Soul, Funk and Disco

James Brown “Get Up Offa That Thing” (Polydor, 1976)

It’s doubtful that many fans rank this album among the Godfather Of Soul’s greatest, but four out of its six tracks are certified bangers. Arriving as disco was gaining substantial marketshare in America, Get Up Offa That Thing reasserted James Brown’s dominance in the funk realm while also nodding to disco bandwagon-jumpers. Get Up is part of his last really strong phase in the last half of the ’70s, which includes Mutha’s Nature. If you’re a DJ who needs to fill dance floors, you could do a lot worse than to drop the needle on this somewhat overlooked opus.

The “Get Up Offa That Thing/Release The Pressure” medley begins with one of JB’s most outrageous EEEOOOWWWs before lunging into an unstoppable megaton funk groove laced with Charles Sherrell’s infectiously twitchy clavinet, blaring horns, and Melvin Parker’s clap-happy beats. James exhorts listeners to rise from their damn seats and “dance till you feel better” and, if all goes according to plan, “try to release that pressure.” This sound advice still resonates 47 years later.

The bubbly/silky, string-laden funk ballad “You Took My Heart” is decent for what it is, but generally speaking, ballads by funk artists are momentum-killers with negligible appeal. Too often, a saccharine sentimentality prevails, lyrically and sonically. I’m all for variety, but there has to be a better way. Thankfully, Brown gets back on the good foot with the next two songs. The speedy disco funk of “I Refuse To Lose” is tailor-made for sports anthemhood, and the “sock it in the pocket/let the good times roll” breakdown is a breakdancer’s paradise. (Shout out to Will Lee’s incredible bass line.) My fave cut is “Can’t Take It With You,” whose coiled funk packs a low-slung, Bohannon-like wallop, enhanced by chicken-squawk guitar à la the Meters’ Leo Nocentelli. The song’s nine debauched and mesmerizing minutes somehow aren’t enough.

“Home Again”—a bluesy ballad that harks back to Brown’s ’50s and early-’60s material—hinders the fun, but “This Feeling,” a more stripped-down companion piece to “Can’t Take It With You,” hits hard with a lean, low-key lethalness. Brown rarely does understatement, but “This Feeling” proved he could excel in that mode, too.

While the title track reached #45 in the Billboard Hot 100 chartt, it’s the deep cuts that make Get Up Offa That Thing a candidate for the ultimate James Brown sleeper LP. -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.

Keith Papworth “Hard Hitter” (Music De Wolfe, 1975)

Subtitled with typical Music De Wolfe functionality “Percussive rhythm tracks with a minimum of orchestration,” UK composer Keith Papworth’s Hard Hitter is one of the funkiest specimens in the wonderful world of library music, which has enjoyed a bonanza of key reissues over the last decade. (Blessedly, US label Fat Beats re-released Hard Hitter in 2022. The lone original copy on Discogs is going for €219—plus shipping from Italy! I mean, it’s probably worth that kind of money, but few mortals can afford it.)

Why has Hard Hitter become such a coveted artifact in the rarefied realm of library music? Because nearly all of its 15 tracks are sample gold mines (see this review’s first sentence). Opening track “Speed Trap” immediately lets you know you’re in for a drum orgy, with a busy, robust opening break over which savvy hip-hop producers will salivate. That foundation’s soon joined by a suspense-building bass line and swashbuckling wah-wah guitar action. Music De Wolfe’s terse description on the back cover—“fast, driving, racy”—is on point.

“Track Record” captures Hard Hitter‘s dominant mode: slower-tempo’d funk with bongos and flute, always a lethal combo in this genre. It’s a serious head-nodder, with bonus fuzzed psych guitar. Akin to “Track Record,” “Fun Seeker” purveys methodical funk with more bongos and flute, a groovy, laid-back acoustic-guitar riff that you can imagine Beck sampling, and a slightly fried psychedelic electric-guitar solo. As it turns out, I just played “Track Record” in a DJ set last week at my Obscenely Obscure event in Seattle—the only such night in town dedicated to library music.

