Remembering Nat

Today is the 85th anniversary of the birth of a true giant of American music. Nathanial Adams Cole -- better known as Nat "King" Cole -- was born on March 17th, 1919 (though there is some doubt as to the actual year), in Montgomery, Alabama (though he would spend most of his formative years in the Chicago area).

His was a groundbreaking life and career, and for all the acclaim he has received over the years, he is still, in my view, vastly underappreciated. Those pundits, critics, and commentators who would have us believe that there was Sinatra, and then there was everyone else, give short shrift to the great Nat Cole. Perhaps if Cole had lived as long as Sinatra, he would have been given his due.

Cole first made his mark as a jazz pianist, and if he'd never opened his mouth to sing, he still would be considered a giant by those in the know. The Nat "King" Cole Trio was a groundbreaking ensemble, not only because of Nat's innovative piano stylings, but also due to the fact that the trio was made up of piano, guitar, and bass -- no drums (though eventually a bongo player was added). No less an authority than the great Count Basie said of the trio's improvisational interplay, "Those cats used to read each other’s minds—it was unbelievable."

The (probably apocryphal) story goes that he first sang only because a drunken patron of the club in which the trio was booked insisted he do so (and backed up his request with a generous offering in the tip jar). In any case, it is true that, in the early days of the trio, it was Cole's piano playing, not his vocals, that were the trio's main draw.

But as Cole's singing grew richer and more nuanced, his singing was moved to the forefront until finally, in the 1950s, he stopped fronting the trio altogether. His warm, gentle baritone carries an elegance and a generosity that makes the listener feel he's singing just for you, to you, about you.

There really wasn't much Nat Cole couldn't handle, vocally. We remember him best for his tender love ballads, but he could swing it with the best of them, and when he branched out and covered country songs or even dabbled in rock 'n' roll (check out his soulful recording of "Send for Me"), he always acquitted himself with aplomb.

From all accounts, he was as gentle and warm a soul as he was a singer. I once spoke to Debbie Reynolds about Cole, and she recalled him as exceedingly gentle and kind, widely respected as performer and as a man. She said he wasn't bitter after the racial prejudice and rancor he'd encountered over the years. "It'll pass," she quoted him as saying. "The years will go by, and it will all go away." I wish he'd lived to see the day; I hope I will.

Many may not know that Cole was the first African American to host his own network variety show, a 15-minute offering that aired weekly on NBC-TV. In those days, sponsorship was the be-all, end-all of a TV show's success, so, though "The Nat King Cole Show" received excellent ratings, it was cancelled after 64 episodes because no national advertiser was willing to sponsor a black man's show. In the 1940s, Cole had also been the first African-American to have his own radio program.

In the fifties, Cole was enormously popular, selling millions of records around the world. He was, in fact, a much bigger star in the early fifties than Frank Sinatra. When he signed with Capitol Records in the early forties, it was a fledgling label. By the early 1950s, Cole had sold so many millions of records that the iconic Capitol Records building, on Hollywood and Vine, was dubbed "The House that Nat Built."

Like the great Louis Armstrong, he was, in his day, sometimes criticized for his relatively mellow approach to activism on the civil rights front, but from our current vantage point, it's easy to see that those criticisms were unwarrated. He certainly wasn't above the fray; he wasn't allowed to be.

In 1956, Cole was scheduled to play a concert in Birmingham, Alabama. The show was marred by violence, however, when a group of racist anti-segregationists rushed the stage and attempted to kidnap Cole.

Imagine that scene: Cole was quite literally one of the biggest stars in the world at the time, and these hate-mongers were so arrogant, so filled with loathing, as to imagine that they could storm a public stage and carry him off. They were foiled in their attempt, thankfully, but Cole never again set foot in his native state.

On a lighter note is the following tale: In 1949, Cole bought a large, lovely home in the exclusive Hancock Park section of Los Angeles. The area property owners association approached Cole, telling him they didn't want any undesireables in the neighborhood. Cole responded that he certainly shared their concerns, and in the event that he saw anyone undesireable in the area, he'd be the first to let them know."

A brilliant response.

Cole succumbed to lung cancer on February 15, 1965 -- just a few weeks short of his 46th birthday. It's astonishing to think of all he accomplished in so short a time.

I remember well his passing -- or, rather, I remember how saddened my mother was at the news. She was very fond of Cole's work and played him often in our home. I was about seven at the time, so, of course, I didn't understand Cole's role in the world and what he had contributed. But his death made my mom sad, and that's all I needed to know.

If you own no Nat Cole records, it's time you rectified that, but until you do, you can listen to some selections from across his career here.

If you like what you hear and wish to purchase some Nat Cole music for your own collection, I recommend The After Midnight Sessions to you as a good place to start. It's a mid-1950s collection that reunited Nat with his trio. It boasts some swinging numbers and some sweet tunes and makes for a very nice overview of Cole's many talents.

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