Mr. Borwick replies by return, explainingrnhow vitally important to the successrnof the public-school system, herernand elsewhere, is the loyal cooperationrnof every one high and low,rnwith the endeavours of the VI formrnto maintain a high standard of conductrnand manners.rnStill, Leu doesn’t get the point, and herncomplains to the headmaster, M.M.rnGlazebrook, who replies t h a t ! ankredrndoes not take a proper attitude eitherrntowards work or towards authority.rnInstead of accepting instructionrnand rules of discipline,rnand making the best of them, as ordinaryrnhealthy boys do, he is querulousrnand critical. It not only makesrnhim unhappy, but deprives him ofrna large part of the benefit of a publicrnschool education.rnBut term ends, the incident is forgotten,rnand Tankred survives. It is a survivalrnalmost as remarkable as that of the correspondencernitself, which David Crane hasrnhere assembled in a handsome volumernwhich offers a scholarly yet sensitive insightrninto the reality behind the Englishrnpublic-school myth.rnMichael McMahon is a writer who hasrntaught in both state and independentrnschools in England.rnGreat—and Famousrnby Tony OuthwaiternRay Charles: Man and Musicrnby Michael LydonrnNew York: Riverhead Books;rn448 pp., $27.95rnThe late 1940’s and eariy 195fJ’s werernthe heyday of rhvthm-and-blues.rnSingers like Charles Brown, Muddy Waters,rnB.B. King, Amos Milburn, JamesrnBrown, Bobby “Blue” Bland, and othersrnlike them were becoming acknowledgedrnmasters of the genre, all with readily identifiablernmusical personalities, while suchrnolder big-band blues shouters as WynoniernHarris, Jimmy Witherspoon, Eddiern”Cleanhead” Vinson, and Big Joe Turner,rnyears past their earl’ successes, beganrnto attract the attention of teenaged audiencesrnand re-launch careers in decline.rnMost of these men were what might berncalled “urban bluesnien” and workedrnwith instrumental groups that featuredrntight rhythm sections and jazzy horn arrangements.rnThey sang of problems withrnwomen, alcohol, mone”, or life in general,rnand their lyrics were sophisticated,rnphilosophical, sometimes qitite himiorous,rnand even hilariously bawdv. Andrnmost of these men—and others—recordedrnfor one or another of five or six labels:rnChess Records of Chicago; King Recordsrnof Cincinnati; the Duke or Peacock labels,rnboth owned b Don Robey of Houston;rnAhmet Ertegun’s Atlantic Records ofrnNew York; and two Los Angeles companies,rnthe Bihari Brothers’ ModernrnRecords and the Mesner family’s AladdinrnRecords.rnEarly 1952 found the -oung bluesmanrnRay Charles at something of a crossroads:rnHe had spent the formative vears of hisrncareer imitating both Nat “King” Colernand Charles Brown, elegant and refinedrnsingers who accompanied themselves onrnpiano and tended to operate in a trio context.rnHe had worked as pianist, arranger,rnand sometimes alternate vocalist withrnsinger Lowell Fulson’s band since 1950rnand functioned, to the musically illiteraternFulson’s occasional resentment, as thernband’s leader. At the vcr- beginning ofrn1952, Charles had signed a contract withrnAtiantic Records, but a lack of an identifiablernpersonal st)’le puzzled Ahmet Ertegunrnand his associates —particularly veteranrnKansas Cit’ bandleader Jesse Stone,rnby now serving as Atlantic’s artist-andrepertoirerndirector.rnThat spring, Charles ran into R&Brnbandleader Johnny Otis in Cincinnatirnand, in a poorly planned attempt at biddingrnup his value to Atlantic, persuadedrnOtis to get him an audition with the temperamentalrnSyd Nathan, president ofrnKing Records and regarded as one of thernkeenest judges of talent in the country.rnYet Nathan’s snap decision, based on arnshort studio audition, tiiat he didn’t needrn”a poor man’s Charles Brown,” as disappointingrnas it initially was to Charies, canrnbe seen as a key point in the singer’s career.rnNow he would have to continuernwith Atiantic, at least for tiie near future,rnand he would have to come to grips withrnperhaps the most important decision anyrnsinger faces: the aesthetic choice of a personalrnst’le, a sound of one’s own.rnToday, the world knows Ray Charlesrnas a music-industry legend. He has sungrnblues, ballads, jump tunes, countrs-andwestern,rnand what some might call pop,rnyet he alwa’s sounds like himself, instantlyrnrecognizable; he has been a composer,rnarranger, bandleader, and both pianistrnand alto saxophonist, even organist, andrnhas fronted groups ranging from trios torn17-piece jazz bands. He has sung at presidentialrninaugurations, recorded for charity,rnguest-hosted “Saturday Night Live,”rnrun a string of commercial enterprises,rnowned his own plane, and done adverti.singrncampaigns for Pepsi and for minkrncoats.rnHe has seemingly been everywherernand done evervthing, a star since the latern1950’s, and et even this legend has experiencedrnwhat an unnamed record-industry’rnsage described as “a time in nearly everyrnartist’s career when he or she stopsrnselling records. They may still be great,rnbut the market moves past them.” ForrnCharles, this happened around 1977,rnand the early 1980’s became one longrnslump marked b- declining record salesrnand personal income. Yet in the 1990’s,rnhe remains one of the music world’s mostrnenduring personalities, constantly on thernmove, trying new ideas and exploringrnnew possibilities. This restiess, inventivernman’s life and career, from the earliestrnyears of dire poert)’ in rural north-centralrnFlorida during the Depression andrnWodd War II to the first hits in the 1950’srnand on to permanent status as a majorrnbox-office figure, is docimiented in fullrndetail by Michael Lydon in his excellentrnnew biograph)’, Ray Charles: Man andrnMusic.rnIt is to the book’s advantage that Lydon,rnone of the founders oiRolling Stonernmagazine, is himself a musician, becausernthis gives him added insight into the musicalrnlife; however, he is also adept at describingrnwhat he sees and knows in termsrnreadily imderstood by the layman. Hernhas spoken with most of Charles’ oldestrnfriends, and it is clear from the reactionsrnof such veteran jazzmen as Hank Crawford,rnLeroy Cooper, Phil Guilbeau, andrnDavid “Fathead” Newman that Chadesrncould probably have been one of thernworid’s finest jazz pianists, had he wantedrnit that way. It also becomes apparent thatrnCharles has never been the easiest ofrnmen to deal with. Mercurial, quick tornanger and reluctant to forgive, secretivernand penurious, often inconsiderate ofrneven those closest to him, he seems tornpossess a number of tiie personality- traitsrn30/CHRONICLESrnrnrn