“Hair Raiser” follows in Papworth and crew’s deep, sexy, and slow funk style, which is very ripe for sampling. Eventually, the track accelerates into a beat frenzy that UK electronic artists such as Chemical Brothers, Fatboy Slim, and Propellerheads took to the bank in the ’90s. “Big Dipper” and “Decisive Action” offer yet more variations on Keith’s purposeful, penetrating funk theme, providing a full menu of tasty samples. “Hard Hitter” is perhaps the platonic ideal of the momentous, car-chase-scene soundtrack, with a bass line that’s deeper than Larry Graham’s voice. You can hear its influence on Propellerheads’ 1997 Big Beat club smash, “Take California.”

Some deviations from the prevailing downtempo grooves include “No Way”’s oddly stilted, military funk that’s somehow an earworm; “Stay With It”’s brisk martial rhythm on snare and cymbal; the bongo-powered jazz stepper in 6/8, “Three’s A Crowd”; and the debonair bossa nova of “Challenger.”

Papworth is best known for music that appears in Monty Python skits and movies, but Hard Hitter is no joke among crate-diggers, DJs, and sample-reliant producers. (On a side note, it’s scandalous that the label listed no credits, as the musicians here just kill.) -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.

Rodriguez “Cold Fact” (Sussex 1970)

As you probably know by now, Detroit troubadour Sixto Rodriguez passed away on August 8 at age 81 (cause of death has not been reported). Heads around the world have been mourning and eulogizing this Mexican-American cult hero’s art and humanity with an intensity, if my social-media feeds are any indication.

After decades of obscurity in the US, the trenchant singer-songwriter finally began to get the recognition and accolades he deserved when Light In The Attic reissued his 1970 debut LP Cold Fact in 2008. Director Malik Bendjelloul’s 2012 documentary Searching For Sugar Man further elevated Rodriguez’s profile and sales figures while revealing that he’d achieved shocking commercial success in South Africa, Australia, and New Zealand in the ’70s.

Produced by legendary Motown session guitarist Dennis Coffey and Mike Theodore and featuring Funk Brothers bassist Bob Babbitt and drummer Andrew Smith, the 12 songs on Cold Fact should be granted the lofty regard those on Bob Dylan’s Bringing It All Back Home and Phil Ochs’ All The News That’s Fit To Sing have earned.

Like Dylan and Ochs’, Rodriguez’s voice isn’t technically “good,” but it’s idiosyncratic enough to slice through pop culture’s innocuous glut and command your attention. It’s a cold fact that the content of Rodriguez’s songs—gripping conflicts stemming from drug abuse, inequality, sexual promiscuity, street hassles, etc.—would sound absurd if expressed by someone with perfect pitch and chart-friendly timbre.

Cold Fact begins with its most famous song (nearly 63 million streams on $p0tify), “Sugar Man,” a phantasmal folk-soul ballad enhanced by a poignantly descending bass line and psychedelic effects (echoed backward violin, Mort Garson-esque analog-synth bleeps, delayed vocals as it fades out) from the Theo-Coff production unit. (I discovered the song on David Holmes’ 2002 DJ mix album Come Get It, I Got It, and was instantly hooked.) The album’s next track, “Only Good For Conversation,” bursts in on a cantankerous fuzz-toned bass riff and Coffey’s monumental electric guitar pyrotechnics.

After this potent one-two punch, Cold Fact eases into more conventional singer/songwriter moves, but gritty Detroit funk still runs through these lyrically compelling compositions. An eloquent voice for the underdog and the poor, Rodriguez came out of the gate on fire musically and lyrically. Cold Fact still sounds vital and essential 53 years after its release. -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 Funkees “Now I’m A Man” (EMI, 1976)

Their name may be slightly cringe, but the Funkees rank as one of the best Nigerian groups from that Western African country’s 1970s musical heyday. Formed by guitarist Harry Mosco at the conclusion of Nigeria’s 1969 civil war, the Funkees initially were a cover band, interpreting songs by artists such as the Beatles, Fela Kuti, Aretha Franklin, Rolling Stones, and Elvis Presley. In 1973, the Funnkees moved to London and used that opportunity to open for popular groups such as Kool & The Gang, Osibisa, and Fatback Band.

The Funkees’ 1974 debut album, Point Of No Return, abounds with gritty Afrobeat cuts animated by Mosco and Jake Sollo’s flinty guitar riffs and the robust polyrhythmic attack by drummer Chyke Madu and percussionist Sonny Akpabio that surely made Fela sweat in approval. (Trivia: Akpabio later played in Eddie Grant’s post-Equals 1980s band.)

