Originally published in The New York Times February 20, 2005
Copyright 2005 The New York Times Company
By Ishmael Reed
Ishmael Reed's most recent book is ''Blues City: A Walk in Oakland.'' He is writing a book about Muhammad Ali.
I FEEL GOOD
A Memoir of a Life of Soul.
By James Brown.
Introduction by Marc Eliot.
Illustrated. 266 pp.
New American Library. $24.95.
JAMES BROWN was born in Macon, Ga., in 1933, and his beginnings weren't
unlike those of many black entertainers and athletes who would later
achieve prominence -- Joe Frazier, George Foreman, B. B. King, Eartha
Kitt and Josephine Baker among them. Many were children of
sharecroppers, the legacy of Andrew Johnson and Rutherford B. Hayes's
capitulation to Southern insurgents, who were permitted to conduct a
new form of slavery: debt slavery.
In
Brown's case, it wasn't the impoverished father who left the family,
but the mother -- a fact that gives new meaning to his soul classic
''Please Please Please,'' with its request to ''please don't go.''
Brown was 4. He didn't see his mother again until 1959, after his first
performance at the Apollo. The reconciliation was cool. Burdened by his
tasks as a Navy man, his father had left him in the care of an aunt.
She ran a prostitution ring, and young James became one of her
procurers. Brown, like Louis Armstrong before him, drifted into trouble
and was sent to an institution where he began to develop his musical
gifts.
''I Feel Good'' is Brown's
second memoir; his first, ''The Godfather of Soul,'' was published in
1986. In his introduction to the new book, the rock biographer Marc
Eliot provides the usual details about the cruel, often sadistic
treatment of a proud
black man at the hands of
''rednecks''; typically, underclass Americans, descendants of those who
arrived in the United States with chips on their shoulders as a result
of having been colonized and exploited by other whites.
Sometimes Brown fought back, but often he and the members of his first
band, the Famous Flames, had the good sense to observe the protocols
that prevented them from being harmed. Stories of lynchings are a key
feature of the black oral tradition; Brown and his band might also have
remembered Amede Ardoin, the black Creole singer who died after being
beaten for accepting a white woman's offer to use her handkerchief to
wipe his perspiration. Eliot, however, makes no mention of the
bluenecks, those all-white juries who constantly honor white
interpreters of black music over the black originators. I remember once
seeing Chuck Berry in the San Francisco airport. The night before,
during an awards show, John Denver had cited Bill Haley as the founder
of rock 'n' roll. I was the only traveler who recognized Berry.
Brown attributes the celebration of white musical clones over black
performers to white parents' worries: ''The great fear was that if a
white man's teenage daughter saw James Brown perform onstage one night,
the next night she'd be in his bed.'' He also suggests that the payola
scandals of the late 50's and early 60's were a result of the same
attitude. ''Payola was nothing less,'' he writes, ''than a
Congressional purge meant to eliminate the growing popularity of black
music from the social consciousness.''
Elvis Presley ultimately became a kind of go-between. Brown talks about
how he was virtually stalked by the man who became his apprentice:
''Elvis Presley wanted everything James Brown had because, in addition
to gospel, he wanted to somehow get into soul.'' Yet Brown and Elvis
were friends. ''I loved the boy,'' Brown writes.
Brown traces the beginning of the civil rights movement to the
crossover success of black musicians. ''In many ways,'' he observes,
''the entire civil rights movement began when a white kid in the
audience stood up and cheered for a black performer.'' Attracting white
paying customers to your books, theater or music, of course, meant
success. The other route was to be cited by a white musician or critic
as having influenced a white musician. A cultural critic on CNN
recently said that the importance of Leadbelly was that without him
there'd be no Eric Clapton. Can't you just see Leadbelly pounding rocks
at prison, saying to himself, ''I have to somehow endure this because
without me there will be no Eric Clapton''?
James Brown was one of the few who were able to draw a new audience
without diluting the pungency of his ''soul'' and ''funk,'' and when he
made his one attempt to soften his appeal, during an engagement at the
Copacabana in the early 70's, he failed.
Though the film ''Ray'' tries to portray Ray Charles's managers as
philanthropists, many black musicians have been exploited by their
managers. James Brown is no exception. One of them tried to pay him off
with a color television set. Like many black artists in the 60's --
writers among them -- Brown sought control over his work by
establishing his own business. He even bought a radio station. With
these moves, he anticipated the young hip-hop entrepreneurs, founders
of a multibillion-dollar industry. One of them, the Oakland rapper Too
Short, began his ascent by selling tapes out of his car.
Brown's business career has been marked by successes and failures. He
agrees that his radio station was poorly operated, but he blames
persecution by the government for some of his problems, even though he
was embraced by politicians like Richard Nixon and Hubert Humphrey. He
attributes his alienation from his white fans to the political bent of
some of his 60's hits, like ''Say It Loud.'' The song's refrain, ''I'm
black and I'm proud,'' struck a new chord of militancy. Some of his
black fans condemned him for his support of Nixon in 1972 and his trip
to Vietnam to entertain the troops.
Successes and failures also characterize his romantic life. ''I Feel
Good'' even includes a section written by his current wife, who says
that despite the problems in their marriage -- she once called 911
after an argument -- James Brown is wonderful man. But there is no
doubt that he succumbed to the temptations that are available to
entertainers and athletes. I have accompanied musicians on tours and
can testify that the temptations are abundant.
Despite the ups and downs of his career and personal life, his
influence has been enormous. His rhythms and theater can be found in
Prince, Michael Jackson, M.C. Hammer, the Rolling Stones, the Average
White Band and the rap pioneer Kwame. The Rev. Al Sharpton has said
that he has his hair processed as a tribute to James Brown.
Brown acknowledges his own influences, including Little Richard, who,
Brown says, discovered him. Westerns and comic books were also an
influence. (Both Muhammad Ali and James Brown were influenced by the
theatrics of the wrestler Gorgeous George, but no one has been able to
duplicate that majestic peacock strut with which he entered the ring.)
Brown traces his rediscovery to his appearance in the movie ''The Blues
Brothers.''
In an attempt to be with-it,
academics and performance intellectuals have flooded the market with
books about hip-hop, heavy metal and emo. Most of them are written in
such labored jargon that they are unreadable, while jazz criticism has
become a new form of white-collar crime. Quincy Troupe's book ''Miles
and Me,'' interviews with performers and essays like the one the German
scholar Gunter Lenz wrote about the saxophonist Archie Shepp have shown
that the best way to understand modern music is to listen to the
musicians.
The most surprising news in
''I Feel Good'' might be Brown's revelation that his close friend
Hubert Humphrey once mused about making Brown his running mate, a
disclosure that is bound to draw snickers. Vice President Brown. But
could it be any worse? After all, rock 'n' roll, the blues, soul music,
funk and hip-hop have done more to foster international good will
toward the United States than cluster bombs and degraded uranium.