Soul, Funk and Disco

Osibisa “Osibisa” (Decca, 1971)

Osibisa’s music is almost as fascinating as the surrealistic Roger Dean cover art that adorned their finest albums. They were a London-based septet whose members had moved to England from various African and Caribbean countries, yet they trafficked in prog-/psych-rock… with major-label backing in the UK and US. Tony Visconti (David Bowie, T.Rex, etc.) and Martin Rushent (Buzzcocks, Stranglers, etc.) worked studio magic on their records. The ’70s were wild, man.

Osibisa’s 1971 debut LP is their best, a piquant, Afro-Caribbean twist on peak-era prog. They were kind of in their own lane in the ’70s, although Osibisa did share some elements with Cymande and Assagai. Osibisa’s leader, Teddy Osei (who passed away in January; RIP), was the band’s MVP, playing tenor saxophone, flute, African drums, percussion, and singing lead on three of the LP’s seven tracks. He establishes the rootsy African vibe on track 1, “The Dawn,” where, amid crickets, birdsong, chants, and African hand drums, Osei toots a frilly flute motif that’s as beautifully peaceful as a dove, achieving Jeremy Steig levels of hoarse fluency later in the piece. Robert Bailey’s organ flares and swells with Brian Auger-esque flamboyance while Wendell Richardson paints the sky fire-engine red with his guitar calligraphy. Osibisa’s intricate instrumental interplay is as stunning as any of your favorite English prog virtuosi.

“Music For Gong-Gong” veers into quasi-Afrobeat territory, with an outrageous, extended percussion break that could bet B-Boys/Girls busting moves. Osei and Loughty Lasisi Amao’s saxes and Mac Tontoh’s trumpet form a victorious horn section, blasting away apathy with ebullient arrangements. “Oranges” rides a fluid, summertime groove that’s almost as cool as Kool & The Gang at their coolest. Osibisa get political on “Think About The People,” a slow-burning anthem that lists the world’s ills, rhymes “pollution” with “revolution,” and advises “We all need a little understanding right now.” You literally can’t argue with that.

“Phallus C” (pun noted) represents sonic joy in full flower, with musicianship that’s as complex as heaven. Of course, there’s a libidinous percussion breakdown for the masses to move their asses. It wouldn’t be an Osibisa song without that. (Shout out to drummer Sol Amarfio and bassist Spartacus R!) With its wild chants, triumphant horn blasts, and a battle-ready rhythm section that’s akin to some of early Santana’s humid, Latinate motion, “Ayiko Bia,” is a rambunctious, party-starting show-stopper. This track might be the group’s peak, the one tune you play when you want to turn someone on to Osibisa.

Essentially, Osibisa were a tight, groove-oriented jam band who would have absolutely killed if the Bonnaroo festival had existed in the ’70s. In the 2020s, though, these badasses don’t get the respect they deserve. Consequently, Osibisa and other early LPs such as Wɔyaya and Heads remain cheap heat. Get thyself to a bargain bin before that changes… -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.

Kool And The Gang “Spirit Of The Boogie” (De-Lite, 1975)

Kool And The Gang’s sixth studio album was the last one before they smoothed out their sound and exponentially increased their popularity (no cause to “Celebrate” from an aesthetic standpoint, if you ask me). They’d had hits with funk classics “Jungle Boogie” and “Hollywood Swinging” off of 1973’s Wild And Peaceful, and 1974’s Light Of Worlds yielded sterling radio staples “Summer Madness” and “Higher Plane,” so KATG were riding a serious creative and commercial high when they cut Spirit Of The Boogie.

That’s apparent from the opening title track, with its spring-legged funk embellished by gruff rapping, rousing “yeah yeah yeah”s, boisterous horns, and “pew-pew” synth sounds. “Spirit Of The Boogie” reached #35 in the Billboard Hot 100 chart and Public Enemy sampled it in “Fear Of A Black Planet.” “Ride The Rhythm” exemplifies the group’s A-game party funk with flamboyant horn charts; and the vocals about the power of music to take your mind to higher planes is a self-fulfilling prophecy. If you want large-ensemble, afro-centric funk done with elegance and soul, check out “Ancestral Ceremony.” It’s analogous to Earth, Wind & Fire’s pre-fame approach, right down to the multi-talented Ronald Bell’s use of kalimba. Nineties hip-hop crew 3rd Bass had the good sense to sample “Mother Earth” for “Steppin’ To The A.M.” and with all the swagger that this funk jam sports, it’s totally understandable.