With 1976’s Now I’m A Man, the Funkees leaned more heavily into their funk-rock inclinations. You can hear this shift toward a sound more friendly to Western ears with the opening title track. It begins in mellow, Latin shuffle mode, like a blissed-out Santana, but Sollo’s (or Mosco’s) wah-wah guitar squelches increase the funkadelic factor. Mohammed Ahidjo’s warm, proud vocals really draw you in to this self-empowerment jam. I love to open DJ sets with this song, as it instantly conjures positive vibes.

The humid afro-funk trudge of “Korfisa” is sexy as hell while the slinky, self-explanatory “Dance With Me” is the sort of nonchalantly funky entreaty to get on the good foot on which !!! have based a large chunk of their output. “Mimbo” features the sort of sparse, percussion-heavy groove that would segue well into undulant cuts by Konk or Liquid Liquid—a very good thing. With its refrain of “everybody get together,” infectious call-and-response vocals, and fiery guitar/organ interplay, “Salam” is a buoyant, optimistic dance track that rolls and roils with an unstoppable force. This could still work on 2023 dance floors.

“Time” acts as sort of a reprise of “Now I’m A Man,” but with different lyrics and lighter overall feel. The instrumental “303” ventures into prog territory, with its circuitous piano motifs, surprising tempo changes, complex counterpoint between the curlicuing bass and pointillistic guitar calligraphy. It’s the Funkees at their most mind-bendingly virtuosic. The album’s only dud is the unengaging ballad, “Patience.”

In 2016, the Austrian label Presch Media GmbH reissued Now I’m A Man—albeit with no liner notes or any credits whatsoever, which is scandalous. Unfortunately, prices on Discogs for this edition have skyrocketed to as high as $100. Perhaps another reissue done with more care for historical context is in order. -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.

Tony Williams “The Joy Of Flying” (CBS, 1979)

Jazz-fusion drummer/composer Anthony Tillmon Williams crammed a lot of amazing music into his 51 years on the planet. Most heads favor his records with his world-class fusion group Lifetime, which boasted lineups featuring the incomparable likes of Larry Young, John McLaughlin, and Jack Bruce. Albums such as Emergency!, (Turn It Over), and Ego sizzle with virtuosity and compositional invention. The short-lived Trio Of Doom with McLaughlin and Jaco Pastorius also has its fervid advocates.

However, like much fusion released in the late ’70s, Williams’ 1979 LP, The Joy Of Flying, has received less enthusiastic critical reactions compared to the raves of his ’60s and early-’70s output as a bandleader—and of course his tenure with Miles Davis’ legendary Second Great Quintet, which Williams joined at age 17.

But The Joy Of Flying has a host of formidable players on board, ranging from Cecil Taylor to Ronnie fuggin’ Montrose, from Herbie Hancock to Jan Hammer, from Paul Jackson to Stanley Clarke, etc. etc. Produced by Williams himself, The Joy Of Flying is the last true fusion LP he made and it sounds absolutely vital.

The Hammer-penned opener “Going Far” finds Williams in flamboyant, tom-thumping form for this rollicking jazz-rocker. The strutting jazz funk of “Hip Skip” is tailor-made for TV sports-highlight shows. Smooth-as-hell guitarist George Benson and Hammer peel off solos that’ll make your third eye roll around in its forehead socket. Written by saxophonist Tom Scott (who plays a mean Lyricon here), “Hittin’ On 6” sees Hancock letting off some spacey synth oscillations as Clarke and Williams churn and burn with frictional funk. Tony’s drum sound is just so lip-smackingly vibrant. As the record’s producer, he deserves all of the credit for this remarkable punchiness.

“Open Fire” was written by those hard-rockin’ muthas Montrose and Edgar Winter, and it’s as bombastic a specimen of jazz rock as the title and presence of brash virtuosi Montrose and keyboardist Brian Auger would lead you to expect. It pairs well with Billy Cobham’s Tommy Bolin-enhanced “Quadrant 4.” Another Hammer composition, “Eris” was sampled by UK drum & bass producer Plug (aka Luke Vibert), so you know it’s fire. This exemplar of gutsy, rhythmically combustible fusion is animated by Hammer’s seething synth throbs, which recall those of Heldon. “Coming Back Home” is a showcase for master guitarist Benson to flex his liquid-gold chops, but Tony’s on fire, too, hitting skins in a complex time signature with his patented power and finesse. The album’s anomaly, “Morgan’s Motion” features avant-garde piano genius Cecil Taylor sparring with Williams in a highly evolved duet of stealth, speed, and inventiveness. A tumultuous summit meeting of jazz gods, “Morgan’s Motion” is a one-off for the ages.

