The only thing our generation is bound to remember about James Brown is that, at one time or another in his life, he felt good. So good, in fact, it behooved him to yell. The onslaught of media tributes and obituaries following his death on Christmas Day may have served to add one more piece of information to this lasting memory: he was black.
Even though Generation X-Box was not fortunate enough to experience James Brown as directly and influentially as Generation X and the Boomers, his significance should not be lost on us. It can be gleaned from a few admirable facts about his life and art.
Everything you need to know about the authenticity of Brown as a musical artist is imparted by the title of his breakthrough album: Live at the Apollo. Key word there is “live.” Live! That was unconscionable even then. Live albums were mostly released by established stars at intervals when they were too lazy to memorize any new songs for a studio session. Many great live albums exist, of course, but not as career-makers. Brown’s record label viewed the prospect like a naïve policeman in a murder-mystery novel and declared suicide, forcing Brown to finance the recording himself. He did. Selling millions of copies upon its release in 1963, it put Brown on the map for good.
The album captured the exhilarating energy and penetrating passion of Brown’s marathon live show—and personality. Like singer Ruth Brown (who died a few weeks before him), he was one of the last in a distinguished line of stage-masters who could mesmerize the crowd with a drop of sweat and wink of an eye. Today there are plenty of shows but few showmen. A little bit of soul produces the most special effects, indeed.
James Brown was more than the consummate performer. He was also the consummate consummator—generating five sons and three daughters from four marriages, etc. But he was even more than that, too. He was a genuine black leader in the heat of the Civil Rights era, genuine in the sense that the title wasn’t self-proclaimed. He simply danced his song and everyone followed. Unlike many other so-called leaders, he was followed foremost by people rather than politicians.
“A proud exemplar and champion of black capitalism,” James Brown’s philosophy can be summarized in the titles of a few of his relevant songs:
“Say It Loud – I’m Black and I’m Proud”…“I Don’t Want Nobody to Give Me Nothing (Open Up the Door I’ll Get It Myself)”… “How You Gonna Get Respect”… “America is My Home.”
Maybe the Godfather of Soul wasn’t even a distant uncle of understatement, but he understood capitalism better than the vast majority of intellectuals in the Sixties. And his support for capitalism and personal productivity motivated him to outspokenly vote for Richard Nixon in 1972. (If only Nixon had the courage to act on the very ideas for which Brown had displayed so much courage in supporting him.)
Brown’s essential message was one of justified pride. Alas, it was a message that all the background vocals of the Sixties and Seventies managed to drown out. Need an idea of how those vocals sounded? Just consider that Brown took major heat for singing “America is My Home” and performing for the troops in Vietnam.
History has vindicated Brown’s wisdom, and posterity will validate his music. Some say rap and hip-hop could not possibly exist without Brown. If so, then he belongs in that truly exalted category of artistic innovators who had a terrible influence on their disciples.
And so it’s tough to tell what was most striking about Brown’s amazing life. To be sure, certain details were not too striking. Like many great musicians, he lived with a hell-hound on his trail—in constant pursuit, taking many sidetracks into drug abuse and domestic disgrace. But perhaps the most remarkable event took place on a night in 1968 when a musician could be credited for actually causing peace. It was the night of Dr. King’s assassination, and Brown had a concert scheduled in Boston. Amid riots nationwide he decided to have his show televised instead of cancelled. He sung his magic dance as usual and urged people not to “react in a way that’s going to destroy your community.”
Boston was spared the rioting. That’s enough to qualify Brown for a certain prize usually only deserved by ear-muffs.