Soul, Funk and Disco

Sly Stone “High On You” (Epic, 1975)

By 1975, Sly Stone’s fame (and probably his fortune and much of his sanity) had plummeted from the dynamic superstar’s late-’60s/early-’70s peak—which, as peaks go, was one of the most dazzling in soul/funk/rock history. But as the singer-keyboardist’s post-Fresh output proved, his skills hadn’t diminished much at all. People—and radio gatekeepers—just weren’t paying as much attention.

So, High On You isn’t rated very highly, even by loyal Family Stone fans—assuming they even heard it. Further mystifying is the fact that the album didn’t chart, nor did any of its three singles. But, Jah damn it, High On You is, low-key, a legit thriller.

Though the Family Stone received no billing here, group stalwarts Freddie Stone (guitar), Cynthia Robinson (vocals), Vet Stewart (vocals), and Jerry Martini (sax) appeared. They’re ably assisted by guitarists Eric Gale and Gail Muldrow, bassist Bobby Vega, drummers Bill Lordan, Michael Samuels, Jim Strassburg, and Wild Willie Sparks, and others. But High On You is definitely Sly’s show.

Irrefutable party-igniter “I Get High On You” opens proceedings with phenomenal funkiness, featuring some of the same synapse-sizzling keyboard sounds heard on Commodores‘ “Machine Gun.” No wonder Fatboy Slim sampled it twice and the great guitarist David T. Walker covered it. Surely you’ve heard “Crossword Puzzle” before, especially because the exceptionally exciting, brassy-jazzy intro’s been sampled in De La Soul’s “Say No Go.” Brace yourself for this hot take: “Crossword Puzzle” is as great as anything from the Family Stone’s classic 1968-1973 run.

“That’s Lovin’ You” creeps in with some excellent orchestral soul that’s lifted by Sid Page’s violin and a robust horn section. On this frisky song, Sly proves himself an excellent bassist, something that people rarely acknowledge. Granted, his bass lines aren’t as thunderous as Larry Graham‘s, but they do underpin the funk with subtlety. “Who Do You Love?” is not a Bo Diddley cover, but rather another righteously raucous slab of levitational funk. Side one closes spectacularly with “Green Eyed Monster Girl,” a rare Sly instrumental. This secret weapon is my go-to cut for DJ gigs. It’s at once bold and stealthy funk, with Sly going HAM on the Hammond B-3 electric organ (or is it Bobby Lyles?).

If you thought the funk magnificence would relent on side two, you don’t know mid-’70 Sylvester Stewart. “Organize” should be piped into every company that’s contemplating forming a union. Adding more grease to the fire, “Greed” is bubbly funk that erupts in righteous indignation about the titular subject. Tangents include “Le Lo Li,” whose fleet, skipping R&B achieves lift-off with soaring gospel backing vocals by Vet, Dawn Silva, and Robinson. (It’s not surprising to learn that Diana Ross covered it.) And the LP’s only ballad “My World,” smolders well enough.

High On You takes its place in the Sly pantheon with other overlooked, late-career gems such as Small Talk, Back On The Right Track, and Ain’t But The One Way. There’s gold in those bargain-bin platters, if you want it. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Cedar Walton “Mobius” (RCA, 1975)

Look at that cover. Now look more closely. If you’re not intrigued enough by Lee Rosenblatt’s cosmic-comic illustration of Cedar Walton’s head Mobius stripping to reveal stars, then you need stronger curiosity muscles.

When I first encountered Mobius, I didn’t know anything about Mr. Walton, but I knew that I had to buy this album; having Steve Gadd on drums and Ryo Kawasaki on guitar didn’t hurt the cause, either. And, man, did that hunch pay dividends.

The Dallas-born hard-bop pianist Walton (1934-2013) rose to a fusion-y peak on Mobius. He had the cajones to open the LP with a bold jazz-funk cover of John Coltrane’s “Blue Trane,” with Kawasaki’s broiling, wah-wah guitar leads and Walton’s Fender Rhodes filigrees inflating your sense of well-being, as bassist Gordon Edwards and Gadd get filthily funky. The horn section of saxophonist Frank Foster, trombonist Wayne Andre, and trumpeter/flugelhorn player Roy Burrowes adds robust heat. I think John would love it supremely.

