Charley Pride, Country Music’s First Black Superstar, Dies at 86

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Charley Pride, Country Music’s First Black Superstar, Dies at 86


Charley Pride, Country Music’s First Black Superstar, Dies at 86
He began his career amid the racial unrest of the 1960s and cemented his place in the country pantheon with hits like “Kiss an Angel Good Mornin’.”


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Charley Pride performing in Nashville in 2018. In the 20 years after his breakout hit, “Just Between You and Me,” in 1967, 51 more of Mr. Pride’s records reached the country Top 10.Credit...Laura Roberts/Invision, via Associated Press
By Bill Friskics-Warren

  • Published Dec. 12, 2020Updated Dec. 14, 2020
Charley Pride, the son of a Mississippi sharecropper who went on to become the first Black superstar in country music, died on Saturday in hospice care in Dallas. He was 86.

His publicist Jeremy Westby said the cause was complications of Covid-19.

A bridge-builder who broke into country music amid the racial unrest of the 1960s, Mr. Pride was one of the most successful singers ever to work in that largely white genre, placing 52 records in the country Top 10 from 1966 to 1987.

Singles like “Kiss an Angel Good Mornin’” and “Is Anybody Goin’ to San Antone” — among his 29 recordings to reach No. 1 on the country chart — featuried a countrypolitan mix of traditional instrumentation and more uptown arrangements.

At RCA, the label for which he recorded for three decades, Mr. Pride was second only to Elvis Presley in record sales. In the process he emerged as an inspiration to generations of performers, from the Black country hitmaker Darius Rucker, formerly of the rock band Hootie and the Blowfish, to white inheritors like Alan Jackson, who included a version of “Kiss an Angel” on his 1999 album, “Under the Influence.”

The reasons for Mr. Pride’s appeal were undeniable: a resonant baritone voice, an innate ear for melody, an affable demeanor and camera-friendly good looks.

In interviews, however, he sometimes played down the role that his Blackness played in his career, especially when confronted with racial prejudice.

“People thought it was going to be hard, but it wasn’t,” Mr. Pride said, talking about what it was like as a Black man to gain a foothold in country music in the ’60s, in a 1997 interview with Nashville Scene. “I never got any flak or anything. And that’s what’s been astonishing to most reporters, especially since I came along at the height of the sit-ins and bus boycotts.”

Mr. Pride’s 1994 autobiography paints a more fraught picture of his early years in the music business. “The racial element was always there,” he wrote (with Jim Henderson) in “Pride: The Charley Pride Story.”

RCA Records, for example, once mailed promotional copies of his earliest recordings to journalists and disc jockeys across the country without including the standard publicity photos, thus concealing his race, whether intentionally or not. The label credited those first singles to “Country” Charley Pride, as if to underscore his affinity with rural white culture.

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Mr. Pride performing in New York in 1975.Credit...Bettmann Archive, via Getty Images
Once his racial identity became evident, Mr. Pride wrote, he often had trouble securing bookings and sometimes endured the indignity of having Southern disc jockeys refer to him on the air as that “good nigra.” To ease tensions during his early concerts he made lighthearted references to his “permanent tan.”

Despite his efforts to accommodate his white audiences, Mr. Pride was not country music’s answer to Jackie Robinson, as some have observed. His generosity of spirit notwithstanding, his individual success never opened doors for Black performers in country music the way Robinson’s did for other Black players in Major League Baseball.

It was more than four decades, in fact, after Mr. Pride made his debut in country music that Mr. Rucker became the second African-American to have a No. 1 country hit, with the single “Don’t Think I Don’t Think About It.”

Nevertheless, the dignity and grace with which Mr. Pride and his wife of 63 years, Rozene Pride, navigated their way through the white world of country music became a beacon to his fans and fellow performers.

“No person of color had ever done what he has done,” Mr. Rucker said in “Charley Pride: I’m Just Me,” a 2019 “American Masters” documentary on PBS.

Mr. Pride himself was more self-effacing in assessing his impact but nevertheless expressed some satisfaction in having a role in furthering integration. “We’re not colorblind yet,” he wrote in his autobiography, “but we’ve advanced a few paces along the path, and I like to think I’ve contributed something to that process.”

Charley Frank Pride was born on March 18, 1934, on a 40-acre sharecropping farm in Sledge, Miss., the fourth of 11 children of Tessie (Stewart) Pride and Mack Pride Sr. His father had meant to name him Charl, but a clerical error on his birth certificate officially left him with the first name Charley.