The Joy Of Flying is one of those rare, high-quality fusion albums you can still find for under $10 in used bins. Get into it before the gatekeepers read this review and jack up the price accordingly. -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 Police “Zenyatta Mondatta” (A&M, 1980)

This great Police album contains two songs that I can no longer bear to hear: the smash hits “Don’t Stand So Close To Me” and “ De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da.” The latter is Sting and company’s “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da,” and thus is major cringe. The former’s a decent quasi-reggae-pop tune, but overexposure and creepy, Lolita-esque undertones have ruined it for me. And “Man In A Suitcase” is the sort of inane reggae-rock that gives reggae-rock a bad name. So it goes.

The remaining eight tracks on their third album, however, represent some of the Police’s most challenging and danceable work in which they leave behind any traces of their punk-rock roots while maintaining their B-minus political-rocker commentary. One might say that Zenyatta Mondatta is the British-American trio’s Remain In Light, albeit without the extended lineup that helped to transform Talking Heads in that heady year of 1980. You can hear similar African musical elements in songs such as “Canary In A Coalmine,” a quicksilver, pseudo-Afro-rock burner that, by the way, segues well into Paul McCartney’s “Temporary Secretary.” Freewheeling fun and then some. The hypnotic groove, mesmerizing guitar arpeggios, and shocking monkey chants of “Voices Inside My Head” translate into King Sunny Adé-inflected house music. It’s dance-floor gold.

“Driven To Tears” ranks high in the Police’s canon thanks to Sting’s momentous bass line, Andy Summers’ aerated klang and Frippian guitar solo, and Stewart Copeland’s immaculate rimshots and bongo fills. The poised rave-up in the song’s last minute really lifts this song to an exalted level. The way “When The World Is Running Down, You Make The Best Of What’s Still Around” kicks into high gear while “Tears” is fading out is brilliant, a hip DJ-like move that was rare in new-wave-era rock circles. Summers’ flanged guitar punctuation sprays like a fountain of cool water over Sting and Copeland’s humid, fleet disco-funk rhythm.

The Summers composition “Behind My Camel” won a Grammy for Best Rock Instrumental Performance—which is strange, as it would’ve fit seamlessly into those uncommercial albums he did with King Crimson guitarist Robert Fripp. Ominous and rhythmically stodgy, the track was boycotted by a petty Sting, so Andy dubbed in the bass parts.

Zenyatta Mondatta‘s last two tracks stand as anomalies in the Police’s catalog. Remove Sting’s vocals from the stark dub workout of “Shadows In The Rain” and you basically have an On-U Sound joint. Finale “The Other Way Of Stopping” is a skewed Copeland instrumental that’s full of the drummer’s usual nervy energy and exciting ebbing and flowing dynamics. It’s a weird way to end an album, but by this point in the Police’s wildly popular career, they could pretty much do whatever they wanted. So they did, and good on ’em. -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.

Manu Dibango “Soul Makossa” (Atlantic, 1972)

When the first hints of summer start emerging, the urge to play albums by the world’s favorite Cameroonian saxophonist, Manu Dibango, strengthens. There’s no resisting this annual rite, at least for me. And the record that’s always first in the listening queue is Soul Makossa. (Most of these tracks originally appeared on the 1972 LP O Boso, but Soul Makossa is generally easier to find in the wild. Confusingly, both records essentially sport the same cover.)

Of course, most people know the LP because of its galvanizing title track, which has been sampled and interpolated with gusto by many artists. Most famously, Michael Jackson repurposed the song’s infectious vocal chant for the Thriller highlight “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’.” “Soul Makossa” boasts a uniquely vibrant bounce in its funky rhythm, with Manfred Long’s lithe, shadowboxing bass line doing a lot of the heavy lifting, while Dibango’s sax parts ripple with victorious flamboyancy. The song’s a complexly constructed organism built to maximize euphoria.