Things get urgently Latin-jazzy on the Walton composition “Soho.” Mercurial percussion by Omar Clay and Ray Mantilla powers a bravura slab of cop-show theme funk—set in Loisaida, of course. The track’s 10-minute-plus running time allows for all sorts of virtuoso displays by the musicians. What Walton and company do with Thelonious Monk’s tightly composed “Off Minor” isn’t very faithful to the original, and it’s all the better for it. Instead, for nearly eight minutes, they launch it to a far-off galaxy of interstellar funk. You can hear some of that early-’70s Deodato strut in this cover, and Walton gets off an incredible Rhodes solo that’s part Return To Forever-era Chick Corea, part ’70s Terry Riley.

A smooth-jazz odyssey featuring the dulcet vocals of Lani Groves and Adrienne Albert, “The Maestro” is a relative letdown compared to the high-flying feats elsewhere. But Walton and crew rebound with “Road Island Red,” whose sly, Headhunters-like funk seductively leads you to the exits.

And here’s some good news: The excellent and prolific Be With Records reissued Mobius on vinyl last year, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Osamu Kitajima “Benzaiten” (Island, 1976)

Born in 1949 in Chigasaki, Japan, Osamu Kitajima began his career in rock bands that emulated the Ventures, the Beatles, and the Bee Gees. After a stint as lead guitarist for the Japanese pop star Yuzo Kayama and a whimsical 1971 psych-pop LP cut under the alias Justin Heathcliff, Osamu wearied of the Anglo-American musical influences that had marked his career and decided to fuse traditional Japanese musical elements with prog- and psych-rock moves. These impulses blossomed on his second album, Benzaiten, the multi-instrumentalist’s peak and his boldest artistic statement. (The 1977 follow-up, Osamu, is also a mellow beauty—a Far East Asian take on New Age and folkadelia.)

“Benzaiten – God Of Music And Water” begins Benzaiten with martial-arts yelps, Dennis Belfield and John Harris’ tight funk bass lines, Brian Whitcomb’s strutting clavinet, and George Marinelli’s delicate guitar filigree, all of which harmonize with wispy flute and chimes. It’s a weird track, like early Commodores collaborating with Taj-Mahal Travellers. A leisurely pastoral stroll bearing Tatsuya Sano’s gorgeous shakuhachi melody, “Taiyo – The Sun” sounds like a direct influence on early Ghost, complete with throaty, grave vocals, as Osamu gets off a lovely guitar solo that curls like incense smoke. The song’s at once utterly blissful and slightly ominous, like walking through a lush forest on your way to a hanging.

Featuring future Yellow Magic Orchestra member Haruomi Hosono on bass, “Tengu – A Long-Nosed Goblin” is a Japanese analogue to the Stooges’ “Dirt”; a methodical, serpentine slab of sensuous funk, with Osamu’s electric guitar frayed and wah’d to a crispy grooviness. Like all the best extended jams, this gets more psychedelic as it goes. The epic, mind-altering reprise of the title track offers more of Osamu’s guttural vocal emissions amid wonderful sonic feng shui: minimalist acoustic guitar, hypnotic biwa (wooden lute) riffs, piercingly pretty Hayashi-bue (flute) with African, Mexican, and Japanese hand drums percolating beneath it all. Beginning with a mournful shakuhachi solo, “Whoma – Immortality” goes on an marathon journey of sparse beauty, at points anticipating the questing, East-meets-West ensemble Codona. It solidifies Benzaiten as one of the musical head trips from Asia.

Trivia: The Japanese psych-rock group Acid Mothers Temple paid homage to this LP with 2015’s Benzaiten. Tip: The German label Everland Psych reissued Benzaiten in 2024. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Joe Bataan “Call My Name” (Vampi Soul, 2005)

The King Of Latin Soul’s comeback album of sorts, Call My Name is way better than you’d expect from an artist whose peak, according to consensus opinion, occurred in the ’60s and ’70s. The New York-based Afro-Filipino singer was something like a combo of velvety crooner Smokey Robinson and socially conscious Marvin Gaye for the Fania Records set.

