RIP Godfather
Current mood: melancholy

I never thought I would live to see the passing of the Godfather of Soul. Really, James Brown -- along with Fidel Castro, whose days sadly seem counted as well --  had convinced me that aliens do exist, and we are grateful for their presence here on our humble planet.  It wasn't his biological fecundity that convinced me of this extra-terrestrial provenance (his youngest child is a toddler!), nor that remarkable mouth capable of forming the widest grin of excitement or the most tortured frown of love pains. It wasn't his relentless hunger to perform, no matter if he was in jail, or if the country was rioting after the assissination of Martin Luther King Jr., or no matter if he was a septuagenarian, though I think those support my theory as well. But it was really his raw genius that revolutionized music around the world that I thought was beyond the capability of one man. I felt James Brown, like Sun Ra, must have come from some other place, some special place where life moves to a different beat. He's a musician whose work has never aged, because it was always music of the past, present, and most especially the future, and it seemed to me that he didn't age either. I grew up with I Feel Good always playing on the oldies stations, with the tight tight funk of the J.B.'s forming the backbone of hip hop, and with James Brown's next local performance listed in the paper every few months.

In college, my favorite guilty pleasure was getting into the shower in my crowded apartment with a boombox in the bathroom sink beating out the 19-minute It's a Man's Man's Man's World medley from Live at the Apollo. Naked and hot in the cold Midwestern winter, I would indulge in a half-hour shower, singing along with The Godfather's emotional frenzy at the top of my lungs, reaching a hand out to rewind the tape and start over when the song finally came to an end.

R.I.P. James Brown, The Godfather of Soul. You took us hiiiiiiii-iiiiii-igher. Whereever it is you came from, may you return in peace, or perhaps, in a loud chorus of horns and guitar and shouts, taking you back home on the downbeat.

Currently listening : Live at the Apollo By James Brown Release date: 23 March, 2004

1:26 AM - 0 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Adios Chicago. The memories will last a lifetime.
Current mood: high

All my friends thought I was crazy to give you a chance. I argued that you were worthy of a second thought, that maybe beneath the hard, cold, shell of a thug on the outside was a warm and kind interior, a midwestern gentleman. Through our rocky relationship, you proved me right. I became a woman, and a better human being, in your care and through your endless challenges to my spirit. But we both saw the end coming years ago. You didn't appreciate a good glass of wine and I never could appreciate house music, though you know I tried. Our disparate backgrounds got the best of us, and the relationship was not destined to last. I will never forget those nights together under the most spectacular red  skies. Goodbye Chicago. I miss you, and will forever cherish the memories.

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