Pages tagged “james brown”

In the current issue of Paste, which is our super-amazing year-end blowout issue featuring our top albums and movies and so forth, we also have a full-page guide to throwing a New Year’s party. Helmed by industrious fashionista and associate editor Kate Kiefer, with minor help from yours truly, the page includes a playlist of soul and funk jams to play as the clock marches on toward midnight.

DVD Release Date: Aug. 5
Director: David Leaf
Starring: James Brown,  Al Sharpton, Cornel West, Martin Luther King Jr.
Studio: Shout! Factory

Important footage of a legendary event

It might seem like hyperbole that a man—let alone a musician—could spare a city from almost certain devastation and chaos, but that’s the premise of The Night James Brown Saved Boston, the centerpiece of the three-disc I Got the Feelin’: James Brown in the ’60s. Armed with archival footage and the recollections of Brown’s band members and luminaries ranging from Cornel West to Al Sharpton, documentarian David Leaf makes a comprehensive and compelling case that Brown’s performance on April 5, 1968—and Mayor Kevin White’s grudging decision to broadcast the show live on local television—kept Boston from joining the litany of American cities that were coming apart at the seams in the aftermath of Martin Luther King’s assassination. But the story is much more than a point-by-point account of that legendary event, as time is spent charting Brown’s rise from poverty to his unexpected ascendancy as a self-made spokesperson for African-American empowerment. And for those who desire more proof of Brown’s mesmerizing charisma as a performer, the uncut broadcast of the Boston performance, a recording of a 1968 show at The Apollo, and a handful of television appearances will eradicate any doubts.

Two discs of delicious country-soul

As instantly, pleasingly right as the micro-genre's name implies, country-soul hits all the pleasure points on could want: sweet evocations, swaying choruses, cooing backup singers, horns that burst into sunbeams and descend into bottomless heartache in the same swoop, and pedal steels that do the same. Though blues is arguably the only missing link between these two sounds, that doesn't make their fusion any less glorious. On these two volumes compiled by German label Trikont (Dirty Laundry and the new, basically interchangeable More Dirty Laundry), collector/curator Jonathan Fischer lovingly lushes beyond Ray Charles, uncovering a teeming crate-dug niche perfect for the singles age.

James Brown: gone but certainly not forgotten. The Godfather of Soul's legacy continues to live on with a new three-disc DVD box set from Shout Factory titled I Got The Feelin’: James Brown in the ’60s.

The music world lost a great legend in 2006 when the Godfather of Soul, James Brown, passed away. But thankfully, his legacy lives on, not only through his music, but his colorful collection of custom-made jumpsuits.

Looks like we'll need to add one more item to perennial Brooklyn hip-hop veteran Mos Def's resume: rapper, actor, poet, band geek. Turns out that the mighty Mos has been doing some stuff with Mos Def's Big Band on the side since last year, namely a tribute to J Dilla. And, unlike other acts who've tried their hands at this with mixed results, they actually sound really good. Their next performance is on June 28 (with special guest Gil Scott-Heron!) at the JVC Jazz Festival in New York City. The event is described as "an evening of music and spoken word with material drawn from Miles Davis, Beyoncé, James Brown, and others."

At least the life-sized bronze statue of James Brown in Augusta, Ga. is still grinning on Broad Street. It and nearby James Brown Boulevard are now the least depressing stops to make for tourists who visit the late Godfather’s old Georgia/South Carolina stomping grounds.

Court-appointed trustees announced Wednesday that Brown’s possessions will be appraised and auctioned off to help pay taxes owed by his estate. The Associated Press reports that both his 60-acre Beech Island, S.C. home (which is on neither a beach nor an island, FYI), and actual music rights could be involved in the sale.

The AP notes the gritty details: “His will called for the items to be divided among the singer's six adult children. But Tomi Rae Hynie, who claims to be Brown's fourth wife and the mother of another of his children, has contested the will.

Hynie argues she is entitled to half the estate. The children also are contesting the will, which was signed 10 months before Brown's death. The trustees have asked Brown's children and Hynie to provide a list of items they don't want auctioned.” Brown died Dec. 25, 2006 of congestive heart failure.

Let us all turn our eyes and ears to this popular video of Brown and Pavarotti, who himself passed on last September.

