We first saw Otis in 1964. He was the driver for Johnny Jenkins and the Pinetoppers from Macon, Georgia. They had a minor hit with “Love Twist,” an instrumental, and wanted to record the follow-up single with my band Booker T. & The MGs. I saw this big guy get out, walk to the back of the bus and start unloading the equipment. That was Otis. And we had no idea he was a singer too. Back then, instrumental bands always had a singer with them so they could play the hits on the radio that the kids wanted to dance to.
At the end of the session we had a few minutes left and Al Jackson, our drummer, said, “The guy Johnny has with him – he wants to sing to us.” Booker had already left, so I sat down at the piano. I don’t play much. Otis said, “Just play that church thing.” He meant triplets. I said, “What key?” He said, “Whatever.” Then he started singing, “These Arms Of Mine.” And I got goosebumps. Jim (Stewart, co-owner of Stax) came running in and yelled, “That’s it! That’s it! where is everyone? We have to record this!” So I grabbed all the musicians who hadn’t left for their evening gigs and we recorded on the spot. When you hear something that’s better than anything you’ve ever heard before, you know it. And we all agreed that we were dealing with something special.
Gentle like Sam Cooke and harsh like Little Richard
We almost destroyed the tape afterwards. “These Arms Of Mine” became Otis Redding’s first hit single – the first of 17 in a row. Otis was gentle like Sam Cooke and harsh like Little Richard and his own person. He was also fun to be with – always 100% full of energy. So many singers back then had – with all due respect – simply been in the business for too long. Frustrated and bitter because she had always been treated badly. Otis wasn’t like that. I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t prejudiced like that. Everything about him was great: his body, his talent, the wisdom with which he saw others. After his death, I was surprised to discover that we were the same age. All these years I had always looked up to him like a big brother.
When I worked with Otis, my job was to help him finish his songs. He had so many ideas – I just had to pick one and say, “Let’s do this!” And we worked almost every night. “I Can’t Turn You Loose” consisted of a riff that I had already used on some of the MGs’ tracks. Otis had added some horns to it within ten minutes. A riff and a verse that Otis sings over and over again. That’s all. For him it was all about feeling and expression.
I miss Otis. I miss him just as much today as I did shortly after we lost him. I once went to the lake in Madison, Wisconsin where the memorial plaque is. The best explanation I read was that his plane missed the runway and had to circle over the lake – and then the wings iced up. That was on December 10, 1967. I have had great difficulty listening to his music ever since. Too many memories come back – and only good ones, except for the last one.