But there’s more to Soul Makossa than its world-class, party-starting title track. “New Bell” towers as a humid, African spin on blaxploitation-soundtrack funk. Long’s see-sawing bass line and Malekani Gerry’s wah-wah’d guitar flares combine with Dibango’s buoyant sax charts for a surplus of festive jolts. “New Bell” is DJ gold. “Nights In Zeralda” is a coiled, mesmerizing, low-key groover with Manu in meditative mode while “Hibiscus” starts as a mellow, soulful ballad that could’ve made Curtis Mayfield (no relation) cry, before a sublime, subtle groove eventually surfaces, making this cut an inspirational prompt to peak-time romancing. “Dangwa” leads with a florid piano and sax intro that gradually instigates a gently rolling highlife piece with Freddy Mars’ galloping percussion and Dibango’s spirited sax and vocals elevating moods left and right. The galloping, polyrhythmic Afrobeat of “Oboso” is destined to make many thousands of folks move and feel really good.

While the weather in Seattle today’s overcast and struggling to reach the upper 50s, Soul Makossa brings the intense heat regardless, without fail. -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.

Savoy Brown “Raw Sienna” (Decca, 1970)

British blues rock was damn near everywhere in the ’60s and early ’70s, and Savoy Brown were in the thick of it, releasing very good records from 1967 to 1972. Unfortunately, they failed to gain the substantial traction in the US that artists such as Cream and Fleetwood Mac achieved. Instead, Savoy Brown were more of a connoisseur’s band, and the consensus among those sage heads is that they peaked with Raw Sienna.

Led by pianist/vocalist Chris Youlden—who left the group after Raw Sienna—and guitarist Kim Simmonds, Savoy Brown expanded blues rock’s parameters on this nine-track LP. One of Simmonds’ three compositions, “That Same Feelin’” is fabulous, marauding rock powered by Roger Earl’s funky percussion solo, Kim’s stinging guitar solo, and Terry Noonan’s bravura brass charts. Another Simmonds anomaly is “ Is That So,” which is not so much blues rock as it is a proggy quest in busted waltz time—a nice surprise! The spy-flick-soundtrack-y instrumental “Master Hare” (also by Simmonds) excites with blaring horns and Youlden’s tension-building piano. Tone Stevens’ bass lines are insanely groovy and complex and Simmonds wrings rampant guitar leads that might’ve made Peter Green with envy. [sic] A freaky rave-up coda ices this blues-rock cake.

Many of Youlden’s songs slap, too. The alluring opener “A Hard Way To Go” instantly ensnares you with Stevens’ intriguing bass line and Youlden’s golden, vocals, which reach Steve Marriott levels of wracked soulfulness. The sotto-voce, mellow blues of “Stay While The Night Is Young” features “Lonesome” Dave Peverett’s acoustic-guitar strum and Simmonds’ fluid, pointillistic electric-guitar solo. (Incidentally, this cozy, subliminally funky music was sampled by a California-based friend who releases excellent instrumental hip-hop under the name DJ Frane.) “When I Was A Young Boy” is that rare specimen—orchestral blues rock—and moving it is.

If I’m hearing this right, “Needle And Spoon” is a bustling, horn-powered paean to heroin. But if it’s sincere, this song pairs poorly with Neil Young’s “The Needle And The Damage Done.”A dynamic blues ballad with the brassy brashness of early Chicago, “I’m Crying” sounds like a hit single, aided by Youlden’s confessional, conspiratorial vocal delivery. Alas, even though their records sold pretty well in America, Savoy Brown never scored a hit here, but smart record collectors can score their best albums for a reasonable price in most used-vinyl bins. -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.

Ike & Tina “’Nuff Said” (United Artists, 1971)

It seems like every week death claims another musical star and/or legend. Tina Turner’s passing on May 24 at age 83 was the latest loss to hit us extremely hard. After hearing the bad news, I played my Tina & Ike records and I realized that none slapped harder than ‘Nuff Said. So here we are.

‘Nuff Said yielded no hits, an oddity for the Turners in the early ’70s, but no matter. This album’s stacked with raw and soulful funk rock that could enliven any DJ set. Ike—who was a very, very bad man—produced and arranged with his usual commanding skill, and his band, the Vibs (formerly the Kings Of Rhythm), are tight as hell and funkier than a mosquita’s tweeter. Drummer Soko Richardson, bassist Warren Dawson, and guitarist Jackie Clark are particularly on fire here.

