11/15/07 – 7:39pm (Thinking about Esther Phillips…) 

A POEM FOR ESTHER: SHE SANG THE BLUES LIKE SHE LIVED IT…AND SHE DID. LIVE IT THAT IS…          

She was funny, sassy, wry, sly.  She was deep.  I loved her spirit.  I loved her smile.  I loved her truth.   

Esther was no bullshit, man.  She was honest when honesty didn’t pay.  She was real, when being real had a price tag on it.  When playing games was the way and Esther didn’t truck with that. 

She sang the blues like she lived it.  And she did.  Like my friend Thelma Jones says, better to sing about it than to live it… The blues, that is.  And she knows.  And I know.  And Esther knew… 

Man, the woman had soul.  And guts.  And even a love song had bittersweetness, blues-buried-deep-in-every-note.  I don’t know what Esther went through.  We never talked about the junkie days.  All I knew was when she sang Home Is Where The Hatred Is, I felt every moment of walkin’ through the twilight, of being gone for three days but it mighta been thirty cause sometimes nobody knows you’re gone.  Until it’s too late… 

Esther, man, getting’ ‘long alright, like she said.  And Scarred Knees, man.  I’ve been prayin’ so long, for so long, I got scars on my knees. Me too, Esther girl. 

And if you got to know her – she made you holler!  Holler.  I mean, the woman was funny.  We went to see The Omen in New York ’76 or thereabouts.  No kidding.  Me and Tim and Raymond (God Bless) and Esther was funny, man.  She loved those horror movies!   Me, I couldn’t watch… Seen enough horror.  I guess she watched because she had too and it was worse than on the screen cause when that needle is in your arm…. 

I miss her, man.  I cried the day she died.  August 1984, the radio played a song.  Said the late great Esther Phillips had died.  I cried, right there in my living room.   

She could cuss, she could wear folks out, baseball bat under her fur coat, threatin’ to break up the record company office when she wanted a check and they wasn’t giving it up.  I know how she felt.  Still do.  (RC, where’s my fuckin’ money man?) 

And I loved her.   Esther Phillips, man.  Salt of the earth, Baby I’m For Real. 

She sang the blues like she lived it.  And she did.  Live it, that is.  Like I do, sometimes, live it that is.  I miss her… Funny, sassy, wry, sly… Esther, bittersweet, gone too soon.  And I loved her.

David Nathan (from his forthcoming collection "Soulful Poetry")
aka "British Ambassador Of Soul"
Owner, www.soulmusic.com
www.soulmusicstore.com
www.soulmusicglobal.com
Secretary, The Rhythm & Blues Foundation (www.rhythmblues.org)
Senior Contributing Writer, Blues & Soul (www.bluesandsoul.com)