CleverDonkey.com …Musings, Commentary, Opinions, and Drivel

(Note: The songs in this rant have hotlinks to pages at music sales sites (Amazon, Barnes & Nobles) that have audio samples. This does not imply endorsement of these external sites or their products, but are presented simply as a convenience for you, the reader.)

I adolesced in the ’70s, in a small, coastal Texas town. My available music selections were country (ubiquitous), rock (one fuzzy, whiny AM station from Houston), pop (2 hours a day on the local station, one station out of Victoria), and whatever records or 8-tracks I could afford to buy (or borrow from my sister). And unlike many of my peers, music was not central to my teenage years. I mean, there was music that I liked, but I didn’t live/breathe music, or worship any bands, or scrimp and save to get the money to buy tickets for concerts in far-off, exotic places like Corpus Christi and San Antonio. I listened to some music, did a little country dancing, and that was about it.

Then I went off to college, at the University of Houston. College being college, many things changed for me, including my musical tastes and perspectives. For instance, I finally matured to the point where I began to get a glimmer of an understanding of the greatness of the Beatles. I realized that I wasn’t angst-y or disaffected enough to relate to punk rock. I heard the first twangs of the nascent new-country sound, and found it repugnant. I also started getting very tired of hearing ever-more-generic disco songs.

And I also discovered something else. I found that there were some core songs and groups, labeled as disco by most, that I not only never grew tired of, but that I grew to like more and more. And as I explored this predilection, I found that while disco was the colorful, thin, wispy candy shell, the chocolate inside was nasty, groovy funk.

That Was An Epiphany
It all started one evening during my first year of college. I was in the University Center (UC, sort of a student center), and I could hear the thump-thump-thump of music being played loudly in one of the large conference halls. The beat and sound were very appealing to me, so I wandered over and found that one of the local fraternities was having a fundraising dance. I paid my $2 and went inside and found that I was the only Caucasian in the place, as far as I could see (and, being 6′5″, I could see pretty far). The dance was being put on by the Omega Psi Phi fraternity, which is a primarily African American fraternity. You may know them as the fraternity that brands (or branded, I don’t know if they still do it) their pledges on the shoulder with the Greek letter Omega.

Needless to say, I felt pretty out-of-place. I mean, I was a tall, white, 17 year old country boy come to the big city, so this was a very new experience for me, to say the least. However, my little hometown was peacefully racially diverse, and my mom had instilled in me an open mind and tolerance for others, plus the music was really grabbing at me, so I didn’t turn around and walk out. Instead I grabbed a coke, mingled, and tried to ignore the stares, which ranged from covert glances to open challenges. It was such a freaky scene.

To this point in my life my dancing experience consisted of country dancing, and then doing some boot-shuffling to the pop/disco songs that the country joints would play between blocks of country. So at the Omega dance I was resigned to being a wallflower. But I did notice some things…first of all, I wasn’t familiar with most of the songs being played, but I liked them. I wasn’t hearing anything from the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack, for example. Nobody was wearing a white leisure suit. Nobody was mimicking Travolta’s choreographed “disco” moves. Nobody was doing the Hustle.

But everyone was sure having a good time. I found myself moving to the beat, almost involuntarily. It was like an awakening. And I wanted to dance. But I felt out of place and out of my league, like a bottle of Ripple in a fine wine cellar. But I couldn’t bring myself to leave, so I stayed and struggled with myself to either get up the courage to dance, or to finally give up and leave.

And then I heard the opening guitar riff of a song that I knew. Knew and loved. And the crowd recognized it, too, and started flooding onto the dance floor.

It was a sign.

It was Play That Funky Music, by Wild Cherry.

It was an epiphany. I spotted the nearest likely candidate and asked her if she’d like dance, and she did, so we did. And I ended up dancing the night away, and having the time of my young life. Over the course of the evening I discovered my dancing muse, and found my voice (so to speak). And that muse was funk.

I Can’t Define Funk, But I Know It When I Hear It
Now, I’m no musicologist…in fact, I can’t even play an instrument…but I’m going to try and define funk for you. Funk has a nasty, relentless, hypnotic rhythm. Most funk songs are not very complex, lyrically, but they are dense, musically. There are exceptions, like Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin) by Sly and the Family Stone, which has a simple guitar hook, a few horns, and a lot of funk. And then there’s You Haven’t Done Nothin’ by Stevie Wonder, which is both musically dense and lyrically powerful. In fact, if you want to want a crash course in funk, listen to these three songs, all by Stevie Wonder:

Maybe Your Baby
I Wish
You Haven’t Done Nothin’

If all you know about Stevie is his later work (like Ebony and Ivory), these three songs will be eye-openers (as well as leg-twitchers, if you have any funk in your soul). But if you listen to those three Stevie songs, you will know the definition of funk. If those three songs don’t move you, or they sound like “disco” to you, then you should probably resign yourself to being a funk philistine, and stop reading. (The links are just to samples on various music sites, so for the full effect I suggest you legally acquire copies of these songs to which to listen.)

I could write a whole separate rant (and probably will someday) on Stevie Wonder, whom I consider to be a certain genius, a probable brother from another planet, and even a possible time traveler.

Everybody Move
The three Stevie songs above, although 200 proof funk, are just the tip of the iceberg. Here, according to this ranter, are some of the rest of the funkiest songs out there:

Body Movers
Jungle Boogie (Kool & the Gang)
Burn Rubber (The Gap Band)
Brick House (The Commodores)
Love Rollercoaster (The Ohio Players)
Too Hot to Stop (Bar-Kays)

Meat and Potatoes
It’s Your Thing (The Isley Brothers)
Let It Whip (The Dazz Band)
Fire (The Ohio Players)
Flash Light (Parliament)
Dazz (Brick)
Fight the Power (The Isley Brothers)
Atomic Dog (George Clinton)

Slow Grooves
Strawberry Letter 23 (The Brothers Johnson)
Use Me (Bill Withers)
Got To Give It Up, Part 1 (Marvin Gaye)
Groove Me (King Floyd)

Instrumentals
Rockit (Herbie Hancock)
Pick Up the Pieces (Average White Band)
Outa Space (Billy Preston)

Neo Funk
Give It Away (The Red Hot Chili Peppers)
Paul’s Boutique (most of the album, The Beastie Boys)

Give a listen to some or all of those songs, and you will “get” funk. If you find that it’s moving your body and making you want to dance, go out and find some of it, because the best way to experience funk is with your whole body. If you live around Houston, you may want to try The Mercury Room [editor's note: this club has since gone out of business]. Some of their regular bands (like Soul Circus) lay down some slick, funky grooves. But remember, you can always just slip in the disk, crank up the volume, and jam right there in your car during rush hour. Funk is good for what ails you, no matter what it may be. Remember, it’s your thing, do what you wanna do.

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