James Brown at the St James

By GRAHAM REID

Well, despite doubts because of his unpredictability, the Godfather of Soul, the Hardest Working Man in Show Business came. James Brown, in our town. And when he played it was before a capacity crowd which was high - and some clearly liquored - on expectation. Although no one knew quite what to expect from a man who is seventysomething.

But after the obligatory comping by the big band and the build-up when we were encouraged to yell "James Brown" suddenly he was there, a diminutive figure in a dark suit with frilled epaulets, a thick mane of hair and a radiator of blazing white teeth.

In many ways - because he has the copyright on soul-funk grooves - James Brown the Singer is incidental to James Brown the Event.

And last night was an event, it certainly wasn't about the singer.

His voice has little short of the raw power it once had and he would sing off-mike, reduce classic songs to their essence (the choruses) and let the band do much of the work. A stranger stumbling in would be forgiven for thinking Brown was the saxophonist, such was the amount of stage time he commanded. (And with those crowd-pleasing solos which end up with a predictable piercing shriek.)

He also let one of his hair-tossing female proteges take centre-stage for an overlong bracket while he conducted the band or held his place behind the keyboards. A mate quipped, "the hardest shirking man in show business".

But at other times it was Brown's show exclusively. His treatment of Try Me and It's A Man's Man's Man's World - both favouring his lower register and in breath-saving ballad style - were terrific. And when he got the grooves going he delivered the classic funk-soul - the long Sex Machine at the end - that his formidable reputation rests on.

But Brown mostly wasn't up front, he sometimes seemed to be making cameo appearances at his own show. Did it matter? Not really. The man is a legend and his audience was there to dance, worship, and just be in the presence of the Godfather.

And that, as Mr Brown's lengthy career is testimony to, probably makes any criticism redundant.

James Brown, in our town. Awriiiight!