A grey-market release from 1999 of Bootsy and his Rubber Band in Louisville on 3/15/78. Wonder what Bobby thought of the show? He reviewed a gig from the following month for some reason:
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Category: Uncategorized (Page 165 of 1031)
It will come as no shock to you to find out that P-Funk made virtually no teevee appearances during their 1970’s heyday. None of their act was suitable for Johnny and Ed, and even Dick Cavett wasn’t liberal enough for this kind of bullshit. Maybe they could have done Merv, but not if he saw this clip first. Starting in the mid-80’s, George and whoever he was calling the P-Funk All-Stars that day were allowed on the national broadcasts, but this is the sole teevee booking from the early years.
(The show–WGBH’s Basic Black–is still airing, but at the time it was called Say Brother, and I’m not making that up.)
Rich people made the pop music, and poor people made the folk music; it was that way for a very long time. White folks had their folk music, and black folks did, too. It’s not like that anymore.
“Thank you for joining us. My name is Gayle King, and I’ve seen Oprah naked on countless occasions. I’m sitting here today with Robert Kelly, known professionally as R. Kelly. Though Mr. Kelly is an award-winning singer, songwriter, and producer, we won’t be discussing his music today. Instead, we’re here to talk about his recent arrest on ten counts of aggravated criminal sexual assault. There are also allegations of imprisonment and abuse, both mental and physical. Mr. Kelly, what do you have to say for yourself?”
“Well, first of all, thank you for having me.”
“Yes. You’re welcome.”
“I do have to say that the catering table is not up to my standards. Did you not receive my tour rider?”
“This is a news interview, Mr. Kelly. There’s no catering table.”
“Uh-huh. Can we maybe send an intern out for Skittles?”
“No.”
“They’re all the same flavor. You see the different colors and you’d imagine that they’re cherry, lime, whatnot. No, not at all. Same flavor. Any variation you detect is the Pavlov effect.”
“Placebo.”
“I don’t care what the intern’s name is, but R. Kelly needs his Skittles.”
“There will be no candy, Mr. Kelly. I’d like to talk about your charges. Ten counts of sexual assault on young women ranging in age from 13 to 16.”
“Now, when you say ’13 to 16,’ are you referring to their legal ages? Or their spiritual ages? Because some people got old souls. Which is what I’m attracted to. The soul. And the butt. But, see, you want the butt to be younger than the soul. Old soul, young butt. That’s the combination right there.”
“So you do prefer younger women?”
“Younger than who? They have to be younger than their older siblings, otherwise their siblings wouldn’t be older. You feel me?”
“Nope.”
“Gotta be younger than Miss Aretha Franklin. She’s so old that she’s dead. I don’t get freaky like that.”
“Younger women as in teenaged.”
“Sure, sure. Now, when you say ‘teenaged,’ what do you mean?”
“I mean women whose ages end in the suffix ‘teen.'”
“Sure, sure. Now, when you say ‘suffix,’ what is that?”
“Mr. Kelly, stop this. There have long been rumors about your predatory behavior, and now these charges are a laundry list of horrors. You allegedly imprisoned young girls and cut them off from their families.”
“Habeas corpus! This is a habeas corpus that’s being done on me right here!”
“Whatever you think ‘habeas corpus’ means, you’re not correct.”
“Objection overruled!”
“You’re just saying legal terms randomly now.”
“My Cousin Vinny!”
“Mr, Kelly, you are accused of some heinous crimes.”
“Oh, is it just the heinous crimes? Nothing about the mouths or pussies?”
“Heinous, Mr. Kelly. Not ‘anus.'”
“Gayle, these slanders against my name are racist.”
“How so?”
“Well, I’m black.”
…
“And?”
“There you go!”
“No. You being black has nothing to do with it. In fact, your victims being black and poor might have been a big part in why you were allowed to get away with your behavior for so long.”
“Uh-huh. Is there any way to distract you with anti-Semitism?”
“No.”
“Maybe the Jews peed on those girls.”
“Stop that.”
“Gayle, why would I need to imprison anyone? I’m R. Kelly. I sing my songs and women throw their drawers at my face. They scream. AAAAAHHHH! And then the drawers. Sometimes they got dookie stains in ’em and I gotta dodge. R. Kelly isn’t into poo-poo panties. That’s nasty.”