“Caribbean Festival” peddles West Indian funk with mucho cowbell and one of the most suave and charismatic bass lines ever laid down, thanks to Robert “Kool” Bell. (Hear it sampled in Ice Cube’s “The Bomb.”) The oft-sampled “Winter Sadness” is the lush, hushed sequel to the equally much-sampled “Summer Madness,” and, hey, bonus—it would segue well into the late Roy Ayers’ “Everybody Loves The Sunshine.” KATG are nothing if not resourceful recyclers of their own good ideas. Speaking of which, “Jungle Jazz” is simply a jazzier, instrumental remake of “Jungle Boogie.” After a muted fanfare and a cymbal splash, one of the funkiest (and frequently sampled) breakbeats ever barges into earshot, accompanied by Dennis “D.T.” Thomas’ madly groovy flute. Yes, it is my go-to KATG cut for DJ gigs—thanks for asking.

The only real dud here is “Sunshine And Love,” a maudlin trifle that confirms my theory that 99% of all ballads by funk bands should hit the cutting-room floor. Unfortunately, Kool And The Gang would rely every more heavily on such syrupy fare as they pushed on through the ’80s and beyond. Best, then, to savor these gifted musicians at their peak on Spirit Of The Boogie. -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.

Ween “Pure Guava” (Elektra, 1992)

Talk about a uniquely weird major-label debut… The New Hope, Pennsylvania duo Ween were coming off two strange indie albums that were definitive cult artifacts: God Ween Satan: The Oneness and The Pod. (I’m going to ignore the pre-God Ween Satan cassettes, if it’s okay with you. Right here I’ll admit I’m a Ween dilettante, so I’m sure that the hardcore fans will find much in this review about which to quibble. So be it.) Jumping to Elektra in the wake of Nirvana’s Nevermind blowing up, Ween somewhat spiffed up the production values on Pure Guava and let their pop instincts flow while still allowing their soiled freak flag to flutter wildly in the sooty wind.

Naturally eclectic, preternaturally goofy, and seemingly prodigious drug-partakers, Gene Ween (Aaron Freeman) and Dean Ween (Mickey Melchiondo) treated genres such as prog, psych, punk, funk, metal, folk, country, reggae, and gospel like Beavis & Butthead treated societal niceties. These scatologically minded guitarist/vocalists could play their asses off, but they had an aversion to doing things straight (in at least two senses of the word). You can hear their perverse inclinations bloom like the daisies that everyone’s going to be pushing up.

Speaking of which, Pure Guava features Ween’s biggest hit, “Push Th’ Little Daisies,” which lit up MTV, back when that station served a crucial music-biz function. It’s a decidedly amiable slice of hot-fun-in-the-summertime pop with cute, helium-aided vocals and guitars warped to a smeared jangle. Sounds amazing when you’re baked, I’d imagine. Its success must’ve made Elektra feel smug over their risky signing paying off.

The shinier production and bigger budget didn’t erase Ween’s innate trippiness, even on a sincere loner plaint such as “Little Birdy.” With its whispered vocals and solemn melody, “Tender Situation” exemplifies Ween’s ability to blur the distinction between seriousness and parody. The bizarre Theremin-like noises that brighten the song’s corners sure keep the listener guessing.

“The Stallion (Pt. 3)” and “Don’t Get 2 Close (2 My Fantasy)” basically invented Tenacious D, thanks to their overly formal vocal enunciation, faux-prog flourishes, and absurd lyrics—a mixed blessing, to be sure. Better, though is the excellent, low-key novelty rock of “The Goin’ Gets Tough From The Getgo” and the lo-fi, crazy-angled funk of “Reggaejunkiejew”—which is about 100 times better than its title. “I Play It Off Legit” might be the most nonchalantly cool song in Ween’s voluminous catalog; remove the mumbly vocals and it wouldn’t sound out of place on Tortoise’s first album.

