New Orleans' Own

It was about 14 years ago that I had the privilege of meeting Raymond Myles. I was just a kid then, a young piano player obsessed with all things musical; Mr. Myles was the performer I aspired to be: not necessarily a gospel artist per sé, but a true entertainer with the ability to make the crowd not only respond, but feel his presence. My grandmother sang with his chorus, the Raymond Anthony Myles Singers (the RAMS), and she would let me hear all of the rehearsal tapes, the audible gold that was Raymond Myles in his natural state, having fun playing his music and even cracking jokes behind the keys. The performances were sublime, very flamboyant as was his general style, but nonetheless authentic, genuine, and real. There was no putting on, that was Raymond. He was a local superstar, and I was privileged to know someone so important. He sang at the JazzFest every year, and before his death, went on tour, on the brink of mainstream success. It all ended in 1998, when Raymond sadly became one of New Orleans' many murder victims. That was a very dark day for the world.

After Raymond Myles' death, questions began to be uttered about his lifestyle among the black Christian community of New Orleans. Undoubtedly, these same questions were simply whispered while he was alive. I caught a ride home from choir rehearsal with a fellow churchgoer one night, and Raymond's beautiful arrangement of “Elijah Rock” was on the radio. “Did you know he was a faggot?” he asked me. Bewildered, and scared at that age of expressing how I really felt, I simply offered a timid “Uh-uh”, hoping that the topic of conversation would change before I got home. It didn't. “They found him with his pants down in the Marigny. I can't stand those faggots, all in the church...”

And it was not unfathomable that Raymond Myles was homosexual. Just take a look at his videos, listen to his recordings, and you will see a man that was hiding nothing. He was not afraid to sing in the high registers with the sopranos, and the low registers with the basses, all in the same song. He was not afraid to wear rhinestones to church. He did not put the extra bass in his voice, and never succumbed to that ubiquitous and shameful tendency of black Christian ministers and singers to gay-bash from the mic and pulpit. A new upcoming documentary about his life written, directed, and produced by Leo Sacks, entitled “A Taste Of Heaven”, explores this, and interviewees confirm these suspicions.

Because of that flamboyance, and Raymond's homosexuality, there were those like that church member who did not believe that his music was God-inspired, or that he followed in the tradition of Gospel greats. I believe otherwise. Although he only released two high-profile albums (that I know of), there is a clear connection that he makes through his music, using songs that our ancestors turned to for hope and freedom, like “Elijah Rock”, “Ride on King Jesus”, and “What a Fellowship”, and original songs tailor-made for Black folks in New Orleans, with the same broad appeal that those standards had, like “Put a Little Love in Your Heart”, “Learning to Love” (a song that I find incredibly revelatory, yet touching and universal), and “Heaven is the Place I Want to Be.” The old songs are about leaning on God, and trusting Him through the storm, and knowing that “no man can-a-hinder Him.” God is everything you need, when you have nothing, and that is what kept the slaves. The new songs have a new context...we are the great-grandchildren of slaves, and though we (Black folks) have not all achieved the American dream, we now have many rights that our forefathers did not have. We can now sit at the Table of Human Beings. We are still a community plagued by infrastructural problems, which are caused by poverty, and which result in ineffective education systems that allow less opportunity, more poverty, and more ignorance. This leads to violence, depression, and drug abuse, all of which are inevitably big problems in our community. This ignorance led to the homophobia that plagued Raymond. He couldn't change the circumstances, so he aimed to change attitudes with his music. His message was to love those around you, love yourself, and to love your God no matter the circumstance, and that would get you through. These were the spirituals of our times, in our city.

And those were Raymond's values, and those very words brought tears to people's eyes at his concerts. Yet, those very words evaded their hearts. People loved Raymond, but they prayed that God would deliver him from his “sickness”, never for once considering that this very sickness had a profound impact upon the music that they loved, that his songs were songs of reconciliation and peace with and through God. Raymond blessed those that persecuted him, forgave those that trespassed against him, and when he was slapped, he gave the church and community his other cheek. He was resilient, and until his unfortunate end, made music that taught people the power of love. He lived a gay and Christian life, and Christ's message of love and acceptance are everywhere in his music. His music was revolutionary, using themes that Black folks were familiar with, summoning up the songs of our forefathers to teach us lessons that we have stubbornly chosen to ignore. It is unfortunate that such a talent and visionary was taken away so soon, but it is our responsibility to keep his legacy alive. Raymond was a martyr for the most important of causes. Love.