The Godfather of Soul

I had finished my route and was headed back to the car when I noticed a dry cleaners across the way. I had thrown a sports jacket in the back seat since I was going out that weekend; the jacket was mighty rank. I walked in the place and a grizzled black man of maybe 60 looked me over.

"Can I get this cleaned and pressed and pick it up on Saturday?" I asked.

"Saturday?" he replied, as if I had spoke foolish. "Saturday? We won't be here Saturday. James is comin' to town. How about Monday?"

I told him no, I needed it for the weekend, and headed for the door. My curiosity got the better of me so I turned back and asked, "James? James who?"

"James who? Why James Brown, you fool," he chuckled out the words, confirming his first take on me.

I knew who James Brown was; hell, anyone who loved music knew who he was, and I heard him a lot on the local black radio station, WANT. But I didn't know he was coming to Richmond and I had never thought of going to see him.

"Oh, right," I said, trying to cover my honky ass. "Maybe I'll go."

"Uh-huh," is all he said, so I turned and left.

I thought about that encounter yesterday as I saw Get On Up, the James Brown Story at my local multiplex. It's a damn good film and Chadwick Boseman, who so convincingly played Jackie Robinson in 42 is uncanny as Mr. Brown -- as he insisted on being addressed by everyone around him. After a while I forgot it was a movie and thought I was watching a documentary. The musical numbers are especially convincing and took me back to the three or four different times I saw the James Brown Show.

I can't honestly remember if I went that long ago Saturday after the conversation at the dry cleaners. But if not then, I went the next time "James came to town," something he did a couple times a year. The film shows a kid postering for a show at the Richmond Arena, a venue I knew well and was in many times, though never for a concert. I saw James Brown at least twice at the Richmond Mosque, a cavernous auditorium with the second worst acoustics on the east coast. Didn't matter, he was incredible. You can catch some of the excitement in the film.

The most memorable time James came to town was to a different town: South Bend, IN. He was scheduled for two performances, 8 and 11. I told my buddy John that the 11pm show would be far better. How right I was! The early show, of course, ran late, so the second show didn't start til after midnight. The Famous Flames danced and sang, the band backed up a string of opening acts -- all excellent and all forgotten -- and then the "hardest working man in show business" took the stage at maybe 2am. The place rocked til past 5 -- the sun was rising when we left! It was a night I will never forget and a concert that was perhaps never topped.

Mr. Dynamite (he had so many names) was a flawed individual who was in and out of trouble with the law, but he was also an amazing musical force who has influenced countless musicians after him; to this day he is one of the most sampled artists in history. He was also the man, as the film accurately depicts, who pretty much single handedly kept Boston from going up in flames the night Martin Luther King was assassinated. See the film, learn the story, listen to the music and then go play James Brown: Live at the Apollo, his incredible 1962 album that changed everyone's mind about what a recorded concert could be (pictured right; be sure you listen to this one, not the inferior Volume 2 from 1968.) It's the first thing I played after seeing the movie; right now I'm maybe a third of the way through the nine hours of James Brown music I own.

"The amazing Mr. Please Please himself, the star of the show, James Brown." Amen to that!