Soul, Funk and Disco

Melvin Jackson “Funky Skull” (Limelight, 1969)

Chicago-based Melvin Jackson—who served as the bassist for popular soul-jazz-funk saxophonist Eddie Harris and played on John Klemmer’s 1967 album for Cadet, Involvement—released but one solo LP, Funky Skull, but oh, what a cool platter it is.

Jackson had access to several amazing musicians, who helped to elevate Funky Skull to cult-classic status. The roster includes guitarists and Cadet Records session studs Pete Cosey and Phil Upchurch, trumpeters Lester Bowie and Leo Smith, saxophonists Roscoe Mitchell and Bobby Pittman, and drummer Billy Hart. Despite some of these musicians having reps as serious jazz cats, they contribute to a record to which you can get down. “Funky Skull (Parts 1 & 2)” delivers churning, ebullient funk marked by Jackson’s trademark quacking bass and party-igniting horn charts by Pittman, James Tatu, Tobie Wynn, Tom Hall, and Donald Towns. Similarly, “Cold Duck Time – Parts 1 & 2” (written by Eddie Harris) offers more torqued, uproarious funk with slapstick “bee-ow bee-ow bee-ow”s from Jackson’s hooked-on-helium bass. (The unique timbres he achieves are instant smile-inducers.) “Cold Duck Time” is the cut you play when you want to launch the party to the next debauched level.

“Funky Doo”—a cowrite with the album’s producer, Robin McBride—boasts vocals by the Sound Of Feeling, but it’s eccentric feel-good funk in a slightly less exuberant mode than “Funky Skull” and “Cold Duck Time.” Another Harris tune, “Bold And Black,” melds Rotary Connection-like soul sublimity with groove-centric jazz, as singer Maurice Miller adds gospelized power. It’s inspirational, but kind of low-key with it. I like the cut of its jib.

“Dance Of The Dervish” is an excursion into abstraction, an opportunity for Jackson to flex exploratory muscles on his array of effects and to thereby disorient those who came to simply blow off steam. It’s a psychedelic curve ball, replete with Echoplexed, robust laughter. Another outlier is “Say What,” low-slung spy jazz on which Jackson’s bass sounds more like a distraught, weeping violin. “Silver Cycles” (which Jackson cowrote with Harris) is a cover of one of the saxophonist’s most transcendent and trippy compositions. No, it doesn’t top the original, but it’s a bold attempt.

Heads up: the Verve By Request label is reissuing Funky Skull on December 8—nice timing for that Kwanzaa/Hanukkah/Xmas gift. -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.

Quincy Jones “$ (Music From The Original Motion Picture Sound Track)” (Reprise, 1972)

Quincy Jones went on a film-scoring tear in the ’60s and ’70s, scoring over 30 movies for an international cast of directors. It’s not quite Ennio Morricone-level prolificness, but it’s an impressive number nonetheless. Jones’ excellent soundtracking dazzled up films such as The Lost Man, The Italian Job, The Hot Rock, In The Heat Of The Night, and They Call Me Mr. Tibbs! One of the most exciting from this fecund era is $ (aka Dollar$).

A 1971 heist movie starring Warren Beatty and Goldie Hawn and directed by Richard Brooks, $ received mostly positive reviews, but over the ensuing five decades, it’s faded into obscurity. The score, however, deserves regular rotation among Quincy fans and appreciators of dynamic soul and funk in whatever context. Q relied on major talents such as Little Richard, Roberta Flack, violinist Doug Kershaw, drummer Paul Humphrey, guitarists David T. Walker and Eric Gale, keyboardists Billy Preston and Paul Beaver, and the Don Elliott Voices (among others) to help him realize his groovy vision.

The hit single here is “Money Is,” on which Little Richard sings his pioneering ass off with Jones-penned lyrics about the allure of cash on this roiling jazz-rock burner. (If anyone knows about lucre, it’s Mr. Jones.) Shifting gears, “Snow Creatures” is an eerie track full of surprising dynamic shifts, tantalizing textures, and sample-worthy passages. In fact, hip-hop greats such as Gang Starr, J Dilla, Madlib, and Common, to name only a handful, have partaken of its sonic splendors. On a whole other tip, “Redeye Runnin’ Train” is a pulse-pounding suspense-builder with urgent movement signified by Kershaw’s furious fiddle sawing.

Little Richard resurfaces on “Do It – To It” and tears it up again on this libido-liberating, quasi-throwback rocker, sounding almost as fierce as he did in his prime. “Candy Man” cuts deep as another suspenseful chiller that would segue well into the more understated pieces on Marvin Gaye’s Trouble Man soundtrack. Jones really nails it in this mode. More variety comes with “Passin’ The Buck,” a funky blues number with liquid-gold guitar calligraphy by (I’m going to guess) David T. Walker.

Sampled by Mobb Deep, “Kitty With The Bent Frame” approaches Goblin territory for scary atmospheres while using a wide range of timbres to get its blood-curdling vibe across. “Brooks’ 50¢ Tour (Main Title Collage)” essentially does what the United States Of America did on the final track of their 1968 self-titled album: it reprises a highlight reel of elements that remind you of how dope the album to which you just listened is.

