Counterintuitive though it may be, the song's absence might be explained by the breathtaking crawl through which Charles guides his band. The backing is so minimal that to call it "skeletal" doesn't do it justice; note how the audience can't even identify it until Charles begins singing. The drum is simply a one-two slap of brushes and the lightest of hi-hat claps. The bass thumps just enough to land on the first beat of each bar. Charles' organ sits low and quiet throughout, and beyond his vocal, practically the only sign of movement is a flute that trills lightly all over the place.
That sense of fragility, as though the faintest ripple could cause the whole song to tumble apart, is highlighted with the shift to the bridge just before the five-minute mark, where it sounds as though even the musicians aren't entirely sure whether the song is continuing. But still Charles pushes on, and it's only at the very end that his entire band comes in with a touch of Dixieland cacophony. It's one final flourish in a performance held together by little more than the strength of Charles' genius — which, after all these years, proves more than enough. Listen on: http://www.npr.org/2011/09/02/140143464/ray-charles-georgia-at-a-glacial-pace
http://www.npr.org/2011/09/02/140143464/ray-charles-georgia-at-a-glacial-pace?ft=3&f=4703895&sc=nl&cc=sod-20110902
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