Back when I was listening to people and trying to get it all together, there was a club in Mobile, Alabama, called Club Harlem. Anyone who was of any significance in the black music world came to Club Harlem. I don't care who you were, if you were black and came down South, you played Club Harlem. That's the way it was.

In the back there was a door with a hole in it, and you could take a milk box, sit back at that door and see the bandstand through the hole. That was "my hole." No matter how many people were in there, you could still see the stage, and I saw some of the best artists and drummers in the world through that hole. Couldn't go in the club-I was too young-but I had a chance to watch everybody play.

The owner of the club, Tom Couch, did the booking. He had a house band, and he would get artists like Jimmy Reed, John Lee Hooker and the guy who wrote for Ray Charles, Percy Mayfield. He would bring these kinds of entertainers by themselves. Eventually I played in the house band and we would play behind them. Guitar Slim was one of those artists. He was so good.

A lot of those New Orleans drummers would come through, and I got a lot of stuff from those guys, like the shuffle. First time I heard the shuffle, it was Shep Sheppard, who was the drummer with Bill Doggett, when he had "Honky Tonk," with tenor saxophonist Clifford Scott and all those guys. Man, I thought that was the grooviest thing I had ever heard. Shep could run you out of the building with that shuffle. I got it down! I stole that… added some of my stuff to it, but I got it down. Both hands play the same on the top, bass drum doing the backbeat on two and four. Then I turned it around and did the shuffle on all of it.

Bobby Bland:

Eventually, I played with a local group called the Castanets. We were the group in Mobile at the time. Bobby Bland and Junior Parker came through and heard us. They were traveling together with the same band and they both had good records, so they were getting ready to go their separate ways. Junior Parker was going to take the band and Bobby Bland was looking for a new group, so he asked us. Nobody wanted to go but me! I said, "Fine," so they sent me a ticket to Houston and that's where it all started.

Wayne Bennett was on guitar and Bobby Forte played tenor sax. Bobby was just a natural player. He was out of the "holiness" church. That was the Joe Scott Orchestra--musically, that was the best band I played with.

I was the youngest thing in the band and those guys taught me a lot-Joe Scott and Plummer Davis. Joe Scott, the trumpet player, was the band leader, and Plummer Davis, the trombone player, arranged for the band, too. Plummer had his own band when I first met him. They taught me--"I don't care what you play, I don't care how you play, I don't care if you don't ever play fancy, I don't care if you don't ever play the greatest solos in the world, all I want you to do is remember this-play time. Play the time. Hold the time. You're the heartbeat. Once that time starts, you hold it right there. Whatever anybody else does, don't you go there. Make them come back to you."

I used to play with the metronome for at least six minutes straight. I'm not going to let you pull me and I'm not going with you. If you say the tempo is here, then it'll be here. When you finish what you're doing and get back, it'll be right here.

Joe Scott was in charge of the band and when we were in Houston we did a lot of recording. Joe was the head arranger for Don Robey at Duke/Peacock Records. From 1959 to 1965, I recorded everything that Bobby Bland did. I also recorded "Driving Wheel" with Little Junior Parker and "Funny" by Joe Hinton, and lots of others.

Some of the stuff that they had on the shelf came out after 1965. I did a lot of tracks that they overdubbed vocals on, and I can't tell you who finally made songs out of them. But all the major artists sang at the same time. There was no overdubbing.

They would set up a session and we'd spend a couple of days in Houston recording. Robey had his own studio, so time didn't mean anything to him, but Joe Scott had that stuff down before we got there. We went through a lot of it out there on the road. Sometimes it would take Joe a while and he'd sit up on the bus at night, or in the hotel and do the arrangement. When we played a gig, we'd go in earlier during the day and rehearse the things that we were going to record. By the time we got back to Houston to do the session, all we had to do was go in there, record it and leave it alone.

When we recorded "Two Steps From the Blues," we did one side of the album in a few days, then we went out, stayed a week or two and came back and did the the other side. A lot of times we'd go to Nashville. I think "Two Steps From the Blues" was recorded in Nashville.

We rehearsed "Turn On Your Lovelight" in Dallas, Texas, at a steak house where we were playing. Bobby used to be real good friends with the owner. Joe Scott had this tune he wanted to record, but he didn't know what to do for the drums. He showed me Wayne Bennett's guitar pattern, and I thought of a pattern that I had already experimented with at home. It's out of the "holiness" church, that sanctified feel.

