rock and roll musings by Tim Byrnes

He Felt Good: On James Brown, Hope and Mortality

    On Xmas morning I woke, as I'm sure many of us did, to the news of James Brown's passing. That Monday was the lull between 2 major snowstorms here in Colorado that had been giving the days an even more numbing effect than the usual "I always shut down fer Xmas' crap that my life becomes those last weeks in December. So the 'Oh, crap' quotient got a little boost at this sad news. I never thought James Brown would/could die. I know that sounds like nonsense, but I was struck at the news of his death that I never considered James Brown to be human. I mean, I knew it intellectually, I didn't think he was a robot or something; only that, to me, what the man represented was larger and infinitely more real than the man himself.

     Starting to sound like spirituality. Well, as Lynn always says, rock and roll is the closest thing I got to a religion (still haven't moved back, the snowstorm kinda put the kibosh on any movement beyond town, at least for a while) and James Brown is/was/will be,  w/out a doubt, one of the top hierarchy in the firmament or whatever ridiculous title you want to give to a man who somehow transcends. I saw Brown's funeral service on CSPAN of all places, did the funky dance while sitting on the couch w/Buster in my lap and tears in my laughing eyes; bitched at Michael Jackson (how dare he not get on that stage and get on the good foot?) and marvelled at M.C. Hammer's stage moves. It was a glorious service. A celebration of the man's heart, soul and most importantly music.

    I'm sorry, but if everyone on the planet started every day by singing "Get Up Offa That Thing" there would be less hurt, war and anger in this world. Yes I know James had a checkered past regarding drugs, the law, spousal abuse and (as Rick Johnson so lovingly put it in CREEM magazine) recreational drag racing, but that was the man; flawed as he was funky and Lawd was he funky, y'all. The point is the music, the message, the mission was larger than the man. Larger than any man. Regardless of the artist's life, which I'm in no position to judge and, really neither are you, it's the art that will last. The primeval howl, the 'hit me', the tighter than tight horn blasts, Jimmy Nolen scratching that Strat into eternity that will last. A guiding roll of heat and heart, a happiness spun like gold from the actions of men and women in the service of something bigger than themselves; getting on up like a sex machine. This is what I get from rock and roll. Maybe that's what Christians get from Christianity, Jews from Judaism etc. I somehow doubt that, though.

    Especially the sex machine part.

Posted by: timbyrnes at 17:57 | link | comments (5)