James Brown’s Hidden List: The 10 Legends He Could Never Forgive

History remembers James Brown as the Godfather of Soul, a man whose voice, footwork, and iron discipline reshaped American music. But behind the roaring horns and sweat-drenched performances was another story—one of grudges, betrayals, and a silent list of names he carried until his final breath in 2006.

He never left a will. No farewell note. No grand proclamation of forgiveness. Instead, James Brown left behind whispers of a painful list, ten names he could never forgive. Some were rivals, some were family, some were disciples who outgrew his shadow. And together, they formed the mosaic of bitterness that haunted him in life and followed him in death.

This wasn’t about money or fame. For James Brown, it was about survival, pride, and the unbearable feeling of watching the music he bled for slip through his fingers into the hands of others.

Joe Tex – The Rival Who Looked Too Much Like Him

In the early 1960s, backstage in Macon, Georgia, Joe Tex and James Brown crossed paths with an animosity that would never cool. Both men were cut from the same cloth—soulful singers with gritty, guttural inflections, adored by women and dangerous on stage.

The feud began over a song. Joe Tex once recorded a track James considered his “baby.” Brown reworked it, changed a few lines, and turned it into a hit. Tex, never one to let things slide, mocked him in public performances.

The rivalry soon became personal. Joe Tex once referred to James’ former lover during a performance, sneering, “You can keep her.” That single remark turned artistic rivalry into a war of pride.

Promoters milked the feud for ticket sales, but for James, it was no game. The Godfather of Soul hated few men—but when he did, it was absolute. Joe Tex embodied everything James despised: someone too similar, too smug, and too unrepentant.

Witnesses whispered of a violent confrontation in 1963, a dressing room brawl that left mirrors shattered. Whether exaggerated or not, those who saw James afterward swore it was the night he stopped trusting anyone. Joe Tex became the first name on Brown’s list—a man he could never forgive.

Michael Jackson – The Protégé Who Surpassed Him

James Brown never admitted it publicly, but Michael Jackson’s rise unsettled him deeply.

In the 1970s, as the Jackson 5 captivated television audiences, James watched uneasily. Michael didn’t look like a copycat. He looked like the future—a younger, smoother, brighter version of James Brown himself.

Michael often called James his inspiration, even referring to him as his “godfather.” But to James, those words carried a hidden sting: “I’ve learned everything from you. Now I’ll do it better.”

By the 1980s, when Thriller redefined pop music, James could no longer ignore the shift. Michael had become the universal reference point for dance, showmanship, and groove—the very titles James once claimed exclusively.

In private moments, Brown muttered his disapproval. “He’s got moves, but don’t forget who invented them.” It wasn’t hatred of Michael himself, but of the world that embraced Michael so easily after rejecting Brown in his youth.

James had clawed his way out of poverty, battling both segregation and prejudice. Michael, though still Black, was welcomed as a global star in a way James never was. That contrast gnawed at him. He never forgave it.

Bootsy Collins – The Apprentice Who Chose Freedom

Bootsy Collins joined James Brown’s band as a teenager with a bright red bass and a wild spirit. His style was infectious—funky, flamboyant, and dangerously charismatic.

But James ran his band like a military unit. Every note, every step, every second on stage was choreographed. Bootsy, by nature, thrived in chaos.

Once, in Boston, James allegedly docked Bootsy’s pay for extending his solo by four seconds. Four seconds too long.

Eventually, Bootsy left—not with a fight, but with a smile. He joined George Clinton’s Parliament-Funkadelic, where funk was unchained, experimental, and free. He became a pioneer of space-funk, adored as a legend in his own right.

James never forgave him. Not for leaving, but for thriving outside his shadow. Watching Bootsy blaze across TV stages years later, James sighed bitterly, “That funk used to be mine.”

Prince – The Untouchable

If Bootsy annoyed him, Prince infuriated him.

Prince wasn’t just talented; he was uncontrollable. His music defied genre, his style defied rules, his very existence refused to bow. James believed funk was sweat, discipline, and struggle. Prince made it look effortless, mystical, dreamlike.

In 1983, when James invited both Michael Jackson and Prince on stage, Prince stole the show—climbing lighting rigs, throwing guitars, transforming performance into spectacle. James muttered afterward, “That’s not funk. That’s a circus act.”

He never openly feuded with Prince, but the disdain was there. Prince represented a world where music flowed freely, without chains. James believed true funk could not exist without his rules. And for that reason, he never forgave the young genius who proved otherwise.

Maceo Parker – The Saxophone Betrayal

If rivals cut deep, betrayals from within his own camp cut deeper.

Maceo Parker, the brilliant saxophonist, was once called a prodigy by James himself. His sound became inseparable from Brown’s funk identity. But soon, Maceo’s solos began earning as much praise as James’ performances. Fans asked for his autograph first. Critics wrote headlines like “Parker Outshines Brown.”

For James, this was intolerable. No one stole the spotlight. Once, after Maceo failed to stop a solo immediately on command, James docked his pay on the spot.

The relationship became icy. Parker left, returned, left again—three times in total. By the end, James spoke to him only through intermediaries. “He was the best,” James once admitted, “but he forgot whose show it was.”

Maceo never disrespected James publicly. But the silence between them roared louder than any horn.

Jackie Wilson – The Eternal Mirror

Before James Brown became the Godfather of Soul, there was Jackie Wilson. Known as Mr. Excitement, Wilson was the polished, suave showman every singer wanted to be. He had the voice, the dance moves, the smile, and the crowd appeal.

To James, Jackie was both a model and a thorn. While Brown performed as an opener in dingy clubs, Wilson was already headlining in fine suits and big theaters. Every time James clawed his way higher, Jackie seemed to be one step ahead.

James studied him, borrowed from him, and ultimately surpassed him in influence. But he never forgave the years of being overshadowed. Jackie Wilson was a mirror James couldn’t escape—reflecting the performer he desperately wanted to be, yet constantly reminding him of his own struggle.

The Unspoken Names

Joe Tex. Michael Jackson. Bootsy Collins. Prince. Maceo Parker. Jackie Wilson.

Six names history can confirm through James Brown’s words, actions, and silences. But the whispers say there were more—ten in total.

Some suggest rivals like Little Richard, who once mocked James’ ambition. Others whisper Clyde Stubblefield, his drummer, who resented the lack of royalties. A few even speculate about Aretha Franklin, who never bowed to James’ dominance in soul.

The full list may never be known. But what matters isn’t the names themselves—it’s what they reveal.

The Cost of Being James Brown

James Brown changed music forever. He turned soul into funk, funk into revolution, rhythm into weapon. But greatness came at a price.

He was a man twisted by poverty, racism, and the relentless need for control. Every betrayal, every rival, every young star who dared to shine too brightly felt like a theft of the little dignity he had carved for himself from a world that never wanted him to succeed.

He loved music. But he also feared losing it—losing himself in it. And so, he carried a list. A silent testament to the wounds that never healed.

James Brown’s life was funk. Funk was discipline. And in funk, there was no room for forgiveness.

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