Bootsy's Rubber Band, I’d Rather Be With You (1976):
Sexy bass mud and the P Funk family are all over this classic joint. If being picked over by subsequent generations of sample vultures is cred, then this jam is a topper. Bootsy signed on to play with James Brown as a teenager and was an original J.B. In 1972 he joined P Funk and played on all of the classic-period albums. Bootsy’s solo version of the P Funk shizz is cooler, steezier, and is more restrained than the sometimes riotous P Funk. Still, it deserves to be considered a part of that impressive legacy.
Listen to this and admit that this may be one of the greatest backing bands in rock and roll history—special props to Bernie Worrell.
Childish Gambino, Riot (2016):
I’ve wondered on this blog as to where are the next generations of hybrid rock, funk, and soul artists to take up the edgy mantle that was P Funk, Sly and the Family Stone, The Isley Brothers, et. al. at their peak?
That long-awaited answer may be Childish Gambino.
I wanted not to love Riot just because Donald Glover already has his fingerprints over way too many successes as it is. But this piece is undeniable—the vocal, the groove, the vibe, and its jacked exuberance: What is there to say but Respect?
The Gap Band, Burn Rubber on Me (Why You Wanna Hurt Me) (1980):
Once, there was a boundary that stood like the Berlin wall between drums and drum machines. The tradition was too entrenched and few would dare to scale that wall. Then, the 90s, hip hop, and sequencers would tear that wall down. But even now, live drums with a Moog bass—and electric piano to twerk that fat bottom end—is a sound as funky as a gumbo left out in the summer sun. Stevie Wonder worked this signature to enormous effect. So did The Gap Band.
Tom Browne: Thighs High (1980):
At the apex of disco’s full cultural assault in the mid-70s, jazzers like trumpeter Tom Browne were in a life and death struggle for existence. Not that disco had anything to do with it—interest in jazz, in terms of market share, was on a serious wane (a trend that has since only worsened), and jazz musicians were forced to adapt or die to keep their livelihoods. Either retool with a rock beat a la rock fusion, funk, or disco—or find a day job. As it turned out, disco seemed like the best option for many. Pandering to the throbbing 4/4 wasn’t a humiliation only felt by jazzers—rockers were also feeling the pressure. Take note of singles from The Rolling Stones and ZZ Top at the time. But as history shows, jazzers adapted to disco with a ferocity unlike any other genre.
Despite the apparent pandering, it wasn’t all bad. Hot and plucky bass lines were essential. A clavinet was good. A steppin’ horn line and porn suggestive lyrics were also a bonus. Tom Browne threw it all together in this smooth-thumping dance floor-filler. Produced by film and television scoring great Dave Grusin, this dirty little ditty would climb to #4 on the charts.
George Duke: Reach for It (1977):
As another disco refugee, jazz nerds gave Duke much grief for “abandoning jazz” at this career stage. As a veteran of the bands of Billy Cobham, Cannonball Adderly, Jean-Luc Ponty, and Frank Zappa, for the case of “Reach for It,” Duke’s betrayal would win him a #2 single. The bass fury is the propulsive work of Charles Icarus Johnson.
F**k jazz: if this was a devil’s bargain, the devil was a good negotiator.
Gil Scott-Heron, Me and the Devil (2010):
Though considered one of the progenitors of rap, Gil Scott-Heron’s work is a bit more academic than the hip hop we’ve become accustomed to—aggressive yet jazzy, more streetwise than street, and far more measured than the spittle-machine gun style of latter-day gangstas. The fangs of his social commentary were about far headier things than mere boasting. Heron himself called it bluesology.
Me and the Devil, a reworking of the Robert Johnson classic, would be released less than a year before his death and the self-conscious specter about a life about to end too quickly is all over this. Like Billie Holiday’s late-career period, every bit of Heron’s hard life is embedded in the lyric and vocal. It’s equal parts confessionary plaint and an artist‘s raging last will and testament, delivered as a desperate howl against the unbendable schedule of the universe.
Heatwave, The Groove Line (1978):
Heatwave was an eclectic mix of American and European, white and black players and would most significantly become the résumé builder for Brit Invisible Man—songwriter, musician, vocalist, and record producer—Tod Temperton. Out of Heat Wave, Temperton was recruited by Quincy Jones and others to work for a roster of artists including Michael Jackson, Donna Summer, The Brothers Johnson, Lionel Ritchie, and Herbie Hancock. Most famously he was the songwriter of Jackson’s megahits Thriller, Off the Wall, and Rock with You.
The Groove Line has a kind of New Wavey disco vibe—which had more influence in the UK than in the US—to go along with its flurry of melodic invention that seemed to spurt in all directions. As far as disco goes, this may have been among its peak.
Funky Destination: The Inside Man - Soopasoul Remix (2013):
Funky Destination is the nom de funk of Croatian musician Vladimir Sivc. While the sound is not untypical processed ProTools hobo stew, it comes fresh with the use of mostly live instruments. Bandcamp describes Sivc’s retro groove thusly: broken beat, breakbeat breaks, dub funk, nu disco; nu funk; nu jazz; rare groove, soul—whatever any of that means. The track may not break new ground but it smacks hard and that trombone line might just kick Fred Wesley’s ass.
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