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BY CARYN B. BROOKS |
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James Brown Chinook Winds Casino Saturday, Jan. 16 The set-up at Chinook Winds was less than ideal for a James Brown concert. In the casino's attempt to create a swank Las Vegas-style lounge area, concertgoers were seated at tables. Sit down for James Brown? Nasty! Still, the free soda was a nice touch, and if you had a good viewing hole between two blue-haired heads, that was all you could ask for. The stage was lit right on time. Out came a 14-piece band, the latest version of Brown's legendary JBs. They were super-tight. No transcendent Maceo moments floated to the skies, but still, this band could shred. An MC who had more than a passing resemblance in body and soul to Morris Day, that Purple Rain-era James Brown imitator, welcomed us to "The James Brown Show," brought to us by none other than "James Brown Enterprises." It was obviously going to be a night of variety. First, as a warm-up act, we were "treated" to a vampish singer with a Janis Joplin-cover schtick (go figure) who has a record out on the James Brown Enterprises label. Mr. Brown, for all his many talents, is not too gifted at picking protégés. Then out came the Bittersweets, the boiling back-up singers, who laid on some sass. The music rolled on. But where was James Brown? Would be reserved for just a few medleys. God strike you down for such sacrilegious thoughts. Sure enough, right about the time when people were getting edgy (and don't think that wasn't planned), the MC called out the main dish, a man referred to throughout the night as "The Soul General." Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. James Brown. Dapper in a white suit, and from a distance resembling Fantasy Island's Tattoo, Brown hit the stage grinning, with two Fly Girl dancers, collectively called Popcorn, gyrating behind him. "Get up offa that thing!" he commanded. To the sides some audience members danced, while others did a seated jiggle. The 65-year-old's voice is still powerful and full of his signature intonation, and his physical energy has hardly dissipated. Brown slid across the stage in reserved versions of all of his dances, save the famed splits and on-the-floor writhing. As he punched through "Living in America," his last hit and not a favorite among many purists, one was overwhelmed by his form and accuracy and the sheer strength of his yelp. Surprisingly, the most stunning examples of his total soul infusion were his slower songs, especially a tender take of "Georgia on My Mind." Brown alluded to his age a few times. "With this new suit and make-up I look pretty good, don't I?" he joked. Being a master maestro, Brown orchestrated a show that hid any Geritol use on his part. Between fast songs the audience was treated to Brown playing the synthesizer, public service announcements ("look to the left of you and hold that person's hand--tell that person next to you that you love them" and "Please, stop the violence!") and an interesting interlude featuring some of his JBs playing other musicians' work in their famed styles. This last bit could have come off as hokey, but the way Brown framed it, pulling together B.B. King, Jimi Hendrix and Chet Atkins, it worked as musical education. When Brown clucked at the young white guitar player doing his best B.B. King, "20 years ago you wouldn't have even be allowed to listen to that," it was like a history lesson coming from the Godfather. The evening ended in high-energy mode. The glittered capes (one green, the other silver) quickly came and went. And the people in the crowd, who were stuck to their chairs for most of the evening, rose when "Sex Machine" finally unfurled. If they could have remembered the suave moves of their youth, they would have danced. Still, James Brown Enterprises' supply met the demand. To this listener, a haiku came to mind: Chinook Winds did smile At God's number-one soul child. Yes, heaven can wait.
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