Legacy

His callused fingers curve over the piano keys as they explore the glossy blacks and whites. This movement is delicate and elegant; a contrast to the rigidity of his broad shoulders. After a casual smile, his reservation falls away. He closes his eyes, flicks his wrists and soars. His voice — vibrant and mellow — ripens chords into rich, soulful cascades.

Phrases swell and stretch while words mature. His body sways in tandem with the beat — a slow dance of skin and cadence, melody and harmony. With precision and ease, the hands of Ronald Robinson, those of an electrician, become those of a musician.

And he’s one of ours.

He dons a navy blue shirt every weekday at 7 a.m., tucked into a sturdy pair of jeans. Dressed in the homogenous garb of Facility Services with his laminate identification badge clipped to his shirt, Robinson fades into the framework of the University — just another set of hands, pulling strings and winding gears. But strip away the navy, add music into the equation, and he’s a man transformed.

You might have passed Robinson before, his face obscured as he replaces flickering lights in Middleton Library. On an electrician’s diet, light bulbs are always on the menu. Four to five cases a day, to be more precise. With each case containing 25 bulbs, Robinson “can’t even tell you” the time he spends everyday replacing bulbs on campus.

“We never get slack in light bulbs,” Robinson said.

Robinson started working for Facility Services after getting married three years ago. He took the job with the University because of the unstable nature of the music business.

“[In music], there’s no security and no guarantee,” Robinson said. “I needed to have something solid.”

He is an Master Electrician by title, troubleshooting and constantly making electrical repairs on campus. When Hurricane Gustav ravaged campus last fall, Robinson worked long hours to keep the generators working. He also ran life-sustaining extension chords to doctors and patients in the PMAC. He has an important role at the University, but at the end of the day, his music is waiting.

“Don’t get me wrong. I like my job at LSU, but I would much rather be [playing music] all day,” Robinson said. “Music is my passion.”

While most seven-year-olds were playing front-yard football or little league baseball, Robinson was singing gospel music and learning to play guitar. Robinson began his music career in Covington at Bethel Reform Methodist Church, the congregation his family called home. Robinson’s father, Horace Martin, led the gospel choir — The Silver Star Gospel Singers — with his wife, Elnora, in the chorus. But not learning guitar was never an option for Robinson who “hated it with a passion.”

“[My father] gave me some music and said, ‘You need to learn to play this,’” Robinson said.

With the help of a fellow guitarist, he quickly picked up the basics. At 8 years old, Robinson made his musical debut on guitar, leading his father’s group in the song “Meet Me at the River of Jordan.”

“The more I played with the gospel group, the more I learned,” said Robinson, who described his music-driven childhood as “a family thing.”

Growing bored with guitar, Robinson moved to drums and bass guitar at 9 and 10 years old, respectively, while still performing accompaniment and singing with his father’s choir. Robinson joined the band in seventh grade to avoid health class and learned to play trombone and tuba. Saxophone and trumpet followed suit as Robinson entered high school, but his appetite for learning new instruments didn’t cease. He continued playing lead guitar, drawing inspiration from hard rock icons like Eddie Van Halen, but bass guitar was his favorite of the instruments.

“In my music, I strive to do better,” Robinson said. “I push myself.”

Prince released his album “Purple Rain,” in 1984 when Robinson was a high school senior. Robinson entered a phase he described as his “identity crisis.” Wearing purple pants and riding a purple bike, Robinson was sucked away from gospel and thrust into music’s secular arena.

“My father said, ‘You’re a gospel singer. Why are you doing this?’ But I still wanted to be Prince,” Robinson said. “I didn’t put my efforts in the right places.”

That same year, Robinson was offered a full scholarship from Frank Wickes, the University’s current Director of Bands, to play tuba at LSU. Robinson turned down the offer, and multiple other scholarship offers, to go straight to work. He graduated in ’85 and got a job working for his uncle’s construction company.

