All songs must end, but not when Chuck Brown played them.
He spent the early ’70s trying to make a name and a living, knocking out top-40 covers in District nightclubs and cabarets. One night, in an attempt to keep the dance floor from thinning out, he told his band to fill the dead air between songs with a beat. So his drummer kept the sticks moving. His percussionist kept slapping at the conga. His audience kept their heels on the parquet. His beat connected the songs.
Then, his songs connected the city.
A proud community formed around Brown’s music. He called it go-go because it wouldn’t stop. Day-Glo concert posters stapled to telephone poles in the ’80s promised 4 a.m.