Check out “What You Don’t See (Is Better Yet),” whose speedy, flickering wah-wah guitar work, thrusting rhythm, and blustery horn section are rated XXXtraordinary. (The song foreshadows Lightnin’ Rod’s ultra-funky, proto-rap classic “Sport.”) On flame-grooved tunes such as “Tell the Truth,” “Can’t You Hear Me Callin’,” “Moving Into Hip Style – A Trip Child!,” and “I Love Baby,” Tina’s voice is larger than life and thrice as sexy.

For what it’s worth, critic Robert Christgau gave ‘Nuff Said a C+ in his Village Voice “Consumer Guide” column. “Tina’s screeching becomes painful, not because it’s rough but because it’s out of tune. As for Ike, he’s out of tunes,” he wrote 52 years ago, overly enamored of the smell of his own cleverness. Not for the first time am I vehemently opposed to an opinion by the self-appointed “Dean of American Rock Critics.”

Anyway, if you like filthy funk and gritty, soulful singing by a mega-talented married couple in the midst of a torrid creative streak, you need ‘Nuff Said in your collection. Also, bonus unsolicited advice: approach Robert Christgau’s “Consumer Guide” reviews with utmost skepticism. -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.

James Brown “Sho Is Funky Down Here” (King, 1971)

Here it is, perhaps the most curious anomaly in Soul Brother #1’s vast discography. Strictly speaking, Sho Is Funky Down Here is not so much a James Brown album as it is a chance for the Godfather Of Soul’s musical director at the time, David Matthews, to flex his psychedelic-funk chops and arrangements. The thing is, David Matthews’ name didn’t have marketing potential, although the LP he released in 1970 under the name The Grodeck Whipperjenny became a gold mine of samples nearly 20 years later.

So, King Records slapped James Brown’s name and a photo of him on the cover, even though his contributions were minimal. In the liner notes from the Now-Again label’s 2019 reissue, Matthews said, “[Brown] simply told me to make an underground album… He had nothing to do with the arrangements. James just wanted a piece of the psychedelic movement.” True heads grokked that Sho Is Funky was dope, but most of JB’s fan base ignored it. In Brown’s very busy 1971, this record got lost in the hoopla generated by the release of Super Bad and Hot Pants, and the singles therefrom.

An extraordinary organist, Matthews (not to be confused with Dave Matthews Band’s leader) co-wrote all six tracks on Sho Is Funky Down Here with JB. Brown allegedly plays organ and harpsichord and utters a few words on two tracks, but most of the heavy lifting here was done by the same musicians who animated The Grodeck Whipperjenny. Drummer Jimmy Madison, bassist Michael Moore (not that Michael Moore), guitarist Kenny Poole, and Matthews were essentially jazz cats dabbling in psychedelic funk. For the most part, they slayed.

The album gets off to a slow start with the title track, whose residual mood and tuneage derive from Brown’s 1966 song “It’s A Man’s Man’s Man’s World,” but it’s snazzed up with extremely crispy guitar riffs and soulful organ whorls. Things ascend with “Don’t Mind,” a swirling, scorching funk cut with Moore’s devastating, strutting bass line, Matthews’ insanely amped keyboard, and a guitar part by Poole that’s so thrillingly distorted it could’ve come from a Brainticket record. “Just Enough Room For Storage” might be the best song not on Funkadelic’s Maggot Brain, powered by Moore’s rugged yet nimble bass riff, Poole’s Eddie Hazel-esque guitar heroics, and slamming, in-the-pocket drums by Madison.

“You Mother You” flaunts complex, Dennis Coffey-like funkadelia that will, against the odds, get asses moving on the dance floor. Yes, I’m planning to spin it in my next DJ gig—thanks for asking. As far as I can tell, “Can Mind” has nothing to do with the amazing German rock band; rather, it’s just yet more filthy funk in the remarkably consistent manner of this album. Stellar hip-hop group Brand Nubian sampled it for “All For One,” which is all the seal of approval you need.

Sho Is Funky Down Here is the red-headed stepchild of James Brown’s catalog, but it’s a low-key mind-blower—a brand new bag that’s gone unloved for unjustified reasons. -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.

