Parting Shots: George Clinton
It appears that the rumors of George Clinton’s retirement have been greatly exaggerated. A few years after announcing that he would stop touring, the 81-year-old funk architect is still on the road, not only performing with Parliament Funkadelic but also helping shepherd a mix of jam-friendly groove musicians—including Dopapod, Karl Denson’s Tiny Universe, Pimps of Joytime and The Motet—on his extended One Nation Under A Groove run. He’s also bringing along his protégés Blu Eye Extinction, a New York[1]based combo that fuses hip-hop, jazz, metal and funk. “I’m their fan,” Clinton says. “We’ve been working together for the past couple of years—they’ve got their new version of funk going on. I’ve seen Constance [Hauman], their keyboardist player, do the opera thing, too. So to see her do funk—it’s something I’ve always imagined could work together.”
Clinton, whose hometown of Plainfield, N.J., recently honored him by naming a street Parliament-Funkadelic Way, also hints that he’s not quite done with the studio either. “They named the same street I had my barbershop on,” Clinton says, noting that classic members of the funk collective like Bernie Worrell, Garry Shider, Billy “Bass” Nelson, Tawl Ross, “Fuzzy” Haskins, Eddie Hazel and Glenn Goins all hailed from Plainfield. “And we’re working on new P-Funk stuff. It’s gonna be some nice collabs because the band is hotter than ever—fresh funk. It’s like we’ve got a hit record right now with all the fans showing up for the shows. The only requirement is to bring two booties.”
A few years ago, you announced that you planned to retire from touring, but you are still on the road. Do you consider this your final run?
Well, I’m 81. I’ve got some of my grandkids and kids in the band— and the kids of other members of the band. We’ve got three or four generations of our family in the band. I was trying to retire at 79, but the pandemic came up in the middle of the One Nation Under A Groove tour. So, coming back to finish that, I had just enough rest to get the buzz again. Now, you might not be able to get rid of me for a while.
The different generations of musicians and fans coming together is the perfect thing. You don’t find that anywhere but the circus. I like being the ringleader, telling everyone to come on out to the show. We’ve been able to ride that with the help of hip-hop—funk is the DNA of hip-hop, and hip-hop is multigenerational because every generation has their version of it. Funk has always been that bridge.
P-Funk has always had a very pronounced visual element, but lately you have been focusing on your work as a painter. What inspired you to explore that medium?
It was actually the pandemic. I’ve been doing it over the years, off and on. But, when the pandemic happened and we couldn’t go anywhere, it was the perfect pastime to keep me motivated and keep me turning. And, at the same time, I was able to figure out a lot of legal things with the music, which was another part we had to play. We got the copyrights and all that back, and we had a chance to listen to a lot of the old songs that we were just recapturing.
And I was painting at the same time. It was a newfound avenue for my focus. I did a thing with Flea, helping with the motivational work that he’s doing out there in Compton. I’ve also been working on some stuff with Lauren Halsey, who was another artist that [Flea] was working with. I always stay in touch with [the Red Hot Chili Peppers] for different things and we’re pretty much on the same focus. We’re gonna do some more music together—we’re just trying to get it synchronized now. Just about the time the pandemic ended, the painting was busting wide open, so now I’ve got all kinds of gigs going on that are gonna keep me motivated.
While you were expanding the boundaries of funk in Detroit, a similar style of music was concurrently developing in New Orleans. Were you aware of that community while you were putting together what would become P-Funk?
I was very aware of the musical scene because I was also a part of the Motown thing. As we were doing Parliament, I was familiar with the city having its own sound, just like we had in Detroit. Before that, I lived in New Jersey where the Philadelphia sound was brewing
The Meters were the New Orleans version of Funkadelic. It was really basic funk— tribal-type sounds. Dr. John, The Neville Brothers, Allen Toussaint—they had that sound right from the ‘50s, when we were getting started. Like us, they’re now three generations and I know their grandkids.
In the 1970s, you pioneered Afrofuturism and “went to space” with your music. In your mind, what precipitated this shift in style?
Well, in 1956, when I started Parliament, doo-wop was happening—Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers was the thing. I started with that in grade school; I actually went back there to take a look at the school, and I met the principal and all the kids, and they named the music room after me.
[In 1975], we did Mothership Connection. We started hitting on [this new sound] beginning with Up for the Downstroke, but it was still dance music. Then, we did Chocolate City. Bootsy had come along and then we brought in Fred Wesley and Maceo Parker. And, by the time we got to Mothership, I knew what to do with the horns—I knew what sound I wanted to do with Parliament, and that was Mothership Connection. We were really taking off for real. We knew how to formulate a jazz groove and talk over the record like a DJ because DJs were becoming obsolete on the radio. DJs weren’t able to talk as much as they had been in the ‘50s and ‘60s because they were getting political. The DJs had too much power. So they stopped doing it. They played five records, and they wouldn’t even tell you what songs they were playing until after they played those five records. When we did “We Funk,” we were playing DJ on our own record. And after that, you started having to go and find a real DJ to play in your club.
Almost 20 years ago, you famously sat in with Phish during their New Year’s run in Miami. What are your lasting takeaways from that collaboration?
Wow, we had a good time at Phish. [Laughs.] We had that big car come out there, and they knew so much about P-Funk. I had no idea. We played Vermont a couple weeks ago and they came to see us. We were reminiscing about that show in Miami.
I was always a fan of those bands—them, Widespread Panic, the Deadheads. There is a lot of crossover with our fans. In Tallahassee, Fla., where I live, I got a chance to see them a lot when they were getting to become famous. Widespread Panic are pretty popular in Tallahassee. They do a good version of [“Maggot Brain”].
A few years ago you cut off your trademark colorful dreads. What led to that decision?
Ha! I’m 81 years old. I can’t even attach braids to this shit.
