From blocks away, the bright-red lettering and grandiose marquee of Harlem's Apollo Theater stand out. They evoke the theater's unique place in the musical tale of the United States – of the past mingling with future, of tradition mixing with innovation. But more than that, they remind passersby of the larger-than-life stars who made history at the Apollo.

Ray Chew, the theater's musical director, is one of those talents.

Chew, a Teaneck resident and father of two daughters, has already left an indelible mark on a music industry heís been entrenched in for decades. And, he doesnít show any signs of letting up.

Every Wednesday night at the Apollo, Chew calms the pre-performance nerves of amateur singers, dancers and actors. He runs an entertainment company with his wife, Vivian Scott Chew, and serves as a trustee for the National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences, the organization that gives out the Grammy Awards. In his spare time, he produces his own music, runs a youth choir and is helping write a new TV series.

Ray's getting his feet wet in politics, too – but heís not running for office. He organized the music for the four-day Democratic National Convention, including every song-accompanied introduction for every last speaker. And in January, he acted as musical director for the first-ever, highly anticipated Neighborhood Inaugural Ball, during which Barack and Michelle Obama shared their first dance as first couple.

"For me, it's a tremendous honor, a tremendous undertaking, tremendous in every sense of the word," Ray said a week before the inauguration. "So here we go."

Off to Juilliard

Ray jumps with both feet into every endeavor he takes on. The mindset dates back to his piano-playing days in Harlem, when he was barely tall enough to see the keys. "My dad was a musician. He played music in the house," Ray recalls. "I would always gravitate [toward him] and bang on his stuff. I started tinkering on the piano."

That was sometime around age 4 or 5, he says. Immediately, his parents recognized a special talent in him, and off he and his mother, Elaine, went to test his skills. Their instincts were correct: Juilliard offered a pre-pubescent Ray the Vladimir Horowitz Scholarship, named for the Russian-American considered one of the worldís most talented pianists.

"From that point, I probably engaged in every musical institution in New York City," says Ray. "My mother had me involved in everything." Not a hint of resentment creeps into Ray's voice when he recounts his music education – rather, heís thankful.

Ray's appreciation comes out even when he is not the one speaking. Vivian, his wife of 12 years, gushes about the opportunities afforded her husband. "His mother, Elaine, was a huge force for where he is now," she says. "She really instilled that warrior spirit."

All About Faith
Neither Vivian nor Ray himself believe that luck and parental goading alone got the musician where he is today. "Three-year-olds donít just sit down and start playing unless itís a gift from God," Vivian says. "Ray has been ordained by God to do exactly what he does, which is why he does it so well … Everything is done with the same precision and passion."

Ray is more reserved when sharing his thoughts about this subject – unless asked directly, that is, or in relation to his music. His faith bubbles to the surface as he discusses his passion and gift for song. "I know that my mission is that Iím a music man," he says, "that I continue … spreading the musical message and connecting with people and doing what I do in a positive sense."

That unerring spirituality allows Ray to live an anxiety-free life – Vivian says he describes himself as a pendulum, constantly moving in many directions yet always returning to center – despite working with high-profile celebrities and musicians. For the Neighborhood Ball alone, he directed Beyonce, Stevie Wonder, Sting, Mary J. Blige, Adam Levine (from Maroon 5), Faith Hill, Jamie Foxx, Alicia Keys, will.i.am, Mariah Carey and Jay-Z.

The Presidential Seal

Of course, the real star of the Neighborhood Ball was the new president, who stood 10 feet away from Ray backstage. But being in such close proximity wasnít the highlight for the musician. "After the first dance, [President Obama] came by, and I said, 'Mr. President,' and he shook my hand," Ray says with a smile and a slight nod of approval. "He was a cool guy an – exactly what you see on television."

That handshake signaled the pinnacle of several weeks of craziness for Ray. He received the initial request to direct the music of the Neighborhood Ball in late December. Between that call and the celebration, he also acted as musical director of the BET Honors, which took place Jan. 17 (and aired Feb. 9).

Rehearsals for the Neighborhood Ball started Jan. 18. Two days later, Ray and several dozen musical stars performed live, in front of millions, for the president and first lady. "Most of the time, Ray gets the opportunity to tape shows, so if something goes wrong, you fix it," Vivian says. "[Here], there was no fixing." Her husband delivered without a hitch, she quickly adds.  

Ray's selection for this role doesn't surprise David Rodriguez, executive director at bergenPAC, who worked with Ray at the Apollo. (They still work together on the Englewood theater's annual gala.) Rodriguez cites Ray's musicality, his creativity and the trust he breeds in artists. "[Ray] is amongst the handful of A-list musical directors in the country," he notes.

Vivian truly believes her husband is the best man for the opportunities he's presented, and not just because he's her husband. "Nobody does what Ray Chew does," she says. "Nobody can go from playing a beautiful piano sonata to staying up all night and writing parts for 16 instruments, and then getting a baton and getting up and conducting them. He does it all."

Again, Ray is slightly more modest, thankful for the opportunity, particularly because of what Barack Obama as president represents. "The world understands that this president has a different viewpoint than all of his predecessors. He has a fresh outlook," Ray says. "Barack Obama is not the black president. Barack Obama is the president who happens to be of color."

That makes Ray, who grew up in Harlem and the Bronx in the '50s and '60s, and Vivian, who remembers the days when African-Americans couldn't try on clothes in stores, proud of their country and their roots.

Professional at the Apollo

At the end of January, Ray is back at the Apollo Theater for Amateur Night, his first since the inauguration and, coincidentally, the 75th anniversary of the show. Clad in all black and clearly in his element, Ray preps for an evening of work.

"House, let's get the loop," he says as he signals to someone off stage.

Soon, the performers each take a turn practicing with "Ray Chew and the Crew." Ray, who is center stage behind his electric keyboard, speaks to each one, writes a few notes, offers a reassuring smile or gesture, then gets into the music.

He looks right at home at the Apollo Theater. That's probably because he considers the theater and the neighborhood his home. His grandfather owned a combination record-shoeshine store around the corner, and Ray used to sneak out of the shop just to watch the crowd form around the theater. "I knew who was there just by the lines," he says. "If James Brown was there, the line would be wrapped around the block twice. The line would wrap totally around the block."

Ray's love affair with the Apollo started long ago and was aided, early on, by the fact that his dad grew up near the landmark. And it will likely continue for as long as the musician has the energy to work. It's part of his soul now. "The fact that he still gives himself time to do [Amateur Night] is a testament to the type of person Ray is," Rodriguez says. "He feels strongly about giving back to the history and heritage of the music and the theater."

That, and Ray has a darn good time too. "I like doing all the stuff I'm doing," he adds. "I enjoy the full ride here." For that, the Apollo Theater – and the music industry in general – will be forever grateful.