Hip-hop was about to take over. No matter whether mainstream labels knew or cared, for that matter, how to promote to this niche, aka predominantly “urban” sound. It’s funny how the established companies went out of their way to not say Black, but that’s pretty much the demo: Black audiences. But it’s OK; the streets handled it.
Specifically, indie labels: Tommy Boy, Sleeping Bag, Profile, Def Jam. True story: “Bobbito” Garcia, yeah that one (aka DJ Cucumber Slice, Kool Bob Love), tipped me off back in the day about, of all people, Lenny Kravitz. The streets will always be able to communicate what is what. Anyway, with a rising tide of artists—Beastie Boys, Public Enemy, EPMD, and especially De La Soul’s “Me Myself and I“—in the middle of all this new Black expressive art form called rap by corporations and hip-hop by the artists, emcees, DJs, graf writers, was George Clinton and his legacy behemoth of Black expression, from an earlier and most definitely different generation, Parliament-Funkadelic (we’ll use for a catch all, since there are many). That mothership was swaying to the funk on “(Not Just) Knee Deep,” and those emcees from Long(Strong) Island took the grit and guts from a black barbecue staple, snapped up that swaying midsection—the part of the song with all the singalong bump to it swag—and repositioned it for another generation to bump at their new black barbecue. Ones with black medallions, no gold. It’s only with time that Dr. Dre, co-founder of N.W.A., would confess that Compton’s finest listened to and were deeply inspired by De La’s maiden voyage, Three Feet High and Rising.
So in 1990, crate diggers, dancers, hip-hoppers, and anyone who caught and loved the new Black art form—one that affected slang, clothing, hairstyles, television, and filmmakers (shout out to Spike Lee) were reminded by the kids about the ever-growing legacy of George Clinton and his many group incarnations. Mysteriously, just when everybody was fiending for that ole Parliament-Funkadelic in real live concert form—’cause there was no way this mothership kept that same energy live in performance, right?—P-Funk All-Stars, Live At The Beverly Theatre In Hollywood, recorded in 1983 by the Westwood One Radio Network for a free broadcast on terrestrial radio (folks don’t know how good they had it back in the day) popped up on the always controversy-having Westbound Label, seven years later in 1990.
Hmm. What impeccable timing to cash in on a trend forming, ya think? You can sleuth out all the internet theories you want; what matters is that this is: in certain ways, P-Funk All-Stars, Live At The Beverly Theatre, is almost as important as all those Alan Lomax recordings of the blues on Folkways back in the day. We listeners get vintage “on the road,” one of the most spectacular live acts of its day, a caravan of just players…Playing, like they can’t stop. Or as George would say, “for the funk of it.”
As it stands, P-Funk has a relative scarcity of wide-release live concert albums that make any sense. So this shows up in many areas, giving younger fans just a taste of how wild, colorful, free-flowing, but at the same time, just gangster-groove on point, this cavalcade of musicians was in their peak form.
As the funk gets deeper, you slowly discover all the names through the discography making their appearance; for example, drummer Dennis Chambers and bassist Rodney “Skeet” Curtis, along with certain cameos that are called out by George himself or the official emcee of the evening, Maceo Parker. He equates these All-Stars to the NBA All-Stars; when taken in the context of the Showtime Magic Johnson Lakers, Larry Bird Celtics, Dr. J Sixers, and Moses Malone-led Rockets, this thing is deeper than anyone could consider. Do we spill the beans now? Supposedly, Prince attended this show in 1983 and was so impressed and inspired that after the show, he went to the studio, or his bedroom, and wrote “Erotic City.” So that means this live recording inspired Prince, gave hip-hop in the ’90s a cultural reference point, and then inspired a whole younger generation of kids to go out and find these records that their hip-hop peers and frenemies were sampling, and then just in time, actually went out to see P-Funk All-Stars live in concert in the early ’90s? Yep, it is just as important as all those Lomax Folkways records.
For other historical purposes this recording gives us the treat that involves Michael “Kidd Funkadelic” Hampton and Eddie Hazel, playing in the same band, both trading, sharing, dueling and blending frequencies on the archetypical rock ballad “Maggot Brain,” with DeWayne “Blackbyrd” McKnight finding places to fill in as well.
Just about every song here gets that “push-on-through” momentum that, in some respects, resembles a quick-mixing DJ who is gonna hit you with the good bits, cut in and out of it, and then hit up the next. That’s one of the outstanding things about this recording; it doesn’t sound slow for an ’83 tour. It bumped right along at 1990 mixtape intensity, which brought so many young fans, myself included, to their making-bank shows in the early ’90s when those remaining all-stars would play three songs on one instrument and then go play another instrument. I attended several concerts cause they were otherworldly. Beyond hearing my current fave song samples being played live, too see Clinton the bandleader, directing this cast of musicians who had chops, sense of humor, and that grizzled funk degree—whew! It took my breath away so hard one time, a random dude burned a hole in my jacket, while I was wearing it, mind you, and I had no idea about it until I got home and was asked why there was a hole in my coat.
“What kind of concert was that?” asked my Dad. “P-Funk,” I responded. “Oh,” and he went back to reading the paper. Pops saw Iron Butterfly in their day, and made sure to let me know, several times, it was the loudest show he ever attended. He got the gist.
During those new orientation performances, they would have an Ohio Players section, a Jimi Hendrix section, and so on, very similar to the game of musical encyclopedia shows that The Roots have become modern-day masters in, weaving between R&B, disco, soul, and hip-hop amidst their own “big-umbrella” live show. Like the best P-Funk arrangements, this recording feeds on the frenzied equilibrium of utter off-the-cuff, unrehearsed, joyful left-field genius injections and the ultimate keep-it-moving-on-the-one filthiness of bass and drum in lockstep marriage. This is the true Mothership, in live rhythm. God bless Chocolate City, eternally from the road, and its vanilla suburbs.
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