“What does that have to do with–”
“I go to McDonald’s and the cashiers show me their tiddies. I just want McNuggets and BAM there’s tiddie. And sometimes I play with ’em and other times I get my boys up to the counter and let them play with ’em. I like to be generous like that. I won’t share my McNuggets, though! They mine!”
“Mr. Kelly–”
“I’M FIGHTING! It ain’t right what’s happening to me! I was declared innocent at my trial! That means I’m innocent forever!”
“No, it does not.”
“Yes, it does! It’s in the Institution!”
“Constitution.”
“Both of ’em!”
“Why don’t we take a break?”
“Placebo! Bring me a cranberry juice!”
Parish.
“Oh, hey, man. How’s Precarious?”
He’s good. I need to know something here.
“You want a Garcia story?”
No.
“I got a ton.”
Well aware.
“And I got a bunch of Mickey stories, but they’re not as fun.”
I don’t need any stories about any Grateful Deads. I wanna know about the young woman you’re on tour with, Katie Skene.
“She’s far out, man.”
Uh-huh. What precisely is her job title?
“Funny story: she’s my Parish.”
She hits people?
“If people need hitting, sure. She’s good at it, too! I think she knows that kung fu stuff. And, you know, she makes sure I show up at the right venue. Tells me if I have a booger. Your basic Parish-ing. Holds my stash.”
Your stash?
“Weed and Coumadin.”
Sure.
Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?
“Getting, uh, swole. Am I saying it right?”
Kinda.
“Gonna be a mass monster.”
Oh, I don’t think that’s a great idea.
“But I’m also going for shredded. Like Markus Ruhl meets Frank Zane.”
No one reading this knows who those men are.
“And don’t forget the wheels. Lee Priest is gonna be jealous.”
Stop referencing retired bodybuilders.
“Bodybuilding is a lot like the Grateful Dead, if you think about it.”
How so.
“Both involve sets.”
Sure. Anything else?
“Yeah. You, uh, don’t have to take drugs, but you get a lot more out of it if you do.”
True.
“When you showed up, I figured we’d discuss my footwear.”
I was deliberately not looking at those nightmares.
“Ah.”
So if you haven’t stopped by the Donate Button in a while, gift-wrap some money and do so.
Or don’t.
Either way, here’s a picture of George Clinton and Eddie Vedder:
And that’s why this is the best fucking website on the innertubes.
…is only slightly less possible than pinning down precisely what musicians played on which P-Funk tour. This was the Motor Booty tour, which was in 1979, so Glenn Goins isn’t there (he was dead), but the rest of the usual crew looks to be onstage: Michael Hampton on guitar, and Garry Shider on guitar, vocals, and diaper; Cordell “Boogie” Mosson and Jerome “Bigfoot” Brailey on bass and drums and nicknames; the original Parliaments, one of whom was named Fuzzy, singing the boy parts; the Brides of Funkenstein and Parlet singing the girl parts; and the Horny Horns.
And a guy named George.
EDIT: Apparently, Eddie Hazel played this tour and Fuzzy Haskins did not. This is literally the only resource I could find on the web. The state of P-Funk scholarship is not quite at the “annual convention in Santa Fe” level that the Grateful Dead’s is at.
SECOND EDIT: That might be Rodney “Skeet” Curtis on bass. We need Robert Caro to research this shit, honestly.
- Yes, I would assume the police were called.
- His name is Ron Bykowski.
- Obviously, Thoughts on P-Funk is imminent.
Hey, Parish. Whatcha doing?
“Well, I was a professional roadie for 30 or 40 years. And then I was a professional ex-roadie for a while.”
You have successfully monetized a lifetime of carrying heavy shit and punching people who got too close to Garcia, yes.
“And now I’m starting a band.”
Oh, God, no.
“Yeah, man. We got a good groove going here.”
You and Katie Skene.
“Is that her name?”
Yes.
“I’ve been calling her Girl Bobby.”
Her name is Katie Skene. She plays with all the old jam band guys. I think maybe she has a grandpa fetish.
“Well, that works out for me pretty well.”
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