Aaron Neville: Soulful Voice That Soothes the Troubled

With a dagger tattooed onto one cheek and a wrestler’s build, Aaron Neville is one of the most physically imposing figures in pop music. His early life mirrored his looks: Much of Neville’s teens and adulthood were lost to heroin addiction, and he landed in jail a few times for robbery. But when Neville opens his mouth, out floats a heavenly choir--a falsetto as light as gossamer and as rich as butter.

That voice has earned Neville four Grammys: two for his duets with Linda Ronstadt, “Don’t Know Much” and “All My Life”; one for his duet with Trisha Yearwood, “I Fall to Pieces”; and one as part of the Neville Brothers, four siblings whose spicy gumbo of funk, rhythm-and-blues and Mardi Gras mambo has become synonymous with their native New Orleans.

Drug-free and law-abiding for years, Neville chatted about a new family autobiography, “The Brothers Neville” (Little, Brown), and his new solo CD, the New Orleans-flavored gospel album “Devotion” (Tell It Records).

Question: Why did you decide to do a gospel album?

Answer: I was raised on gospel, listening to it from my grandmothers.

Q: You’ve gone through drug addiction and jail time. It’s not the typical gospel singer profile.

A: When you go to jail, that’s all you hear is gospel.

Q: Why are songs by Bob Dylan, Simon & Garfunkel and Cat Stevens on the gospel album?

A: A lot of Bob Dylan’s songs are spiritual-type stuff, like “With God on Our Side.” When it came out, Cat Stevens’ “Morning Has Broken” was like a saving grace for me. It was good for my heart; it would make my day. And “Bridge Over Troubled Waters” is a song I’ve always wanted to record.

Q: Did you always know you had an incredible voice?

A: I didn’t know about incredible, but I enjoyed it. When I was about 8 years old, me and a guy named Buckwheat, we’d sing our way into the movies or a basketball game or whatever; we’d sing and they’d let us in for nothing. I used to think I was Nat “King” Cole and Roy Rogers and Gene Autry.

Q: Why did it take so long for the Neville Brothers to record together?

A: We’d been tied up on contracts with different companies, we’d been playing with different groups. And in between, all kinds of stuff was going on. We’d be playing a gig and we’d take a break, we’d be gone an hour and a half on drugs. And I’d split up with my wife, I was zoned, out in the street.

Q: What was it like to be on drugs all that time?

A: You’re like two people. One of you wants real bad to quit, but the other one is right there and he’s saying, “Man, but we can go score right here!” You gotta get rid of him.

I went cold turkey a bunch of times; I’d jump on the bus to New York, I’d sit on the back seat and crawl into a knot and go through whatever I had to go through for however many hours I was on that bus. And the next thing, one of your friends comes around and you’re doing it again. Sometimes I’d cry; I didn’t want to look at myself in the mirror because I’d see the other guy.

Q: What pulled you through?

A: My faith in God and my momma, who turned me onto St. Jude, who helps hopeless cases. He’s on this earring I’m wearing. And rehab.

Q: Tell me about working with Linda Ronstadt.

A: Meeting her was one of the greatest things to happen to me. She came to see the Neville Brothers at the World’s Fair in New Orleans. So I dedicated a song to her, and I called her on stage to sing a doo-wop with me. . . . When we finished the record [1989’s “Cry Like a Rainstorm, Howl Like the Wind”], I said, “Meet you at the Grammys.” And sure enough, we did.

Q: Your autobiography says a group in London used your music to help people through difficult times.

A: It was called BANANAS: the British Awfully Nifty Aaron Neville Appreciation Society. I get all kinds of people telling me things about my music. One lady told me about a 6-year-old kid who was autistic. He was out of tune with the universe. They couldn’t do nothing with him, they had to keep him tied down in a rubber room. The only thing that would soothe him was my singing. Stuff like that, that’s worth more than a Grammy.