Bobby Caldwell’s hidden racial identity: “I was very surprised”
The history of white artists who “sound Black” is a long and complicated one. After all, one coming along, whether it’s Elvis Presley, House of Pain or Iggy Azealea, is almost always a bad sign. One that signifies that real culture is about to be co-opted, boil-washed of all edge and shoved into the mainstream without a shred of credit going to the people who actually created it. Yet it’s undeniable that a few of them are talented and even take a (somewhat suspicious) amount of credit for sounding that way. Case in point: the story of Bobby Caldwell.
Born in Manhattan but raised in Miami, Caldwell spent his upbringing surrounded by all kinds of music. While he was listening to his parents’ taste in music, like Ella Fitzgerald and Frank Sinatra, at home, his friends were playing reggae, R&B, Haitian, and Latin music. Thus, the scope of music that the young Caldwell felt comfortable learning and playing was boundless, especially when his mother, a real estate agent, introduced him to a musician client of hers named Bob Marley.
By 17, Caldwell was already singing in a band called Katmandu. However, it was becoming apparent that his talent was beckoning toward prospects bigger than a bar band in Miami could facilitate. After a stint in Las Vegas, Caldwell settled in Los Angeles, catching a break playing guitar for Little Richard. He spent the 1970s trying to push his solo career forward, writing music and playing concerts wherever he could, until he signed a record deal with TK Records in 1978.
As a label specialising in funk, soul and disco, Caldwell did not look like the standard TK Records signing. They were, after all, the label that was giving the world KC and the Sunshine Bands. Caldwell was a legitimate talent, though, and he got to work on his debut album in due course. However, the first draft of Caldwell’s debut album was lacking one thing for them: a solid hit.
The record was nearly there; it just needed one more killer addition, and that’s exactly what Caldwell brought to the table. After two days, Caldwell returned to TK with the song ‘What You Won’t Do For Love’, and suddenly, the album was complete. However, when the record was being prepped for release, there was one thing that TK Records wanted to keep a complete secret for as long as they could: Caldwell’s lack of melanin.
Caldwell talks about this in an interview with TVOne’s Unsung, saying that he was taken off his own record’s album cover to conceal his whiteness. Instead, Caldwell himself drew the cover image of a silhouetted man sitting on a park bench as a replacement. It wasn’t until one fateful concert tour that people realised that the man behind one of the hottest soul records of the day didn’t look a damn thing like many of his fans.
In an interview with NPR, Caldwell said, “My first tour… was opening for Natalie Cole, and she was on her debut album, This Will Be. Well, she was playing large venues, 4,500-plus. And ‘What You Won’t Do For Love’ was, at that point, working its way up, so I was very surprised at seeing nothing but Black in the audience. And certainly, they were probably more surprised than I was!”
Sure, it’s a bad look when white artists make their way into spaces dominated by Black artists. From time to time, though, you get an artist like Bobby Caldwell, who is just the kind of talent that crosses cultural borders no matter what.
