Eternal Soul

But first Brown had to find his own sound, which would come out of the ongoing collision of gospel and rhythm and blues in the mid-'50s. Tellingly, his first group, the Gospel Starlighters, would evolve into the Famous Flames, though with Brown writing or co-writing most of the group's material and proving from the start to be a superb showman, it was inevitable that he would become a solo act, albeit always closely tied to one superb backing band or another.

The early years are populated by classy but not quite classic R&B songs like "Please, Please, Please" and 1958's "Try Me," which sounded equal parts early career frustration and invitation. The first hint of the future -- pressure-cooked grooves, skintight arrangements and brain-melting horn blasts -- was 1962's "Night Train." Three years later, "Papa's Got a Brand New Bag" articulated a new musical and cultural soundscape. Along the way, Brown earned the titles: Soul Brother No. 1, the Sex Machine, Mr. Dynamite, the Heavyweight Champion of Soul, the Hardest Working Man in Show Business, the Funky President-- that fitted him as well as any of his body-hugging suits.

By the late '70s, Brown's hitmaking had pretty much ground to a halt, superseded by genres that were essentially his progeny: funk, disco and, later, hip-hop. Disco was more palatable to the mainstream, while funk's freakiness seemed more appealing to new generations. As for hip-hop, it would have happened even without James Brown, but it would never have sounded so compelling or rhythmically taut had not rappers in the late '70s and early '80s made him the world's most sampled artist -- although Brown seldom got paid for his "contributions," an ongoing source of irritation, along with unhappiness over some of rap's message.

"I didn't really mind rappers," he told me in 1993. "I didn't like what they were saying, and I have very strong feelings about the lyrics. I wanted to see some conscience in our lyrics, to prepare a future for our kids and not tear it down in lyrics. Vulgarity got too far gone, and we've got to withdraw from that." That was particularly important to a man who in the '60s had crafted messages of black pride and self-sufficiency with "I Don't Want Nobody to Give Me Nothing" and "Say It Loud (I'm Black and I'm Proud)."

In the afternoon hours before the 9:30 club show, Brown was still rigorously putting the band through its paces, sharpening the dynamics, tightening the focus, deepening the groove. It was as if that night's show was a debut, not the career celebration everybody in the audience clearly envisioned.

When his statue was dedicated, Brown had told the crowd, "God bless you and God is good, and please, please, please don't forget me."

Never going to happen.

On Thursday, NPR.org will offer the full performance of last December's concert by James Brown and Chuck Brown at the 9:30 club. It was originally webcast as part of NPR Music's live concert series from "All Songs Considered"; an MP3 version is also available for download.