Patti (whipartist) wrote,
Patti
whipartist

RIP James Brown

July, 1995, probably the 20th give or take a day. I'm sitting in the lobby of my hotel in Cannes after having quit my job, sold my condo, and taken off to Europe for the summer to chase backgammon tournaments. A few of my friends are around, and we're killing time before the tournament starts.

There's a commotion. A well-dressed black man sails through the lobby, followed by a flurry of news crews and paparazzi. I rarely recognize celebrities, so I expect to draw a blank on this one, but when he stops and turns around about fifteen feet from where I'm sitting I get quite the surprise. James Brown! And he's giving a press conference practically in my lap.

Sadly, I was unable to get tickets to that evening's show, though I would have liked to.

He was a character. By all accounts he was a righteous bastard. And he was a damned fine musician, one of the all-time greats.
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