from the 7” single, P&P Records, 1976
This early release finds spaced out disco-soul deity Patrick Adams standing with his feet firmly planted in two worlds: the 4-part soul harmonies in the vocal track & the insanely epic disco dwelling within those strings & percussion, chronologically moving away from the former and into the later, and though it’s lacking his signature Moog craziness, this effort is no less amazing or ambitious for it’s absence… okay, maybe one of Adams’ signature squiggly synthlines could take this to another level, but it still kicks ass. The violins really steal the show here (don’t they always…), taking what comes across as a relatively sing-songy keyboard riff and turning it into a real swell of emotive force; not surprisingly, those strings got sampled in more than one late ‘90s house track.
from the 12” single, Prelude Records, 1983
Just got back to this icebox last night from a prolonged vacation in the sun, so my jetlagged ass needs something to keep me warm & cozy but still moving, which led me directly to this steamy number from Prelude’s abundant post-disco archives; this one’s been re-released on a grip of compilations over the last couple of decades, and for good reason, because this shit is HOT folks! The real magic here comes care of legendary garage-era studio team Nick Martinelli & David Todd, who deliver for us an immaculate example of what precision mixing is all about, making all those electronic noises sound affectionate and downright inviting; we also can’t forget to give props to the enormously prolific ‘Herbie’ Powers Jr. :^) , who mastered this track and cut the wax for thousands (literally, 1000s) of other underground dance hits from the late ‘70s & ‘80s. The perfect way to start a new year right, this one is absolutely begging for a re-edit from Rayko…
from the LP Gangster Love, Gold Plate Records, 1976
X-mas shopping is almost always a major pain in the ass. No matter how you cut it, the whole process is labor-intensive and generally annoying once the actual purchasing commences, mainly due to the ruthless nature of our fellow holiday shopping peers (not to mention, the understandably blasé demeanor of service staff who have been saturated & inundated by trashy people screaming at them about deals they supposedly saw in coupons that they, magically, now don’t have…ugh, get the fucking net). Pompous assholes from the higher SES bracket always get a bit crazier this time of year too, determined to find items that are so expensive as to eliminate the possibility of common folk flossing the same steez. With that in mind, I think the woman on this LP cover would be the ideal individual to have with you on any seasonal shopping adventure, perhaps on the Michigan Avenue of this song’s name (one of the higher-end destinations found within the Windy City), because she’s not the kind of woman to tolerate any sass---better believe this bitch will rob you. Porn-ish stringed licks & fatty brass tricks make this instrumental number a real barn burner, particularly toward the end, around 3 minutes in: get, get down.
from the LP My Queen, Hotlanta Records, 1978
Look, up in the sky, is it a bird? Is it a plane? It’s…well, fuck if I know just what in the hell that’s supposed to be---some kind of winged, scantily clad, female afro-insectoid with giant antennae, Ugg boots & a whip…?! Perhaps they have come to bring us the funk… Maybe they’re related to the Thumpasaurus people, like distant cousins or something; in fact, these sentient beings have such a hardcore appearance that one could make a good case for their inclusion in a Blaxploitation version of Star Wars, call it Space Hustle or some equally ghetto designation. In all seriousness, it doesn’t surprise me in the least that the band responsible for this hot mess, Gaston, is from Atlanta; the humidity literally drips from those warped polysynths, trickling down into the heady stew of funk which is the behemoth rhythm section (more cowbell!). All I know is that, if this track is any indication of what life might be like in the distant galaxy from which those creatures hail, sign me up for an exploratory mission to their planet.
from the LP Goody Goody, Atlantic Records, 1978
Notoriously competitive and ceaselessly narcissistic, Vincent Montana Jr. was the primary force behind both the Salsoul Orchestra & MFSB (they shared several players), not only providing percussion support, but arranging & composing most all of the music; a native of Philadelphia, Montana was infamously fussy and difficult to deal with (he actually wound up suing Salsoul Records), but perhaps it was that dogged selfishness which we have to thank for all of his many established classics. This album dropped right after his split with Salsoul, and that’s actually his daughter Denise rocking the sexy fresh-jive vocals, “…the look that’s love, is outta sight; two together, alright…super, dynamite…it looks like love, feels good, soft & sweet…let’s get, down…” Her singing matched with that ultra-minimal breakbeat (boom boom, boom boom boom) combine to bestow this number a rather dirty feel, even with all those radiant violins coming on like an angelic procession, your hips never lie.
