For me, James Brown was never just a voice, but the whole package. But the impact of that voice gave me hope because it was served without any frills and had nothing to do with what was supposed to be a huge voice. And this cry, which seemed to come from deep inside and demanded the rights of a primitive man: “I’m alive, I can do anything!” He called his dance movements “African nerve control”. That made sense. On his very early records he attempted to sing standards. But it wasn’t quite enough for that.
I first heard him on “Live At The Apollo” that was a few years later. I was working in a record store at the time. There are still a lot of traditional songs on “Apollo” – “Try Me”, “Lost Someone”. But what blew me away and gave me new ideas was the continuity with which he was doing these things. First the long intro and that incredibly detailed entrance music. And when James joins in, he’s very reserved at first, working with dynamic effects, loud and then very soft again.
In “Lost Someone” comes this frenzied repetition where the band keeps switching between two harmonies and he keeps saying, “I’ll love you tomorrow.” And then it suddenly comes – “Uh!” – like a slap in the face, and the band responds. None of this is random, but it doesn’t sound forced or straight-jacketed either. He was an amazing arranger. The track that completely freaked me out – I remember hearing it in the car – was “I Can’t Stand It”. He whistled the chorus, whistled the melody, there was little more than a riff left, but he urged the band on like the helmsman of a Roman galley: Row, you motherfuckers, uh!
James Brown explained to us how society works
His ballads always have a sharp edge somewhere that tells you there’s something real going on. One of the lesser known is Mama’s Dead on Black Caesar. It blows my mind every time. At the end, after he’s said all this hard stuff, he just says, “Everybody has a mother, and you know what I’m talking about.” Or in the chorus of “It’s a Man’s Man’s Man’s World” – a less brilliant artist would say : “It wouldn’t mean nothing without a woman”. Or “without a girl”. But not both. It’s not just text. He sings about something primal and fundamental. He tells us how society works. What money matters. Maybe because he didn’t have much himself at the beginning of his life. For me, the most moving part of his autobiography is where he taps fir trees with his father to harvest resin. This is real poverty.
The most important thing he taught me: Don’t stand there and stare at your shoes. Fuck that. Do something. He always sounds like he’s about to break out. Once you’ve decided to get out there and start grooving, so much becomes easier. That’s how you create movement in a society based on order. And you feel different, deep down. The movement transforms you as a singer, frees you from all that splayed stuff.
Music has a cathartic power in those situations, and the guys who do it know that very well. That’s why James Brown was able to call himself “Soul Brother Number One” — and no one ever called him a braggart.
An article from the RS archive