“Pumpin’ 4 The Man” is a speedy country pisstake whose music crushes the stoopit lyrics while “Sarah” is a dewy, heart-on-sleeve ballad that kind of foreshadows “A Tear For Eddie,” Ween’s tribute to Funkadelic’s “Maggot Brain.” This is contrasted by a slew of tunes in the record’s second half that are full of creative instrumentation and odd stylistic juxtapositions, unfortunately marred by jokey vocals and cringey lyrics that wear out their welcome. That being said, “Mourning Glory” is an adequate Butthole Surfers tribute.

Pure Guava peaks on “Springtheme,” a sublime homage to Prince at his most blissed out and falsetto’d. It’s such a laid-back, suave seducer of a song, it should come with birth control. Again, it’s hard to ascertain if Ween are parodying or honoring, but whatever the case, the magic here is undeniable. This may be a minority opinion, but “Springtheme” is Ween’s best song… by at least a few nipple hairs. -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.

Ted Lucas “Ted Lucas” (OM, 1975)

Could Detroit folk-rocker Ted Lucas be poised for a posthumous revival à la Nick Drake? Stranger things have happened. The guitarist/vocalist/sitarist/harmonica player—who passed away in 1992—only released one album in his too-brief life. Ted Lucas (though it’s also known as OM, which was the name of the label that first issued it) largely went ignored upon release, but it’s accrued cult status, thanks in part to Yoga Records’ 2010 reissue (they pressed it again in 2018).

It’s not a stretch to think of Lucas as an American analogue to Nick Drake, though Ted’s voice is huskier and, to these ears, more stereotypically soulful. A close US counterpart would be Skip Spence, who also only released one album, the stone classic Oar.

A Motown session guitarist who studied sitar with Ravi Shankar, Lucas also played in the Spike-Drivers, the Misty Wizards (their sike-pop gem “It’s Love” appears on the Nuggets comp, Hallucinations, aka My Mind Goes High), the Horny Toads, and the Boogie Disease. The man obviously had instrumental chops, and as Ted Lucas proves, he could write a mean tune, as well.

Ted Lucas is split between side one’s sparse folk songs with the acoustic-guitar-wielding troubadour’s effortlessly poignant singing to the fore and deliciously double-tracked and side two’s sublime, (mainly) instrumental jams. I wouldn’t want to live in a world without either.

From the first seconds of “Plain & Sane & Simple Melody,” Lucas’ voice draws you in and entwines you in a warm halo of intimacy. His melodic mastery instantly asserts itself, its folky luster at once familiar and fresh. These songs must have sounded like decades-old standards in 1975, but they’re also distinctive and memorable on their own merits.

My favorite side one track, “Now That I Know,” has a main vocal hook that recalls Nico’s “The Fairest Of Seasons.” Its low-key jauntiness contrasts with the lyrics of heartbreak, as Ted’s acoustic richly jangles in sparkling counterpoint to his oaken vocal timbres. The self-explanatory “It Is So Nice To Get Stoned” makes me wonder how this song hasn’t been used by a 21st-century cannabis company. Put this in your marketing bong and hit it… come on! “Stoned” possesses the same velvety, heavy-lidded vibe as Spence’s “Weighted Down (The Prison Song)” and “All Come To Meet Her.” Thus ends the LP’s song-based side.

“Robins Ride” begins side two with some funky folk bearing the flintiest acoustic attack since Leo Kottke’s 6- And 12-String Guitar and vibrant hand percussion. It’ll sure enough shake you out of the blunted lassitude that “Stoned” induced. A cautionary tale about the perils of drinking alcohol, “Sonny Boy Blues” delivers menacing folk blues with knuckle-on-gtr beats. Timeless! The alluringly titled “Love And Peace Raga” is reminiscent of Peter Walker’s folkadelic dabbles with Indian music. Carol Lucido’s gently snarling tambura complements Lucas’ rambling, triumphant guitar motifs, with time for plenty of contemplative interludes. A wonderful finale.

Third Man Records is reissuing a deluxe version of Ted Lucas/OM on February 21, with further plans to release previously unreleased archival recordings. Thanks again, Jack White, for your service. -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.

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.