Chris Mayther Heart Full of Soul

Chris Mayther

    Barely 14 years old and half-petrified, Chris Mayther stood on the stage of the Civic Auditorium and stared out at a throng of 3,000 parents and school administrators. Mayther tried to lick his lips, but his mouth was too dry. With his heart hammering like a piston, he sucked in his breath and belted out "Mama Told Me Not To Come". The giant, but painfully shy, teenager lost himself in the music, and when the song was over, the crowd applauded wildly. On that evening, 30 years ago, Mayther set his sights on becoming a Rhythm and Blues singer.

    Mayther closed out year 2003 performing with his brother, guitarist Craig Mayther, on stage with many good friends at Bo Diddley's 75th Birthday Party at the Crystal Ballroom. The evening was filled with highlights, but the best moment, Chris says, was belting out "Bring It On Home", with long time pal, Duffy Bishop. A day later, Mayther rang in the New Year by headlining at the Hotel Oregon in McMinnville in front of another packed house.
Mayther isn't just a singer—he's an entertainer. He belts out songs sometimes furiously, other times teasing and cajoling his audience. When he drains a shot of whiskey and smokes a cigarette between sets, he looks exactly like the hard-bitten, world-weary R&B singer that he is.

    With his 300 plus-pound physique and full beard, Mayther looks imposing and a bit intimidating, but with thousands of shows under his belt, he still admits feeling butterflies in his stomach before every performance. "For many years, if I did a show and 500 people said, 'Hey Chris, you were great,' but one person didn't like it, I would go home thinking, what did I do wrong? Why couldn't I please that one person?"

    Eva Huntsinger saw Mayther perform two years ago at the Trail's End in Oregon City and she began attending every one of his concerts that she could. "His soul pours through his music," says Huntsinger, a Portlander who previously lived in Denver, San Francisco and Boston. "Chris connects his soul and his music with his audience like no one I've ever seen. That's why I keep coming back."

    The lead vocalist with NuShooz from 1979 to 1991, Valerie Day says Mayther sings every song like it is his last one. "Chris can sing the most tender love song, then turn around and absolutely rip an R&B tune to shreds. Whatever he does, he gives his all."
"The man, and I do mean 'THE MAN' has got bucket loads of soul," says Curtis Salgado.

    Born in 1956, Mayther grew up in Ladd's Addition, a blue-collar neighborhood in Southeast Portland. His father, Bill, was a social worker and coached many youth sports teams. His mother, Betty, was a sculpture, oil painter, and high school art teacher who now teaches at the Portland Art Museum. His parents both returned to college to earn advanced degrees and in 1968, they helped start the Metropolitan Learning Center, one of the first public art schools in the nation.

    Over six feet tall and weighing 300 pounds even as a teenager, Chris was reserved and his size drew unwanted attention. The gentle giant tried to overcome his shyness through athletics. Although he played football and basketball, baseball was by far his favorite sport, and he could hit a fastball a country mile. Chris even had a small baseball diamond chalked out in his backyard and enjoyed going to many Beavers games at the old Civic Stadium. He excelled in art studies and in theater. He's performed on stage since kindergarten, carrying lead roles in Bus Stop, A Streetcar Named Desire, and played Lenny in Of Mice and Men.

    But, Mayther lived another secret life. He hot-wired cars and took his friends for joyrides. Chris helped his buddies pull off petty thefts and home burglaries. "I didn't steal for money. It was for excitement and a sense of belonging. I was basically a good kid that kept screwing up because I hung out with a gang of hoods. I didn't know who I was and I thought that was a cool thing to do."

    Chris spent time in Rocky Butte Jail and he almost landed in prison before he finally wised up. During a home burglary his friends ran off leaving him holding the bag. He refused to give their names to the police, and the owner of the home, an attorney, prosecuted him to the full extent. Mayther faced a five-year prison term, but he plea-bargained down to probation and three months of labor at the old County Work Farm in Troutdale. There, he took a hard look at himself and his fellow inmates and realized he was headed for big trouble.

