He hit it and quit it

James Brown- Sex Machine / Soul Power
James Brown
James Brown Olympia 1966
James Brown

[…] When the band hits its first notes and the room begins to ride
the music, a kind of metamorphosis occurs, a sort of transmutation
of the air of expectation in this Midlands crowd. They've been
relieved of the first layer of their disbelief that James Brown has
really come to Gateshead: At the very least, James Brown's Sound
has arrived. After the band's long overture, Danny Ray, every
impeccable tiny inch of him, pops onstage. He says, "Now comes Star
Time!" and the roof comes off. Under Danny Ray's instruction, the
crowd rises to its feet and begins to chant its hero's name.

When James Brown is awarded to them the people of Gateshead are
the happiest people on Earth, and I am one of them. Never mind that
I now know to watch for the rock-paper-scissors hand signals, I am
nevertheless swept up in the deliverance of James Brown to his
audience. The Sun God has strode across a new threshold, the alien
visitor has unveiled himself to another gathering of humans. I see,
too, how James Brown's presence animates his family: Keith, fingers
moving automatically on frets, smiling helplessly when James Brown
calls out his name. Fred Thomas bopping on a platform with his
white beard, an abiding sentinel of funk. Hollie, the invisible
man, now stepping up for a trumpet solo. Damon, who during Tommie
Rae's rendition of "Hold On, I'm A-Comin' " can be heard to slip a
reference to "Lady Marmalade" into his guitar solo.

The show builds to the slow showstopper, "It's A Man's Man's
Man's World." The moment when James Brown's voice breaks across
those horn riffs is one of the greatest in pop music, and the
crowd, already in a fever, further erupts. When they cap the ballad
by starting "Sex Machine" it is a climax on top of a climax. The
crowd screams in joy when James Brown dances even a little (and
these days, it is mostly a little). Perhaps, I think, we are all in
his family. We want him to be happy. We want him alive. When the
James Brown Show comes to your town — when it comes to Gateshead,
U.K., today, as when it came to the Apollo Theater in 1961, as when
it came to Atlanta or Oklahoma City or Indianapolis anytime, life
has admitted its potential to be astounding, if only for as long as
the Show lasts. Now that James Brown is old, we want this to go on
occurring for as long as possible. We almost don't wish to allow
ourselves to think this, but the James Brown Show is a precious
thing that may someday vanish from the Earth.

Now James Brown has paused the Show for a monologue about love.
He points into the balconies to the left and right of him. "I love
you and you and you up there," he says. "Almost as much as I love
myself." He asks the audience to do the corniest thing: to turn and
tell the person on your left that you love him. Because it is James
Brown who asks, the audience obliges. While he is demonstrating the
turn to the left, turning expressively in what is nearly a curtsy
to Hollie and the other horns, James Brown spots me there, standing
in the wings. The smile he gives me is as natural as that one he
gave Fred Wesley, it is nothing like the grin of a statue, and if
it is to be my own last moment with James Brown, it is a fine one.
I feel good.

I had a feeling I'd want to return to this year's very best writing about music, but not like this, not this way.

South of the Border

South of the Border
South of the Border
George Kelly

She went south across the border and came back in a single afternoon
When she called me, I told her to be safe is more important than soon
I looked out the window as the twilight turned into the evening
I waited on the faraway road to see if my baby it would bring

Borders are for haters with boundary issues
Crying all the time with no handkerchief or tissue
To wipe their face, bind their pain
and somehow make them whole again
Borders are for students of nation-state slack
whose lessons in geography won't put back
any world together in one whole piece
despite their labors that never cease

I'm no hater, I'm no student, I have no use for order
until my baby returns to me from south of the border

She came back across the border and easily gave the guards the slip
When she came to my arms, I told her now was the time to give me lip
We closed up the window on the glow through the venetian blinds
Reestablished diplomatic relations between our bodies and minds

Borders are for people with boundary issues
Crying all the time with no handkerchief or tissue
To wipe their face, bind their pain
and somehow make them whole again
Borders are for students of nation-state slack
whose lessons in geography won't put back
any world together in one whole piece
despite their labors that never cease

I'm no hater, I'm no student, I have no use for order
until my baby returns to me from south of the border

© 2006 George Kelly

QotD: This Song Makes Me Festive

WARNINGWARNINGWARNING [this is 1980s-ist]

ALSO RANZ

  • Prince, "Another Lonely Christmas"
  • Eurythmics, "Winter Wonderland"
  • Whitney Houston, "Do You Hear What I Hear?"

John Mellencamp "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus"
Last Christmas – WHAM
U2 – It's Christmas, Baby Please Come Home
Run DMC- Christmas In Hollis
Christmas Wrapping – The Waitresses
Band Aid – Do They Know It's Christmas

Kim Wilde – Rockin´ around the christmas tree

James Kim

Mat got me thinking about why I care. I don't know James Kim. I guess it is possible I could have known him at some point.

The outcome is a small obscenity. His wife should still have her husband; his daughters should still have their father; his co-workers should still be laboring beside their colleague.

I don't think "it could have me," not literally. I've never driven through that corner of Oregon. I am thinking about ways that the Arizona/New Mexico drive A. and I took a couple of years ago could have gone differently.

I feel proud of him for trying to save his family. That's the measure of a (hu)man, not some knuckle-dragging masculinist caricature but the do-anything-I-mean-ANYTHING attitude of looking out for and watching over one's loved ones.

And I liked seeing the media flooding the zone over a missing person of color. It made me feel stubbornly better. It feels a little bit like one of those victories that still fucking sucks. The flood of warmth you feel right before you realize you've gone and pissed all over yourself. That's seeing race where, say, in this instance, rescue personnel and sheriff's deputies and the great, great majority of people hearing about the family don't give a shit.

They just wanted James Kim home.