NNPA Columnist
I was headed to Atlanta to spend several days with my mother over the holidays when I heard the news that James Brown had died of congestive heart failure caused by pneumonia early Christmas morning at an Atlanta hospital.
My first reaction was one of disbelief: “Please, Please, Please,” I kept singing. “Don’t go, I love you so.” Yes, I love me some J-a-m-e-s B-r-o-w-n. Since recording “Please, Please, Please” in 1956, he has been at the top of my hit list. He sang, “Try Me,” and now, 800 hits later, I am still doing just that.
In the late 1960s, while spending a few months in New York City, I went to the Apollo Theater almost every week. Whenever “the Hardest Working Man in Show Business’” appeared at the Apollo, lines would extend along 125th Street in Harlem and wrap around the block. After the warm-up acts, Danny Ray, the announcer, would say, “It’s star time” and then tick off a list of James Brown hits: “Please, Please, Please”; “Try Me”; “Night Train”; “Prisoner of Love”; “Papa’s Got Brand New Bag”; “I Got The Feeling”; “Cold Sweat”; “It’s a Man’s World”; “Say It Loud – I’m Black and I’m Proud”; “Give It Up Or Turn It Lose”; “Popcorn”; “Hot Pants”; “The Big Payback.” After the big buildup, Ray would say, “Ladies and Gentlemen, Jaaa-aaaaames Brownnnnnnnnnnnn, James Brown, James Brown!” By then, we’d all be mesmerized, standing, yelling and screaming to the top of our voices.
James Brown was energy in motion, the ultimate showman. He was a singer, dancer, songwriter and bandleader, all rolled into one. His official biography in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame notes, “This much is certain: what became known as soul music in the Sixties, funk music in the Seventies and rap music in the Eighties is directly attributable to James Brown.”
He was the superstars’ superstar. Elvis Presley, Mick Jagger, David Bowie and Michael Jackson all mimicked James Brown, some more successful than others.
My favorite James Brown story involves not the entertainer, but Adrienne, his third wife. Fighting several traffic tickets, her lawyer filed a petition in court claiming she should be extended diplomatic immunity because her husband was the official ambassador of soul.
Several times a year I enjoy driving from Washington, D.C. to Tennessee to attend board of trustees meeting at Knoxville College, my alma mater, or to Augusta, Ga., the adopted hometown of my mother and James Brown. When I am driving long distances, I keep pumped up by listening to James Brown. About six years ago, when I was editor of Emerge magazine, Clarence Brown, the associate publisher, gave me James Brown – Star Time, a set of four James Brown CDs as a Christmas gift. Now, whenever I leave on a road trip, my gift from Clarence leaves with me. And so it was Christmas when I arrived in Augusta with JB gliding across the CD player. When I return to D.C., James Brown will go back with me. I won’t get a chance to see him perform live anymore, but at least I’ll have his music as a reliable travel companion. And as long as I can have that, “I Feel Good.”