Though hardly a household name, Ray Willis is a legitimately mysterious figure in country music history... and though I hardly have all the answers, I think I've filled in a few blanks. There may be several different Ray Willises who have been conflated online, but this guy -- Knial Ray Darrell Willis (1939-2002), aka Leonard R. Willis -- was apparently the brother of country/gospel songwriter Tom Willis (1952-2014), with family roots in Gunnison, Colorado, and before that in Missouri. He seems to have been working in Southern California during a good chunk of the 1960s, and well into 'Seventies. Ray Willis worked almost exclusively in the industry demimonde of cheapo-generic budget labels and so-called "tax scam" companies, which purposefully produced albums that wouldn't sell well, as a way to get shady assets onto the books. But unlike many artists working in this under the radar system, Willis cut several albums under his own name, and not as part of some made-up soundalike band, which implies he had some career momentum early on, and had some connections in Nashville, particularly his collaborations with Ronnie Sessions. Anyway, his records were pretty darn good, which poses the obvious question: whatever happened to this guy??
Ray Willis "Country Hits Sung By Ray Willis" (Alshire Records, 1969-?) (LP)
This is where the mystery begins, one of those old budget-label Alshire albums that have floated around the West Coast for decades, a disc I finally picked up one day, slapped on the turntable and thought, "Waitaminnit, who is this guy??" Most of the songs are Ray Willis originals, delivered with plainspoken vocals and crisp (sometimes lackadaisical) backing by an unidentified set of West Coast pickers. This is a partly-great record, packed with original material, with a heavy tilt towards novelty numbers like "I'm The Only One I Know That I Can Trust," "Sing A Song About Me" (anything that's totally misery-inducing) and "Mary's Such A Lonely Child" (and her dad's lonely, too, ever since Mama left town...). Side Two has a couple of real gems, most notably "A Talk With Dad," a wry hippies-vs.-straights generation gap song where the longhaired narrator tells his super-square, judgmental father that maybe all the beads, sandals and acid aren't any worse than raccoon-skin caps and bootleg liquor of dad's Depression-era youth, and the slightly spooky femme-fatale ballad, "If She Ever Gets The Chance." Generally speaking, the cover tunes seem like filler -- somewhat randomly selected and performed without much conviction by either Willis or the guys backing him: these include the old Jack Guthrie hit, "Oklahoma Hills" and the big band oldie "Heartaches" (brought into the country canon by Patsy Cline.) A couple of gospel numbers also seem mismatched with the rest of the record, but are nonetheless sung with conviction by Mr. Willis: Roy Acuff's "Precious Jewel" and one called "I Dreamed About Jesus Last Night," which is credited to A. Sherman but published by Willis's own Cordova/Knial publishing company. The only real clunker is a tune penned by Red Lane, "They Don't Make Love Like They Used To," which seems intended to have been a countrypolitan novelty ballad along the lines of late-vintage Roger Miller, but suffers from weak backing and a lazy arrangement. Otherwise, though, this is an album that should raise a few eyebrows: Who was this guy?? The only tiny clue comes from the liner notes by Jimmy Thomason, former host of one of Bakersfield's most popular country television programs, with the implication that Ray Willis was one of the many guys orbiting around Southern California's budding late 'Sixties country/country-rock scene. A little slapdash, but recommended.
Ray Willis "Please Don't Let Me Out Of Prison" (Arrow Records, 1977) (LP)
The rest of his albums came out on label imprints associated with the IRDA/Album World network, which is identified by hipster-collector types as an archetypal "tax scam" business, apparently based in Los Angeles. I'm not sure which of his Album World albums came out first, though they all seem to be generally the same vintage. This disc is the one that provided the first firm link between the Ray and Leonard personas: it includes three songs also included on the Leonard Willis albums below: "Jessie (Can't Come Home Anymore)," "Look Who's Singing The Blues," and "Mama You Raised A Ramblin' Man." I'm not sure if they are the same recorded versions, though it does seem likely that the label(s) would recycle as much material as possible... [Also worth noting: one of the songs on this album, a Ray Willis original called "Welcome To The Sunshine (Sweet Baby Jane)" was also released as a single in 1974 by country star Jeanne Pruett. Dunno if he had other similar successes as a songwriter, though...]
Leonard R. Willis "Everybody Lies To Linda" (Valentino Records, 1977) (LP)
This is an amazing album, mysteriously passed over by Americana archeologists, but deserving of as much veneration as Guy Clark's early work. A stripped-down set of all-original material, these acoustic sessions were recorded in Nashville, but it's just Ray Willis solo, strumming on an old guitar while laconically delivering his tales of heartbreak, misery, fallen women and falling men. The album opens with "Hallelujah," a remarkably scathing critique of fire-and-brimstone fundamentalism, told from the point of view of a guy who finds himself in church with a congregation full of judgement and condemnations which, as a sinner, he takes rather personally. He's appalled at the folks in the pews next to him reveling in the idea of other people burning in Hell, and concludes he'd rather be damned forever with the people he likes than miserable with a bunch of hostile, self-righteous zealots. Not exactly the kind of country song about religion most of us are used to! The rest of the record matches this high standard of songwriting, with one striking, raw lyric after another. The title track is one of several songs about "fallen" women, probably prostitutes, although the details are left a bit vague -- also along these lines is "Betty Lou McClain," where a guy is looking for his old flame, asking about her whereabouts in one sketchy neighborhood after another. The album's second side is dominated by songs where the narrator is coasting ever downward, often breaking up with or being rejected by his disheartened lovers, or simply drinking himself into a stupor after it's all over. Among the gems are the rueful drinking song, "The Make It So Good" ("...and they sell it so cheap...") and the surprisingly sweet "I Think I Found It," a love song on a par with Guy Clark's most open-hearted romantic ballads. The entire album has a remarkably personal feel, as though having been freed of any commercial concerns, Willis just went for it and sang the songs he wanted to sing. It's a really good record. Definitely recommended, and worth tracking down.
Leonard R. Willis "She Won't Stay Long Enough For Breakfast" (Tangerine Records, 1977) (LP)
Fans of Guy Clark, in particular, might dig this one, which kicks off with the title track, certainly one of the more Clark-like tunes you'll find outside of Austin. The rest of the record is equally pleasing, laid-back, laconic honkytonk twang... nice stuff, really. Sadly, the cheapo production vibe didn't allow for them to include the names of the folks in the backing band, but they were all pretty solid. Listening to this record, I started to wonder just who Leonard R. Willis was, then noticed the inner label credits consistently referred to him as "Ray Willis," which made me curious if he was in fact the same Ray Willis who cut that album on Alshire Records sometime around 1969-70 (or thereabouts). Sure enough, it looks like that's the case, since this album also credits Tom Willis (said to be Ray Willis' brother) as a composer on a tune or two, and, as icing on the cake, several songs off the Ray Willis album Please Don't Let Me Out Of Prison (which came out on another "label" that was in the same orbit as Tangerine Records) also appeared on the Leonard Willis LPs. Further exploration on the BMI songwriter's database provided more connecting threads -- including that his full name Knial Ray Darrell Willis -- and finally, Tom Willis's 2014 obituary established the links to Colorado. I halfway suspect the whole thing is a hoax, but I also think the code's been cracked. Now the real question is: whatever happened to this guy?? He was really talented.
