Musically, a baritone’s range rests between that of a bass or tenor – the most common of the three male voice types.
James Earl Jones was no middling nor common man. He was a vocal lion who became a voice of reason for not only an industry, but at moments, a nation. His range, expanded and perfected through adversity and the arts, was evident in how he voiced tragic father figures – Mufasa in “The Lion King” and “Star Wars” premier antagonist, Darth Vader.
When he revived Frederick Douglass’ fiery Fourth of July social commentary, “What to the Slave Is the Fourth of July,” he gave modern relevance to the centuries’ old challenge of Black freedom and equality in America. Mr. Jones, who died Monday at age 93, even toed the line between royalty and working man in Black cinema – both as Eddie Murphy’s father, the King of Zamunda, in “Coming To America,” and Diahann Carroll’s husband in “Claudine.”
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James Earl Jones’s legacy as a voice of reason is a reminder of what we might overcome when we face our trauma and find our purpose. His voice was a well of dignity, a reservoir of resonance that not only echoes from his career, but in all of us who heard him as well.
It was a life which started in Northern Mississippi in the early 1930s, in the throes of the Great Depression. At the age of 5, Mr. Jones moved to Michigan with his maternal grandparents, a transition so stunning that it left him with a pronounced stutter.
“It wasn’t that I stopped talking; it’s that I resolved that talking was too difficult,” Mr. Jones said in a 1996 interview fittingly named “The Voice of Triumph.” “You see, in the move from Mississippi to Michigan, you would think it would be a jubilant journey for a young boy of — I was then five years old — going to the promised land, you know. For me though, it was leaving the soil that I had touched with my bare feet, and I didn’t know if I’d ever touch soil with my bare feet again, and that was traumatic for me.”
He was healed through the arts, and credited an English teacher for revealing a gift of poetry. From there, Mr. Jones became a Michigan man, and cut his teeth through Shakespearean performances, the likes of Othello and King Lear. His presence lent gravity to everything from “The Hunt for Red October” to his unforgettable sportswriter in “Field of Dreams.”
But he left his mark with two otherworldly performances – the monochromatic villain with the brooding voice in “Star Wars,” and the booming presence over Pride Rock, both in life and in death. “No, I am your father,” Darth Vader told his son, Luke. It was a line that could have translated very well to “The Lion King.” Mr. Jones’ posthumous words as Mufasa helped his wayward son find his way back – “Remember who you are. You are my son, and the one true king.”
Saying Mr. Jones was a pioneer would be an understatement. He wasn’t just a trailblazing African American artist. He was a standard bearer in terms of his range and professionalism, which yielded an honorary Oscar, a special Tony for lifetime achievement, and the renaming of a Broadway theater. He was one of the few performers to hold an EGOT – having won an Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, and a Tony.
His legacy as a voice of reason is a reminder of what we might overcome when we face our trauma and find our purpose. Mr. Jones’ voice isn’t just one of conscience or a voice for trusted news. It is a well of dignity, a reservoir of resonance that not only echoes from his career, but in all of us who heard him as well.