It’s about a week and some change later, so I’m sure almost everybody who’s going to has written a retrospective on James Brown’s life and career. I was originally planning to write something like that, but then a funny thing happened. I did something I hadn’t done in several years. I listened to nothing but James Brown records for a while. Such raw, unrepentant funk I never did hear. Some of those songs I was really listening to for the first time in several years. Yahmeen, I had heard them relatively recently, but I hadn’t actually just sat there and listened to them. That’s when I realized that it’s probably been about 10 years since I started really listening to James. I mean really listening. Past the famous stuff. Past the radio edits. The sho-nuff, low-down, gutbucket funk. The first song that turned me out was Funky Drummer.
Now, I had heard the drum sample from Funky Drummer literally thousands of times.  Shoot, by the time I had actually heard the whole song, I’d probably heard the sample on Rebel Without A Pause 1000 times alone. But then I heard the whole song. At first, I wasn’t sure if I was listening to the right track on the CD. The beginning of Funky Drummer sounded nothing like the sample. The drum track wasn’t even there. But I kept listening. And then, maaaayyyyyne, it came on. And for as many times as I had heard that sample, it just sounded three times more powerful in its original context. It was nasty. And I started to realize the true power of The Funk. But that was just me stepping into the pool. I had heard Funky Drummer before, at least the sample. I knew that song. To really baptize me in The Funk, I had to get down in the deep end of the pool. I had to go where maybe a couple of producers had gone, but radio and the average compilation had never taken me.
The major irony of the whole thing is that the first time I heard Givin’ Up Food For Funk, I was in a cafeteria eatin’ a hot dog. I knew a couple of the samples: one was from The Wrath of Kane and the other from Toss It Up by Zigghe, but the sample is from the guitar lick at the very beginning of the song. Givin’ Up Food For Funk had a lot more to offer. A whole lot more, not the least of which is the metered prayer-type wailing.  But see, all I knew at that time was part 1. I didn’t hear part 2 until about 18 months later, but when I did, I just about fell out of the chair. I can tell you that I was in Paley Library on the 3rd floor, at the 3rd table, facing away from the door, eating a bag of Hanover pretzels when I heard Fred Wesley on the trombone solo at 3:21. I almost spit out the pretzel, literally giving up food for funk.
If, as I said before, Let A Man Come In And Do The Popcorn is my bar-none favorite James Brown song, which it is, Givin’ Up Food For Funk is my second-favorite in the James Brown-affiliated catalog. (Givin’ Up Food For Funk is recorded by the JB’s.) What makes it so funky is its polyrhymthic nature. The James Brown catalog is chock full of polyrhythmic goodness, but Givin’ Up Food For Funk is textbook. Every instrument in the song is played with a percussive effect. Outside of the Fred solo in part 2, there really are no distinctive performances. It’s just the classic example of how to make a funky record.
But see, there are different types of funky records. Givin’ Up Food For Funk is the type that I appreciate but don’t necessarily have to move to dig. I tend to prefer that type, since I don’t dance. Obviously. If I can’t get down to a James Brown record, I can’t get down at all.  However, I will jump back and kiss myself from time to time.
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