'Up for the Down Stroke', 'Chocolate City' and 'Mothership Connection'

For all the myth surrounding Parliament, Funkadelic and George Clinton, the P-Funk mob rise to freaky fame and fortune in the mid-70s was less the result of cosmic slop than a long, hard road of bad deals and slim payoffs made only through relentless persistence. Clinton had been going at it with his doo-wop quartet The Parliaments since 1955, when he formed the vocal group to play school dances and rec center hops. He released his first single in 1958 (it bombed), and auditioned for Berry Gordy's Motown in 1962-- they didn't get signed. Clinton's one lucky break came when Gordy's wife hired him as a staff songwriter, and even then he was sacked when the Gordy pair split up. However, by the time of Clinton's unfortunate release, The Jackson 5 and Diana Ross recorded a couple of his songs, and he was able to produce some sessions for other artists in Detroit.

By the mid-60s, during the day, Clinton was working at a barbershop, and going to Detroit on the weekends to gig with The Parliaments (by that point, adding a rhythm section). In the summer of 1967, the band released the single "(I Wanna) Testify" on Revilot, and it was their first hit: #20 Pop, #3 R&B.; "Testify" allowed them to quit their day jobs, and the group were soon headlining The Apollo Theater, and touring with rock acts like The Amboy Dukes and Mitch Ryder. But during the late 60s, Clinton had a falling out with the Revilot big-wigs, and the result was him dropping out of his recording contract and losing the rights to The Parliaments' name. Thus, the Funkadelic moniker was born, and in 1968, Clinton even flirted with the idea of his own label. At the same time, most of the band was experimenting with LSD, and was fascinated by psychedelic music (in particular, Clinton has heaped major praise on Sgt. Pepper). From that point, marking their 1968 signing to Detroit's Westbound Records, they would never again be seen as a straightforward R&B; band-- and certainly not as the modest doo-wop outfit first begun by Clinton more than a decade earlier.

Fast-forward a few years to 1974: Funkadelic had established a modest fanbase in the R&B; community, and even a small cult of rock listeners. Their 1971 masterpiece Maggot Brain had brought to fruition everything promised by Jimi Hendrix in the 60s, and is still seen as one of the major releases of the decade. That said, Funkadelic was never a pop band, and when Clinton got the rights to The Parliaments' name back, he made a concerted effort to make that band (rechristened Parliament) a better fit for a wider audience. Up for the Down Stroke was the band's first LP after their rebirth (on the newly created Casablanca imprint, also home to Kiss, and later one of the most prominent disco labels), and was the dawn of a new sound for Clinton's band. Gone were guitar solo freakouts and reverb-drenched biological speculation. The new groove called for tighter arrangements and shorter tunes-- though hardly at the expense of the funk. In fact, Parliament's 70s records redefined funk music forever more, from mere party music to "Supergroovalisticprosifunkstication." Brothers and sisters, make way for the bomb.

The title track from the 1974 record was the best example of the new Parliament sound: mid-tempo, hard disco-funk beat with tight horn charts (most likely played by Fred Wesley, Maceo Parker and the Horny Horns, though none have ever been credited) and a tight, super-addictive vocal arrangement. Furthermore, new bassist William "Bootsy" Collins' massively elastic, muddified lines almost single-handedly made this stuff sound completely different than even concurrent Funkadelic releases like Let's Take It to the Stage. The writing trio of Clinton, Collins and keyboardist Bernie Worrell were responsible for most of P-Funk's greatest jams of the mid-to-late 70s, and Up for the Down Stroke was their invitation to the world to join the movement.

Several old Parliaments remakes made their way onto the disc: the slinky version of "(I Wanna) Testify" distances itself from the original with big-footed drums, Worrell's sly clavinet, and disco horns. "All Your Goodies Are Gone" gets hazy vocal harmonies, late night, blues-y piano and some very tight drumming by the legendary Tiki Fullwood. The band had already been playing this tune for a few years on the road with Funkadelic, and along with the incredible, gospel-tinged "Whatever Makes My Baby Feel Good" (featuring Eddie Hazel's always acidic guitar) are songs that could well have appeared on Funkadelic LPs from the previous couple of years. If Up for the Down Stroke saw the band still clinging to the established P-Funk sound just a tad, the next two releases would make a b-line for the new stuff.

1975's Chocolate City (a tribute to Washington D.C., where Funkadelic had enjoyed their greatest popularity since the early 70s) wasted no time in presenting the new-sound Parliament. The title track is the first instance of what would be many classic extended tracks with narration: "They still call it the White House, but that's a temporary condition"; "To each his reach, and if I don't cop, it ain't mine to have, but I'll be reachin' for ya, because I love ya, C.C."; "What's happenin', black?"; "GAMIN' ON YA!" All this set to a simmering, pulsating track peppered with Maceo's (again uncredited) sax and Worrell's reckless piano and synth lines. "Ride On" busts out of the gate with a ridiculously massive Bootsy bassline and patented Parliament group singing. This tune may be the baddest jam on the record, and that's saying something when the engorged funk of "Together" and party anthem "Big Footin'" share space on its tracklist.

"I Misjudged You" is Parliament's finest ballad, and sounds like a tribute to old-time vocal bands like the Chi-Lites, with the obvious exception of the general queasiness of the groove. Clinton bathes the mix in reverb and the beat is pure Fullwood grease. Even with "sha-la-la-la's" and a Muzak string arrangement the track can't escape its destiny as an herb-fueled, escapist torch song. Where the band falters is when it gives up groove altogether, as on the tedious "Let Me Be", with only Worrell's symphony of synthesizers, piano and some impassioned emoting that basically says "leave me the fuck alone". Of course, it's hard to find a lot of faults with a record so consistently on the verge of something huge. But then, the best was yet to come.

Clinton urges listeners not to adjust their sets, and that he's taken control of the show-- you'll get your life back as soon as you're groovy. In other words, as soon as Mothership Connection has been in your life for approximately three seconds. In one fell swoop, Parliament's 1976 LP made good on every too-long vamp and nonsensical narration they'd ever dropped. The title track is the fruition of Chocolate City's ambition to mass cultural freakiness: Clinton's narration gives you the sci-fi backstory, but this time there's a message ("make my funk the P-Funk, I want my funk funked up") and it's backed up by a #1 jam. When the band joins in on the first chorus, they will the cosmos into alignment, and all unfunky peoples of the world into instant 3-D submission.

Mothership Connection was a massive R&B; hit and even produced a pop hit in "Give Up the Funk (Tear the Roof Off the Sucker)". Parliament was nabbing major crossover exposure, but their status as sci-fi R&B; superstars was practically unmatched at the time. The title track offers one of the classic P-Funk refrains-- "Swing low, sweet chariot, and let me ride"-- and the weirdly religious undertones in the music were reflected in the cultish image of the band and the feverish scenes of their concerts from the time. Clinton's obsession with concept (and somehow using the same musicians to make records for a dozen labels) would soon get the best of his quality control, but on Mothership Connection, all of the out-there shit came together.

These three LPs detail the blueprint for pretty much every Clinton project henceforth, and though there are still some hot spots left (most notably 1977's Funkentelechy vs. the Placebo System), Parliament never really got better. The reissues are remastered, and include some (mostly inconsequential) bonus tracks, so if you were curious about the band before, now's your time to investigate. Those of you already on the train, next stop is C.C. so get your handcuffs ready: these jams won't get stepped on.