from the LP Aquarian Dream, Buddah Records, 1976
The tsunami that was disco wound up influencing a number of other musical genres, and the strange bedfellows its popularity sometimes made out of people formerly attuned to just one kind of music or another wound up producing all sorts of lovely mixtures in sound; case in point: the Norman Connors produced Aquarian Dream. This is essentially just a bunch of smoove & funky jazz licks wrapped inside a symphonic disco burrito, neither influence bowing to the other, a contrast which really cooks up some fierce energy: succinct brass, a regiment of violins, bouncing bass, sharp vocals, cowbell, and that relentless shuffle-beat (with help from a shakere) which drives the whole damn bus. In the words of Prince, “…grab your foot spray, ‘cause it’s gonna get funky…”!!!
from the LP Look Out for #1, A&M Records, 1976
Awwwwww shit! Do you wanna know where the smooth boogie ‘80s really got started? You wanna know about the zone that gave Prince his whole fucking template?? Do you wanna groove your body around and smile ‘til your face hurts??? Well my brothers & sisters, look no further than the altar of the Brothers Johnson: George on guitar and Louis on bass. Slick & polished though this song may be, as was a sizeable chunk of their output, things never sound uptight in the least, allowing for the room to be loose even within the confines of a clean sounding track (some of those props must be equally shared with the producer here, Mr. Quincy Jones). The lead guitar gets kind of buried in the mix, but listen for it, because it’s about as funky & relaxed as they come, and that squiggly polysynth pushs all the right buttons. This song is like a mantra for me here at the Honeypot, striving to be a consistent source of good vibrations, “…I’ll be good to you, good to you, good to you…”
from the LP Tim Maia, Polydor Records, 1976
The people of Brazil endured one of the modern world’s longest lasting military dictatorships (officially, between 1964 and 1985), a murderous and intractable regime which attacked creative people as if they were the devil themselves, forcing many to abandon ship for various periods of time, & coercing those who remained into a constant sense of tight-lipped accordance--- well, most people anyways. Some, like Tim Maia, hit the wall of resistance and came back with a different synopsis: fuck it man, I’m gonna be me. Although many Brazilian musicians of this time period sought to incorporate varying styles of popular music outside of the regime, most did so with the intent to keep samba or bossa-nova at the core; well, with Mr. Maia, that went out the door. He was primarily interested in creating a Brazilian version of American soul, flexible to the trends as they progressed (i.e. from outright “soul”, to funky soul, rockin’ soul, and disco-funk, etc…); frankly, his approach winds up feeling like the Doobie Brothers go to South America, and that’s meant as a major compliment. Tim Maia was a publicly avowed pothead, talking up the benefits of marijuana in almost any interview he gave, something which wound up making his life in Brazil somewhat thorny at times, but translates impeccably well in his music; not to mention, there weren’t too many individuals willing to harshly confront Roman Catholicism in those days (or now), “…everybody is the same…’cause there’s no heaven, there’s no God, ‘cause there’s no devil, there’s no hell…you are not better than me, and I am not better than you…” Thankfully, though he suffered through many physiological ailments in his time (diabetes, hypotension, et al.), Maia lived to see the restoration of democracy in Brazil---vivo o João Goulart, and long live freedom!!
from the 12” single, Free Spirit Records, 1976
Tommy Stewart was one of the smoothest producers around at the outset of disco-funk, and virtually everything he touched still sounds incredible, including this mid-tempo burner from his alias ‘Cream de Coco’ with fellow producer Marlin McNichols. Hailing from Birmingham, where he still performs regularly to this day, Stewart actually taught high school for over a decade before getting involved with music seriously, an unorthodox path if there ever was one, and something that makes me respect this man in a HUGE way; imagine if all (or, frankly, a few) of the sports stars and musicians out there today gave even half a decade of their time to educating the youth! Granted, there’s definitely a sizeable chunk of entertainers I wouldn’t let near my houseplants, let alone my kids if I had any, but you know what I’m saying, in theory. This song nearly blinds you with its silky sheen, like a velvety soft down comforter covering your body and carrying you away, it could easily serve as a how-to guide for aspiring groovy cats: thick breaks, loose bass, wandering synth, shades of brass, and easy to understand instructions, “…let’s go, and do the disco strut…disco, disco…”
from the LP Salsoul Orchestra, Salsoul Records, 1975
I believe it was Rick James who once said, “…cocaine is a powerful drug…” Well, only in the coke-fueled ‘70s would the idea of putting together a discofied orchestra seem both plausible & necessary, but wouldn’t you know it---the Salsoul Orchestra, as they were dubbed, sounded fucking incredible! Conducted by vibes maestro Vince Montana Jr, they churned out some of the chunkiest, dankiest, cuts of disco funk on the market, serving as backers for pretty much every artist on the Salsoul label at that time. This deliciously lewd & suggestive number is a veritable Dionysian orgy of stone groove: Hammond & Rhodes organs, wah-wah guitar, kinky bassline, tight brass, congas, ridiculous breaks, and a fucking legion of violins. While it’s true that Salosul’s back catalog has been sampled by house heads ad infinitum, this track remains a deep cut, begging for some crafty producer to loop it up or give it a re-edit… Rayko, do you take requests?
