| Text and Photos by Larry Benicewicz |
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The close knit family of South Louisiana musicians was shocked and saddened by the sudden passing of local Swamp Pop legend, Lil’ Alfred, who took his own life this past November 15, in Lake Charles, LA.Having talked to many of his close associates since his death, including former Crowley staff drummer, Warren Storm, and bandleader Ned Theall of the Boogie Kings, I found that not one of them ever suspected in the least such a tragic outcome, considering his public persona - his perpetual (and I might add endearing) sunny disposition and jovial nature. He always seemed to exude a bubbly optimism about his career prospects and to look forward with great anticipation at every opportunity to perform.This apparent joie de vivre carried over to his stage act, wherein this still lean and lanky dynamo (belying his 62 years and nearly a half-century as an entertainer) actively engaged the crowd with his leaps, turns, and pleading gestures. A veritable whirling dervish on the dance floor, Alfred was never satisfied until the whole house was as energized as he. This reputation as a talented crowd pleaser made him much in demand, albeit by an older clientele, and he never lacked for venues, be it Lafayette, New Iberia, or the all the casinos that proliferated in the region. Moreover, to his credit, his vast musical repertoire - Swamp Pop, R&B, and blues -coupled with such an affable, charming demeanor, allowed him access to many rooms normally frequented by predominantly white audiences (no mean feat in the Deep South where tacit segregation still exists), which further added engagements to his calendar.Nonetheless, despite his genial personality, animated stage show, and prodigious play list, he set himself apart from the ordinary entertainer with his remarkable vocal ability. And what an instrument it was. Few crooners have ever been endowed with such a set of pipes. In fact, Alfred began his career early enough to be influenced by the grand tradition of the 50s doo-whop front men who sang in a similar, high register tenor which bordered on the falsetto - Dee Clark, Frankie Lymon, Clyde McPhatter, and Jackie Wilson, just to name a few. Until the end, Alfred’s voice was unearthly, unreal, and such that its reach would often exceed its normal grasp, culminating in those ethereal, lofty notes which would send shivers down the spine of any listener. Somehow, age and the daily grind in smoky lounges never took their toll on his vocal chords. It was uncanny, to say the least. |
 Lil’ Alfred was born Alfred Babino in Lake Charles, LA, January 5, 1944. Always musically inclined, he counted among his earliest inspirations his mother, who with him sang in a church choir, and a cousin, drummer Simon Lubin, a charter member of the Boogie Ramblers, who first recorded for the late Eddie Shuler’s hometown Goldband label in 1955 and later evolved into the expanded Cookie and the Cupcakes. While in high school, Alfred concentrated on the tenor sax and later joined the band.At sixteen and still in school, he took up with a local Lake Charles singer, Joe Weldon (Weldon Rougeau) and the Whirlwinds - a decision much to the chagrin of his parents who felt compelled to act as chaperones at all of his outings. Weldon had recorded for the late George Khoury’s Lake Charles-based eponymous label and the cigar chomping producer would often scout out his gigs for new material to record. One night Khoury came to the National Guard Armory see his protégées, Weldon, as well as the young Mickey Gilley, and Phil Phillips, who had just scored nationally with his “Sea of Love” (Khoury’s 711). At this pivotal engagement, he was first dubbed “Little” by the organizer, an Oklahoma DJ named Jim Eckwith, who heard him ably execute a number of Little Richard covers. Alfred must have made quite an impression, since that evening, George Khoury also “discovered” him as a potential solo act.But being underage, Alfred had to seek his parents’ permission to sign a release form in order that he could record. Never having a facility of his own, Khoury then took Alfred and the Berry Cups, a horn band, formerly led by Terry Clinton, Cookie’s younger brother, over to the Longhorn studio in Houston, TX, where they taped the ballad “Walking Down the Isle.” Released in 1960 as Khoury’s 726, this Little Alfred composition was an immediate hit in the South Louisiana/East Texas vicinity. And, in fact, it remained such a durable seller that even years later in 1965, former A&R man, Stan Lewis, head of the fledgling Paula/Jewel records of Shreveport, LA, saw fit to release it in hopes that his better distribution network might propel it to the next level. But a national smash never materialized, as the disk just bubbled under the Top 100. Nonetheless, for Alfred, it was an auspicious start, which warranted more trips to the recording studio. |
