Homo Erecticus

 Back in the tender years of my youth, James Brown brought forth a great song about Man's condition in this world.  I have discovered, in my life, that Brutha James' intonement is profoundly true.

He’s lost . . . in loneliness

He’s lost . . . in bitterness

This is a man’s world. 

This is a man’s world,

but it would be nothing 

without a woman or a girl.

These passionate lines bring forth the main message of the song; but before he actually wails out this heavy truth, James sets the stage with some other challenges of living life as a man:

Man made the cars, to take us over the road;

Man made the trains, to carry the heavy load;

Man made the ‘lectric light, to take us out of the dark;

Man made the boat for the waters, like Noah made the Ark.

This is a man’s, man’s, man’s world

but it would be nothing without a woman or a girl.

In some quarters, such lyrics would be considered politically incorrect, or sexist, or misogynist or whatever all those derogatory terms are. But as a man who has been happily married for 42 years, the song’s message doesn’t bother me.

In fact, I quite identify with it. 

In my 2017 novel, King of Soul, this song becomes a part of the story. In May of 1970, two college guys are taking an improvised  road trip from Louisiana to Kent, Ohio. The main character, Donnie, LSU sophomore, has just been rejected by a girl and the trip for him is somewhat of an escape. In the middle of the night, while Donnie’s driving Kevin’s ole '57 Ford  through the darkness of Ohio countryside, the song comes on the radio.

Here’s the scene, from chapter 23: 

  Louisville was a darkened neon dream as it whizzed by in the wee hours, and the brightness of that city fades in the background, gets overtaken by the darkness of mid-American countryside and here we are again, gliding along on that long, lonesome highway, we’re tending that lonesome, solitary feeling of being all by yourself somewhere in the universe as the moon slides down the night sky while streaming through the darkened US in those murky hours between midnight and dawn—that lonesomeness is a weight too heavy to bear, and yet the load is lightened with a little help that comes through the airwaves when a voice pierces the solitariness. The Cincinnati DJ’s voice—deep like Mr. Picou who had fired Donnie back there way down there down south where he had just come from and the man’s baritone intro slides out from the car radio speaker with a little bit of buzz because the signal is not quite strong enough yet . . . and now we get the real thing—yes, tell it like it is, brother—straight  from brother James Brown, the man himself, the godfather of Soul . . . 

Man made the cars, to take us over the road. . .

Back to the present, I was walking along a road when I happened upon this:

For some odd reason, the ice reminded me of James' passionate song, because 0f Man making the cars that go across the road . . . and when man makes a road, sometimes he cuts the earth so the road can be flat. And when he cuts the earth to make the road flat, Earth bleeds. The earth bleeds water because water is the blood of this earth and when the earth bleeds in winter the ice forms and the man who is passing is reminded of what life would be like without the woman who stirs his blood, summoning forth his erectitude.

Or maybe you'd have to be there . . .

If you care to listen to Brutha Jame’s great song, you can find it, “live” here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nOvKal4nhU0

King of Soul