Robinson “has no regrets” about turning down the scholarships. He soon became jack-of-all trades, mastering skills ranging from carpentry to electrical, all while continuing to play music. He formed a band after high school and traveled to Norway in 1989 with a Zydeco band — a group he played guitar with for two years.

Though he dabbled with mainstream music, Robinson was given a chance to resume his passion for gospel music. Robinson, 21 years old at the time, returned to his gospel roots after being hired as the music minister at Bethel Reform. Not knowing how to play the piano, Robinson assumed the reins of Bethel’s music ministry and quickly learned the piano, keyboard and organ.

For a year, he played all the music in the key of C. It wasn’t until he “began to take things more seriously” that Robinson was able to learn the instrument and begin exploring other key signatures, building the music repertoire of the ministry.

“If you master your instrument, it will take care of you,” Robinson said. “I had to grow up to learn that. Don’t learn a song. Learn your instrument.”

Robinson has been a music minister ever since and currently serves both the Greater Mt. Gideon Baptist and Israelite Baptist Church, where he and his wife are members.

“He’s at his best when he’s singing and playing,” said Robinson’s wife, Tizi. “When you see him at church — that’s him. Music just excites him.”

Robinson signed a contract in February with Tate Publishing Co., and released his first album, “I Raise My Hands,” on Sept. 15. He performs as Minister Ronald Robinson along side Faith, his group of backup singers. The album, a testimony to the trials Robinson has been through over the past few years, is named to reflect his own experience as a Christian.

Robinson recorded most of his album during a two-month hiatus from work he was forced to take after injuring his left knee. He recorded in Outback Studio, a fitting name for the recording studio located in Robinson’s backyard.

Tate allowed Robinson to record “I Raise My Hands” in his own studio.

“It’s an advantage that I don’t have to bring in musicians,” Robinson said, who did most the instrumental himself.

With his wife’s encouragement, Robinson was certified in studio engineering in October 2008 from the Audio Institute of America. His diploma is mounted above his computer monitor — the hub of his recording studio.

“My wife would always say ‘Take it serious. Get as much knowledge as possible,’” said Robinson, who originally learned studio work hands-on and under self-instruction.

By learning the proper theory involved, the certification “made it more official.” The studio contains a design station, where Robinson does all the artwork for the albums, and a “wall of fame” comprised of photographs from significant musical moments. His eight guitars hang on the walls in a row alongside posters and memorabilia.

“A guitarist can never have too many guitars. Each one has a different sound, purpose, and feel. But to my wife, there is such thing as too many,” Robinson said with a grin.

Outback Studio has recorded musicians like Johnny Pierce, saxophonist, and the gospel group, The Spiritual Brothers. Even his father’s gospel group, The Silver Star Gospel Singers, recorded their first album “Long Time

Coming” in Outback to celebrate the 43 years since the group’s formation. But don’t let Robinson’s sharing nature fool you, as gospel is the only genre allowed in the studio.

“I stick to my gospel,” Robinson said.

Music has been a driving force in Robinson’s life since childhood, but there was a time when he almost forfeited his dreams. However, his wife encouraged him to stick with his music through his struggles.

“She’s always there with me when I sing,” Robinson said of his wife, who motivates him whenever he becomes discouraged in his music. “It’s a team effort.”

For his album, Robinson drew inspiration not only from loved ones, but from the campus. One of his songs, “Rain Down,” was written while Robinson sat by the University lakes, watching raindrops hit the water.

Whether holding a microphone or rewiring a circuit, his hands weave an anthem of resilience and grace. His voice is a unique piece of our community, yet he’s one of the “unseen, but essential” figures on campus, according to Joe Kelly, associate vice chancellor for Facility Services.

While our cry of “Forever LSU” resonates among the cherished passageways on campus, Robinson’s labor — and voice — will maintain and preserve our oak-shrouded halls.

Photographs by Kim Foster