By Jim Stanford on December 29, 2006
With another snowstorm creating more travel woes in Denver, I decided to extend my Christmas visit to New York and took the A train up to Harlem last night to pay my respects to Mr. Dynamite, James Brown.
The Godfather of Soul passed away on Christmas Day at 73. Fittingly, he went out in style.
The Godfather laid in state in a powder blue, rhinestoned tuxedo and silver boots, on the stage where he made his debut in 1956. (The New York Post ran a ghoulish open-casket photo on the front page this morning.)
I did not wish to view his corpse, but wanted to soak in the scene outside the Apollo Theater at what had become a several-blocks-long James Brown festival. His music thumped from speakers set up on the sidewalk, and in true New York fashion, hustlers hawked T-shirts bearing his likeness, and bootleg CDs. People danced, took photographs, embraced, bid each other farewell with JBisms like “Get on the Good Foot” (from Mother Popcorn, Part II) and traded James Brown stories.
I was fortunate to see the Godfather perform twice, most recently in San Diego in November 2005. In the spirit of last night’s remembrance, I have two James Brown stories to share.
Jazz Fest 1997
An hour earlier, I had been sitting on my friend JR’s couch with no plans for the night. After a big group of our friends left for a Béla Fleck show, JR came into the room and asked me if I wanted a ticket to James Brown. A free ticket. Well, yeah, how could I turn that down?
An hour later, I found myself in the very FRONT ROW at UNO-Lakefront Arena, as Brown’s band performed a lengthy intro. It was May 3, Brown’s 64th birthday. One member of our krewe had a broken foot, and for this was escorted into the handicapped seating area. Somehow that entitled ALL of us to take in the show from the front row, with the blessing of the security guards.
The Hardest-Working Man in Show Business made his entrance, and what stunned me most wasn’t his funk grooves, the tightness of his band, the size and shape of his hair, but his dancing. Man, could that guy move! He sashayed back and forth across the stage, right in front of us. I was in disbelief. In what seemed like an instant, I had gone from reclining on the couch to CUTTING A RUG with the Godfather of Soul. One of those unexpected, unmistakably Jazz Fest moments.
About halfway through the show, as the Godfather strutted our way, he paused briefly to acknowledge me. The song was Sex Machine. He glanced down with a surprised look that said, White boy can dance. Only two people in the world can corroborate this: John D. Ross Jr. and Ellen Teer. They congratulated me as we celebrated. GET ON UP! It will always be one of my greatest musical thrills.
San Diego, November 2005
In town to visit my friend Trip, I found out the Godfather was performing in a fairly small club. Trip had never seen the Godfather. In fact, he was one of those people who had left to see Béla Fleck some nine years earlier at Jazz Fest. I dragged him to the club, and outside we scalped two tickets for $45, the face value of one.
The show was a blast, and by the end Trip, still in his suit, was euphoric. When JB ended, the crowd swelled up in front of the stage, reaching out to touch him and shake his hand. He obliged anyone he could reach.
Afterward we went to a nearby bar, where we met some people who helped put on the show. I asked them what it was like to deal with the Godfather, and they shared some of the details of the rider, the list of demands every rock star specifies in his contract. If these conditions are not met, i.e. the bottled water from France is not at the precise right temperature, he or she will not perform. (For an extensive list of such riders, visit the “Backstage Pass” section of The Smoking Gun.)
In addition to feeding the Godfather’s entourage of 27 people, the promoter must provide a salon-style hairdryer in his dressing room. The rider spells out, in capital letters, “THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT.”
~
There will never be another like James Brown. It dawned on me, while watching Maceo Parker perform at the Knotty Pine in October, that musicians like Maceo, anyone who orbited in the JB universe, are beacons of funk. And JB was the funkiest of them all.
Long live the Godfather! Get on up.
Posted under entertainment, music, travel