On Call My Name, Bataan worked with a young group, led by Phenomenal Handclap Band’s Daniel Collás, who wrote the songs and played organ, synth, and electric piano, percussion, and clavinet. Collás and his hired hands provided a fabulous update of his soulful, funky showmanship on the mic. (Somebody on Discogs who claims to know Joe says he disowns Call My Name; that’s his prerogative, of course, but the proof is in the grooves.) The title track grabs your attention immediately with a high-pitched synth intro of exquisite tanginess. Soon after, Joe comes in, suave as hell and oozing effortless cool, even in his 60s, riding a slithery bass line, lithe clavinet, and serene flute, and banging beats on this casually funky soul gem.

“Chick-A-Boom” is the LP’s instant party-starter. An uptempo funk cut with cowbell, organ filigrees, and sexy-old-guy vocal hooks, this aptly titled joint is DJ platinum. The first part of “I’m The Fool” harks back to classic Bataan fare, as he croons with buttery sincerity and tenderness over a psychedelic boogaloo backing with… sitar. Whoa! Part 2 is a sweet, deep instrumental ramble for the true heads. “Chevere Que Chevere” is nonchalant boogaloo that’s sexier than most songs with “Chevere” (Spanish slang for “cool”) in the title.

If you’d like some breezy, feel-good soul that cruises like Curtis Mayfield’s “Move On Up,” but at a slightly more relaxed pace, “Cycles Of You” will suit you right down to the ground. As a nice contrast from all the party-centric numbers, “Ernestine” brings hushed, Stone Coal White-like balladry, with unsettling undertones. The album ends with the humidly sensual funk of “Keep The Change.”

Call My Name is the last proper studio release by Bataan, who’s now 82. If it’s his swan song, it’s a damned righteous one—even if the great man himself disagrees. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Mandrill “Mandrill Is” (Polydor, 1972)

Mandrill’s ’70s albums contain extraordinary highs and embarrassing lows. They are nothing if not consistently inconsistent. Yet all of these records are worth hearing and are usually reasonably priced, so the ROI is solid (which is the title of their 1975 LP, which you should get, obviously).

The Brooklyn-based soul/funk group changed personnel often, but were led by the talented multi-instrumentalist Wilson brothers: Carlos, Louis, and Ricardo. Everyone in Mandrill played percussion and everyone sang, on top of their more specialized duties. The communal vibe among them was celebratory and the message positive. A savvy DJ could make a killer party-starting mixtape using the band’s best 20 songs.

Mandrill’s second album, Mandrill Is, has more hits than misses and stands as one of their strongest efforts. “Ape Is High” is such a great way to start an album; it’s one of Mandrill’s toughest funk numbers, churning and burning in the vicinity of War’s “Me And Baby Brother.” Frederick “Fudgie Kae” Solomon’s corkscrewing bass line and Charles Padro’s in-the-pocket drums nudge the song into sublime territory while Claude “Coffee” Cave’s florid keyboard solo ices this flavorful cake. The Wilson brothers’ “HIGH” chants and Omar Mesa’s fiery guitar riffs in the coda launch it out of this world. The LP’s other single, the horn-laden stormer “Git It All,” peaked at #37 on the soul chart. It’s one of the purest party-funk tunes ever, with the banal lyrics to prove it (“Come on, everybody/Are you ready to get it on?/Woo!” etc. etc.). But who cares when the rhythm and vocals are so motivating?

More aural flames ensue on “Lord Of The Golden Baboon,” a sizzling funk instrumental with beaucoup hand percussion and vibrato sax blats, and “Kofijahm,” a guttural and chunky tribal-funk workout, but one unexpectedly embroidered with flute, vibes, and a boldly questing bass line. Mandrill’s vast array of instrumentation and dexterity separated them from most 1970s’ funk stars.

But it’s not all sweaty jams on Mandrill Is. Almost half of it offers contemplative pleasures… and annoyances. On a positive note, “I Refuse To Smile” is a close sonic cousin with War’s breezy summertime jam “All Day Music” and “Children Of The Sun” brings celestial soul of sweeping grandeur that’s enhanced by Cave’s vibraphone. The intro to “Central Park” resembles King Crimson’s touching ballad “I Talk To The Wind” (or the first Mandrill album’s “Chutney”), until it morphs into grandiose, swift-paced horn-rock à la Chicago. The uplifting “The Sun Must Go Down” chills with Santana-esque mellifluousness.