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During the span of this five-year exclusive artist pact that Alfred signed with Khoury, he recorded and released six singles in all. And according to Alfred, all the rest were executed at Bill Hall’s venerable studio in Beaumont, TX. Hall, with a roster of stars, such as Rod Bernard, Albert Collins, Johnny Preston, Jivin’ Gene, and Dickey Lee for his own Hall/Hall-Way label, had by then enjoyed several national smashes but was most noted for launching the careers of Edgar and Johnny Winter, whom he first employed as session musicians during this same time frame. Although Alfred never availed himself of the services of the albino teenage brothers, he did author some modest successes, like “The Mashed Potatoes Back Again” (Khoury’s 733), which capitalized on the teenage dance craze of that period and later in 1963 came his rendition of Chuck Willis’s “Charged With Cheating” on Khoury’s subsidiary, Lyric (1015). This latter effort also became a South Louisiana standard and was subsequently re-issued by Floyd Soileau’s Jin label (251) of Ville Platte for juke box play.  Undoubtedly, the commercial impact of these disks owed a lot to the wall of sound created by Alfred’s chosen back-up band - Cookie and the Cupcakes, probably the premier, powerhouse R&B ensemble of that era in South Louisiana. Composing the horn section were tenors Huey “Cookie” Thierry and Sidney “Hot Rod” Renaud and alto Shelton Dunaway; on guitar was Marshall Laday; the rhythm section featured bassist Joe “Blue” Landry and drummer Ivory Jackson. On piano was the redoubtable Ernest Jacobs, who supplied the infectious, droning piano behind Phil Phillips’s immortal “Sea of Love.”However by 1965, George Khoury, still very much the provincial producer, concluded that he had had enough of the recording industry (aside from selling platters in his record store on Railroad Ave) and decided not to renew any of the expiring contracts of the artists in his stable, including that of Little Alfred. But, fortuitously, Cookie had had an automobile accident, rendering his super group, still the toast of South Louisiana, without a lead singer. It was then that Ernest Jacobs invited Alfred to handle both Cookie’s former horn parts and vocal duties, positions which he held until 1967. But Alfred would soon be connected to another legendary outfit in the territory.  |
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During an interview, Alfred revealed that perhaps it was there at the famed Bamboo Club in Lake Charles during the late 60s that he was filling in as a lead singer for this “white Louisiana group which did soul music,” the Boogie Kings. Later, while on tour of the West Coast, they gave him an urgent call from the Red Velvet Club on the Sunset Strip in Los Angeles, asking him to replace Duane Yates, who suddenly quit the band in order to pursue a solo career. Taking the next plane to California, Alfred soon joined up with the group and in fact there recorded four demos for RCA Victor (produced by veteran Lee Magid) on the West Coast. According to Alfred, at least one single of the batch was leased to A&M (Herb Alpert & Jerry Moss), “Can You Dig It,” as by the American Soul Train, a pseudonym for the Boogie Kings. But as had been hoped, it didn’t pan out. After this session, their itinerary took them next to Las Vegas, performing all along to packed houses at clubs like the Pussycat A Go-Go.  And just why was Little Alfred’s association with the Boogie Kings so significant? At one time or another nearly every Louisiana musician of note served in this huge, unwieldy ensemble that sometimes swelled to a dozen pieces. Founded in the late 50s by Doug Ardoin of Eunice, LA, it earned a reputation early on for blowing away the competition of even black R&B aggregates at teen hops and fraternity parties. Over the years, some great players emerged, many of whom went on to forge their own careers, including drummers Bert Miller and Clint West (who formed a splinter group, the Kings), vocalists G.G. Shinn and the late Gary Walker, and bassist Tommy McLain, the latter scoring with a national Top 10 hit in 1966, “Sweet Dreams” (Jin 197). Other illustrious alumni included vocalist Jerry “Count” Jackson (LaCroix), who recorded for Vee-Jay in the 60s, and the storied tenor, Jon Smith, both of whom would later distinguish themselves as part of Edgar Winter’s White Trash in the 70s. The exploits and long odyssey of the Boogie Kings in the annals of rock and roll is lovingly recounted by longtime trumpeter/saxophonist, Ned Theall, in his 1993 book, Living Like A King. Theall, by the way, now leads the present day configuration of the very active Boogie Kings.  Alfred’s first tour of duty with the Boogie Kings lasted until 1968 and in the following year he accompanied the band on a junket through the Northeast Corridor which included Boston. But he soon soured on being a road warrior, particularly when he first encountered some of the ghettoes in which the band was asked to perform. He recalled one “combat zone” which included a stop at the Down Towner, an engagement which “positively frightened” him. In addition, he also conceded that there were money issues as well by continuously having to “divide the pie” of each night’s proceeds so many ways.As the 70s dawned, Alfred was content to do club work with steady gigs at Lake Charles’s Bamboo or the Texas Pelican near Orange, TX. But a mere two years later, he discovered that the demand for live music had diminished dramatically, having been supplanted by upstart DJs spinning disco music, now seemingly all the rage throughout the country.Not being able to find regular employment in his hometown, he tried his luck in the Windy City after being apprised of an opportunity in that city’s South Side, the popular Burning Spear lounge, at State and 55th St. For a stint of six months, he relished his role, opening for big name attractions like comedians Pigmeat “Here Comes The Judge” Markham and Moms Mabley and bluesmen like Little Junior Parker and Johnny Taylor. But his well paying tenure there ceased abruptly when the building burned to the ground. |
