Last week on What Did Prince Do This Week?, someone mentioned the documentary, Mr. Dynamite: The Rise of James Brown. That caused me to remember when B. B. King and Bobby “Blue” Bland were on Soul Train in 1975 to promote their joint album, B.B. King and Bobby Bland: Together for the First Time, which is my favorite blues record of all time (here). It doesn’t hurt that King and Bland open the album with King’s seminal song, “Three O’clock Blues.” The first time that I got my hands on the album, it took me a month to listen to the entire thing because I just kept playing “Three O’clock Blues” over, and over, and over, and over until my mother finally yelled from the back of the house, “Boy, if you don’t let the rest of that album play, I’mma come up there and knock you into Three A.M.!” Even though I had the studio version (45”) of “Three O’clock Blues,” this live version was the most amazing thing that I had ever heard. Interestingly, this appearance by King and Bland on Soul Train is also a bonus scene on the Mr. Dynamite: The Rise of James Brown DVD. More than just the music, it’s wonderful to watch James Brown, at the height of his popularity, become a fanboy over King and Bland. When I first saw this performance years ago, it was something to see a man the stature of Brown become almost childlike in the presence of King and Bland.
It is easy to forget that people who are the best or even the greatest at what they do were inspired by someone else, and Brown makes it clear with his words and actions that King and Bland were deep inspirations of his. What’s even better is that Brown was only supposed to help Don Cornelius introduce King and Bland and then leave the stage. But, as they begin to play, you can hear Bland say to Brown, “Come on back up here,” and Brown becomes a child on Christmas day! It’s one of the most moving and beautiful moments of black love, black respect, and genius admiration that I’ve ever seen. This is not just a performance. This is, simultaneously, a family reunion, a secularized church revival, and a history lesson. On the deepest level possible, there is a conversation occurring between these three men in which they are loving on each other while still being griots — because well-crafted art is what black folks need to survive this hell and envision a better existence. While King and Bland play a medley of songs from their album, Bland improvises a few lines from two of Brown’s songs, and it is the best compliment that Brown could get. He completely loses his “Mr. Cool façade” and becomes a little boy happy to be seen and praised by two of the men who inspired him to become Mr. Dynamite.
On a final note, when I stepped to the podium a few weeks ago to face evil-ass Clinton, Mississippi, Mayor Phil Fisher and address the ongoing plan to reinstate legal Apartheid through gerrymandering, I was nervous because I wasn’t just representing myself. It’s one thing to write for oneself. But, it’s completely different to write something that expresses the concerns and hopes of a community. The responsibility is heavier because you don’t want to disappoint your allies or make their situation worse. But as I faced the public, like always, I had music in my head. Three songs in particular: King’s “Don’t Nobody Love Me but My Mother,” the bassline from Donnie Hathaway’s “The Ghetto” in the style of Jackson States’ Sonic Boom of the South, and Prince’s “The Exodus Has Begun.” With these three songs and the history of heroic Afro-Mississippians as my ammunition, the frigid fear always melts under the heat of motivated and focused blackness. As such, I can only hope that the performance of King, Bland, and Brown moves y’all as much as it has often moved me.