All the “ego-munchies” and “honey dips” were in line to partake in the “cosmic slop” with “bop –guns” in hand. Burnt “maggot brains” destroyed the anti-“splankers” under the “law of supergroovalisticprosifunkstication” and finally the “funkentelcehy” prevailed!
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George Clinton & Parliament Funkadelic
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 Entertainment
Art
House of Blues
Chicago, Ill.
Sept 12, 2007
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Now for all those that do not speak P-Funk, I shall translate:
George Clinton and his galaxy traveling gang of trans-celestial living artifacts from a bygone age of Funk and glory pulled themselves upon the stage. This band is filled with every type of instrument and character you could imagine (and even some you can’t). The hardest working man in funk, rap, hip-hop, blues, rock etc came to refunkatize (my word) Chicagoland.
But first, our bassist in a diaper came out to entice the crowd. Yes, a diaper. The first thing that strikes you is the amount these people must spend in clothing alone. Funk fashion is something to be taken very seriously. Then the funk-machine starts shaking the walls, and the roar of the crowd signals something is affront. Covered from head to toe in Michael Jordan gear, George Clinton slowly walks on stage. He moves and signals his disciples like a witch doctor coming to perform a miracle of healing the sick or in this case those utterly without funk. “Lets Take it to the Stage” demands that you get off your ass and jam and “Bop Gun” began this funkalisousness with soulful rhythm and outright power.
Introduced as James Brown, Gene “King Poo Poo” Anderson came out in a Pink Suit to perform an astonishingly good version of “Hit it and Quit it” that brought it all back home to the days of the JB’s. From there the mother ship decided to take us to the land of sweet ganja with “Somethin’ Stink and I Want Some” that turned the place back into a “smoking” venue. “Standing on the Verge of Getting’ it On” and ‘Give up the Funk (Tear the Roof of The Sucker)” flexed the muscle of this literal gang on stage.
Their sound rolling like a hallucinogenic thunderstorm swept up everything in its path. A couple lounging ballads featuring Belita Woods slipped in between the charged atmosphere. Carols “Sir Nose” McMurray served as the enemy of the funk constantly trying to upstage George by flashing his six-pack or doing handstands on amplifiers. He did not succeed. The old favorite Free Your Mind (and your ass will follow) played perfectly into the minds of the thinning crowd. The reputation of this band to tire its listeners is quite honest. At close to two and a half hours of pure funk rapture, the knees start to buckle and the groove machine in your hips begins to switch gears. Luckily an extremely lengthy version of “Red Hot Mama” awoke the sleeping giant of chocolate love still stirring in you.
After a thrashing of sweeping guitar and drum solo’s the night comes to an end nearly four hours after it began with a riotous version of “Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin On” There were still a couple more songs after this point, but really… there were only about twenty people still there to listen to them. The flood lights eventually came on signaling the band to stop, and they went off with no encore necessary.
The legend of George and every form that he has presented himself in will live on forever in the hearts of the truly opened minded. The thousands of artists that have created careers around a concept that he gave birth to all remind us what a living treasure this man is.
It is certain that George and his group will continue to jam as long as there are still “Cro-Nasal Sapiens” on this Earth to do battle with.
• Photos are from the Voodoo Music Experience Festival 2004
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