JAMES BROWN: THE GODFATHER SUPREME

JAMES BROWN: THE GODFATHER SUPREME

BILL HOLDSHIP

James Brown is the father of modern black music, or as Arthur Conley once aptly put it, "the king of them all." He's been at the top for nearly three decades, from a time when R&B was still regarded as "race" music to the present where the funk he pioneered is an integral part of the pop music scene. He was the catalyst who paved the way for everything that's followed him—including the Memphis shouters, the emotional balladeers, Sly Stone, '70s street funk, the whole Parliament/Funkadelic trip (Bootsy Collins began in JB's band), disco, rap (he recently credited himself and Buddy Holly[!?] with that one), Prince, Rick James and Michael Jackson (Jackson first auditioned for Motown with an impersonation of Brown's "I Got The Feelin'," while he and Prince recently joined Brown onstage at an L.A. club).

With today's strong interest in African polyrhythms, it should be noted that Brown was the individual who first brought Africa to American R&B, and I've heard more than one person say that the music of Fela and his Africa 70 reminds them of nothing more than a Nigerian version of the James Brown Revue. He was one of the first artists—let alone black artists—to gain complete artistic control of his career. He was an influence on white rock 'n' roll as well, with Jagger copping his moves, the Who and Them covering his songs, Clarence Clemons learning his licks as one of the Famous Flames, and one can only wonder where Talking Heads might be today without him. Above all, he was a symbol (and later a spokesman) for black pride and achievement at a time when Muhammed Ali was still a young contender named Cassius Gay. As Mel Watkins wrote of him: "He is not singing about black life—he is black life."

He was born near Augusta, Georgia on May 3, 1928, and grew up in extreme poverty. At an early age, he began tap dancing for coins in front of WDRW (an Augusta radio station he later bought), and became proficient on harmonica, keyboards, drums and bass, as well as developing his voice in Baptist church choirs. At 16, he was sentenced to 8-16 years "hard labor" in a work camp for breaking into cars. Paroled four years later, he played semi-pro baseball and had several professional fights before a leg injury cut short his athletic career. He was working as a janitor when he formed the Swanees, an R&B vocal group that soon became the Famous Flames.

The group began recording as early as 1948, but it wasn't until they recorded a demo of "Please, Please, Please" (a song he began composing in prison) in '56 that they came to the attention of Syd Nathan of King Records, who signed them to his subsididary Federal label. "Please, Please, Please" sold a million copies, going to the top of the R&B charts, while the beautiful "Try Me (I Need You)" was his first to enter the pop charts (#48) in 1958. All of his early recordings (including "Good Good Lovin'," "Think" and "I'll Go Crazy") were blacker than the typical R&B of the fime, incorporating elements of pure gospel and jazz, and moving R&B away from the show biz (albeit great) slickness of artists like Jackie Wilson, Sam Cooke or even Ray Charles, and back towards the religious fervor of its basic gospel roots.

In the late '50s, he organized the James Brown Revue, which—despite Ringling Brothers' counter-claim—was probably the greatest show on earth at the time, with its 40 singers, dancers and musicians. The show played over 300 dates a year, with Brown repeating his wild acrobatics, splits, screams and cries night after night, culminating in his trademark "Please, Please, Please" finale—a melodramatic spectacle which was a combination of Help Me Before I Hurt Myself and what Greil Marcus has called No Man Alive Can Make Me Leave The Stage. As Brown wailed about a lost love, three sidemen would drape him with a cape and lead him offstage, as he threw a tantrum, returned to center stage and dropped to his knees in sobbing anguish. A good portion of the show was captured on film for 1965's The TAMI Show (in which the Rolling Stones looked tame beside him), and on vinyl for 1962's Live At The Apollo, perhaps the greatest live LP ever recorded.

The LP went to the Top 10, was on the charts for an unprecedented 66 weeks, and was the first R&B LP to sell in large numbers to blacks (as well as whites, who were beginning to catch on).

In 1964, he broke his contract with King by giving "Out Of Sight" (another big hit) to Smash Records. A legal battle ensued, resulting in his return to King with complete business and artistic control of his recordings, and it was in '65 that he emerged as a genuine cross-over superstar, thanks to British Invasion bands who championed him, and appearances on Dick Clark's Where The Action Is, The TAMI Show » and the "beach" movie spin-off, Ski Party, i "Papa's Got A Brand New Bag" sold over * two million copies, winning a Grammy, and j "I Got You (I Feel Good)" went gold that c same year. These two landmark records changed conventions and set the rhythmic T standard for the soul and funk that would follow, with their chunka-chunka guitars, disjointed bass vamps, and punctuating hom blasts—all owing much to Latin and African cross-rhythms. Naturally, it was great dance music. Brown#evolved his funk formula even further on subsequent recordings, riffing and rapping over one chord repetitions with a single bridge—a device he would later poke fun at by screaming "Should I take them to the bridge?" on songs like "Sex Machine" (and which was affectionately parodied by Led Zeppelin on "The Crunge").

In 1968, he took "Say It Loud—I'm Black And I'm Proud" to the top of the pop charts. It was the first anthem of black pride, and he followed it with a series of "message" songs ("Don't Be A Drop-Out," "King Heroin," etc.), setting the stage for later "messages" from the likes of Stevie Wonder, Curtis Mayfield and Marvin Gaye. His political influence was revealed when he calmed race riots in Boston and Washington with a marathon TV special the night after Martin Luther King's death, but in terms of politics, he has said: "Even when I identified with the black revolution, I did it as human, not as a black man...l don't love politics. I love people. I could've run for something and I guess I'd have won, but it's no good. You get tied down playing too many games. I can make better statements through music."

Although he has never lost his gift as one of the greatest bandleaders of all-time (he ended the Famous Flames in the mid-'60s, and has led the JBs, the New Breed and the JBs International since then), Brown took a dive during the '70s, both personally (the death of his son, the I.R.S. sued him for $4.5 million in back taxes, etc.) and professionally. His career began to revive in 1980 with his appearance in The Blues Brothers film and the re-release of Live At The Apollo on Solid Smoke. He began touring the rock club circuit that year, gaining exposure to an entirely new generation and audience. He opened for the Police at a Toronto festival last summer, his appearance in Doctor Detroit was that film's one redeeming moment, and critics are calling his latest LP, Bring It On, his best in years.

I saw Brown perform in late August of this year, and he has aged better than anyone from the early rock era. Both his voice and body are in great shape, and his music retains that same old passion, pride and glory. He can still excite an audience—this one including blacks, whites, new wavers and grown men in three-piece suits—solely with his amazing footwork and the magic of his funk, utilizing none of the exploitative gimmickery lesser talents have used to elicit the same response in recent years. Many people have said that Prince and Michael Jackson are young James Brown reincarnated, and while I'll agree that both are fine artists, if both can still accomplish what James Brown does at the age of 55, then I'll agree that they too are truly great. Even if he never accomplishes another thing, he remains Mr. Dynamite, the hardest working man in show business, a living legend—Soul Brother Number One!