BLACK MOUNTAIN — Fueled by a lead singer with a flair for sincere-crackling-gruff vocals, turbocharged choreography and a bottomless bag of theatrics, Charles Bradley and His Extraordinaires performed a 90-minute set, making believers — in him and his music — out of a crowd of about 300 people during a remarkable outdoor concert on a balmy May 8 evening at Pisgah Brewing Co.

As a retro-soul singer carrying the weight of a lifetime of suffering but exuding gratitude, Bradley is definitely straight out of the James Brown-Wilson Pickett school. However, one also could hear and see dynamics reminiscent of soul greats Marvin Gaye and Otis Redding. Behind him, the Extraordinaires — swinging and swaying in unison in classic Motown fashion — were skin-tight, musically.

Introduced as “the one and only Screaming Eagle of Soul,” Bradley proclaimed to the audience that he is “a victim of love” — and that his love, which appears deeply genuine, is for his fans. His keyboardist, who was doubled as emcee, noted later that Bradley not only is he a “victim of love,” but also “the director of love,” in that he spreads love around everywhere he goes. And one could add “fun” as a major component of his show, too. The audience appeared delighted, as many swayed to the music, while others joyfully danced.

Indeed, Bradley’s story is quintessentially American: a man, who, against-all-odds, rose from a tough life of overcoming abandonment as a child, homelessness, heartache, illiteracy and a lifetime of poverty, despite a series of unfulfilling day jobs.

After many years of moonlighting as a James Brown impersonator under the name of “Black Velvet” at Brooklyn clubs, Bradley was discovered by Daptone Records’ Gabriel Roth.

After signing with Daptone, he released his first LP, “No Time for Dreaming,” at age 62. He is also the subject of a much-heralded documentary, “Soul of America,” that premiered at the South by Southwest Film Festival in Austin, Texas, in 2012.

During a three-song encore at Black Mountain, Bradley, now 65, sang the first two numbers that included a rendition of Clarence Carter’s 1967 hit “Slip Away” (the only cover he performed at the show), as well as his mind-blowing signature song, an extended version of “Why Is It So Hard (to Make It in America).”

Bradley then left the stage and approached the cheering crowd, enthusiastically sharing hugs and greetings, as the band played “Riot,” a 1969 instrumental by South African musician-singer-composer Hugh Masekela.

Unquestionably, the highlight of the concert was Bradley’s performance of “Why Is It So Hard,” a song that is billed as his autobiography. The song begins:

“Why is it so hard

To make it in America

I try so hard

To make it in America

A land of milk and honey,

A land supposed to be built with love

It take love and understanding

To live and let live.”

During the song, he broke from the regular lyrics to share his religious and humanitarian bent, noting that his spiritual strength helped him get through hard times. Bradley said he is “a believer,” and that there are “believers” in the audience, but “I know some of you are nonbelievers.” 

While some in the beer-drinking, music-grooving audience may have been feeling a bit uncomfortable with Bradley’s sermonizing, a fan brought smiles and laughter when he yelled back, “I believe YOU, Charles!”

Continuing, Bradley said, “But I believe each of you has a heart....” The band played on, as he further discussed the need for love and peace in the world, concluding, “All we need is love.”

Bradley’s superb eight-piece band, all clad in black coats and black trousers (and some wearing ties), included two guitarists, a bassist, a drummer, a keyboardist, an organist, a saxophonist and trumpeter. Several of the band members also provided backup vocals. Bradley, who dressed in a colorful style, left the stage to change his flashy attire at least three times during the show while the band played instrumentals.

Throughout the show, Bradley’s stagecraft was superb — and he appeared to be giving his all. At times, he would fall to his knees, pleading his love into the microphone, and at other times, lay on his back hoisting the microphone stand like bar bells, as he belted out some poignant lyrics. He did near-splits in bell bottoms, “the robot” on occasion and even some swan moves.

Besides his “Why Is It So Hard,” he also performed some outstanding upbeat songs, including “Ain’t No Time for Dreaming,” as well as “You Put the Flame on It,” a rollicking romantic song reminiscent of the late-great Carolina beach music band General Johnson and the Chairman of the Board.