Little Richard and Solomon Burke: Sex & God & Rock & Roll
Vernon Gibbs, Village Voice, The, 10 August 1982
THE FIRST time I encountered Little Richard, his face was plastered against a Bedford-Stuyvesant wall — the poster advertised a show at the Breevort Theater. It may have been 1962, I don't quite remember. I do remember the shock of seeing his face for the first time, the open mouth and blackened lips (or so I thought since I couldn't imagine a man wearing lipstick), the sweat running through the pancake makeup, the hair piled crazily on his head like a barely contained torrent cascading across his forehead to join the streams of sweat.
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