[This one’s a special treat for my paid subscribers. But just let me warn you — it’s probably best not to read it while eating!]
They say you should never meet your heroes, and I’ve definitely had a few encounters over the years with famous musicians that proved that adage. But Bobby Womack was one hero that I’m forever grateful to have met.
From the very first time I heard his voice, I thought of Bobby Womack as a friend. Sure, I was in awe of his soulful pipes, his deft way with a melody, his ability to pen lyrics that said a whole lot with just a little, and his righteously funky guitar playing. But I also picked up on something really welcoming in both his singing and the advice-laden spoken intros that he hung on many of his songs, a sense of “Yeah, man, I’m cool… but not too cool to sit down with you and have a genuine heart-to-heart.”
My small handful of encounters with Bobby proved that impression absolutely correct. The first time I went to interview him, in 1994 at his bachelor pad in Sherman Oaks, CA, I expected to be greeted by some assistant or officious hanger-on who would then escort me into the soul legend’s lair. Instead, the door was answered by Bobby himself, who was clad only in boxer shorts, a sleeveless white undershirt, a couple of gold chains and those enormous glasses of his. “Hi!” he barked, grinning widely and extending a gigantic hand. “I’m Bobby — come on in!”