from the 12” single, Sound of New York Records, 1982
This is the real deal folks, a track whose title summed up an entire generation’s wishes & pursuits in the dance underground, after “disco” became a dirty word, leading legions of fans and musicians alike on a pursuit for the groove (and only the groove, freed at this time from the constraints of mass consumption and, thus, populist demand); that quest, whether sought on the radio or inside a dark club, became an actual way of life for many, people seeking solace from an increasingly shady (and shaky) world, knowing full well the healing power of those magical beats. Indeep’s main writer and composer, a white boy named Michael Cleveland (word!), was already a dedicated fan of NYC’s burgeoning hip-hop scene, and he decided that rather than sampling an old disco track for a hip-hop song he would bring rapping into a disco-funk track, an experiment which proved to be both fruitful and climatic, as none of his other records came close to this level of success. “…and if it wasn’t for the music, I don’t know what I’d do…last night a DJ saved my life, last night a DJ saved my life with a song…” I wouldn’t be spending a grip of time compiling all these blog posts if I didn’t believe the truth within that preceding statement. Music is the answer.
from the LP Journey Into the Unknown, Ariola Records, 1980
The title of this smoking hot post-disco album (more ‘disco’ than ‘post-’ I suppose) could have served as the designation for my recent sojourn into the Alaskan wilderness, and I can honestly say that the land up there looked like nothing else my eyes have ever seen before: lush wet forest blanketing every square inch of ground that’s above the water, mountains surging out from beneath sea level and rising at dizzyingly steep angles, the channels we cruised through looking as electric blue as the Caribbean, and icebergs the size of cars floating by in silence all the while. My better half & I took a helicopter excursion while in Juneau and landed on top of a glacier, which was the single strangest landscape I’ve ever seen in my life, feeling as if we had taken off from Alaska but disembarked upon the face of Venus or something; it was also our first time up in a heli and I would do that again in a second---it feels incredible. As my brief earlier post pointed to, the highlight of the trip for me was assuredly experiencing so much wildlife: bald eagles, seals, sea lions, puffins, bears, moose, and my two favorites: humpback whales and sea otters. It is truly a humbling experience to see whales in the wild, close enough to touch, working together and communicating in such a way that makes it strikingly clear how very cognitive and, indeed, mammalian they really are. The otters…well, what can I say, they stole my heart!! I don’t think I’ve made so many ridiculous noises in all my life, seriously, not even a litter of month-old Malamute puppies can elicit the “oooohs” and “awwwws” (and other random squishy / squeaky sounds that were falling out of my mouth on that boat) which those furry otters had everyone cooing. As for the crew Methusalem (nice name), I only know that they were German and most of the players have only this LP to their credit, but you wouldn’t know it from the tight-ass bottom end and the imaginative synthscapes heard here.
from the LP …Is Back, Afrodisia Records, 1979
Rejoice all yee who have ears, and worry not about who exactly ‘BLO’ is, just trust in your humble narrator here that their return (from where you ask: perhaps the planet of Bootyism) is indeed a homecoming worthy of celebration! This slice of Lagos funk practically screams roller skates & hot pants, all synthesizers and snappy breaks while they implore all the ladies with a bumpin’ ass to, “…push it up, and roll it, slap it, one and two; I said push it up ya’ll, and rub it together…bulky side, bulky side, bulky backside…” Just when you think things can’t get better, their guitarist peels off some acid-drenched riffs when the bridge rolls around, a trippy antidote for all of the big bouncing booty in our faces; honestly, this track is funktastic perfection, ‘nuff said.
from the LP Body Talk, R&B Records, 1981
It’s been hotter than a motherfucker lately, and all the weather people are telling us that there’s no end in near sight, so it seems appropriate to roll out one of my all-time favorite proto-house cuts. Taking one look at the cover photo for this LP, one wouldn’t be wrong for thinking that perhaps the UK-based crew Imagination was the gayest group ever & that “Burnin’ Up” was possibly not just a fittingly flammable choice for a song name but rather the band’s mantra (I’m queer, so I can say that…), but the tunes these guys churned out in the early ‘80s were both dancefloor staples and highly influential to the then-nascent beats scene; the main piano riff from this track wound up inspiring an awful lot of early house producers, being oft-sampled and becoming an iconic melody unto itself. Better go buy your sunblock in bulk honey!