In the "holiness" churches they didn't have sets of drums, maybe just a snare drum or a bass drum, but they had tambourines, and they clapped. And the way they clapped, I just loved that feel. It's just a floating feel. They'd clap their rhythm against the songs they were doing--kind of a polyrhythm. One section of folk would be clapping one way, and the other section would be clapping another way, and then the tambourine would be going. I used to go to the "holiness" church when I was up in the country with my grandmother. I went almost every Sunday because I loved to hear the rhythms they were using. That's basically where a lot of it comes from for me. That sanctified rhythm influenced my playing.

So when I said that rhythm would fit that tune, Joe said, "I don't care what you play, as long as it works. Play what you want to play." I played it and then when it got to the middle part, he said, "Well, you got the solo." I said, "What?" I couldn't believe he was doing that. I said, "Well, I got a way I want to play that." He said, "Well, do it." When I started playing it, Bobby started singing and I said, "Well, okay!" And I just started the bell against what Bobby was doing.

We went back to Houston and we cut that thing in two takes. That's the way that happened. Most of the things I did with Bobby, Joe Scott gave me the freedom to do what I wanted. On one tune we recorded, I played nothing but mallets. I think it was "That's The Way Love Is."

Bobby's band cut his records, so when you saw him in person, what you heard was exactly what was on the record. That was a groove. I enjoyed that.

"Stormy Monday Blues":

T-Bone Walker's "Stormy Monday Blues" was supposed to be a "throwaway" tune. We had already finished the album, and Bobby said, "Hey, man, I want to do that tune. Let's do that tune, just for me." We said, "Okay," and we sat there and did it, just the rhythm section. I think it was two takes. Wayne Bennett, the guitar player, wanted to change something. Hamp Simmons out of Houston played an old Kay electric bass. He's one of my best friends. "Stormy Monday Blues" turned out to be one of the biggest songs Bobby ever had.

Joining James Brown:

I left Bobby Bland and went with James Brown in 1965. I came first and then Clyde Stubblefield came into the group. James had been trying to get me for a couple of years.

I watched his show for a week. He had three drummers sitting on stage-Melvin Parker, Obie Williams and Jimmy Robinson. I couldn't believe that! Jimmy was limited in the things he could do. When one of the guys from the Famous Flames, Baby Lloyd, left the group, Bobby Bennett taught Little Jimmy that part of the act and that stopped Little Jimmy from playing drums. Clayton Fillyau was there as a utility man, road managing for James, taking care of the equipment truck and things like that. Nate Jones came later.

People came in and out. They had a drummer that was half blind out of Orlando, Florida, and he was there four or five months and then that was the end of that. James had a thing, that if he heard a drummer play a certain little beat he hadn't heard before, he'd say, "Hey man, that's the baddest cat in the world," and he'd use him until he found out there really wasn't a whole lot going on. And then he'd let him go.

James's show had different styles of playing. A couple of those guys tried to pattern themselves after each other. Clayton Fillyau played his style and he was a different player. Clyde was different from what I played. The catch was, I could play the entire show, and that's what I had to do a lot of times.

It got to the point where James stopped me from playing the band segment of the show, and behind the singers like Bobby Byrd or the young women that were singing. Yvonne Fair was gone when I got there, but then there was Vicki Anderson, Marva Whitney, a beautiful girl out of Kansas City, and Lyn Collins, who came after Marva.

When Obie and Melvin left, Clyde Stubblefield, out of Chattanooga, came in the group. Obie never recorded with James and never did the whole show. He married one of the girls, one of the dancers, I believe. Then it was Clyde and me. It was always two drummers after that.

Clyde Stubblefield

Clyde and I were very good friends. We had two different playing styles. Clyde has a natural, raw rhythm. He plays a different funk than most people you've ever heard.

They say that jazz started in New Orleans but I say, please stop lying, it started in Natchez, Mississippi. Natchez was the largest steamboat city on the Mississippi. Everything centered around Natchez and then, when business moved to New Orleans, a lot of the people who lived in Natchez were taken to New Orleans. New Orleans started to grow from the river business, but before that, Natchez was the place. It's about 100-150 miles north of New Orleans.

In New Orleans they've got a beat that's not on, but it's not off-it's in between. It's like a walking rhythm. And you can always tell one of those guys from New Orleans. You can tell his way of playing, especially when he's playing funk.