Using his earnings from picking cotton, Charley bought his first guitar, a $10 Sears, Roebuck model, when he was 14. His father, a strict man, frowned on what he believed to be the unsavoriness of the blues then prevalent in Mississippi, preferring instead the music of the Grand Ole Opry and thus contributing to his son’s early devotion to Hank Williams and Roy Acuff.

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Mr. Pride and Johnny Cash on the “The Johnny Cash Show” in 1970.Credit...Walt Disney Television, via Getty Images
Rather than choosing to become a singer, however, Mr. Pride initially decided to pursue a career in baseball in the Negro American League, leaving home at 16 to pitch for the Memphis Red Sox, among other organizations, and the Boise Yankees, an Idaho affiliate of the New York Yankees.

He married Ebby Rozene Cohran in 1956 and was drafted into the Army, interrupting his baseball career, which had already suffered a setback when he was injured while pitching for Boise.

After his discharge from the service two years later, Mr. Pride returned to baseball in the early ’60s, accepting invitations to try out with the California Angels and the New York Mets but was ultimately not offered a contract by either franchise.

The Prides by this time had relocated to Helena, Mont., where Mr. Pride played both semipro baseball and music at social events for the local smelting plant where he worked.

He and his wife started a family in Helena, where Mr. Pride came to the attention of the country singers Red Sovine and Red Foley. They eventually persuaded him to make a go of it in country music.

The demo recordings Mr. Pride made on arriving in Nashville in the early ’60s initially failed to attract interest. It was not until the producer Jack “Cowboy” Clement supervised a session of his in the summer of 1965 that Chet Atkins finally took notice and offered Mr. Pride a record deal.

“Just Between You and Me,” the third single from Mr. Pride’s sessions with Mr. Clement, reached the country Top 10 in 1967, inaugurating a string of hits that extended into the late 1980s.

In 1971, the year that saw the release of “Kiss an Angel Good Mornin’” — his eighth No. 1 country single and sole Top 40 pop hit — Mr. Pride was named both male vocalist of the year and entertainer of the year by the County Music Association. He also won two Grammy Awards that year, in the sacred and gospel performance categories, for a single with “Let Me Live” on one side and “Did You Think to Pray” on the other.

In 1972, Mr. Pride was again named male vocalist of the year by the Country Music Association and won another Grammy, for best male country vocal performance, for the album “Charley Pride Sings Heart Songs.”

He became a member of the Grand Ole Opry in 1993. The only African-American to precede him on the show’s cast was the harmonica player DeFord Bailey, a star on the Opry from 1927 to 1941. (In 2012, Mr. Rucker became just the third Black performer ever to join the Opry.)

Mr. Pride was inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame in 2000.

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Mr. Pride performing in 1974.Credit...American Broadcasting Companies, via Getty Images
In 2008, he and his brother Mack, along with 28 other surviving veterans of Negro league baseball, became honorary draftees of the 30 current teams in Major League Baseball, in recognition of their achievements and of the larger legacy of the Negro leagues. Mr. Pride was selected by the Texas Rangers, a franchise of which he was part owner and for whom he sang the national anthem before game five of the 2010 World Series. Mack Pride died in 2018.

A former part owner of the team, former President George W. Bush, said in a statement, referring to the former first lady, Laura Bush: “Charley Pride was a fine gentleman with a great voice. Laura and I love his music and the spirit behind it.”

Mr. Pride received a Grammy Award for lifetime achievement in 2017 and was honored last month with the Willie Nelson Lifetime Achievement Award from the Country Music Association. His final public appearance was on Nov. 11, at the CMA Awards in Nashville, where he sang “Kiss an Angel” with Jimmie Allen, one of several Black contemporary country hitmakers to cite Mr. Pride as an influence.

Organizers of the event said at the time that they were “following all protocols” for dealing with Covid-19, but some in attendance were not wearing masks. Mr. Pride’s publicist said that he tested negative twice for the coronavirus after returning home. He was subsequently hospitalized for what doctors thought was double pneumonia, but which was determined to be Covid-19

Besides being an entertainer, Mr. Pride was a successful businessman, investing in real estate around Dallas and establishing Chardon, an artist booking and management company that helped launch the careers of country singers like Janie Fricke and Neal McCoy.

