Miscasting of James Brown
I was visiting someone in the behavioral health unit of a hospital. The music was playing over the loudspeaker, loud enough to notice but not quite loud enough to understand. Unless you happened to be standing directly beneath one of the speakers, it was mostly just a muffled noise drifting through the halls. She complains about the music fairly often. It’s repetitive, she says. The same songs, over and over. So as we paced the halls, she kept wondering what was playing. We walked toward the speaker. A little closer. Then closer still. And finally, standing almost directly underneath it, I could make it out. James Brown. “Get Up Offa That Thing.” I burst out laughing. Because, really. What else could I do? I love James Brown. I genuinely do. His music was the last music I listened to with my dad before he died. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with the song itself. James Brown telling the world to get up and dance is pretty much James Brown doing his job. But in a behavioral healt...