Clyde is closer to a New Orleans funk drummer than anything else.

James Brown's Band

When we played together at the same time, we never sat down and said, well we'll do this or we'll do that. The way James's show was constructed, you do like James wants you to do. And that's the way you played it. I would do things that would be conducive to what Johnny Griggs, the conga player, was doing, maybe just on the hi-hat or the rims. I would do little things that would complement what Clyde was doing. When I played, Clyde would do the same thing and sometimes he would play things against what I was doing.

When Clyde left, it was myself and John Morgan out of Macon, Georgia. He was the last drummer that I worked with when I was with James Brown.

James Brown's change in band leadership:

Nat Jones was the band leader for a while. He left for no reason, really. We were playing the Latin Casino. James had his own dressing room, of course. That comes with the territory. Then the Flames had their dressing room and the band had one huge room to dress in. Now, Nat wanted his own dressing room. It's comical really, but then again it's not.

He went to James and said, "I'm the band leader and I want a dressing room." James said, "You're the who?" Nat said, "I'm the band leader." So James said, "If you're the band leader, I think you should be with the band. I think you got it mixed up and don't understand what your position is. You think you're better than them? If you don't want to be with the band, maybe you shouldn't be here." Nat said, "Well, maybe you're right," and he walked out.

T hen Pee Wee Ellis was in charge. Pee Wee was doing the work anyway, playing the horn and organ and writing out horn charts. He, and later, Fred Wesley.

H e had some monster musicians in that band. Maceo Parker was with the band then. He's a gifted saxophonist and he's also a great showman. He has a drive about him. Pee Wee Ellis is so bad it scares you. They have two different styles. Waymon Reed was playing trumpet. He was one of the finest trumpet players I ever met.

Pee Wee and Fred wanted to write other stuff but, of course, James had to have the last say in everything that went on in his group. James thought he could play organ, making them funny lookin' notes, and he'd fool you that he was playing, but when you'd go off into something else, he couldn't go with you. He really wanted to, but he couldn't.

You had to play what James wanted you to play. He paid for that, so that's what you did. Sometimes he'd do silly stuff that would tee you off, but when it came down to it, the man paid you, and he paid you to do what he wanted you to do. I had some good times when I played the Apollo Theater in New York, with Bobby Bland and Junior Parker. When I played the Apollo with James, that's when it all became work. I used to despise going into theaters, man. We had to play four and five shows a day.

At that time, you had the Apollo in New York, the Royal in Baltimore and the Regal in Chicago. At the Regal-that was the first time I ever saw the fans take steel doors off the hinges. I mean, the people were coming in that door! They had to get in to see the show! It was some exciting stuff, man. I enjoyed it.

The old band leaves:

T he turnaround came when the old band made up their minds. They had gotten together as a unit, they had a spokesman and they wanted changes. If James didn't make changes, they were going to leave. They wanted more money, but it really wasn't about money. They didn't want to sit around on the off-days and rehearse the same stuff over and over. They wanted better treatment. It was regimented, like you were in the Army or something. I still say the man paid for that, but some of the stuff was not necessary. There were guys that had to pay almost $100 a night in fines, and that was unwarranted. He went to extremes with a lot of it.

They were gonna quit in Jacksonville, and the place was bulging with people hanging from rafters and all. You couldn't get a pin in that auditorium. If those guys had quit then, the crowd would have torn the place up. James talked to them and said, "Well, let me think this over. Give me tonight to think it over and I'll let you know my decision tomorrow."

When we got to Columbus, Georgia, the next day, everything was laid out before the gig, but nobody started dressing. The stage crew had set the stage but everybody was sitting back there waiting on James. When he walked in he said, "Well, fellas, I'm sorry but I just can't go along with you on that." So the band said, "Well, okay, thank you, it's been good. We'll see you." Everybody got their stuff and left. Waymon Reed, Pee Wee, Maceo, Kush Griffith and Jimmy Nolen all left. They started a new band and called themselves All The King's Men.

I would have gone, too, because I sympathized with what they were doing, but I was taught that, if I make a commitment, I stay with it, and I had a contract with James. So I stayed.

Bootsy Collins and the new band:

James already knew what he was going to do because he sent Charles Bobbitt to Cincinnati in his plane the day before to get the new band.