    Even today, he cannot shake the memory of working the laundry detail in what is now the McMenamin Brothers' Power Plant Brewery. Mayther processed huge carts of hospital laundry from the facility that housed the county's poor elderly people, those suffering from dementia who died penniless. Chris recalls seeing the naked bodies of their pale corpses, swarms of flies, and other disturbing images. Not long ago, when Chris performed at the Edgefield Manor, he stayed overnight in the guesthouse. Although he was seated in the lap of luxury, he was haunted by the memories of the shabby treatment of those old and unwanted people.

    At home, before his turbulent teen years, Mayther's parents introduced him to a wide variety of music: Leadbelly, jazz artists such as Charlie Byrd and the great folk singers, including Woody Guthrie. The Maythers attended concerts at Mt. Tabor Park, and Chris recalls seeing Pete Seeger perform in a hootenanny there. But, his early influences were Ray Charles, Aretha Franklin, Otis Redding, Ike & Tina Turner, Booker T & The MGs, Marvin Gaye, Sly & The Family Stone, James Brown, and Lou Rawls.

    Dave Fleschner is only 29, but he's played professionally for a dozen years and jammed with the likes of Kathy Walker, Paul deLay, Sonny Hess and Robbie Laws. Fleschner, who is releasing his debut CD, "At Home", next month, has played keyboards for the Chris Mayther Band for the last three years. "It amazes me how Chris constantly pushes himself to get better," Fleschner says. " His whole artistic sense of life, his attention to detail, and his passion for music and for living is inspiring,"

    Mayther's favorite vocalists include local artists, Duffy Bishop, Curtis Salgado, and Paul deLay. Mayther points out that many Blues fans rave about deLay's harmonica playing, yet his singing is under-appreciated. "In the early 1980s, Paul had an awesome voice. He's voice has changed, but I think he's even better now because he really knows how to sing. His phrasing and timing are impeccable, heartfelt, and soulful." He also greatly admires Jon Koonce, formerly of Johnny & The Distractions and front man for Sleazy Pieces.
Chris's brother, Craig Mayther, is three years older. He ran away from home when he was 14 and became an excellent guitarist. Craig knocked around California before settling down in San Francisco and playing guitar with Blues-Rock bands including an extended stint with the Holy Modal Rounders.

    Meanwhile, Chris Mayther moved to Alaska to work on fishing and crabbing boats. A leathery old fisherman and captain of a fishing boat took Chris under his wing and helped him become a top deck hand and sailor. Mayther fished year-around on ships 60 feet to 140 feet long and his first year out, the five-man crew cleared $100,000 in a single month. Mayther worked his way up from a raw deck hand on a small fishing trawler to become a relief skipper on a king crab boat with a first mate's license. But, working 24, 48, and even 72-hour shifts, in frigid conditions and unrelenting storms, was incredibly hazardous and many of Mayther's friends did not return.
Whenever Chris performs in Seattle, he visits the Fisherman's Terminal on Salmon Bay to pay his respects at the memorial, a large sculpture displaying the names of more than 500 commercial fishermen who perished at sea. "Half of the guys I fished with are dead," he says. His captain was crushed to death by a 70 to 80 foot wave, even though he was inside the vessel's pilothouse. The wave knocked out all the radar, navigational systems, and electricity. Chris helped hand-steer the vessel 250 miles to the nearest port, Dutch Harbor in the Aleutian Islands. On another occasion, a winter storm with gigantic waves flipped over a fishing boat and killed a half-dozen of his friends.

Duffy Bishop & Chris Mayther in the studio.

    Chris slipped into a habit of binging on drugs and alcohol. When he returned to shore with a wad of bills stuffed into his pockets, he burned the candle at both ends, a toxic lifestyle that stayed with him until a few years ago. Mayther became a fixture at many of the local watering holes and did his share of drinking, drugging, and barroom brawling. "I didn't like to fight," Chris recalls. "It was usually the smallest guy in the bar that wanted to prove how tough he was by taking on the biggest guy he could find."

    He made close to a million dollars in the Alaskan fishing business, but he blew the money as fast as he made it. Mayther also neglected to keep up with his taxes and became over $100,000 in arrears with Uncle Sam. The last few years, commercial fishing grew much more competitive and more dangerous as the boats went out farther and in worse conditions. After seven years in Alaska, Craig persuaded Chris to join him in forming the Mayther Brothers Band. The last year in Alaska, Chris worked the entire fishing season to pay off the lion's share of his taxes and returned to Oregon scared, worn out, and still owing.

