The air in the late 1950s music scene was thick with the sweet, polished sheen of vocal groups and the swagger of burgeoning rock and roll. Into this charged atmosphere stepped a sound that was both familiar and utterly alien. We weren’t ready for the seismic shift that was coming, but in 1959, a small, yet potent seed was planted—a soulful plea wrapped in grit that pointed directly toward the future of rhythm and American popular music. This pivotal moment centered around the release of James Brown & The Famous Flames’ single, “Try Me!”
This particular piece of music was not the adrenaline-fueled, horn-stabbing explosion we associate with Brown’s later, legendary output. Instead, it functions as a necessary, almost startlingly vulnerable prologue. While later compilation albums would package it alongside his hardest funk workouts, “Try Me!” originated as a single, one that managed to breach the Top 20 of the R&B charts, a sign that something was connecting, even if the wider world hadn’t yet grasped the full scope of the talent unleashed. It represents the critical transition point: moving beyond the initial novelty of “Please, Please, Please” and finding a richer, more layered emotional palette before the full-throttle funk machine fully engaged.
The production, often characterized by its relative sparseness compared to later studio work, allows Brown’s vocal instrument to shine with incredible clarity. Listen closely to the opening. There is an immediate sense of intimacy, as if the microphone is positioned just inches from his chest. The sonic texture leans heavily on a rich, almost devotional backdrop. The piano anchors the harmony, playing chords that are less syncopated and more traditionally Gospel-inflected than what we’d hear just a few years later; it provides the foundation upon which the drama unfolds.
The Famous Flames provide the essential, warm response, their backing vocals weaving around Brown’s lead with a familiar, tight precision. Their presence here is less about counter-rhythm and more about providing a cushion of harmony, a testament to the group’s inherent musicality, honed through countless club dates. The string section, understated but present, lends a sweep of melodic gravity, elevating the romantic plea of the lyrics from a simple request to a genuine, high-stakes emotional proposition. They were, even at this early stage, arranging material that hinted at grandeur.
Then there is the subtle but crucial role of the guitar. It doesn’t dominate; rather, it provides the rhythmic seasoning—a delicate, clean, almost muffled chop that anticipates the rhythmic complexity to come. It’s there to punctuate a phrase or add a quick flourish, never stepping on the drama of Brown’s vocal attack. The dynamic range within this track is surprisingly broad for the era’s typical recording standards. Brown moves seamlessly from a near-whisper to a full-throated, pleading cry, demanding attention without resorting to volume alone.
“Try Me!” is fundamentally a ballad, and it requires the listener to lean in, to participate in the narrative of yearning. I remember first hearing this piece of music late one night in college, scrolling through digital playlists that felt impossibly deep. It immediately cut through the noise, sounding like a relic unearthed from a much warmer, richer time, making me stop my scrolling entirely. It was a sound that felt earned, suggesting a lifetime of struggle behind those heartfelt notes, even if the records were barely dry.
One compelling aspect of this early work is understanding the sheer effort it took to get these early recordings right. While we might assume polished orchestration, the reality of the era involved painstaking attempts to capture depth on limited tracks. The search for the perfect sound, the right timbre for that clean guitar riff, required more than just musical talent; it needed technical mastery and relentless takes. This entire recording process speaks to the dedication required before any artist can achieve the kind of premium audio clarity we expect today.
The song’s structure builds with patient deliberation. It doesn’t rush to the chorus; it earns the release. Brown’s phrasing is already masterful—the way he attacks certain syllables, stretching vowels until they almost break, foreshadows the rhythmic innovations he would perfect. He uses silence almost as powerfully as sound, letting the space after a shouted line hang in the air, forcing the listener to absorb the weight of his demand before the band sweeps back in.
“The emotional core of this track isn’t its smoothness, but the barely controlled tremor just beneath the surface.”
Consider the cultural placement: 1959 was not yet the age of the established, confident Soul artist. Brown was still fighting for every inch of ground. Hearing “Try Me!” reminds us that for every artist who explodes fully formed, there are quiet steps taken first. A young man likely spending hours practicing chord changes, perhaps even wishing he had the luxury of dedicated piano lessons earlier in life to master the nuances he was seeking to emulate. This track is the sound of an artist refining his tools before he builds his empire.
When one compares this to the raw power of later hits, the contrast is telling. This track offers glamour, the promise of a future partnership built on tenderness. But the grit is still there, a metallic edge underneath the strings and harmonies. It suggests the hard road traveled and the even harder road ahead, regardless of the song’s romantic theme.
In a modern context, imagine someone discovering this on a shuffled playlist while stuck in traffic. It serves as a tiny, five-minute escape hatch. It’s a micro-story of devotion that can momentarily override the frustration of a stalled commute, replacing road rage with genuine, unexpected sentiment. It possesses a timeless quality that transcends the technology it was recorded on, even if today we are listening via high-speed music streaming subscription rather than vinyl rotation.
This record is more than just a stepping stone; it’s a fully realized expression of romantic yearning channeled through the emerging voice of the future King of Soul. It demands a focused listen, one where you can appreciate the subtle interplay between the rhythm section and the soaring lead vocal. It confirms that the raw charisma that would define the Godfather of Soul was present from the very beginning, even when cloaked in the respectable attire of a mid-tempo ballad.
Four Pathways to Similar Sonic Territory
If the intricate, early blend of romance and raw vocal power in “Try Me!” resonates, these tracks explore adjacent moods, eras, or arrangements:
- Otis Redding – “These Arms of Mine” (1962): Shares the raw, heartfelt vocal vulnerability and the rich, slightly orchestral backing arrangement.
- Sam Cooke – “You Send Me” (1957): Features a similar blend of smooth vocal delivery underpinned by strong Gospel roots and a tight rhythm section.
- Ray Charles – “What’d I Say (Parts 1 & 2)” (1959): Offers a contrasting, more manic energy from the same era, showing the other extreme of R&B/Soul performance.
- The Drifters – “Save the Last Dance for Me” (1960): Demonstrates the sophisticated, string-laden pop sensibility that Brown’s group was both competing with and subtly expanding upon.
- Marv Johnson – “You Got What I Need” (1959): Another example of early soul/R&B from the cusp of the 60s, leaning heavily on a strong, sincere lead vocal performance.