James Brown died early this morning.
James Brown invented the funk. Completely his own man, he was raw sexuality, raw power, raw groove, questionable taste, bad politics, big hair, shiny clothes, a vital font of energy birthed by the caldron of African-American oppression. He was sheer excess, eccentric, kinetic, unrefined. He took a gospel shout, a field holler, and the rhythm of sex and gave birth to the funk.
When I was a little boy he was one of a few Black artists I was not allowed to listen to. Too black, that gyrating tightly clad crotch just a little too much for my otherwise liberal mom. But now we're all listening to him every day, and I can't think of a better way to spend Christmas then to let out the funk and play James Brown.
God Bless the funk.
Welcome to The Cahokian... A thousand years ago Cahokia — across the Mississippi from what is now St. Louis — was one of the biggest cities in the world. Now it's an empty green spot next to the highway. I'm a middle-aged gay man living in New York City, center of the world, future footnote on somebody's future map. Welcome to the new world.
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