He was also a partner in Pi-Gem, a song publishing company owned with the producer Tom Collins.

In addition to his wife, he is survived by his sons, Carlton and Dion, both of whom are musicians; a daughter, Angela Rozene Pride; two brothers, Stephen and Harmon; two sisters, Catherine Sanders and Maxine Pride; five grandchildren; and two great-grandchildren.

At the outset of his career, many of his fans, once they realized he was Black, would ask Mr. Pride why his vocal phrasing was less down-home — that is, more button-down and less country — than that of Hank Williams, Roy Acuff and some of the other white singers who inspired him.

“I get a lot of questions asked me, ‘Charley, how’d you get into country music and why don’t you sound like you’re supposed to sound?’ ” he explained to his audience during a 1968 concert recording released by RCA.

“It’s a little unique, I admit,” he went on. “But I’ve been singing country music since I was about 5 years old. This is why I sound like I sound.”
 
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What Country Music Asked of Charley Pride


What Country Music Asked of Charley Pride
The singer put himself on the line to become the genre’s first Black superstar. He died on Saturday not long after performing at a largely mask-free awards ceremony.

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Charley Pride onstage in 1975. The country star’s 1994 memoir, “Pride: The Charley Pride Story,” details a litany of aggressions he experienced in his career. Credit...Bettmann Archive, via Getty Images
By Jon Caramanica

  • Dec. 14, 2020
At the 54th annual Country Music Association Awards last month, there was Charley Pride, onstage singing his indelible 1971 hit “Kiss an Angel Good Mornin’” alongside the rising country star Jimmie Allen. In the socially distanced audience, Nashville luminaries took in the wondrous spectacle. Eric Church, exuding stoic cool — no mask. Brothers Osborne singing along — no masks. Ashley McBryde swaying to the music — no mask.

Here were two kinds of wish fulfillment, tightly holding hands. First, honoring Pride, who also received the Willie Nelson Lifetime Achievement Award that night, was a belated effort at demonstrating sufficient respect for country music’s first Black superstar. Pride was inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame in 2000. In 2017, he received a lifetime achievement award from the Grammys. “I’m going to put this with all the other awards,” he said backstage after the show, clutching the trophy.

And then there were those unadorned faces, telegraphing a certain blitheness about the coronavirus, which was, at the time of the show, raging through the country. On the day the awards were filmed, 1,576 Covid-19 deaths were reported in the United States, according to the Covid Tracking Project — at the time, it was the most in one day this country had seen since mid-May, near the end of the pandemic’s initial wave. (That daily death count has been topped 15 times since the CMAs.)



BET Awards, the MTV Video Music Awards, the Academy of Country Music Awards, the Billboard Awards, the Latin Grammys, the American Music Awards — the CMAs were singular in showing almost no people wearing masks, either onstage or in the audience. (It was also one of very few shows with an audience of any kind.)

If you believed what you were watching, you might think that the country music business was a tolerant one, encouraging of Black performers and willing to acknowledge the genre’s debt to Black music. And you might believe that it was possible for a gaggle of superstars (and the behind-the-scenes people who help them navigate the world) to keep the pandemic at bay.

The optics were pretty much seamless, the reality less so. Five of the show’s planned performers pulled out because they tested positive for the coronavirus, or were exposed to someone who did. And most cruel was the news that this past Saturday, a month after the awards, Pride died, at 86, of complications of Covid-19. It is likely impossible to know whether Pride contracted the virus traveling from Texas to Nashville, or at the CMAs, but many, including the country stars Maren Morris and Mickey Guyton, expressed reasonable concern on Twitter that Pride’s appearance on the show might have led to his exposure. (The CMA released a joint statement with Pride’s representatives after his death noting that Pride had tested negative for the coronavirus before, during and after attending the awards.)

It would not have been the first time Pride risked his well-being and safety in the name of country music’s embrace. His 1994 memoir, “Pride: The Charley Pride Story,” details a litany of microaggressions and macroaggressions he experienced in his career. To be a Black performer in country, especially in the throes of the civil rights era, when Pride was getting his footing, was to put yourself on the line. Opening for Willie Nelson in Dallas in 1967, Pride was warned the crowd was potentially hostile. Not to worry, the promoter told him, because they were prepared to rapidly pull him offstage if the situation turned dire.

