Feature

When local music followers hear the names “Larry Sanders,” “Larry Saunders” or “Frankie Saunders,” their minds probably draw a blank. They might not know these men are all the same person, and a Mobilian to boot. They might not have any inkling this icon known as “The Prophet of Soul” gets tons of airplay and respect around the globe, and his records are treated as coveted collectors’ items everywhere in the world…except in the United States.

I had never heard of Sanders until FOX-10 meteorologist/songwriter John Edd Thompson introduced me after a Dutch film crew recently visited the Port City to film a documentary that included Sanders as a main figure. I was thrilled when I found he still resides in the Port City and is continuing his rule as “The Prophet of Soul.”

Though his fame may be coming decades after he started, people told him at a young age that he was bound for great things back in the days when they just called him “Prophet” due to his spiritual gifts.

“Ever since I was a little kid, the older people said I had a gift,” Sanders. says. “They said I could ‘see.’ I had eyes, you know, inner eyes. I could see some things before they could happen.” As Sanders matured, he picked up the bass and started laying out licks professionally. All the while, Sanders was uncertain of his vocal skills until he found some encouragement from an authoritative source.

“I never thought I could sing,” Sanders explains. “I played bass guitar, and I was with Tiny Kennedy the Chattanooga Shoeshine Boy. That’s when somebody who was famous told me, ‘Man, you can sing!’ All the band members left, and he didn’t have anybody to sing or do nothin.’ He said, ‘You’ve got to sing or do something. I’ve gotta have somebody to help me.’ I told him I had one song that I sung, and that was the Jackie Wilson version of ‘Danny Boy.’ So, I sung that. I could play it on lead guitar, so I switched over on lead guitar and sung it. People acted like they enjoyed it.” News of Sanders’ vocal talents spread, and when he stepped into Milton Smith’s barbershop, Smith encouraged Sanders to go solo. Smith knew of a little studio above a dentist office in the Loop area partially owned by 25-year-old John Edd Thompson.

“I had a studio in town called Product Sound Studio,” Thompson says. “We cut records; we had an R&B label, a pop label and a country label. Larry came in with Milton Smith, who is a retired barber in the area, and he wasn’t quite 18 yet.” When Sanders and Smith went to work, Thompson instantly recognized the talent this young man possessed.

“It was real obvious to me that he should be a solo act,” Thompson fondly remembers. “He had total control of his voice and total control of his confidence, too. He didn’t hesitate. He basically did the arrangement himself. He picked up the bass, and Milton Smith played guitar and several other guys worked on it too. They went about their business.” In 1967, Thompson released Sanders’ cuts on their Hotcakes Records and sold a respectable 1,000 copies.

With this kindling added to Sanders’ artistic fire, the young soloist understood Mobile was not the best place to establish a reputation, and he headed out of town. With his smooth, soulful voice, Sanders found new management and a new moniker: Larry Saunders. The name change happened when a manager misspelled his name and decided he should keep it that way. A few years later when his brother-in-law stepped up to become manager, he decided Larry Saunders should become Frankie Sanders.

“I didn’t have anything to do with it,” Sanders claims. “That was management. I had bad management. They had those ideas that they thought was good ideas.” Even through these name changes, he slowly evolved from being Prophet to being “The Prophet of Soul.”

Sanders’ travels brought him to New York circa 1972 when the Black Power Movement was in full-effect and many iconic figures, including Birmingham native Angela Davis, were making a name for themselves. At the time Sanders was in New York, Davis was imprisoned on charges including conspiracy, kidnapping and homicide. Sanders released the “Free Angela Davis” album with proceeds going to a fund for her.

“She had a lot of things that moved her toward me, and sympathetically, I began to write some of the things that I heard and some of the things that I believed,” Sanders says. “My manager, he came up with the other things such as the Angela Davis Committee. The record didn’t cost but a dollar, and 50 cents went to her. I wrote the song for Angela Davis because she was a homegirl, and a lot of the things that they had on the news…I had my opinion about that.” The late ‘70s brought Sanders backed to Mobile to work with songwriter Jerry Powell. Together, they cut “Blues Time in Birmingham,” which was released on Fred Knight’s Juana Records.

The combination of Sanders and Powell was a perfect match. “His voice is almost like an instrument,” Powell says. “You hear that term used a lot, but in his case it really is. With the emotion he had, he could come up with things on the spur of the moment and his interpretation of songs that you could ever even dream of. Until you hear it, you don’t even know it exists.”

“I heard what he was saying in the song, and I got a chance to put myself in the song,” Sanders adds. “It was similar to a few things that happened to me and one thing in particular. He gave me a chance to stretch out, and a lot of people are still crazy about ‘Blues Time in Birmingham’ in the U.K.”

You might think Sanders faded into obscurity, and you would be right if you live in the United States. European Web sites boast collections of his albums both full-length and single, and radio stations across the pond can’t get enough of “The Prophet of Soul.” With a book, a movie, a tour and a new CD called “My Brother’s Keeper” in the works, this distant fame tends to be bittersweet for Sanders.

“I want it at home,”Sanders says. “It hadn’t sunk in yet. I guess that’s just how it goes. Over there, they picked up on something that over here in America they haven’t. I’ve got places that I’ve never heard of that’s buying my records. I guess that after awhile I’ll understand, but that’s just the way it is right now.”

Stephen Centanni is Lagniappe music editor. Contact him at scentanni@lagniappemobile.com.

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