Related links:
The Augusta Chronicle's James Brown resource
James Brown on IMDB
James Brown on the All Music Guide

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From the moment you turned onto New York’s 125th Street, you could feel the love in the air. Songs like “Hot Pants” and “Cold Sweat” blared from every storefront, radio and boombox. Street vendors were selling James Brown mixtapes.

His countenance was on every T-shirt. It was here at the hub of the great neighborhood of Harlem, at America’s premier showcase for Black music, the legendary Apollo Theater, that The Hardest Working Man in Show Business’ body—brought by a white carriage and two white horses—lay in state. Here, for decades, he’d regaled sold-out audiences and recorded no less than two brilliant live albums in 1962 and 1967. Three days earlier, on Dec. 25, Brown died of congestive heart failure brought on by pneumonia (“Funky Christmas,” indeed), and now he was back at the place of his greatest triumphs with a line of mourners stretching completely around the block, spanning all ages, religions and races—many who’d been there since the prior evening. The failed marriages, the bankruptcies, the arrests, the jail terms, the drama, none of it seemed to matter to them. For these fans, the theater marquee said it all: Rest In Peace, Apollo Legend, The Godfather Of Soul, James Brown 1933-2006.

It was a grandiose farewell, precisely what the man known as Soul Brother Number One deserved. After all, what was James Brown if not American musical royalty? In a half-century, this walking contradiction—in 1968 he supported Nixon and managed, via radio messages and a televised Boston concert, to prevent countrywide riots after MLK’s assassination—released over 100 albums and singles, encompassing gospel, blues, jazz, R&B, soul, funk and hip-hop (not to mention that it can be credibly argued that he invented the last four genres), and he also made daring, if less successful, forays into country, swing and standards.

Brown’s muscular, quicksilver dance moves influenced generations of performers. Nobody could kick, then catch a microphone stand with more élan than Mr. Brown. Likewise, no one outside of the DC Comics universe brandished a cape with more masculine style.

And then there was Brown’s voice. His raspy tenor was a much more supple instrument than he was ever given credit for. No one pleaded with more urgency and anguish that Brown did on “Try Me!” and “It’s A Man’s Man’s Man’s World.” No one expressed more racial pride than Brown on anthems like “Say It Loud (I’m Black And I’m Proud)” or shrieking rage on “The Payback,” recorded soon after his son’s death in an auto accident. And on uptempo cuts, Brown had no equal. With a dazzling rhythmic dexterity—Brown was always in the pocket—he prompted and prodded his band through such club classics as “Get Up (I Feel Like Being A) Sex Machine, Pt.1,” “Super Bad, Pts. 1&2” and “Make It Funky, Pt. 1.”

And what bands! Whether dubbed the Famous flames, the James Brown Revue or the JBs, Brown’s backing group contained brilliant musicians like saxophonist Maceo Parker, trombonist Fred Wesley, bassist Bootsy Collins and singer/keyboardist Bobby Byrd—pop’s greatest second voice—playing instrumental jams as inventively as any noted jazz ensemble. It’s this work—ranging from the Civil Rights era to the dawn of disco—that, thanks to sampling, became the bedrock of hip-hop. How amazing is it that this Southern gentleman—born in South Carolina and raised in Georgia—would produce music that today remains the backdrop of the urban experience? But such is the richness of Brown’s output.

The lone drawback to Brown’s career is that this Rock and Roll Hall of Famer and Kennedy Center Honors recipient was never really given an opportunity to strut his stuff on the big screen. Sure, Dan Aykroyd gave him cameos in The Blues Brothers, Doctor Detroit and Blues Brothers 2000, but the man who considered Elvis a close friend never got—probably due to racism—a showcase like Jailhouse Rock.

But Brown did have one epic silver-screen moment. It was in 1965’s “The T.A.M.I. Show,” a filmed concert with such greats as The Beach Boys, The Miracles, The Supremes, Marvin Gaye and The Rolling Stones. Whether hurling himself to his knees or flashing footwork so fast the camera could barely capture it, Brown’s impassioned medley of “Prisoner Of Love/Please Please Please” completely stole the show and drove the audience to sheer delirium. (I’d pity the shell-shocked Stones, who had the daunting task of following him, except that Jagger’s been trying to jack JB’s moves ever since.) fittingly, it’s a performance for the ages by this age’s greatest performer. Rest In Peace, Godfather.