The album’s low point has to be “Universal Rhythms.” Having a toddler talk for an extended amount of time on a track is a recipe for cringe. When an adult musician explains what rhythms are to said child in a very earnest manner over chimes, chants, and gong hits, you quickly lift the needle to the next track. But overall, Mandrill Is ranks high in the oft-sampled funkateers’ catalog, and, blessedly, finding a decent copy won’t bankrupt you. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Parliament “Motor Booty Affair” (Casablanca, 1978)

Parliament‘s seventh album, Motor Booty Affair went gold, spawned the hit single “Aqua Boogie (A Psychoalphadiscobetabioaquadoloop),” offered a beggars banquet of samples for hip-hop producers, and inspired a bunch of Detroit wiseguys (who included friends of mine) to start a fanzine called Motor Booty. While it might not be as celebrated as Funkentelechy vs. The Placebo Syndrome or One Nation Under A Groove, Motor Booty Affair ranks as one of George Clinton and company’s most interesting recordings. In the last half of the ’70s, this large Detroit ensemble were on a roll commercially while maintaining high quality control in the studio.

A concept album inspired by Clinton’s fondness for fishing and bodies of water (and, as always, psychedelics), the LP revolves around the city of Atlantis, a Utopian place where its citizens achieved liberation through dancing—which included busting underwater moves. And if you enjoy agua-centric wordplay, you’ll love Motor Booty Affair.

This album also marked the emergence of former Ohio Players keyboardist/synth master Junie Morrison as Parliament’s musical director (he’s credited as J.S. Theracon for legal reasons). Having Morrison and Bernie Worrell on keys, Michael Hampton and Gary Shider on guitar, along with Bootsy Collins and Cordell “Boogie” Mosson on bass, plus James Brown alumni Fred Wesley and Maceo Parker in the horn section, gave Parliament a deep bench of musicians fluent in funkitude.

Motor Booty Affair dives in with “Mr. Wiggles,” undeniably the coolest song ever about worms dancing underwater. An understated groover, the track insinuates itself into your ears like an eel slithering through seaweed. The ebullient synth squeals and squelches by Worrell or Morrison, Hampton’s Jimmy Nolen-like guitar riffs, Tyrone Lampkins’ staunch 4/4 kicks, and muted horn blares all cohere into a submarine of joy. The cleverly titled “Rumpofsteelskin” is an ass-worshipping party jam that makes early-’80s Prince seem demure. Lubriciously funky rhythms and an earworm refrain by the “Choral Reef” backing vocalists of “livin’ and jivin’ and diggin’ the skin he’s in” elevate the track into DJ gold.

Topping the R&B chart in 1978, “Aqua Boogie (A Psychoalphadiscobetabioaquadoloop)” is another subaquatic funk mover, and a distant cousin to Parliament’s 1977 hit “Flash Light,” but with massed handclaps, strutting Moog bass, and spare, elegant piano embellishment. It’s no surprise that “Aqua Boogie” was sampled in at least 70 songs. One of the more anomalous Parliament cuts, “Liquid Sunshine” triggers a funk-rock torrent that’s so laced with video-game burbles, it tilts into mad psychedelia. The title track’s a slinky funk jam that doubles as a seductive gospel-ish epic, which is something you don’t hear every year.

Motor Booty Affair has a couple of duds—the syrupy ballad “(You’re A Fish And I’m A) Water Sign” and the stilted and not that fonkay “One Of Those Funky Things”—but overall it’s a (sea)worthy component of Parliament’s loaded canon. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Fleetwood Mac “Mystery To Me” (Reprise, 1973)

Fleetwood Mac’s eighth studio album—which peaked at #67 in 1973 and took three years to go Gold—represented a high point in that group’s unstable post-Peter Green era. Dominated by American guitarist/vocalist Bob Welch and the ever-reliable keyboardist/vocalist Christine McVie, Mystery To Me feels transitional yet also had some fantastic anomalies to help set it apart from a catalog rife with stylistic shifts.

