It was 1993 and ray Davis, fuzzy Haskins and Grady Thomas were convened in Detroit to record together for the first time in over a decade with other p-funk alumni under the nom de disque royal first family of funk. I had been invited along so that I could interview everybody for the linear notes for a double cd, ‘music for your mother’, that collected funkadelic a and b sides from their years on westbound records. I arrived in d-town shortly before noon, quickly checked into my hotel room and immediately headed over to pac 3 studios. Ray, fuzzy, and grady were standing around the mixing board while p-funk guitarist and vocalist gary shider was telling the engineer which tracks to pull up. Over in the corner rubber band vocalist gary mudbone cooper was flipping through a Japanese magazine that was totally devoted to all things p-funk. Over the next twelve hours various past and present members of parliament funkadelic including calvin simon, Michael Hampton and david chong spradley would drop by, as would a couple of female back up singers. The day was spent working on a catchy tune entitled ‘never change’, whose rhythm track and been recorded much earlier. That particular afternoon, producer shider was adding vocal and guitar overdubs, slowly but surely shaping ‘never change’ from a free floating, somewhat amorphous idea into something of substance. What was striking to me was the degree to which nothing other than the idea of recording itself had been planned or though through in advance. The sessions, in face, turned out to be one extended exercise in compositional improvisation. Shider, or any of the half dozen vocalists on hand, would come up with an idea which would then be sung to everyone else in the control room while what had been recorded up to that point was played back. Someone else would take the new idea and modify it, changing the phrasing to make it just that much more funky, harmonizing the line, mapping a particular timbre or enunciating the phrase. Ten minutes later one, two, three or four vocalists would be clustered around a microphone while the engineer decided which track to record this newest layer on. Once everyone was satisfied, somebody would suggest a new idea, often inspired by what had just happened. This sequence would then be repeated, except maybe this time the new idea would replace something already recorded. Over the next twelve hours numerous vocal parts were layered in and around and on top of each other and the sound and feel of the track had morphed substantially. All involved were collectively sculpting/creating what might turn out to be the finished song. But then, at a later session, further overdubs might ensue. What was unbelievably slow moving and tedious in one sense, was absolutely fascinating in another. I had been privileged to witness an example of the creative process that had long been part and parcel of the workings of parliafunkadelicmenthang. The recording studio, in this sense, was a compositional tool and composition was as much about improvisation was as much about improvisation and momentary inspiration captured on tape as it was anything else. What would be expensive untenable chaos for most groups in a recording studio, was for the members of parliament and funkadelic simply the necessary process of summoning the muse, of driving the voodoo down, of creating that ineffable magic that lay at the core of all things p-funk. ‘Never change’ was never issued and arguably one could say was therefore never finished. What I hard that day was simply a snapshot in time of the creative process. Funkadelic toys is chock full of such snapshots. Comprised of four songs or tracks with vocals and five jams or instrumental tracks recorded in the early 70s when the group was signed to Detroit’s westbound records, none of these recordings are necessarily in finished form. Nonetheless, despite their raw state, as historical artifacts they are nothing less than fascinating. Three of the compositions saw the light of day in very different versions. In fact, this is the third time around for ‘heart trouble’. Written by george Clinton with Sidney barnes, the song goes all the way back to the mid 60s when the parliaments first recorded it as one side of their golden world single. The golden world version is a clever cop of the Motown sound featuring a muddy mix, a light but propulsive uptempo rhythm track, tightly tuned snare head, bright, rhythm guitar and ubiquitous strings. If it had been released on Motown instead of the relatively obscure gold world and had the benefit of national promotion and distribution, it would have had a good shot at being a hit. Funkaelic revisited the song in 1973 while recording the cosmic slop album. Retitled you can’t miss what you can’t measure with a new bridge that incorporated the song’s title, the song had been completely recast. In place of the breezy pop orientated vocal heard on the original was an arrangement that split the lyrics between a number of lead vocalists a la sly and the family stone. Completely changing the feel of the song, all of the vocalists phrased behind the beat, deftly underpinned by a herky jerky two bar unk riff doubled by bass and guitar. The version included her was probably recorded in Detroit in 1970 or 1971 for either a single release or for the free your mind and your ass will follow album. Once again, the song was entirely revised. In fact, it has been turned inside out. The vocal is split between billy bass nelson and eddie hazel, the former singing the first two lines while the latter responds the lines three and four. Pat lewis, diane lewis, telma Hopkins and rose Williams, then recording and performing with Isaac hayes as hot buttered soul, handle the background vocals. This version is much heavier than either released version, reflecting funkadelic’s penchant for turning the amps to ten. The last verse is dropped in favor of an echo plexed wah wah laden screaming lead guitar solo from hazel over Bernie worrell’s ominous organ riff and rhythm guitarist tawl ross’ chuck berry inspired rhythm part. As the track pushes further towards the end, worrell gets further and further outside, playing absolutely macabre descending chromatic lines. Revisiting and in effect, reversioning songs was a way of life for funkadelic. Often the seeds of a radically new version would be sown on stage. ‘we didn’t play that stuff the same way every night’, billy bass told me several years ago. ‘never ever!, if we’re doing a song regularly’ concurs bass vocalist ray davis ‘the next night one person can hit a different note and then he’ll go with that. He’ll change the song with that one note. That happened lots of times. It depends on the flavor of the day adds calvin simon. What you were doing, what you were eating. You done played the song in live shows for a couple of months…it’s not that you get bored but sometimes the musicians want to try something different. If they’re feeling a certain way on a certain day, then that’s the way it’s gonna come out. Basically that’s what funkadelic is me, what you feel and what you think and that’s the way it came out on record. Sometimes it was really good and sometimes it was real bad but at least you had the opportunity to do it. It’s one thing to figure out a new groove for a song or to begin to phrase the vocal lines in different ways, but in funkadelic’s case changes could involve new or altered chord progressions and new riffs, turning a particular set of lyrics and melody into virtually a brand new song. Every show would be different recalled Bernie worrell a few years back, because of the improvisation and what not. But, the basic groove would be there. I’d play something different every time because I got bored quick. It would be the same song but I’d play different chord structures and ideas. I might go latin, then jazz, whatever came to my head. The goose that laid the golden egg is one song than on occasion would get transformed onstage. The song was originally recorded as one side of the parliament’s third single for revilot records in early 1968. It was later revisited in an extended nine plus minute version on the group’s first album for Casablanca, 1974’s up for the down stroke. As is the case with the version of heart trouble included here, the version of the goose included on this compilation is much heavier and much more intense than either of the released versions. Clocking in at just under six minutes, this version was cut in 1970 or early 1971 and is totally instrumental. As was the case with the extended version on up for the down stroke, this take on the goose is substantially slowed down. While the lp version featured lead guitarist eddie hazel playing parts in and around vocal improvisations by george Clinton, the version here is dominated by keyboardist extraordinaire Bernie worrell in tandem with eddie hazel’s burning accompanying wah wah lines. In the last couple of minutes hazel steps to the fore and simply wails on guitar. Honorable mentions also go to drummer tiki fulwood’s cowbell work and billy bass’ contrapuntal bass playing. Jams such as this betray the substantial influence of the vanilla fudge, whose main claim to fame was a similarly organ drenched, slowed down version of the supreme’s’ you keep me hanging on, had on the members of funkadelic. According to Bernie worrell, the group’s penchant for playing such impossibly slow grooves at this point in time was directly related to the fact that the majority of the members of funkadelic were strung out on heroin. Within months, perhaps not so coincidentally, tawl ross, billy bass, and tiki fullwood would all leave the band. In the case of both...
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