A Fire-Engine Red, Sequined Tuxedo With Fringe
James Brown, everyone, last night at the House of Blues in Chicago.
What was I doing there? Well, clearly I was getting down.
I so rarely go to shows anymore. But the opportunity arose and I've never seen the Godfather, so I put down the plentiful books and papers that are on the docket and went out for a night of James Effin Brown.
I won't give the long review. The synopsis: The man is a force of nature. A brilliant musician. The band kicked ass. The background singers/dancers shook theirs. The hardest working man in show business knows how to entertain. There were more than a few super slow moments that didn't work, but the highs were unbelievable. And the reason there were some moments that didn't work is that James is NOT mailing it in. He's still trying to jam and create on the spot and work his band. It would be TOUGH to be in that band. James, at 77 or whatever he is, is in charge. If he's a tenth of what he used to be, it's incredible what he used to be, because what he is now is super badass.
Star Time, anyone? Yeah. Star Time.
As my friend and I walked away from the show hacking a lung because of the smoke, we got in the car and simultaneously groaned because, "ooooh....my back...from standing too long." James Brown, at 77, still dances and twirls the mike, and can sing his ass off.
I said GOT dam.
posted by Teodoro Callate @ 8:48 AM
9 comments
9 Comments:
By the way, just in case Felicity doesn't check in for this one, I will say it: James Brown? There is no restraint. In fact, he may have invented it. No restraint.
I saw him maybe ten or twelve years ago in LA, same thing, albeit in his sixties I guess. I realize now that the rock stardom that eluded me was probably meant to be - between the hours and the smoke and the traveling - being a rock star in my own home is so much easier. Oh and I am.
I always thought it would be a lot of work and a lot of fun to be his drummer. But a unknown quantities more work than fun.
i would have done it in a heartbeat...but wasn't it pretty expensive? esp. at the house of blues? you can answer me offline. or just tell me that was rude.
Much of the night was subsidized for me. I'm a lucky dude, to get down with JB at an extremely discounted rate. Gotsta love a good friend. Let's just say that if his son ever plays drums I'll be giving some free lessons.
Felicity admires all men who rock the house wearing nipple high trousers and a cape.
While close to the mark, Teodoro is wrong. JB is not the author of "There Is No Restraint". This distinction belongs to Felicity's dearest friend EF.
Besides sharing a two lettered name, and sharing a fascination with pants that reach their nipples, EF & JB are kindred spirits in many other respects.
Many tales could be told. Let’s just say that Felicity and EF have traveled a ridiculous road littered with well gnawed chicken legs, Mickeys Big Mouths and BBQ spoiled moist towelettes.
I will tell this tale. Once upon a time, EF is my passenger in the Felicity De Ville, which at that time was a mid 80’s white Volvo 240 wagon. Oh! She was yar! She had all the spunk and verve of a steel case file cabinet.
This fine day found Felicity and EF bound to sup. Our dinner plans were however thwarted by city gridlock. Traveling nowhere fast, we notice a Timmy Stinkfinger wearing, convertible driving jackass HONK HONK HONKING his obnoxious little convertible and gesturing.
Like shot out of cannon, EF bolts from the Felicity De Ville, and stands in front of Stinkfinger’s car. “What? Are you in a hurry? Are YOU in a HURRY? Are You in a GODDAMN HURRY?”
My admiration for EF is only exceeded by my concern. I have learned that EF is a queer sort, with unlimited potential. However, his ability to render justice is perhaps limited by his cape and nipple high pants. Timmy Stinkfinger is looking tense. EF is gathering steam. Timmy looks like he is going to make a move. I gasp, and look around for my for a handy roll of duct tape. I wonder if an ass whupping is about to ensue.
My concerns are swept away as I watch EF deliver the brilliant coup de taint. He moves toward the driver side door, and in a statement designed to vanquish and confound, EF declares, “THERE IS NO RESTRAINT”
A gentle hush washes us clean, as EF smote his foe with a message of enduring freedom, “THERE IS NO RESTRAINT”.
With quiet majestic dignity, EF enters the Felicity De Ville and his own sweet way suggests that “Wallace’s Catfish Corner” might be a good place for lunch.
I wheel out west, towards a new destination, a new purpose and new creed.
There is no restraint.
If there were to be some sort of award for brilliant blog posting, I would nominate Felicity. Several times over.
Oh hush. You are making Felicity blush. I am simply reporting the facts, ma'am. Other than my occasional poems I am making nothing up.
I will admit to a life rich in experience. I may not be as well traveled as some, but I've made a few laps around the "well lit tennis court", if you know what I'm saying.
Reflectively, FT
Well done.
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