Rhino reissued $ on mint green vinyl (of course) in 2022, but early editions shouldn’t set you too far back. -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.

Honey Ltd. “The Complete LHI Recordings” (Light In The Attic, 2013)

This Detroit quartet released one album in 1968 on Lee Hazlewood’s label and then vanished. Original copies of their lone record go for about $2,000, but thankfully, Light In The Attic reissued it with bonus tracks in 2013. Consisting of Laura Polkinghorne, Marsha Jo Temmer, and sisters Joan and Alexandra Sliwin, Honey Ltd. were originally called Mama Cats (pun noted) and drew on their hometown’s inspirational culture of soul music. They also found themselves playing shows with Bob Seger ca. 1967. After riots roiled Detroit that year, the band moved to LA in 1968 to try to further their music career. One audition later with Hazlewood and the legendary music man signed them to his LHI imprint.

Produced by Mr. Hazlewood, Honey Ltd.’s songs deftly balance social and political commentary with matters of the heart. The group’s savvy songwriting skills and magical, four-part vocal harmonies received considerable boost from Lee’s access to several world-class studio musicians from the Wrecking Crew, including Carol Kaye, Ry Cooder, Jack Nitzsche, Plas Johnson, Chuck Berghofer, Al Casey, Jim Gordon, and Don Randi.

The album begins with “Warrior,” which is about a lover going off to war, and it sarcastically treats his violent destiny as a good thing, as it shifts from poignant ballad to rousing rocker with verve. I dare any listener not to get swept away by the surging chorus. “No, You Are” and “I’ve Got Your Man” are harmony-rich girl-group brilliance—soaring pop that hits like a more robust Free Design. The latter tune boasts about undermining a woman’s relationship with dulcet brashness. “Eli’s Coming” is a faithful, exciting cover of Laura Nyro‘s brash soul showstopper, which only was released shortly before Honey Ltd.’s own version. The sophisticated pop-soul gem “Silk ‘N Honey” reveals further Nyro infatuation. The sublimely haunting pop of “Tomorrow Your Heart” foreshadows UK goth-pop sensations Strawberry Switchblade, except when it bursts into Motown-ish, soul-belting mode.

Honey Ltd certainly had a winning, eccentric way with covers. Their unconventionally arranged brassy interpretation of the oft-covered garage-rock standard “Louie, Louie” gets laced with fascinating vocal extrapolations. And their euphoric rendition of the Skip James blues classic “I’m So Glad” radically differs from Cream’s more famous version. Psych-pop heads will flip over the exceptionally dynamic “For Your Mind” and “Come Down,” with the latter being a hippie-rock anthem that would segue well into the United States Of America’s “Coming Down.” It features the group’s strongest vocal performance, replete with haunting undertones and undulating harmonies.

Following her short-lived stint with Honey Ltd., Polkinghorne went on to sing backing vocals with Seger, Black Crowes, and… uh, Kid Rock. But if there were any justice, she and songwriting partner Temmer would be much better known for their work in this femme-powered Motor City outfit. -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.

Prince “Dirty Mind” (Warner Bros., 1980)

Dirty Mind was the Prince record that hit me first—and hardest. If you listened to Detroit radio in the early ’80s, you couldn’t escape Prince’s music (thankfully), because “When You Were Mine” was ubiquitous on both the black- and white-oriented stations in the Motor City, if I remember correctly. If you tuned in to the influential DJ the Electrifying Mojo on WGPR, then you lucked into hearing Dirty Mind‘s deeper cuts, too. As an 18-year-old, experiencing these slammingly funky and lyrically risqué songs upon their release was like getting license to let your id run riot.

Dirty Mind lasts but 30 minutes, but the brevity intensifies its impact. Prince’s first classic LP is filler-free and devoid of the sort of ballads that padded out most of Prince’s other releases. Now, some folks love boudoir troubadourism, and Prince was a true master of the style, but I find it slightly tedious. Anyway, “Dirty Mind”—which was co-written by synthesizer wizard Dr. Fink—kicks off the album with the kind of slightly blurred come-hither synth riff that became a pervasive early-’80s sound—especially in Prince’s Minneapolis circle of musicians. “Dirty Mind” is cruise-y new-wave disco with much spring in its legs and it flaunts one of the supplest falsettos in the game. For a celebration of a slutty brain, though, this gleaming song has almost a genteel feel to it.

“When You Were Mine” boasts one of Prince’s most memorable and moving melodies and bears a great, twanging bass part that twists like an aching testicle. The hook “I love you more now than when you were mine” is deeply poignant, and the equanimity with which Prince accepts his ex’s new boyfriend is damned mature, even if now people would call him a “cuck.” Side one (the inferior side) concludes with “Do It All Night” and “Gotta Broken Heart Again.” The former’s shiny, pulsating pop-funk that’s decidedly not top-tier Prince; the latter’s the closest the album comes to a ballad. It finds Prince lamenting his romantic-loser status—something that would become harder and harder to believe as the ’80s progressed.

