“There’s nothing harder to stop than an idea whose time has come to pass!”

To me, the best Funkadelic records have always been the ones they recorded for Westbound Records.

They still produced fine work after switching over to Warner Brothers, and George Clinton’s solo material is a great listen, but those first eight albums are simply where it’s at. What “It” is, exactly, is hard to quantify, though. The funk and grooves were never missing and never would be, so they clearly aren’t our mythical mystery element.

Perhaps it’s the scummy fuzz that seemed to coexist with the funk on that first run of albums, that druggy atmosphere that permeated through the lyrics and music. This was dance music, but for all the hip-shaking, sweat-flecked grooves, it never shied away from the fact that we were dancing in a dark, unfair world. This was music to funk to as the world fell down around us, the sound of the country that was supposed to be the beacon of hope for the Free World eating its own children, elder generations sacrificing their children’s lives and futures just for the sake of living more comfortably. Peace in our times, bodies in the graves.

But even for all that darkness, there was no real despair.

Heartache? Yes. Anger? Yes. Indignation? Yes.

But never despair. The Funk was a way to connect to The One, the First Beat, the rhythm of the heart that echoes in every chest of every person and down through every atom of every stone in the universe. The Funk was there in the darkness, and it did not want to harm you. It wanted you to feel good, and to play. Prime Funkadelic was about connection to the people around you, and to the universe beyond. It was about celebration and misery, it was about joy in repetition and mourning in the style of a rowdy wake. It ain’t nothing but a party, baby.

Standing On the Verge has always been the best of these albums to me. With it, everything came together seemlessly. The lyrics, the playing, and the art make for a flawless, perfect package.

There are dirty, funky rockers (Red Hot Momma, Alice in My Fantasies), a soulful ballad that floats and pulls you out of your skin to sail along its melancholic grooves (I’ll Stay), hot tunes that make you dance and forget anyone’s watching (Sexy Ways,Standing On the Verge of Getting It On), and a bit of ribald silliness to remind you that it’s all just a bit of a cosmic giggle in the end (Jimmy’s Got a Little Bit of Bitch in Him). But the crown of the album goes to the epic closer, Good Thoughts, Bad Thoughts. The meditative little brother of the legendary Maggot Brain, the track finds Eddie Hazel delivering licks that are pure liquid joy, sparkling echoes of long-forgotten oments where the world seemed to make sense to you. And over top of this gorgeous music, we are treated to comforting words about self-realization and the power of our own minds. Is it dated, hippy-dippy mumbo-jumbo?

Maybe to some, but not to me.

Free your mind, and your ass will follow.

-Sun Dawg

A lil something I picked up for $2 at a flea market a few weeks ago.

Absolutely fantastic record, treads between house and boom bap like few can and do both so well.

Last record he made before he passed. Rest in space, legend

Seeing him tomorrow, can’t wait 😭