Not So Very Little At All

There was nothing little about Little Richard. Big voice. Big talent. Big show. His stage name was a tip of the showbiz hat to rhythm and blues acts who came before him like Little Esther and Little Milton. It also kept people from from mangling his last name: Penniman.
Over a three year period spanning from 1956 to 1958, Richard had a string of hits that helped define the roots of rock and roll: "Tutti Frutti," "Long Tall Sally," "Rip It Up," "Good Golly Miss Molly." It is no coincidence that these seeds were planted at the moment that Elvis Presley began his career. While Richard and Chuck Berry were bringing this new sound to a world in desperate need of sounds to make it shake, rattle and roll, the business of the music business was working feverishly to create a new face for this burgeoning industry. A white face. Elvis became the King, while all those other pioneers were relegated to jukeboxes and radio play that quickly became known as "the oldies."
Elton John most certainly owes his entire career to Little Richard. Diminutive guy pounding on a piano and singing just as hard? That was Richard's act first. And, to be fair, a little Jerry Lee Lewis. But Little Richard has the distinction of doing his act while tearing down the color barrier that existed back then. The same color barrier that kept his career from blossoming fully.
In 1962, Richard played in Brighton England with an English group known as The Beatles, who went on to cover "Long Tall Sally" both live and on record. James Brown got his start as a Little Richard impersonator. Decades later, they teamed up on Wheel of Fortune. But by this time Richard was more relic than rock and roll. His early appearances in films like "Can't Knock The Rock" and "The Girl Can't Help It" eventually transformed into the Reverend Orvis Goodnight, the wacky neighbor in Down And Out In Beverly Hills. Wacky or not, he could still rock the house.
Four years ago when Prince died, he took what was left of Little Richard's show with him. The tiniest of mustaches and a flamboyant style that thumbed its nose at convention, audiences thirty years later seemed to be more receptive to what Richard had to offer. No matter. Richard Penniman was one of ten original inductees into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Maybe no one ever fully understood Richard, but they felt his influence in the only way they should: in his music.
He stomped on keyboards like he stomped on the Terra. Little Richard has gone to that big stage in the sky where you can still hear him if you listen. He will be missed.