    The Mayther Brothers toured California and Nevada, then settled in Portland where they played about 200 shows a year during the 1980s, performing in clubs like The Last Hurrah, Key Largo, The Dandelion, and The Dakota. "We were all about having a good time," Craig says. "We rocked the house on a regular basis." Besides Craig on lead guitar and Chris on vocals, the band consisted of John Smith on guitar, Rich Gooch on bass, Chris Baum or Ramsey Embeck on keyboards, Michael Brummel on saxophone, and Guy Maxwell or Carlton Jackson on drums. Valerie Day often helped with vocals as well.

    But the two brothers didn't see eye to eye. Chris had many issues with the way Craig ran things, but his older brother was in the driver's seat and Chris had no desire to take over. "Once I get on stage, that's the part I love," Chris says. "The business end—the phone-calling, knocking on doors, the ass kissing-- I can't stand that stuff." Yet, he readily acknowledges that the people who are always packaging and promoting themselves are often the ones who get ahead.

    Mayther particularly loathed playing the casino lounges: grinding out songs from 8 pm until 4 or 5 am and alternating sets with another band. "The money was good," Chris recalls, "but the people were there to gamble and we were a sideshow."

    It was natural for Chris to let his older brother run the band. Craig, who is now seriously ill, was an idea machine who once put together a 100-band, 10-stage, 1-day-concert at Blue Lake Park. He served as president of the Portland Music Association, was deeply involved in the Mayor's Ball, and organized dozens of music festivals, including (with Delmark Goldfarb) the original Portland Blues Festival in 1987.

    After a 15-year run, the Mayther Brothers Band called it quits. Chris worked on different projects until forming his own band about five years ago.

    Current band members include Rudy Battjes on drums, John Hughes on bass, Dave Fleschner on keyboards (Hammond B-3), and either Chris Carlson or Mark Spangler on guitar. Valerie Day and Jessica Holyfield help occasionally with backup vocals. "We've got the best rhythm section in down," Chris says. "Rudy is the best ensemble drummer I know and John's not flashy, but he has a background in Latin music and Jazz and he always fits in beautifully." He lavishes praise on Fleschner, the youngest band member. "Dave's not just a great player, he really inspires all of us and pushes the whole band with his energy."

    Finally, he raves about his guitar players. "Mark is a terrific musician and writer and what can you say about Chris Carlson (a CBA Muddy Award Winner for Electric Guitar)? Chris keeps very busy and I'm happy whenever he can play with us."

    Chris is releasing a CD this May with release parties to be held at Bacchus and the White Eagle. "The basic tracks are finished, we're just doing some overdubbing and final touches," he says. Mayther is producing the record himself, with engineering help from his drummer and good friend Battjes.

    Tony DeMicoli, promoter and owner of La Bamba and Key Largo and manager of the Long Goodbye, met Chris 25 years ago. DeMicoli, who booked hundreds of local and national bands, including the last performance of Big Mama Thornton at Key Largo shortly before she died, says he loved working with Mayther. "Chris has a great disposition and is an extremely hard worker. He's so big, yet he could move like James Brown." DeMicoli recalls seeing a Chris Mayther/Duffy Bishop duet that had the energy of the old Ike & Tina Turner Revue. "Chris is always getting better. He's learned to discipline his voice and how to use a mike. He's got more range now than he ever has."

    Chris sometimes performs sitting down but he never used to. He preferred to go out into the crowd and throw his body around, sometimes dropping to the floor and dancing wildly, working the audience to a fever pitch. Sometimes a band member would rush to him with an oxygen mask and Mayther would mug it up, panting and breathing in deeply before bouncing back to his feet to resume dancing frantically to screams and shouts. "I was always screaming and yelling, doing the soul thing and throwing myself around. I can't do that stuff anymore. My body doesn't bounce back like it used to. I've always carried a lot of weight and that's so hard on me."

