I do it every day because that's my joy. I love it.
Ronald LaPread, the bassist who helped give soul and funk music some of its most enduring rhythmic foundations, died at 75 in Auckland, New Zealand — a city he had called home for four decades after a life that began in Alabama and ascended through the stages of Motown history. He co-founded The Commodores at Tuskegee Institute alongside Lionel Richie and others, and for sixteen years his bass lines held together the songs that generations have never stopped reaching for. His passing arrives just months after he fulfilled a long-held dream: stepping back onto the stage with his bandmates one final time, in the city where he had quietly continued to play every day, out of love and gratitude for the gift he believed he had been given.
- A sudden medical event in Auckland claimed LaPread's life at 75, leaving the world of soul and funk without one of its founding architects.
- His daughter Soraya, herself a music producer, broke the news on social media — a private grief made public in the way of this era, with a photograph and a loss too large for easy words.
- The Commodores had just celebrated his return to the stage in October 2025, calling it the highlight of their Auckland show — a reunion that now reads as a farewell neither side knew they were making.
- From opening for the Jackson 5 in 1971 to a Grammy win for 'Nightshift' in 1986, LaPread's sixteen-year arc with the band produced a catalog that still moves people across generations.
- Tuskegee's mayor mourned him as a native son whose journey from a high school music program to Motown's roster became an enduring source of civic pride and inspiration.
Ronald LaPread, the bassist whose low-end grooves anchored some of the most beloved records in soul and funk, died Saturday at 75 following a sudden medical event in Auckland, New Zealand, where he had lived for forty years. His daughter Soraya announced the news on social media, sharing a photograph of the two of them together.
LaPread's story began at Tuskegee Institute in Alabama, where he and five fellow musicians — among them Lionel Richie, Walter Orange, Thomas McClary, William King, and Milan Williams — formed what would become The Commodores. A 1971 opening slot for the Jackson 5 cracked open the door to national attention, and Motown signed them the following year. For sixteen years, LaPread's bass was woven into the fabric of songs people still reach for: 'Brick House,' 'Easy,' 'Three Times a Lady,' 'Sail On,' and 'Nightshift,' the song that earned the band their Grammy in 1986.
After stepping away from the group, LaPread made his life in New Zealand — but never stopped playing. In a 2022 interview, he described his daily practice at home as pure joy. 'I believe that God gave me that gift,' he said, 'but I will use it until I can't do it anymore.' He also spoke of a quiet dream: to stand on stage with the Commodores one more time.
That dream came true last October, when the band performed in Auckland and LaPread joined them on stage. The Commodores called it their highlight — the original bassist back where he belonged, if only for one night. 'So much love in the theater,' they wrote afterward. It was, though no one knew it then, a final bow.
Tuskegee's mayor, Chris Lee, mourned LaPread as a native son whose talent and dedication had brought pride to the city and inspiration to generations. The Commodores, meanwhile, had recently made their own values clear by withdrawing from a politically charged national celebration, stating simply that their music had always been their voice — and they would not lend it to any single party. It was a posture consistent with the integrity LaPread had embodied throughout his life.
Ronald LaPread, the bassist whose low end anchored some of the most enduring grooves in soul and funk music, died Saturday at 75. His daughter Soraya, a music producer herself, announced the death on social media, sharing a photograph of the two of them together. The specific cause remained unclear in the immediate aftermath, though reporting indicated he had experienced a sudden medical event in Auckland, New Zealand, where he had made his home for four decades.
LaPread's story began in Alabama, at Tuskegee Institute—now Tuskegee University—where he and five other young musicians found each other and decided to form a band. Lionel Richie was there. So were Walter "Clyde" Orange, Thomas McClary, William King, and Milan Williams. They called themselves the Commodores. In 1971, they opened for the Jackson 5, a booking that cracked open the door to national attention. A year later, Motown signed them. By 1974, their debut album "Machine Gun" was in the world, and LaPread's bass was part of the sound.
For sixteen years, from 1970 to 1986, LaPread was the band's bassist. He played on eleven albums. His fingerprints are on the records people still reach for: "Machine Gun," "Brick House," "Easy," "Three Times a Lady," "Sail On," "Still," and "Nightshift." During those years, the Commodores earned nine Grammy nominations. In 1986, they won—for "Nightshift," a song that became a standard, a song that still moves people. LaPread's bass work was woven into that victory.
After 1986, he stepped away from the band and eventually relocated to New Zealand. But the music never left him. In a 2022 interview for a YouTube series called "TRUTH IN RHYTHM," he spoke about his daily practice at home, playing bass and keyboard and singing. "I do it every day because that's my joy," he said. "I love it. I believe that God gave me that gift, but I will use it until I can't do it anymore." He also spoke about a dream that had never quite left him: to stand on stage one more time with the Commodores, just for the pleasure of it.
That dream came true last October. In Auckland, where he lived, the Commodores came through for a show. LaPread joined them on stage. The band posted about it afterward, calling it their highlight—the original bassist back where he belonged, even if only for one night. "So much love in the theater," they wrote.
Tuskegee's mayor, Chris Lee, released a statement mourning LaPread as a native son and a legend. He noted that LaPread had begun his musical education at Tuskegee Institute High School and later at the university, where he helped build something that would ripple outward across the world. "His talent, dedication, and success brought pride to Tuskegee and served as an inspiration to generations of young people," Lee wrote. The city, he said, would remember him.
In recent months, the Commodores had also made news for withdrawing from a performance at the Great American State Fair, a celebration of the nation's 250th anniversary scheduled for Washington, D.C. The band explained their decision simply: their music had always been their voice, and they chose not to align publicly with any single political party. They supported the betterment of all Americans. It was a statement that reflected the band's values, made in their own terms, on their own ground.
Citações Notáveis
I play some bass and some keyboard and some singing. I do it every day because that's my joy. I love it. I believe that God gave me that gift, but I will use it until I can't do it anymore.— Ronald LaPread, in a 2022 interview
His talent, dedication, and success brought pride to Tuskegee and served as an inspiration to generations of young people who followed in his footsteps.— Tuskegee Mayor Chris Lee
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
What made the Commodores different from other bands coming up through Motown in that era?
They had something that felt both disciplined and loose—funk and soul that could make you move, but also ballads that could break your heart. LaPread's bass was part of that. He wasn't flashy. He was foundational. He held the pocket.
He spent forty years in New Zealand after leaving the band. That's a long time to be away. Did he feel like he'd left something unfinished?
I think he did, but not in a bitter way. He kept playing every day at home. He never stopped. And when he got the chance to play with them again last October, he took it. That reunion mattered to him. It was the thing he'd been hoping for.
The band recently pulled out of that big anniversary performance. Does that tell us something about who they were as people?
It tells you they had principles. They could have taken the stage, collected the paycheck, moved on. Instead they said no—not because of the music, but because of what it would have meant to align with something political. They chose their integrity over the platform.
Do you think LaPread saw that decision?
I don't know. But I imagine he would have understood it. He was someone who played music every single day because it was his joy, because he believed he'd been given a gift. That kind of person doesn't compromise on what matters.