There are very few chances in life to see icons of any musical genre in a small venue. Especially when it is the Funkster himself, George Clinton, and his Parliament. This being my first visit to the new Crash Mansion in LA, funk would seem like a good first show at this new venue. It is a dark but cozy environment, beckoning the throws of funk-induced passion that I so had been longing for. The dark black unimposing stage set left much to be built upon for an evenings worth of musical release.
George Clinton a Funk legend if you will. Growing up being exposed to all genres of music, funk has always been one of my favorites. As it neared show time my excitement and anticipation grew, after what seemed like an eternity to be funk-less as I patiently waited in the foyer. Then a menagerie of interesting characters and thought-provoking homo sapiens began to fill the stage with chatter, do about and flair. The show was about to begin. The Parliament Funk was on stage, all 20+ of them. Dressed in attire, suit to build up to even the most tame of musical displays.
They began to break it down, rolling into feel good tunes that took us from work day to relaxed night. There were horns, back-up singers, and guitars crammed onto this one stage. Just barely big enough for their amps and themselves, yet they molded together into one funk yielding package. Their MC was a radical guy, someone you would have definitely shared an unusual conversation had you met elsewhere in time. He brought me back to the 70s when the love was free and the feelings were good.
They intertwined this lovely funked up setting for about an hour, increasing the bass and my anticipation for the King of Funk himself, Mr. George Clinton.
When GC came onto the stage the crowd went wild. The floor was packed and you could see everyone was primed and ready for what laid ahead. The bass of musical vibration shook the crowd and bounced my heart feverishly inside my chest. The shrills of the horns at unexpected moments. The background vox. This tribe of dysfunctional funkadelics had turned into psyche-delving humanoidsand I was on a journey. My feet moved to the beat of “Atomic Dog” and other such crazy ensembles. (I even saw the actor who played McLovin in Superbad [Christopher Mintz-Plasse] rockin’ out to the beat!)
From funk to plums of smoke, this was an evening of breaking it down and gettin down. The sicko high-def guitar riffs, George spitting some funk in ya face and all the dancin, this evening had certainly lived up to my expectation.
I wanted the funk and I got the funk. Nuff said.