Recorded on the Rolling Stones Mobile Unit, the album definitely was an improvement over its mediocre predecessor, Penguin and more interesting than its successor, Heroes Are Hard To Find. And it showed that Fleetwood Mac had recovered from the major bummer of losing guitarists/composers Danny Kirwan and Jeremy Spencer.

Welch asserts his importance from the opening song, “Emerald Eyes.” Yes, his raspy and dulcet singing is an acquired taste, but it’s one I’ve gladly embraced. His voice hits like a welcome sedative on this romantic ballad on which Mick Fleetwood’s beats slap surprisingly hard to heighten the urgency. On “Believe Me,” McVie reinforces how crucial she is to FM with a rollicking, piano-heavy rocker in the Faces vein, before the song goes on some dreamy tangents. This might be Christine’s hardest-rocking tune, as husband John’s bass avidly pumps along with Mick’s booming bumps. Furthermore, “Just Crazy Love” oozes effortless melodic gold in that patented McVie manner. Album-closer “Why” reveals another facet of McVie’s compositional skill; it’s a stately, stripped-down folk blues that blossoms into a string-laden power ballad about coming to terms with a breakup. McVie’s “The Way I Feel” is a spare, gorgeous thwarted-love ballad that sounds like something Elton John might have turned into a hit.

Things get really interesting with Welch’s “Hypnotized,” which wasn’t a hit but became a fixture on US FM stations (shockingly, the Pointer Sisters covered it on 1978’s Energy). Fleetwood’s triple-time beats mimic the precision boom-boom-boom-tsss of a drum machine, lending the song a trance-inducing pulse that merges perfectly with the terse electric and acoustic guitar filigrees. Welch’s wonderstruck and numb vocals seem to outline the effects of an acid trip—which, when coupled with the trippy, beachy vibes, transforms “Hypnotized” into an unintentional Balearic club anthem, years before those paradisiacal islands became a cultural hotspot.

“Forever” (cowritten by John McVie, Welch, and guitarist Bob Weston) follows in the denigrated tradition of white rockers dabbling with reggae. But it’s surprisingly enjoyable—definitely more tolerable than the Rolling Stones’ “Cherry Oh Baby.” Then again, I’m just a sucker for Welch’s gentle, pure vocal timbres, which fall somewhere between Paul Simon and Canned Heat’s Alan “Blind Owl” Wilson. “Keep On Going” is an oddity in the FM canon, as McVie sings on a Welch-penned song. Even stranger, it’s a swaggering orchestral folk-rock tune, with strings arranged by Richard Hewson—plus Weston plays a lovely flamenco-flavored acoustic-guitar solo.

Another tangent occurs on “The City,” where the Mac pay homage to James Gang’s nasty funk rock. “Miles Away” sounds like the coolest song that the Steve Miller Band never wrote—peaceful-easy-felling rock that nonchalantly accelerates when it desires to. This track could not have been written by any other Fleetwood Mac member but Robert Lawrence Welch Jr. The thorny, complex rock of “Somebody” is as close as FM got to Captain Beefheart. The LP’s only kinda-sorta misstep is the cover of the 1965 Yardbirds hit “For Your Love.” It’s an awkward fit for Fleetwood Mac, but not uninteresting. As with some of Bryan Ferry’s reinterpretations, FM don’t quite get the inflections and nuances right, and that friction sparks an odd sort of joy.

Mystery To Me deserves much more respect than Fleetwood Mac fans—and people, in general—have given it. It’s too bad that this version of the band broke up after it was discovered that Weston was having an affair with Fleetwood’s wife, Jenny Boyd. (Bob, how in blazes did you think this was a good idea?!) -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Lijadu Sisters “Horizon Unlimited” (Afrodisia, 1979)

Born in 1948 in Ibadan, Nigeria, identical twins Kehinde (who passed away in 2019) and Taiwo Lijadu were among the few women in that African nation who maintained successful musical careers in the 1970s. They released five strong albums in that decade, none of which are easy to obtain in the US, except for the fifth, 1979’s Horizon Unlimited, which Numero Group just reissued on vinyl and CD. (Thankfully, that Chicago label plans to re-release the sisters’ entire catalog—but not all at once, thankfully, for our wallets.) Trivia: For five months in 1972, the Lijadus toured with Ginger Baker’s band Salt; the former Cream drummer also had been playing in Nigeria with Afrobeat pioneer Fela Kuti.