J.J. Cale “Naturally” (Shelter, 1971)

J.J. Cale’s debut LP sounds as if it were recorded while the leader was on the verge of nodding off to sleep. Even though Naturally is a party album, a driving album, a sex album, a crying album, a mourning album, everything on it sounds muted, swaddled in fluffy blankets, as intimate as pillow talk. The record established from the get-go that ain’t nobody as laid-back as Tulsa, Oklahoma’s J.J. Cale, and ain’t nobody ever leveraged that posture to such sublime songs which somehow achieved commercial success—mostly in the hands of other artists (Er*c Clapt*n, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Johnny Cash, et al.).

Now, Cale was relatively old for an artist making his debut full-length (32), but that’s fitting when you take into account the man’s proclivity for doing things unhurriedly. The advantage to this is, Cale’s music burst into the world fully formed and honed to perfection. Naturally proffered all of J.J.’s styles and tics in one 12-song, 33-minute platter, and he spent the ensuing 40-plus years further polishing these modes (country, bluegrass, jazz, blues, and rockabilly, with sly nods to funk). But for many fans, Naturally remains Cale’s peak.

“Call Me The Breeze”—Cale’s first song on his first album—could be his definitive work, something that rarely happens in the music world. In it, J.J.’s spindly, rapid blues-guitar calligraphy wreathes the metronomic drum-machine beats, like Canned Heat in mechanized-mantra mode. It could be classified as “hick motorik,” as one writer for The Stranger put it in a 2009 feature on Cale. Even Cale’s driving songs choogle at a relatively slack pace. This friction-free, country-rock ramble was covered/homaged by Lynyrd Skynyrd, Johnny Cash, Spiritualized, Bobby Bare, and others.

Cale’s blues songs don’t seem very brutal, but rather something with which he handles with a minimum of fuss. Nevertheless, his sentiment seems genuine and the spare architecture of tracks such as “Call The Doctor,” “Don’t Go To Strangers,” and “Crying Eyes” convey a light gravitas that appealed to Spacemen 3 and Spiritualized, among many others. Cale’s intimate, gruff vocal style makes every word seem confidential and crucial. Even as he sounds as if he’s a second away from napping, Cale rivets on these blues tunes with his hushed, sandpapery tones. You can hear this to stunning effect on the unlikely single “Magnolia,” a spare, dewy ballad of exquisite beauty. The song is as evanescent as a teardrop, with Cale’s voice so full of regret it can hardly attain audibility.

But Naturally shows that Cale can also go jaunty and celebratory, too, as he does on the Dr. John-like “Woman I Love,” “Bringing It Back,” and “Nowhere To Run,” Cale’s idea of a rowdy Rolling Stones rocker, but still as laid-back as a yogi after a cup of camomile tea. And then there’s “After Midnight,” a subdued party jam that Clapt*n made famous even before J.J.’s album dropped. The subliminal funk of “After Midnight”— thanks largely to Norbert Putnam’s bass, Chuck Browning’s drums, and David Briggs’ piano—turns this classic into a boudoir-friendly slow-burner. (Grateful Dead comrade Merl Saunders covered it on Fire Up. You can read a review of that album here.)

Now let us reflect upon “Crazy Mama,” Cale’s only Top 40 hit and perhaps my fave song by him. From today’s perspective, it seems like a miracle that a tune as minimal and unobtrusive as this would chart, but those were different times. Even mainstream ears had the capacity to cherish music with subtlety in 1972. Despite its hedonistic title, “Crazy Mama” is prime hammock-lazing blues rock, with a slide-guitar solo by Mac Gayden that embodies libidinal ache as articulately as anything I’ve heard in my long life. “Crazy Mama” exemplifies the less-is-more ethos in rock.