From the moment you turned onto New York’s 125th Street, you could feel the love in the air. Songs like “Hot Pants” and “Cold Sweat” blared from every storefront, radio and boombox. Street vendors were selling James Brown mixtapes.

His countenance was on every T-shirt. It was here at the hub of the great neighborhood of Harlem, at America’s premier showcase for Black music, the legendary Apollo Theater, that The Hardest Working Man in Show Business’ body—brought by a white carriage and two white horses—lay in state. Here, for decades, he’d regaled sold-out audiences and recorded no less than two brilliant live albums in 1962 and 1967. Three days earlier, on Dec. 25, Brown died of congestive heart failure brought on by pneumonia (“Funky Christmas,” indeed), and now he was back at the place of his greatest triumphs with a line of mourners stretching completely around the block, spanning all ages, religions and races—many who’d been there since the prior evening. The failed marriages, the bankruptcies, the arrests, the jail terms, the drama, none of it seemed to matter to them. For these fans, the theater marquee said it all: Rest In Peace, Apollo Legend, The Godfather Of Soul, James Brown 1933-2006.

It was a grandiose farewell, precisely what the man known as Soul Brother Number One deserved. After all, what was James Brown if not American musical royalty? In a half-century, this walking contradiction—in 1968 he supported Nixon and managed, via radio messages and a televised Boston concert, to prevent countrywide riots after MLK’s assassination—released over 100 albums and singles, encompassing gospel, blues, jazz, R&B, soul, funk and hip-hop (not to mention that it can be credibly argued that he invented the last four genres), and he also made daring, if less successful, forays into country, swing and standards.

Brown’s muscular, quicksilver dance moves influenced generations of performers. Nobody could kick, then catch a microphone stand with more élan than Mr. Brown. Likewise, no one outside of the DC Comics universe brandished a cape with more masculine style.
And then there was Brown’s voice. His raspy tenor was a much more supple instrument than he was ever given credit for. No one pleaded with more urgency and anguish that Brown did on “Try Me!” and “It’s A Man’s Man’s Man’s World.” No one expressed more racial pride than Brown on anthems like “Say It Loud (I’m Black And I’m Proud)” or shrieking rage on “The Payback,” recorded soon after his son’s death in an auto accident. And on uptempo cuts, Brown had no equal. With a dazzling rhythmic dexterity—Brown was always in the pocket—he prompted and prodded his band through such club classics as “Get Up (I Feel Like Being A) Sex Machine, Pt.1,” “Super Bad, Pts. 1&2” and “Make It Funky, Pt. 1.”

And what bands! Whether dubbed the Famous Flames, the James Brown Revue or the JBs, Brown’s backing group contained brilliant musicians like saxophonist Maceo Parker, trombonist Fred Wesley, bassist Bootsy Collins and singer/keyboardist Bobby Byrd—pop’s greatest second voice—playing instrumental jams as inventively as any noted jazz ensemble. It’s this work—ranging from the Civil Rights era to the dawn of disco—that, thanks to sampling, became the bedrock of hip-hop. How amazing is it that this Southern gentleman—born in South Carolina and raised in Georgia—would produce music that today remains the backdrop of the urban experience? But such is the richness of Brown’s output.

The lone drawback to Brown’s career is that this Rock and Roll Hall of Famer and Kennedy Center Honors recipient was never really given an opportunity to strut his stuff on the big screen. Sure, Dan Aykroyd gave him cameos in The Blues Brothers, Doctor Detroit and Blues Brothers 2000, but the man who considered Elvis a close friend never got—probably due to racism—a showcase like Jailhouse Rock.

But Brown did have one epic silver-screen moment. It was in 1965’s “The T.A.M.I. Show,” a filmed concert with such greats as The Beach Boys, The Miracles, The Supremes, Marvin Gaye and The Rolling Stones. Whether hurling himself to his knees or flashing footwork so fast the camera could barely capture it, Brown’s impassioned medley of “Prisoner Of Love/Please Please Please” completely stole the show and drove the audience to sheer delirium. (I’d pity the shell-shocked Stones, who had the daunting task of following him, except that Jagger’s been trying to jack JB’s moves ever since.) Fittingly, it’s a performance for the ages by this age’s greatest performer. Rest In Peace, Godfather.