My first encounter with the Lijadu Sisters occurred with Strut Records’ excellent Nigeria 70: The Definitive History Of 70’s Funky Lagos comp. According to that LP’s liner notes, “Orere Elejigbo” tells the story of a couple trying in vain to have a child. They visited a native doctor who instructed them to contact the god Ifa. The deity tells them they will conceive a girl and when she reaches adulthood, she should be able to marry whomever she wishes. She ultimately marries a king. The song was a coded way for the sisters to hint to the government to stop going to war and to cease destroying its citizens. The defiant Afrobeat backing—replete with Richard Archer’s jabbing bass line and the ladies’ impassioned unison singing—seriously drives home the point.

The intensely suspenseful “Erora” is an African Head Charge-like charmer with dank low end, including some of the chunkiest drum sounds outside of a Tony Allen session, courtesy of Friday Jumbo, who was part of Fela’s Africa 70 group. Drummer Laolu Akins and talking-drum specialist Soji Adenie add ballast. The Lijadus’ voices are glorious conduits to joy. “Gbwomo Mi” delivers thick Afrobeat action, with a punchy, downtempo rhythm. The sisters soar above the coiled shuffle like headstrong angels—so dulcet and vibrant.

“Come On Home” is loping, funky sunshine pop, African style, and sung in English instead of the sisters’ native Yoruba. That this stunner’s racked up about 23 million listens on $p0t1fy means that it probably received placement in a popular TV show or movie, or gained traction on TikTok, but I’ll be damned if I can find verification of that. The album ends with “Not Any Longer,” which begins with Adenie’s gripping talking-drum solo and then shifts into a slow, ultra-funky chugger with distorted, Billy Preston-esque keyboard squelches. The Lijadus’ most seductive song, it foreshadows some of Grace Jones‘ early-’80s joints.

Out of print on vinyl in the US since 2012, Horizon Unlimited was produced by keyboardist Lemmy Jackson, who also played in the great psych-rock group Blo. All six tracks here are great, and it’s hard to discern which one triggers the most pleasure. But what a wonderful puzzle to solve. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

The Fall “I Am Kurious Oranj” (Beggars Banquet, 1988)

The 10th studio album by British post-punk legends the Fall was the soundtrack to a Michael Clark & Company-helmed ballet about William of Orange, founder of the Dutch Republic. Fascinating, but not essential knowledge in order to enjoy this platter. I Am Kurious Oranj more than stands on its own as a collection of gnarled pop songs.

By all rights, the Fall should have been in the twilight of their career by 1988, the 11th year of their existence. But, as we know, Mark E. Smith and company had more good decades left up until the leader’s death in 2018. And 1988 was particularly rewarding, as the Fall issued two ruling albums: I Am Kurious Oranj and The Frenz Experiment. If anything, they seemed to be attaining a second peak; the first occurred during the Grotesque (After The Gramme) through Hex Enduction Hour/Room To Live era. The 1988 Fall may have sounded slicker than in previous incarnations, but they in no way had lost their potent riff-mongering capacity and penchant for resonant guitar textures, thanks to Brix Smith and Craig Scanlon. Bassist Stephen Hanley, keyboardist Marcia Schofield, and drummer Simon Wolstencroft were also in excellent form. And Smith waxed as bilious and baffling as ever on this diverse full-length.

Oranj found the Fall dabbling in some non-rock zones, imposing their uniquely warped aura on them, and proving that bastardization is often more interesting than “authenticity.” For example, the Fall slip into righteous reggae mode on “Kurious Oranj” and apply acid-house moves on “Win Fall C.D. 2080” without losing any of the group’s mesmerizing allure. “New Big Prinz” mutes Gary Glitter Band’s menacing riff from “Rock & Roll Pt. 2” with wonderful results. “Overture From ‘I Am Curious Orange'” may boast the prettiest melody of any song in the Fall’s enormous canon. “Wrong Place, Right Time,” with its sphincter-loosening funk rhythm, possesses a devastating swagger and is DJ gold. The eerily chirping “Bad News Girl” and the effulgent “Cab It Up!” conclude the album in memorable fashion, with Schofield’s sprightly keyboard motifs inspiring goofy smiles.