Some artists try strenuously to reinvent themselves with every new release. Cale was completely at ease doing his own thing, with minor tweaks, decade after decade. Like the protagonist in “Call Me the Breeze,” Cale “[kept] blowing down the road… Ain’t no change in the weather/Ain’t no change in me.” So gloriously chill, that man and his music were, and the peacefulness that emanates from the latter is priceless. -Buckley Mayfield

Billy Preston “Everybody Likes Some Kind Of Music” (A&M, 1973)

With his inspirational presence and formidable keyboard prowess still fresh in the minds of folks who watched Peter Jackson’s Get Back documentary, it seems germane to review an album by Billy Preston. The late William Everett Preston, as you may know, is the only musician who’s played with the Beatles and the Stones—except for John Lennon, Paul McCartney, Mick Jagger, and Brian Jones. No matter your feelings on those bands, you have to respect a musician who could convince two of the biggest acts in entertainment history to request his services. Add the fact that Miles Davis named a track on Get Up With It after Preston and you have a man with certified legend status.

Aside from his stints with those biggies and other luminaries such as Little Richard, Ray Charles, and the Everly Brothers, Preston created a lot of treasurable music on his solo releases, but his heavy-handed paeans to god and Christianity can grate on non-believers’ nerves. Nevertheless, it’s worth enduring the sometimes cringeworthy lyrical sentiments to hear the dazzling music accompanying them, and Everybody Likes Some Kind Of Music certainly has its share of the latter. The opening title track is a luscious soul mantra that doubles as a banally obvious thesis statement for the album, as Preston leads his band through boilerplate snippets of jazz, rock and roll, gospel, while name-checking “My Sweet Lord” by his buddy, George Harrison, which Bill covered on 1971’s Encouraging Words. Not the most auspicious start, but it gets better… much better.

Moving on, “You’re So Unique” is brash R&B with understated yet urgent propulsion, delivering Sly Stone/Stevie Wonder-esque complexity within a convivial party-jam framework. David T. Walker’s stinging guitar leads lend a freak-rock vibe to the song and Preston’s flamboyant keyboard vamps strut with trademark nonchalance. If you dig rousing gospel romps replete with massed handclaps (bolstered by Preston’s soulful, consoling pipes), “My Soul Is A Witness” will make you want to sprint around your house of worship. “Sunday Morning” (not the Velvet Underground song) possesses a bouncy rhythm akin to the Beatles’ “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” and is surprisingly buoyed by Dennis Coates’ banjo. “You Got Me For Company” is a well-crafted orchestral ballad, up there with your Nilssons, Van Dyke Parkses, Jim Webbs, and, indeed, your Paul McCartneys.

Speaking of Macca, one of the album’s better deep cuts, “Listen To The Wind” carries faint echoes of the “Blackbird” in its intro before wheeling into a soaring, Rotary Connection-like psych-soul showcase. Speaking of the Beatles, “I’m So Tired” is not the White Album tune, but rather a variation on the triumphant “Space Race” theme (more of which later), with Preston singing with utmost passion and improvisational verve. “I’m so tired of being around people who don’t know their ass from a hole in the ground,” he laments, and who can’t sympathize? The keyboards ripple at absurdly high pitches, and you can imagine Dick Hyman getting jealous of Bill’s nutty tones curlicuing in the stereo field.

On a similar vibe, “Space Race” was a rare instrumental hit (#4 in the US) and one of the exemplars of ambitious ’70s funk. The keybs are practically Gershon Kingsley/Jean-Jacques Perrey-level quirky and timbrally extreme. Every second of this track is crammed with excitement and invention. I still cane this ultimate futuristic driving song and that other far-out Preston instrumental, “Outa-Space,” in DJ sets and can’t foresee ever stopping. They’re aural Ecstasy, without the inevitable serotonin depletion.

Another highlight is “It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding).” At 3:50, it’s about half as long as Bob Dylan’s epic skewering of hypocrisy, consumerism, and bellicosity from 1965’s Bringing It All Back Home. Instead of stark folk-guitar strumming, Preston generates an orchestral-funk dark storm that evokes David Axelrod and Jean-Claude Vannier while singing with a cool stoicism à la jazz hepcats Mose Allison and Ben Sidran. Billy swaps out Dylan’s stern menace and weathered ruefulness for some stained-glass testifying, in keeping with his gospel roots. Consequently, he bestows us one of the most inventive Dylan covers extant.

Honestly, Preston should have ended the album with this song, but instead he tacked on “Minuet For Me,” a short, piano-heavy classical reverie that flexes his strident virtuosity. It’s impressive, but would’ve hit harder near the record’s beginning. Whatever the case, it’s yet one more piece of evidence for Preston’s stunning skills and range. Respect. -Buckley Mayfield