Keeper of the Complaint
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I had bought Kathi's records in the
seventies and had seen her name on the back of at least fifty albums. She had
performed on two hundred and one-hundred of those records were certified
gold. She was considered one of the best back-up singers in the world,
one of the best in the style she sang in. Style? It was I'm scraping my face
on cement, need to get screwed right now, I feel everything too much, missing
a layer of skin style. When Kathi's voice went to the place right above her
hair, I guarantee you'd cry.I never understood any words she sang. Words
weren't important to her. It was how her voice moved, how total her range
was. It was about the abuse her throat could take night after night. Kathi
McDonald was a singing machine.
I grew up in Detroit. Leaving in 1977 and drove until the water stopped me which meant Seattle. I had heard Kathi lived in the Seattle area. I sang along the way, jam sessions mostly. The South side of Chicago, Minneapolis, Madison, Billings, and Missoula were some of the places I found to sing the Blues for people that didn't care and didn't pay. While I was busy singing for my supper, Kathi was singing with the famous; the Rolling Stones, Long John Baldry, Elton John, Freddie King, Tina Turner, Big Brother and the Holding Company and Joe Cocker. Leon Russell used to take her along with the other women in his stable to the revival tents in the South, so they could learn the right way. Her first band was the "Santana Blues Band," later to become Santana. I didn't get to meet her until 1991. She was performing at Bumbershoot, a three-day music festival that was held once a year. It was the third largest music fest in the country and was legendary for its disrespect of local talent. Nancy Claire, one of the women who had joined up with the show in the beginning, took me to meet and hear her, and to ask if she would like to hook up with Seattle Women. Her talent was everything I thought it would be. She was better in person than on record, if that was possible. I stood watching, not believing what I was hearing. How could anyone be that good? I was excited; finally I would meet the great Kathi McDonald. There she was 5'3" wearing the same high heels that were part of being an Ikette with Tina Turner, stomping each foot as if the ground was where the sound was coming from. When her show was over, Nancy and I approached her so that I could be introduced. As soon as we met, Kathi started to talk at me, as if she had known me for years. She was yelling how there was no dressing room since Bumbershoot had suggested she change in the broom closet. What I didn't realize then is that everyone was of equal importance to Kathi, unless you got her work, then you were elevated by a small degree above the rest of humanity. That was how we would communicate for the next 20 years: Kathi complaining and talking at everybody in the room. I tried to "really talk" over and over again but to no avail because Kathi didn't do meaningful conversation. Everything was a joke, a quip, a bit of gossip - hopefully all of which would make us laugh, which it did. And her wit! It was sharp and dangerous. Something like Dorothy Parker meets Janis Joplin whom she hated as her reference point was that she was always compared with Janis. Honestly, I sort of understood because Kathi was a better singer than Joplin. (Kathi had taken Janis' place when she died in Big Brother) I think that she believed Joplin's fame should have been hers. When a fan would ask her to sing Joplin she would turn on them and spew out something like, "I don't sing dead white people!" That would shut them up. Probably wouldn't be asking for an autograph after that. Watching Kathi in action; singing, complaining, talking, walking, dancing, performing, cleaning house, working, or whatever, was like watching a monkey try to screw a football. It was exhausting. She was the type that had to have the rockets on her back. But like any veteran performer knows, keeping rockets on your back carries a high price, because there is re-entry and that is always difficult. No thanks - don't really want a ticket for the reality train. Doesn't feel as good as those darn rockets. Re-entry is the worst for a performer. You need to decompress in a let out the steam slowly kind of way. It's taken me years to know and master this. It had never entered Kathi's mind. So with those rockets she of course, had an off-again on-again; I can handle it, romance with drugs. She also drank which could lead to some interesting times on stage. Like the time she sang "Mojo Working" for forty-five minutes. I'll never forget having to stand on stage, watching her and the show go completely out of control. The place was packed, my hands were tied, it was Kathi with a rocket, and the only thing I could have done was pull the plug. Hell, she even gave the bartender a solo. We informed her of her blues aria the next day. I was worried about her. This wasn't some nobody getting drunk once in awhile. She was an idol of mine, a woman who was going to kill herself with booze if she didn't stop soon. I couldn't really say anything, at the time I drank too. But I was more worried about her than myself. My drinking hadn't yet reached the late stages that Kathi was then entering. So we made light of it. The group teased her about it for years. That incident, coupled with her boyfriend, who wouldn't put up with her drunkenness, put an end to her booze exploits for a short time. But drugs, that was another arena. She kept those around like a savings account, just in case she might need it on a rainy day. She never lectured us about the evils of them because she didn't have to. Her existence and the way she sang made everything clear. She was a living example that life could be successful, tragic and corrupted. In her mind, there was no place for her to go, except for the private world of dope. I believe she was too sensitive to live. My husband and I were producing a blues festival--one of the largest in the state. One night we were all standing on the side of the stage watching Booker T and the MG's. This was history; R&B history. It was how you played the stuff. The way R&B humps, grinds, builds, breathes, connects, keeping it simple, embraces, like good sex. Booker T and the MG's, man, they wrote the book. I watched Kathi watch them. Tears in her eyes--the layer of skin she was missing--was so obvious. She had to use. What she felt, the depth of it was too much for her. She felt things more intensely than most of us. She needed to so she could sing intensely. Today I got a call from Seattle Women alumni, Patti Allen, telling me that Kathi's heart stopped. Of course it did. Really, what took to so long? I believe her heart was breaking from the moment she hit her first stage. Maybe the only way to keep that big heart beating was to fill it with alcohol and the preferred drug of choice. Maybe those things filled up the hole where life should have been fully experienced. Kathi had to complain, had to make it difficult. It was her safety mechanism, so that no true information could get in. Her safety was in distortion. I loved her for that. I loved her for surviving her unique pain. Kathi - I say goodbye to you as you join your blues sister LJ. You are a true original. There will be no one like you, in body or in spirit. I love you. |
