I was in grad school when I bought my first James Brown album. This was 1971. I was in my mid-thirties. I’d never dug funk before. When I started grad school (1967), I couldn’t even stand the Stones. They were too ragged for me. Four years later, my tastes had broadened some.
The door got propped open for me when I took a risk and purchased a double album of Ike and Tina Turner, Live at Carnegie Hall. The music was untidy but raw and powerful. James Brown was a logical step after Ike and Tina, but I still compromised. Instead of buying one of the albums of him singing (and dancing, and sweating), I bought an album, one of very few, 
where he didn’t sing a word, just played the keyboard. It was like Ray Charles Lite –the music was passable but not memorable. I soon got rid of it.
I didn’t buy another James Brown album for thirty years. Which is My Bad.
My friend Mark Lyle (also studying history), who lived across the street from us in New Haven and biked to campus with me sometimes, used to advise me how to pick the right James Brown album. “Go for the one with the cheapest, least tasteful cover. It’ll be the best one,” he told me.
ADDITIONAL LISTENING
MUSIC & ME 