“My mouth went so dry it felt like it was stuffed with cotton,” Pride wrote. “He’s not talking about name calling. He thinks something really bad might happen in a room with ten thousand people, and he only has two guys to get me out?” (The show went smoothly.)

He had to be careful about his song selection. “There was a time, after all,” Pride wrote, “when it was deemed unsafe to sing ‘Green, Green Grass of Home’ because it was about a condemned prisoner dreaming of his woman with ‘hair of gold.’”

Pride remembered being called slurs by performers who were his colleagues and friends; how George Jones and another man scrawled “KKK” on his car after a bender; and how he had to remind Webb Pierce — who told him it’s “good for you to be in our music” — that “It’s my music, too.”

Pride mostly relates these stories with dispassion, sometimes even with flickers of affection: These occurrences were simply the cost of doing business as a boundary-crashing pioneer. In the book, he is expressly resistant to politics, and seems eager to assure everyone — fellow Nashville stars, show promoters and people he meets along the way — that he’s got no interest in starting trouble, or being near it.

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Pride was a pathbreaker, but the path largely remained empty in his wake.Credit...Bettmann Archive, via Getty Images
Ultimately, Pride was rewarded by the country music business — by the end of the 1960s and throughout the 1970s, he was one of the genre’s central, crucial performers, a part of the firmament. But he was also, naturally, the exception that proved the rule — even with his success as an example, the country music industry remained largely inhospitable to Black performers. He was a one of one.

Nashville is ever so slightly more progressive now when it comes to diversity. Still, of all the pressures applied to the save-face-insistent country music industry this year, the racial justice reckonings of the summer certainly have been the most challenging to face up to.

The CMAs are the most revered of the Nashville industry awards shows — in 1971, Pride won entertainer of the year, the show’s highest honor — and its choice to bestow Pride with the lifetime achievement award this year felt, at a minimum, conspicuous.

It was of course a lovely gesture on its own terms. Darius Rucker, one of the show’s hosts and the most successful Black country singer since Pride, has frequently cited Pride’s influence. And Pride’s duet partner, Allen, is a promising young pop-country talent and one of a handful of Black singers with recent hits. But their performance also had the air of tokenism — did no white country star also want to pay tribute to a genre legend?

Pride is not the first victim of the coronavirus in country music; the 1990s star Joe Diffie died in March, and John Prine (who wasn’t even acknowledged at the CMAs) died in April.

But just because the coronavirus has hit close to home has not discouraged country music stars from taking public risks with their health and others’. In June, Chase Rice played a concert for several hundred fans, and was roundly criticized after video appeared online of maskless revelers clustered together near the stage. Around the same time, Chris Janson was similarly criticized for performing for hundreds of fans. (In this, country stars are not alone; an Ohio venue was recently fined for hosting a Trey Songz performance, and New York officials have reported routinely shutting down dance parties in the city.)

In October, Morgan Wallen was forced to withdraw from a scheduled appearance on “Saturday Night Live” after video emerged on TikTok of him partying with — and in one case kissing — fans in Alabama. Wallen ended up performing on the show earlier this month, and even participated in a skit poking fun at his indiscretions.

Those things don’t simply happen because of individual choices — they happen because of a system that forgives certain kinds of transgressions, and because of an industry that sees no tension between satisfying the thirst of fans and potentially putting them and their loved ones at risk.

Those responsible for organizing the CMAs were not unaware of the risks posed by the coronavirus. The CMA president, Sarah Trahern, told Variety that the organization administered around 3,000 coronavirus tests to performers and staff, in addition to temperature checks and questionnaires. The performers who attended were given face shields to wear anytime they were not seated at their table or onstage during the event. In footage posted from backstage during show rehearsals, the show’s executive producer, Robert Deaton, is shown wearing a mask and a face shield when speaking to Pride and Allen about their performance.

Unsurprisingly, the CMAs went into damage control mode this weekend. The organization’s news release about Pride’s death mentioned his award, but made no mention of his performance last month.

Regardless, recent events are a painful asterisk on Pride’s career, and a reminder of the ways Nashville remained deaf to his unique circumstances. That insensitivity continues apace. Pride was a pathbreaker, but the path largely remained empty in his wake, owing to an industry for which the image of racial comity is more important than the furtherance of it, and for which the appearance of freedom during a pandemic far outweighs any cost that arises from that hubris.
 

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RIP to Charley Pride !
My family knows his sister, so I'm tangentially related to this.
Pretty cool.
 
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