Origin Story · Volume 15 · FUNKIntroduction
Where the Weight Falls
Here is the smallest description of what this book is about. In American popular music before 1967, the weight of the beat fell in one place. After 1967, it fell somewhere else. That is the whole revolution. Everything in this volume (the bands, the records, the fortunes made and not made, the court cases still running half a century later) follows from a decision about where, in a bar of four beats, the emphasis lands.
It sounds too small to matter. It is roughly the size of deciding which syllable of a word to stress, and a change that size in speech would give you an accent. In music it gave you a genre, and the genre turned out to be the most durable raw material popular music has ever produced.
The previous volume of this series ended in 1972 with two great machines breaking, a Detroit company that ran its rhythm section like an assembly line, salaried, anonymous and superb, and a Memphis company that let its rhythm section build the records in the room and put the players’ names on the writing credits. That book kept one man deliberately at its edges, because he was not a company and did not behave like one. He was a machine unto himself: bandleader, employer, quality-control department and product in a single person, drilling one of the great ensembles of the century on gymnasium stages and cutting records between shows. This book starts with him, because the thing he and his musicians assembled in the middle 1960s (on the road, mostly, in soundchecks and dressing rooms rather than in any famous studio) is the thing every other band in this book picked up and ran with.
What they assembled needs stating carefully, because it is genuinely technical and the technical part is the story. Between roughly 1965 and 1967, in James Brown’s band and then very quickly beyond it, the interest of a record moved out of the tune and into the rhythm. Not "the rhythm got better", the rhythm became the content. Songs stopped changing chords, because harmony was no longer where the information was. Melodies shrank to fragments, because the voice was becoming another drum. And the emphasis of the whole ensemble was gathered up and placed, hard, on the first beat of the bar (on the one, in the phrase Brown’s musicians made a doctrine) so that everything a band played became a cycle: one bar long, repeated, every instrument locking a small pattern against every other, all of it leaning towards the next downbeat like a wheel coming round. Played properly, it does something to a room that four centuries of European harmony never managed. This book will spend a whole movement explaining how it works, in plain language, on the assumption that you cannot read music and do not need to.
The introduction runs on for another 8 paragraphs, and then the book starts. 26 chapters · about 128 pages · $14.99
