Happy Parliafunkadelicment Thangday! (The Cycle of Life: Rain & Rotting Wood Mix)

fruits of rotting logs

My life is currently in a free fall.  Unsure where I will land.  Unsure if I even want to land. Anyways, the NBA season has started up.  As much as I enjoy football and baseball, basketball is my biggest love.  Perhaps it is the fact I was better at basketball.  Or perhaps it was because of the Fab 5.  Damn, they were so fun to watch.  Jalen and CWebb running the break and bringing the street to the hardwood.


I will always remember them as exuberant youths, sporting black Nike socks and shoes and baggy shorts and personalities.  Revolutionizing the style of basketball, the Fab 5’s impact is much bigger than most realize.  They were highly responsible for the fusing of hip hop and basketball.  They changed the way freshmen players were viewed and utilized.

Basketball is a joy to play and a joy to watch.  As others have noted, playground basketball is jazz with a ball and two hoops (well, sometimes, one hoop).  A spontaneous celebration of individuality and teamwork, basketball, like jazz, is a language that is universal.  Whether its’ the squeak of the hardwood or the crunch of concrete of , the swish of nylon netting or the metallic rustle of a chain net.  To end the poetic waxation of basketball, here is a eloquent deep thought from Music Smith, a human featured in Rick Terlander’s excellent Heaven is a Playground:

“Sometimes in a game you get so close to what’s going on you forget who you are”

heaven is a playground

Tootsie Rolls are fine and dandy but I want something more  than candy!

On a fine day, the mood to hear Funkadelic’s Funkadelic struck.  It had been a relatively long break from the P, so a deluge is probably in store.  Expect some rarer funky treats from the P-Funk Empire.  Also, some pictures from my recent travels in the green, damp expanse that is Seattle.

All aboard the Mothership, we’re going back in time to 1970.


Once you get “Mommy, What’s a Funkadelic?” there is no going back.  Oozing with down yonder funk, and pointless to pontificate on.  Just dig and get dirty!  If you feel a tickle in your brain, don’t fret it’s just George’s tongue.


Motown is mixed with psychedelia on “I Bet You,” which was later covered by the Jackson 5.  The end satisfies with a fresh butterfinger crunch.


“Music for My Mother” steals your soul and doesn’t give it back.  Thankfully, you have no desire to deposit it elsewhere.  George’s lyrics are insane, the chants reign down and sneak up, the rhythm pounds the beat of creation.  Mankind in his raw, just off the evolutionary boat, glory.  If you can’t feel what George means you best get a feeling aid.  Mad fun at its best.


The first climax of  “I Got a Thing” leaves you wanting more.  Thankfully, funk, like moist land , loves to give.  I love guitars! I love hand claps! I love Bernie’s organ!


“Good Old Music” is simple and funky like a exquisite shit.  Channeling the timeless through electrified amps, Funkadelic transmitted further and wider than even god’s word.  Lightning bolts are thrown down by the guitars, but the bottom is constant like the energizer bunny.  When everything disappears but the drums and bass around the 5 minute mark, it is sound of the beginning of time.  Like the prodigal son, the other instruments return blessing us with its’ funky produce.  Warms me like no spaceheater could. This cut if off of the raw, gloriously drenched Funkadelic (1970), which was George’s first real time producing an album.


“Qualify & Satisfy” is a more traditional blues number, although feedback is never far away.


George again plunges into the dark regions of the mind on “What Is Soul.”  The guitar riffs paired with the “lalalala lalala” riff creates some dirty ancient, rotting funk.  The drums get real excellent around the 5:30 mark while a harmonica wails.


The P is back.  Forever lives the P.  Wherever I go it follows, whispering seductively “Hey baby, what’s your thing?”


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