Side two is where the seriously libidinous action goes down. It begins with “Uptown,” a triumphant, strutting soul funk ditty in which Prince relates how a woman who initially asks him if he’s gay (spoiler alert!) later bestows him the best sex of his life. He also asserts how “Good times were rollin’/White, black, Puerto Rican/Everybody just a-freaking,” providing a glimpse into Prince’s utopian ideals and inclusive worldview. Next comes my fave cut on Dirty Mind, “Head.” It funks harder and filthier than anything else here and extols the virtues of 69 (the sex act, not the year). As a bonus, Dr. Fink’s fantastic synth freakout, if I may go out on a limb, represents orgasm. Play it at your next orgy.

The final two tracks maintain the über-sexxxy vibe. “Sister” is a frisky rock rave-up that doubles as a paean to incest. Bold for 1980… or for any year, really. “Partyup” [sic] is a close cousin to “Head,” and its sleek, decadent funk lives up to the title. In this uproarious anti-war song, Prince unequivocally proves that he’s a hedonist and not a soldier. In fact, he’d rather have a good time than die in a war, and the exciting rhythmic torque and radiant synth flares seal the deal.

Dirty Mind is the album that alerted the world to Prince’s polymorphous perversity and sexual ambiguity, both lyrically and in how he presented himself (check the cover photos). It was daring as hell for the time in the soul and rock worlds. 1981’s Controversy would further expand upon Prince’s radical, liberating views on race, sexuality, gender, and politics and solidify his status as a generational musical phenom. But Dirty Mind presented Prince in his rawest and bawdiest form, and it initiated his superstar phase. -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

Lee Moses “Time And Place” (Maple, 1971)

It’s damn near impossible to quantify soul with regard to male vocalists, but consensus has built over the decades. Otis Redding, Wilson Pickett, James Brown, Al Green, Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder, and Bobby Caldwell generally top the lists of singers who can make you break down and cry with a few syllables. Rarely, if ever, though, do you hear Lee Moses’ name among the elites. But if you learn one thing from this review, it’s that Moses—who died in 1997 at age 56—ranks as one of the best excavators of deep emotions in music history. The pain and grain of his pipes were just profoundly wrenching. That he died relatively young and unheralded only adds to the pathos when you listen to his records.

A major figure in Atlanta’s soul scene in the ’60s, Moses played guitar for some live gigs with Gladys Knight & The Pips; they wanted him to become a full-time member, but Moses yearned to make it on his own. He had high hopes for his sole album, Time And Place, but it stiffed in the marketplace upon its 1971 release. Nevertheless, true heads knew it was loaded with specialness. There’s a reason that Light In The Attic subsidiary Future Days Recordings has reissued Time And Place on vinyl four times since 2016, including this year. Once you hear Lee Moses sing, it’s like crack for your soul-starved ears. Plus, the originals and the covers that Moses selected cut you deep. You shall be moved.

The opening 1-2 gut punch of “Time And Place” and “Got That Will” should swiftly convince you that Moses was emoting on a level that few could equal. The former lopes into the frame with some horn-laden, laid-back funk as Moses testifies his obsessive love to an inamorata; it also possesses the greatest “mmm hmmm” ever to kick off a song. The latter finds Lee reeling off names of his fellow musicians who made it, and then proclaims that he’s eventually going to join them in the pantheon. Alas, that didn’t come to pass, but the song sure is soul-funk gold. “Every Boy And Girl” is a doom-laden, church soul belter that exudes “House Of The Rising Sun” vibes while “Would You Give Up Everything” is a momentous funk/soul ballad with a complex, corkscrewing bass line—a pretty rare thing. The buoyant, open-hearted melody of “Free At Last” totally embodies the title. And if you dig heart-shredding ballads, Moses sings the shit out of the staggering “Adorable One.”

The album’s best covers are among the most frequently attempted in pop/rock history. Moses puts his indelible stamp on them and makes you wonder why more people don’t consider them definitive. He slows down “California Dreaming” and alters the arrangement into stormy soul, and gruffs it up on the vocal tip. Moses doesn’t so much blow away the Mamas & The Papas’ original as he does transform it into his own joint. Then there’s one of the greatest “Hey Joe”s I’ve ever heard, and I’ve heard over a dozen. In the intro, Moses explains how he was trying to dissuade Joe from going down to shoot his old lady, who was messin’ around with another man. “This is a song about a soul brother named Joe. Joe was a good friend of mine.” Etc. When Moses gets around to singing, he outshines even Tim Rose’s bruised and blustery delivery on this classic. The backing is greasy, Southern blues funk of the highest order.

Time And Place should’ve made Moses a star, with his guitar playing as gritty and expressive as his voice. Plus, he got that will to learn. But all of this somehow wasn’t enough. That the LP’s still in print a quarter century of Moses’ death, though, is a testament of sorts. (Also highly recommended: Future Days’ 2019 comp How Much Longer Must I Wait? Singles & Rarities 1965-1972.) -Buckley Mayfield

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.