado ravaging across Oklahoma. Some substance abuse, struggles with his personal health, multiple marriages, unwise investments, and poor management choices severely countered his triumphs.

Those troublesome decisions forced him to tour out of necessity for much of his later life.

In 2010, his friend, Elton John, a long time admirer of Mr. Russell’s piano playing reconnected with him. The result was a collaborative album, The Union, and a tour to support the album.

During the 2011 induction of Mr. Russell into the Rock and Roll Hall Of Fame, he spoke these heartfelt words about Elton’s rescue: “About a year ago, Elton found me in a ditch at the side of the highway of life and took me up to the high stages with big audiences, and treated me like a king.”

That resurgence was good for Leon and Elton.

One of the best things about the Osher program is that they survey the students who attended both sessions of our class.

Joe and I learn from that feedback.

This year, our documentary choice was criticized.

Before the screening, Joe always writes an introduction about the film for the students. Joe’s instincts as a writer are to provide a broad brush stroke of opinions related to the film. This included referencing the negative review from the Washington Post critic, Tom Zito.

Mr. Zito said:
“Forget the film and try the record,” explaining, “What emerges from all this is roughly two hours of footage that looks terrible on the screen and sounds almost as bad. The film is projected in an annoying square format, except for the moments when the screen area is broken up into some poorly coordinated split-screen effects. The camerawork is often sloppy … the whole thing winds up looking and sounding like a cheap, imitation (indoor) ‘Woodstock.’”

Much of the feedback we received about the film from our students agreed with Mr. Zito’s assessment.

For the presentation that Joe and I wove together about Mr. Russell, the students were kinder. They offered good suggestions for how we could have shortened the videos we used as a way for including more content about Mr. Russell.

I’m not sure why, but for some reason, in working on this project, I was drawn to the first stanza of the Beatles’ song “Come Together”:

“Here come old flat-top, he come grooving up slowly.
He got ju-ju eyeball, he one holy roller. He got hair down to his knee, got to be a joker, he just do what he please.”

Here comes Leon Russell off of the Oklahoma “flat-top”, a slow moving, groovy musician. Whose eyes according to the women in his life could see right through them. His church music upbringing made him in some respects a “holy roller.” By 1970 his hair was heading toward his knees, a quiet joker who had just been biding his time to do what he pleased with his first solo album.

Mr. Russell’s first solo album confirmed what fellow musicians, including arrangers and producers knew about him—he was exceptionally gifted.

Perhaps, the opening song from the album “A Song For You” supports this testimony from his peers. “A Song For You” has been recorded by 200 artists.

My teaching pal, Joe, who knows much more about the intricacies and structure of music than I do believes this album is an underrated piece of Americana. A recording that should always be recognized as a classic piece of our musical heritage.

I agree.

I have no idea if we will come up with a proposal for a class in the Spring of 2027.

Leon’s life and his body of work pushed us to our limits.

But, I don’t think either of us would trade anything for how we wove the class together. Joe was at his best in developing the flow of the script.

On November 13, 2016, we lost Leon Russell. He died in his sleep.

Two memorial services were held—one in Mt. Juliet, Tennessee where he resided, and the other in Tulsa, Oklahoma where his career in music was launched.

At those memorial services, I wonder if anyone thought of those early words from young Claude Russell Bridges—“What’s the matter, little birdie, you cry?”

Clearly at both services, there were lots of “little birdies” from performers to speakers, and the audience who were in tears.

One of those speakers, Steve Ripley, fought through his tears to share this text from Leon: “The reason for connection is food, music, friendship, and tape machines. The strong stuff is just the facts of life and death; you either laugh or cry.”

I’m thankful for the friendship and connection that music has given to Joe and me. With every class we have laughed and cried.

And Joe and I are deeply thankful to the Osher members, and the Osher staff—Peggy, Nell, Romney, and Amy. Without them, there is no Osher program, and no class from us.

For days after the class, songs that we had featured from Gary Lewis and the Playboys, Delaney and Bonnie, Joe Cocker, and Bob Dylan rolled through my old brain. Mr. Russell’s unmistakable touch as a session musician, arranger, and producer were on those songs.

During his life and even today, Mr. Russell’s gift of music touched lots of “little birdies.” I for one am thankful that he shared this gift with us.