 With Chicago still his home base, he thereafter latched on to a large band which specialized in presenting U.S.O. type shows at military bases in the Mid-West. An enterprising and aggressive agent, Barbara Buford, kept the members busy entertaining the troops at Scott Air Force Base in East St. Louis, IL, and Fort Benjamin in Indianapolis, IN. Alfred recalled at the time that he accepted many requests to do Al Green, demands he could dispatch with aplomb, since their voices matched both in timbre and tonal range.His Chicago stay endured until 1978, a period of six years, after which he was compelled to relocate to Lake Charles in order to attend to his mother’s grave illness. Even after her death, rather than return to the Windy City, he decided to re-establish himself on his own turf. To his surprise, he soon ascertained that during his absence, his fan base had neither forgotten nor deserted him.Therefore, it did not take Alfred long to get back on his feet, especially after teaming up with another native of Lake Charles, Charles Mann (b.Charles Domingue), at clubs such as C’est Tout and Magnum’s, venues in which the duo entertained for extended stretches of time. Mann, also a crowd favorite, had had a regional hit, a 1969 Swamp Pop reworking of Neil Diamond’s “Red Red Wine” on Lee Lavergne’s label, Lanor, in Church Point and would go on in the late 80s to create a sensation in Europe with an accordion infused version of the Dire Straits’ “Walk of Life” for the same logo. It was also during his partnership with Mann that Alfred began commuting to Lafayette 70 miles to the east to perform on Sunday nights. And there were a slew of outlets, all sadly defunct now, to amply display his many talents—Chevy’s, the Top End, and Yesterday’s, lounges for the most part bordering the N. W. Evangeline Throughway at its nexus with Interstate 10.  During the 90s, Alfred could be found at the Back to Back club in the Northgate Mall in Lafayette on Sundays and the Triangle Club in Lake Charles on Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays, often sharing the bill with another legend, the aforementioned Warren Storm.Amazingly enough, considering his long history immersed in the music scene in the area, he never recorded an LP or CD of his own (he appears on several anthologies) until 1997. Alfred claimed to have changed his mind about finally returning to the studio after experiencing an epiphany of sorts while performing with the newly resurrected Cookie and the Cupcakes at the 1995 Blues Estafette in Vredenberg Utrecht in Holland. Back stateside, he looked up longtime supporter, Floyd Soileau. To his relief, Soileau was not only receptive to the idea, which he thought was long overdue, but also he was enthusiastic about the collaboration. A great album, Dealin’ With the Feelin’ (Jin 9051) aptly showcased Lil’ Alfred’s aptitude for a wide array of musical genres including soul; like Joe Tex’s “Hold On To What You’ve Got;” classic R&B, like Chuck Willis’s “It’s Too Late;” and New Orleans funk, like Robert Parker’s “Barefootin’.” In short, “Dealin’ With the Feelin’ bore testimony to what Alfred demonstrated nightly - his comfort level with any style of music dictated by the whims of his fans. |
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 I always sought out Little Alfred whenever I traveled to South Louisiana. Although he knew I wasn’t a player or singer, he recognized in me a kindred spirit and, after our first encounter, we had already formed a unique bond. He instinctively grasped that I loved the music as much as he and not necessarily because I routinely requested an obscure, long forgotten nugget as part of our personal stump the band competition (I always lost, his knowledge of songs being both encyclopedic and exhaustive). And aside from this friendly one-upmanship, I knew he loved the music as well for, if nothing more, the manner in which he delivered each number. There was never anything cursory about his approach, no throw away tunes. It was as if each song presented a challenge to him to create its definitive rendition. And thus he put his heart and soul into each effort. He never disappointed and everyone, including myself, went home both uplifted and gratified.In fact, if there were anyone among the gifted musicians I have met during my life that I thought could spiritually sustain himself through his music, it would have been Little Alfred. For this reason alone, I thought he’d always hang on through the toughest of times. And that makes his loss all the more perplexing. Here was an artist who so delighted in spreading joy to others during his long life in show business. Evidently, at the end, he was unable to save any of it for himself.Larry Benicewicz, B.B.S. and BAS-Journal |
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January / February 2007