"Who's Gonna Save My Soul" is an elegy to James Brown and a personal call to action from Cee-Lo to himself. A few years ago--after Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy" had hit worldwide--the Godfather of Soul asked Danger Mouse and Cee-Lo (the two members of Gnarls Barkley) to be guests at one of his concerts; however, they were unable to attend, as they had a concert of their own to perform. A couple of months later, Brown died. Cee-Lo sat down and examined the incidents and then peered inside himself, deciding to no longer look to others for inspiration, that he had to depend upon himself. And he doubts. That's what this song's about. But the first several times I heard it (on Gnarls' second LP, released this past March), that's not what I heard. Not exactly.
Then, I didn't know of the James Brown connection; I heard the song as Cee-Lo examining himself and not liking the results of the examination. I heard it as his "Notes from Underground;" a soul/hip-hop Dostoyefskian joint, but with the narrator so distraught--or not distraught enough--that he's lost his sense of humor (as "Notes from Undeground" is nothing if not funny) as well as his sense of direction. I saw Cee-Lo as a modern-day Scrooge at the point when he's just been shown his own grave by the Ghost of Christmas Yet-to-Come. Cee-Lo's looking into his own personal abyss, and he finds he's been greedy and selfish, and wondering if he'll be damned to eternal torment, ready yet scared to die. It's a sobering record; it's not fun; you can't dance to it. It's a cry of despair, one coming straight from the midnight hour. Soul music rarely delves this deep (well, at least not since the heydey of the Four Tops) into introspection. And I understand why--it's a downer. It's depressing. It's harrowing. And it's emotionally intense drama that ranks with the greatest soul records ever produced.
Two questions then--
One: if it's so great, why have I ranked it so low? Answer--because it's Christmastime, and this list will be finished before Christmas rolls 'round next year, and since this is a blog and not a book, relevant timeliness matters.
Two: Other than the (tenuous-at-best) Scrooge allegory, why is this song a Christmas song? Well, I'm a somber and morbid (and at times morose) sort (if not a bit Dickensian in my sentiments), and--I don't know about you--but late on Christmas Eve, after all the presents from Santa have been constructed, arranged, and displayed, I linger upon the night, wondering if I've forgot anything, and this wondering leads to worrying, and the worrying over Christmas gifts leads to pondering over Christmas past, and--though the memories should bring joy--I'm left ruminating over thoughts of my parents, and about how much love they've shown me, and about the multidinous ways I've disappointed, saddened, and angered them over the years; I then think about how in the world would I ever attain the ideal they had imagined me when I was my son's age, about how I've done so much wrong, about how I've underachieved and lived in fear of failure, and about what my son will think of me? Will he be disappointed, too? What would my late maternal grandparents think? I live in their house, and at times--times like these, the witching hours--I can still see the house as it once was, and I can see my grandmother smiling at me like I was the best boy in the world...and I know I'm not that boy...not now, not anymore. Were their expectations too great? Were they unfair?
I wait for an answer. It doesn't arrive. It never does. Just the silence. And the big, colored lights on the tree, the only illumination in the dark house. I stare, and the lights glow, and they daze, and my tired eyes glaze over, and I start to nod, and my head jerks me awake, and I look around, and I'm alone. Is this what it will be like? I listen again for an answer, and again nothing, and I head to bed, and my wife wakes me early, and the children are happy, but a feeling still lingers--as it always has--that what I'm seeing is even more fleeting than it truly is. I try to blink the sleep away, and I'm in that dark room again with the Christmas lights, alone. Only for a moment, though. It's only the Ghost of Christmas Yet-to-Come just brushing me on the shoulder on his way out of my house. He turns and winks at me on the way out the door, though. And then the smiles and cheer return.
Merry Christmas, kiddies. God bless us, everyone.
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