Just about showtime Bootsy Collins and them came in. They were a local group playing their own thing. Talk about a trip-that was a doozer. The least horn player that left James that night could outplay any horn holder that came with Bootsy. And Frank Waddy was not a James Brown type of drummer. But Bootsy and his brother Phelps could really play. Make no mistake, they could play. Catfish could play his guitar and Bootsy was one of the funkiest bass players you ever wanted to hear. He was straight, strictly nothing but funk.

Before, we had Jimmy Nolen and Alphonzo Kellum and those two guys worked real well together, guitar-wise, but the bass player was never the same as it was when Bootsy was there.

We spent the better part of two weeks rehearsing every day. I had to go through the whole show with them-rehearsal, rehearsal, rehearsal. James had to improvise a lot and he cut his shows down to Thursdays through Saturdays or Sundays, because he had to whip the new band into shape.

At first, James didn't use Bootsy on the front part of his show, where he did the standards--"These Foolish Things," "Georgia On My Mind," things like that. I think for one show he brought Ron Carter down from New York to play acoustic bass.

A change in the music:

Looking back on it, when the old band left, that's when James made the biggest change of all those years-a 360 degree turn around.

The new band knew most of James's songs but that's when his music changed. Bootsy and them changed his style of doing a lot of stuff. James did a lot of his old material every night but when you heard Bootsy and them do it, it was different. They had a different type of fire going, and it was just like James had gotten a new lease. He got a shot of goodness in him and he went into another thing. Like with "Sex Machine." He had the idea for "Sex Machine" before Bootsy and them were there, but it had never been played. He had tried his best to get that pumping part, and then Bootsy came in, and the rest is history.

It was an experience I won't forget. I really enjoyed playing with Bootsy and Phelps. It moved into that thing where I didn't really care if I heard the horns. I never played with a bass player who was that funky. Bootsy and Catfish worked real well together and you just fell into it with them. That formed a real good rhythm, funk-wise.

The younger boys had the uniforms but, hey, they didn't want any rules. When the gig was over on Sunday night and we were off on Tuesday and Wednesday, they didn't want to hear about any rehearsal on Tuesday. They usually had a station wagon already rented and they got in that car and drove until they got to Cincinnati. They had a phrase-"See ya!" And that's what they did. They saw you at the next gig.

They were a younger bunch of men. Their dedication was not like whatthe old band had. With the old band, James had the most dedicated bunch of musicians that you'll ever see. I mean, the stuff he said he wanted, and his rules and things, they followed it to a "T." And they would tell you, "Hey, man, you don't do it like that. Mr. Brown won't have it that way."

But Bootsy and his fellas were different. They wanted to go on at the Copacabana with no ties. Well, they hadn't been accustomed to wearing ties. It was hard. If you've never been anywhere out of the yard, when you get out of the yard, you're crazy.

Influential drummers:

I already mentioned Shep Sheppard with Bill Doggett's band in connection with the shuffle. He was great. Then there was Tenoo. Tenoo was a left-handed drummer with Fats Domino, and he was as funky as any of them. I knew him, and if we were in the same town as Fats, I'd go look for him or he'd come looking for me. I learned some of that funk by listening to Tenoo. He'd go crazy with you. You had to just get what you could get and then leave him alone. He would improvise so much.

I thought Sonny Payne was one of the best with a big band. He would push that Count Basie band.

Ed Shaughnessy of the "Tonight Show" band showed me a lot of stuff whenever I was in Los Angeles with James. He even offered me the opportunity to play with the band, but I wouldn't do it.

There was a boy that came out of Memphis, Joe Dukes, who played with Jack McDuff. I knew Joe real well. I listened a lot to Red Sanders, a drummer who led the house band at the Regal Theater in Chicago for years.

We had a percussionist who came into James's band for a year or two, Ron Selico. He had some good riffs and he had good hands. I learned some things from Ron.

I 've taken something from everybody I've had the opportunity to listen to, the big guys and the little guys-the local guys that nobody's ever heard. I tried to incorporate certain things that they did with what I did. I played the blues with Bobby Bland and you see, by me living in Mobile, there's so much of the New Orleans funk that you're going to get anyway. I had never played a whole bunch of funk till I got with James. I played a little bit of everything - jazz, pop and funk.

  Exerpt from the book "Give The Drummers Some!" by Jim Payne
Reproduced courtesy of funkydrummer.com