I Am Kurious Oranj is a typical Fall LP in that it frequently surprises with new twists on old themes. The Fall weren’t really progressing here; rather, they were expanding in several directions at once. The album stands as a testament to the band’s restless ingenuity. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Trouble Funk “Drop The Bomb” (Sugar Hill, 1982)

Do you like to party? Trouble Funk can help facilitate that. The Washington, DC ensemble are the standard-bearers of go-go, a strain of chunky, percussion-heavy funk and call-and-response rapped vocals that’s organically geared to activate bodies and stimulate libidos. When you need music that’s even more muscular and obsessively drilled than James Brown’s J.B.s, call on Trouble Funk.

The title track’s an apt entry point for Trouble Funk. “Drop The Bomb”‘s lyrics identify which crews Trouble Funk would like to obliterate with explosives. Now, that’s pretty mean and blunt, but we don’t go to TF for nuanced, insightful verses. You can find more food for thought in any random big city’s graffiti. (If the bombs are metaphors for TF’s songs, I take all of this back.) Rather, we listen to them for grooves that have infinite playback and sweat-inducing potential. And “Drop The Bomb” ranks as one of TF’s most inspirational jams in a catalog loaded with same. Extra credit for the wild synth tomfoolery streaking across the potent polyrhythms and general party sounds.

The album’s other smash, “Pump Me Up,” stands as one of the vaunted Sugar Hill label’s most iconic rap tracks. It’s been sampled at least 160 times (mostly for the amped, stuttered refrain of the title) and is by far their most streamed song on $p0t1fy. “Pump Me Up” leverages maximal funkiness with a killer subliminal bass line, elasticated synth bow bows, whistles, and robust hand-percussion embellishments. Hell, even UK drum & bass maverick Squarepusher lifted the rousing “pumppumppump me up” part for “Fat Controller.” The instrumental breaks must have caused mayhem wherever B-boys/girls gathered… and probably still do.

Beyond these best-known Trouble Funk cuts, the LP has three other crucial tunes. In “Hey Fellas,” call-and-response raps and vocals ping-pong over momentous horn charts, kinetic congas (or are they timbales?), clap-augmented funk beats, and synth bass hot and thicc enough to shatter Funkadelic’s “Flash Light.” It’s a pretty scorching way to start an album that intends to rile up revelers. “Get On Up” is absurdly lit funk for maximal strutting, with satisfying cowbell clonks and some of the hardest-hitting clapper beats and girthy bass purrs outside of a Roger Troutman studio session.

The album’s final track, “Don’t Try To Use Me,” is an ill-advised descent into baby-making balladry. Rare is the funk outfit who can write tolerable slow songs that don’t OD on schmaltz and saccharine. This inexcusable indulgence lasts for over six minutes, but, thankfully, it’s at the record’s end, so it’s easy to skip. This is the only dud on a platter that ranks among the greatest in the pure realm of mood elevation and ass-moving. As Trouble Funk shout, “You gotta shake that thang!” -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

The Isleys “Brother, Brother, Brother” (T-Neck, 1972)

You really can’t go wrong with any ’60s or ’70s Isleys album. Their long-term quality control has been impressive, especially for a group that’s charted with regularity. With bros Ernie (guitars), Marvin (bass, percussion), and Ronald (vocals) in peak form and brother-in-law Chris Jasper contributing crucial piano and tambourine embellishments, Brother, Brother, Brother was truly a family affair. I bet Sly Stone was a fan.

This is the album where the Isleys’ love of pop singer/songwriter Carole King really blossomed. Even if you’re not a King aficionado, though, you gotta appreciate what the Isleys do with her tunes. The opening “Brother, Brother” is a tender King ballad elevated by Ronald’s sublimely smooth and warm vocal timbre. I’m not a big fan of ballads by soul/funk artists, but the Isleys were, uh, kings in this realm, up there with Al Green and Bill Withers. King and Toni Stern’s “Sweet Seasons” is ambling, congenial commercial R&B that smoothly segues into “Keep On Walkin’,” whose chugging soul rock is marked by Ernie’s unimpeachably funky guitar riffing and Truman Thomas’ Deep Purple/”Hush”-evoking organ.

