What Success Really Means by Alexander Green
I was shocked and saddened to learn that one of my favorite singers died last month.
No, not Michael Jackson. Jazz singer Kenny Rankin.
Never heard of him? Maybe that's because there's been no saturation coverage or candlelight vigils for him.
Kenny never won a Grammy. He didn't sell millions of albums. In fact, two of his best - "Because of You" and "Hiding In Myself" - are no longer in print.
He didn't have an outlandish personal life. Although he struggled with drugs and alcohol at one point in his career, he was a soft-spoken, salt-of-the-earth type.
He didn't pack stadiums and arenas. He played mostly small clubs and bars, rarely filling those.
But whenever Kenny came to town, I would call friends and invite them to come out and hear him.
"I don't know," they'd often say. "Who is this guy?"
"Just trust me," I'd reply.
As much as I looked forward to Kenny's performances, what I really enjoyed was watching friends' jaws hit the floor as soon as he opened his mouth to sing.
I remember one woman who was completely flabbergasted. "What is this guy doing playing a bar with 20 people in it?"
"Worse," I said, "I invited 15 of them."
Sometimes Kenny would just sit in the middle of us with his guitar and take requests. He was happy to play whatever we wanted to hear.
When he took a break between sets at larger clubs, he rarely disappeared backstage. He'd just amble to the back, sit down and chat.
As far as I could tell, the man didn't have a pretentious bone in his body. Not that he didn't have the talent and more than a few high profile fans...
Johnny Carson was bowled over by Kenny. He booked him on the Tonight Show more than 20 times, even writing the liner notes for his debut album.
Paul McCartney was another fan. "No one can sing 'Blackbird' like Kenny Rankin," he said. McCartney even asked him to perform it when he and John Lennon were inducted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame.
Saxophone great Stan Getz admired him, too. He described Kenny's pristine tenor as "a horn with a heart."
Kenny was a fine guitarist, incidentally. (He played on Bob Dylan's landmark 1965 album "Bringing It All Back Home.") He wrote beautiful compositions performed by Peggy Lee, Mel Torme, Georgie Fame, Carmen McRae and many others.
But he was best known for his interpretations of others' songs.
He rarely changed the lyrics. But, like most jazz artists, he would often radically rework a song. Those who felt he strayed too far from the melody missed the point entirely.
"My interpretation of the song is purely emotional," he once said. "We've all experienced disappointment and heartache, and that's what I draw on... I'm really hurting for the people in the song. When I sing I'm feeling, not thinking."
Despite his tremendous talents, Kenny spent most of his career in relative obscurity, garnering attention primarily from jazz aficionados and fellow musicians.
But while Kenny never won the widespread acclaim or financial rewards of more commercial artists, he experienced one important success: He spent his life exercising his talents, doing exactly what he wanted to do.
"I just feel privileged that I've been allowed to continue in my craft," he said. "When someone tells you a song changed their life, or inspired them to look at things in a slightly different way, well, you can't ask for a better reward than that."
Although he was diagnosed just three months ago, Kenny died of complications related to lung cancer on June 7.
His music, of course, lives on through his recordings and the memories of those who heard him.
Now I invite you to join that circle...
Although most of his songs were considerably more upbeat, few show off the remarkable quality and tone of his voice better than his interpretation of "While My Guitar Gently Weeps."
This, in my view, is what it means to have a "gift." Kenny Rankin never had a singing lesson.