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What great gifts does Washington offer the world? Think of the city and you think of the White House and museums, politicians and lobbyists. You don't automatically think of music. The Philly sound, Seattle's indie bands and Chicago blues are famous all around the world.

But Washington?

Let me tell you, Washington's glory is Go Go. I'm all fired up because I've just seen At 74, he still exudes raffish charm, in his black hat and big brown shades, his gold tooth spangling in the spotlight, and a splendidly piratical coat. He's perhaps what Jimi Hendrix would have looked like if he'd lived to become a grandaddy.

Chuck is the Godfather of Go Go, Washington's unique take on 70s funk. He may not be as famous as George Clinton and James Brown, but he is at least their equal.

Over many years I've seen bands in all sorts of venues, from muddy fields to aircraft-like hangers, football stadiums to sleazy pubs, but nothing quite like this experience in the DC suburb of Silver Spring.

The restaurant in a in the DC suburb of Silver Springs had an intimacy all of its own, perhaps appropriate to the advancing age of the patrons. Fewer than 100 people sat around tables, eating dinner as we watched the legend perform.

Upstairs other enthusiasts took dinner and acted out a 20s murder mystery. No wedding parties were in evidence, though it was that sort of place.

But staid it was not. The band was good, but silky smooth. When Chuck joined them, he played a couple of slow ballads and almost seemed regretful to leave off the silk and go hell for leather. "That's my Go Go guitar," he says, gesturing. "You'll know when we're gonna change when I pick it up."

But the chant of his catchphrase - "Wind me up, Chuck!" - was too insistent to ignore. Go Go is guitar-driven funk, distinguished by call-and-response between performer and audience.

Most music may be better live, but for Go Go the audience is part of the show. The call-and-response is key to the sound. This crowd knows all the words. "Po-liceman at the door," he calls out. "Run, Joe, run, Joe," we chant back.

Chuck moves among the audience and at one point fumbles the mic' and drops it. The crowd doesn't miss a beat and continues with the chant.

For once at a gig, most of the audience are of a similar age and plumpness as your reporter. Dinner consumed, chairs are pulled back, matronly hips sashay and paunches sway. When they danced to this in their youth I was thousands of miles away moving to a different beat. But like them, my face splits into a joyous grin. He changes the lyrics as well as the rhythms to Mannish Boy from "Now I'm a man, way past 21" to "Almost grown, nearly 75".

It was a great gig. Anyone who has any liking for soul, R'n'B, or funk should check out Chuck. Mopping his face with a towel, he ends by saying: "People ask why I am not retired? I still got fire. I still got desire. And I'm still being hired."

Long may you wind us up, Chuck.

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