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Rockabilly singer's career not defined by popularity

Dawson, right above his fireplace, there is an enlarged concert flier of a show that Dawson performed in the 1980s with rockabilly legend Carl Perkins. Dawson opened for Perkins, so his name is in small type under Perkins' name, which, of course, is in very large type.

When Dawson showed this poster to a Star-Telegram reporter, he was proud to have his name in small type. Not a trace of bitterness existed.

Here was a man whose life was filled with brushes with fame, and while most musicians would certainly be full of resentment if there was a stop sign in front of every gold mine, Dawson was thankful -- grateful for the small slice of success that life handed him.

The Dallas-based rockabilly singer and guitarist died of throat cancer Tuesday in Dallas at age 64.

Dawson, who was born in Waxahachie, was a monster on stage, a walking bolt of electricity whose live shows were notoriously blistering. He cut his teeth in the Dallas area, performing at the Big D Jamboree, before he started hopping from record label to record label, success always nipping at his feet but never biting.

It wasn't until the last 15 years that Dawson finally started getting his due. In the mid-'80s, his music -- an odd hybrid of rockabilly that often splintered into blues and zydeco -- took off in England, then finally, albeit mildly, in the United States. The apex of his career was, no doubt, a show at Carnegie Hall in 1994. His last concert was March 29 this year in Austin.

Dawson should not only be remembered for his music but also for his attitude. Constantly upbeat, even when facing dire straits, Dawson simply would not allow life's cataclysms to let him down -- not the cancer, not the small tastes of fame, not his unsung hero status. Ronnie Dawson may be gone, but in the end, he won; he didn't let a single thing break him.

Malcolm Mayhew, Fort Worth Star-Telegram

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