from the 7” single, BABS records, 1982
This song often gets tossed into the pile of choice Tony Cook cuts, due to the fact that he was the executive producer here, but seeing as how it was written, arranged & performed by one Vernon Cheely (who was only 17 years old), it was time to find out who we really have to thank for this slice of synthtastic boogie heaven. Well, that, and I found out a certain record label (think “rocks toss”) got their happy little hands on Cook’s whole discography earlier this year, so no more procrastination… After a laborious search online, I found our man: 43 year old singer & keyboardist Vernon Cheely still resides in Augusta, Georgia and is the current music director at St. Marks United Methodist & Episcopal Church---the online Augusta Chronicle did a short bio piece on him in 2008 that’s still up. His favorite show he ever played was with the Drifters in the ‘80s, but (be still my heart), when asked what his favorite concert of all time was, his fucking answer was KISS at the Carolina Coliseum in 1975, “…they had an illusion that made them appear to have disappeared… when they came back, they were in different outfits, and they kind of blew my mind, you know…” Vernon, if I could, I would hug you brother---that answer, along with this incredible jam you crafted for us, has made my day!
from the 12” single, Chrysalis Records, 1983
Spent yesterday morning & afternoon in downtown Denver amidst 100,000+ revelers for the annual PrideFest, one of the largest celebrations of its kind in the nation, and it felt damn good to be around so many open-minded people at once. Quite frankly, about 95% of mine & my partner’s friends are straight, which really doesn’t matter one way or the other, but one day a year it’s nice to go out and feel a bit more like part of the gay community; this is not to suggest that everyone there yesterday was queer, as more than ½ of the folks we were there with are straight & went along to support the vibe. To be honest, I don’t feel like my sexuality is even that big of a apart of my identity---let’s get real, how much time a year is actually spent engaged in the sexual activities which define us as straight, bi, gay, trans, et al?! Hell, I spend way more time showering, or watching television, but I still understand the need for fellowship with other gays; I also recognize that my experience growing up was surely not as harrowing or dire as the guys who were “obviously gay” to people, and that had I suffered through the types of abuse and horror stories which are still all too common for many gay & lesbian adolescents, it’s conceivable that being queer would be a larger part of my personality. At any rate, it was a great time spent drinking and smoking weed in the park, and this party anthem by disco-diva Gloria Gaynor pretty much sums it all up nicely, “…I am what I am, I don’t want praise, I don’t want pity; I bang my own drum, some think it’s noise, I think it’s pretty…life’s not worth a damn ‘til you can say: ‘I am what I am’…”
from the LP Easy Going, Banana Records, 1978
Geez, the Italians have never been a people to embrace the notion of ‘subtlety’ have they?! These three frisky gentlemen took the name of their band & first album from a well-known dance club in Rome, and the Tom of Finland-esque mosaic tiled wall which adorns of the LP cover was from a popular bathhouse there; thus, I can’t help but laugh when they sing, “…you feel me, I feel you, burning; touch me here, touch me there…” Yeah, that’s called gonorrhea, you should probably take some antibiotics for that, just grab a handful on your way out of the bathhouse, I think they’re next to the door, by the toothpicks! Horniness aside, this is a deeply funky track, packed with some of the most accent-ridden English you’ve ever heard, a quirk I happen to love about Italian records; it also contains two of my favorite things (those being the extensive use of cowbell and a spacey synthesizer solo) and thrusts along at my beloved mid-tempo pace. Viva L’Italia!
from the LP Hotter Than July, Motown Records, 1980
My love for Stevie’s music is unending, and although my personal taste trends more towards his chunky jazz-funk records from the early – mid ‘70s, pretty much anything this man has ever touched will get left alone if it comes on the radio in my home/car; his voice is like the best incense, getting deep into your mind & body, awakening the nerves from the top of your scalp to the soles of your feet. He had originally written this song for Motown back in the mid ‘60s, and it was even recorded (albeit, shelved and not released until recently) by Tammi Terrell at that time, but this version is far superior, soulful disco-funk at its very best. Those aren’t just some random studio hangers-on singing during the chorus either, as Stevie got melodic backing here from members of the O’Jays, the Gap Band, & none other than Michal Jackson; the Cleptomaniacs did a stellar house remix of this track which got heavy play in 2000. He gives us one of the best examples of that inimitable “Stevie stank” right around 2:42, delivered in such hardcore fashion one almost can’t decipher it (my guess is, “…gotta tell ya girl…”)!
from the 7” single, P&P Records, 1976