    In 1991 a woman named Bonnie Battjes became the love of his life. Bonnie, a registered nurse that doted on her two poodles, and Mayther, seemed an unlikely couple, and Chris admits it was never an easy relationship. "It took a lot of work, but I learned more from Bonnie than I ever did from anyone else. She was the wisest and most non-judgmental person I've ever known." The couple lived near the railroad tracks in Southeast Portland and Bonnie once befriended a group of homeless men who scrounged bottles and cans and slept in a squatters' camp. One of the men was particularly unkempt and filthy and always appeared intoxicated. He slurred his words and his face was often marred by black eyes, bruised and cut cheekbones and split lips. The man smelled so foul even the other homeless men picked on him. But, Chris came home from work one day to find Bonnie sitting with the man in the back yard. "She learned that he was a Vietnam War veteran. She also discovered that he was suffering from multiple sclerosis. That's why he couldn't speak clearly and always looked drunk. She cleaned him up and took him up to the V.A. Hospital and helped him get turned around."
Chris said watching Bonnie help others opened his own eyes. "Until I met her, I hung around a bunch of insecure musicians and didn't give a damn about anything. When I saw how she helped that guy, I cried." Mayther cut down on his drinking and eased the throttle on his own hard lifestyle. He got counseling and learned that many of his problems were rooted in clinical depression.

    Chris and Bonnie moved to a farm in Clatskanie in 1995. Bonnie, a master gardener, grew acres of flowers, and the couple took their 16-foot boat out on the river for long rides. They ran a foster home for abused animals and took in up to 20 cats and 20 dogs at a time. "Bonnie turned me into an animal lover," Chris says. "I never understood what wonderful companions they are, or how much comfort they can give you." Mayther looked at his two poodles that once belonged to Bonnie, Zack, who is 15 and Sophie, who is 9, and smiled. "I would have never owned a poodle before I met Bonnie. I thought they were sissy dogs, but I was wrong. Standard poodles were hunting dogs in Germany and they were bad asses."

    Bonnie died in June of 2000, after battling cancer. Chris took it hard and retreated into himself. He is still healing and pushes himself to get out of the house, but he admits, "I don't go out much unless I am playing somewhere."

    He stays close to his two sisters, Mary, who is a counselor and therapist, and Robin, who owns a realty firm. He is also involved in Artists For The Arts (AFTA), which raises money for grants to make up for shortfalls in high school art budgets. He helped put on a fundraiser starring Duffy Bishop, Paul deLay, Mel Brown, and Jon Koonce. The event, held at the Kennedy School, is only in its second year, but it raised three times as much as it did last year.

    Music is still his main focus and he hopes to take the Chris Mayther Band to a higher level in 2004. He's been taking voice lessons from Valerie Day and has learned to stay within his range, to pick songs that compliment his skills, and to harness his powerful "chords." Mayther plans to spend more time on the road and to book more festivals on the West Coast. "If people can see you perform three nights a week in Portland, then it's not a big deal when you are around," he says. He is looking for a promoter or publicist to help get bookings for his band, but he vows to stay true to himself. "I'm sick of doing what people expect you to do, or what they want you to do. Now, I just say the hell with it. I go out and give people 100 percent of me and I don't hold anything back."

    The band has plenty of material, more than 200 songs, yet Chris is always looking for new tunes. "It makes a lot more work for us. It takes months sometimes even years of practice to get a song just right." Almost every band wants to go to the next level, but it isn't easy to do. Craig Mayther knows the music business and he thinks his brother's best years are still in front of him. "Chris' voice is stronger than ever. He goes against the mainstream and plays what he wants. He's had a clear look at who he is and he knows where he wants to go."

    The two siblings remain close, yet Chris points out that over the years, his older brother ruffled more than a few feathers. To this day, he says some people still mistaken him for Craig and he hopes this article will help smooth over any hard feelings. "Some guys are still upset at me for things that I never had anything to do with. I did enough damage to myself that I don't need to take on any extra stuff."

    Mayther is grateful for his family, his many friends, and for his music, which has helped sustain him through the most difficult times of his life. "I'm not religious, but the time I feel closest to God is when I'm on stage singing," he says. Although Mayther does not feign to be overly introspective, he knows who he is—and he's figured out what makes him tick. He found out the hard way that money doesn't motivate him. He had a lot of it once, but it didn't make him happy. "I lived out of a suitcase for years and possessions never meant that much to me. I'm lucky to have such a strong support system, because without it, I could easily be a homeless person."

– John Rumler

© 2004 Cascade Blues Association