Tuesday, February 16, 1999
George Clinton, P-Funk’s smooth grooves leave fans starry
eyed
MUSIC Spellbinders combine eccentric garb, unified sounds
By Brent Hopkins
Daily Bruin Staff
Anything written about George Clinton and the P-Funk All Stars’
Feb. 13 show at the House of Blues cannot do it justice. It was not
so much a concert as it was an experience, defying description.
From the feeling of the floor-rumbling bass, to the sight of the
entranced fans swaying at Clinton’s command, to the sound of the
airtight groove the band was hitting, from start to finish, it was
an amazing evening.
"Ain’t no party like a P-Funk party," the audience chanted as
Clinton, the elder statesman of the funk world, shuffled his way on
stage, gliding in a flowing space-age caftan.
This proved true, as Clinton and his bizarre crew kicked off a
monumental jam that never seemed to end. The House of Blues’ stage
was completely packed with musicians, who switched instruments and
traded places so many times it was impossible to even begin to
guess at how many were onstage at any given moment. Dressed in a
broad assortment of costumes, from military fatigues to diapers,
the band was an odd sight. It looked like the band members had just
been plucked from the street and handed instruments, but they
sounded far more impressive. Each one of the All Stars showed both
an incredible talent for melding together in a dead-on, unified
sound, as well as for individual showmanship, where they each shone
as they played alone.
From beginning to end, it was one long, extended jam, with songs
blending together and Clinton offering little in the way of spoken
commentary. The band didn’t need any, however, keeping the mood
elevated with its relentless playing. Its tireless performance was
impressive in itself, as the band continued song after song, never
letting the energy diminish in the least. The rhythm section
offered a consistently well-grounded foundation, with an extensive
drum kit and five-string bass anchoring it all. A bevy of guitars,
sometimes as many as four onstage at once, also lent support,
churning out one distortion-laden riff after another.
Musically, the most impressive group was the two-man horn combo.
Bennie Cowan, large and imposing in his all-black attire, was
flawless on trumpet, ripping off high pitched solo squeals that
brought cheers from the crowd with each burst. He employed the most
versatility of all the musicians, ranging from the soft, jazzy
scales he played to open the evening, to the full-blown unison jams
he was hitting midway through. Though they generally took a
backseat to the guitars, the horns lent a much needed color to all
the songs in which they played.
With such a host of instruments, which also included at various
times keyboards, violins, and added percussion, the jamming tended
toward excess at times. At one point, most band members, including
Clinton, left the stage and left guitarist Mike Hampton in the
spotlight. Backed by a sparse rhythm section, Hampton responded
with a seemingly endless solo. While he was unquestionably
proficient on his six-string, the extreme length of the solo
detracted from its power, making it seem tiresome and lacking in
direction.
After Hampton had ground to a halt, the full band returned.
Refreshed with a new energy, they began a fiery rendition of "Dog
Star." Though the All Stars in their full glory were more
impressive than the stripped down unit that had held the stage
previously, there was still something lacking.
That was George Clinton, still missing in action off-stage.
When Clinton returned, decked out in a new caftan, complete with
embroidered alien figures, the band hit its stride once again.
Heads dipped, hips swayed and feet kicked the floor in response to
the throbbing energy in the air. It wasn’t so much his singing,
because diapered guitarist Garry Shider, among others, handled a
majority of the vocals. Clinton’s main contribution was a
charismatic presence.
Roaming the stage, his multi-colored hair extensions shining in
the light, Clinton was the glue that held the All Stars together.
It took nothing more than a nod of his head to trigger a solo, or a
fatherly pat on the back to reward a musician for a job well done
to keep them grooving. With a subdued smile, he united the group
from a ragtag bunch of soloists into a solid band, unified in
purpose.
Clinton’s mastery didn’t stop at the stage barrier, however. He
kept the crowd absolutely riveted, following his every instruction.
When he waved his hands in the air, the standing room only assembly
followed suit. When he began to sing, they repeated every syllable.
When he shouted out for encouragement, they screamed back in
support. Even when he left the microphone and chanted unamplified,
the crowd sung back in response, without hearing what he was
singing.
Whether it was on old favorites such as "We Want the Funk" or
"Flashlight," or new tunes such as the transmogrified spoken word
"U.S. Custom Coast Guard Dope Dog," Clinton was riveting. At times,
he just hung around the periphery of the stage, smiling, his eyes
closed behind the math-teacher glasses. That was all he needed to
do – his presence was enough to take hold of the room.
At one point, he asked aloud, "Would you trade your funk for
what’s behind the third door?"
The audience response was emphatic, "Hell no!"
He didn’t trade it in, either, and the night went on
forever.MICHAEL ROSS WACHT/Daily Bruin Senior Staff
George Clinton and the P-Funk All Stars brought the crowd at the
House of Blues last Saturday night to a grooving frenzy.
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