On “Pop That Thang,” the Isleys return to the squirming, über-funky sound in the vein of the instantly infectious and oft-covered “It’s Your Thing.” “Lay Away” offers yet another variation on that slow, rutting funk groove. It’s pure fucking music, but this time the lyrics conflate love with consumerism. Who knew the Isleys were so cynical? The most popular cut on streaming services, “Work To Do” was my anthem when I worked at a certain Seattle alt-weekly, because of my onerous deadlines, you see. Man, this song resonates. It doesn’t hurt that the rolling, laid-back groove counters the lyrics’ hyper-responsible message—a very satisfying paradox. Plus, it features one of Ron’s most moving vocal performances—which is saying a lot.

On “It’s Too Late,” the Isleys slow this 1971 Carole King smash hit—not unlike what Isaac Hayes did with “By The Time I Get To Phoenix”—and elongate it to 10:31 while infusing it with so much soul, Ms. King had to admit that the brothers had outshone her. Rumors that she dabbed her eyes with her massive royalty statements could not be confirmed at press time. The album ends with “Love Put Me On The Corner,” a ponderous yet poignant ballad with Thomas’ organ carrying much of the churchy weight. I would’ve sequenced the album to end with “It’s Too Late,” but what do I know? I’m just a lowly blogger.

The good thing about these vintage Isleys albums—besides all of the fantastic soul and funk gems filling them, of course—is that they’re pretty easy to find and relatively inexpensive. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

The Staple Singers “Be Altitude: Respect Yourself” (Stax, 1972)

The consensus best Staple Singers album, Be Altitude: Respect Yourself is a paragon of gospel roots music blooming into R&B and funk songcraft with a sociopolitical message. Produced by Stax Records co-owner Al Bell and augmented by the Muscle Shoals rhythm section, Memphis Horns, and multi-instrumentalist Terry Manning, the album yielded three hits— “Respect Yourself,” “I’ll Take You There,” and “This World”—and only one dud. While music steeped in Christianity usually gives me hives, the Staple Singers were so soulful and righteous with it, they could even sway atheists to get behind their uplifting, Jesus-intensive songs.

“This World” opens Be Altitude with David Hood’s bass and Roger Hawkins’ drums locking in and funking hard from the get-go in this instant mood-elevator, which the Staples adapted from the musical production The Me Nobody Knows. The star of the show, Mavis Staples, asserts herself as a powerful, husky vocal presence. As a lad listening to the radio in the ’70s, I associated her voice as a source of comfort and strength. Same goes for her dad, Pops Staples. That feeling hasn’t faded at all in the ensuing 50-plus years.

Although you’ve probably heard “Respect Yourself” hundreds of times, take a moment to reflect on how odd it was for a radio staple (pun intended) to start in a low-slung, tense manner and then blossom into a rousing call-and-response gospel-funk self-empowerment anthem. Keeping with the hits, “I’ll Take You There” boasts one of the most attention-grabbing intros ever, with a bass line by Hood that should get him inducted into the R&R Hall Of Fame, although it was lifted from the 1969 reggae song “The Liquidator” by Harry J Allstars. This is the epitome of spare, Meters-like funk, and it somehow peaked at #1 in the singles chart.

“Name The Missing Word” is a deep cut that’s as sizzling as any of the hits, thanks to that down-South funkitude native to the Muscle Shoals studio band. On “This Old Town (People In This Town),” the musicians exude “Rip This Joint” energy, propelling the Staples into rare, hell-raising form. The spring-legged funk of “We The People” is a feel-good jam that’s as effusive as Sly & The Family Stone’s “Everyday People.” “Are You Sure” is a melodious and touching plea to watch out for your fellow human. The only low point is “I’m Just Another Soldier,” a Pollyanna paean to the power of love. Honestly, I’d rather hear the jubilant bonus track from subsequent reissues, “Heavy Makes You Happy.” -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.