Happy 45th Anniversary to Parliament’s fourth studio album Mothership Connection, originally released December 15, 1975.
When Parliament released Mothership Connection 45 years ago, they really started to figure it all out. It would be inaccurate to say the group settled on an identity, because Parliament was very much a breathing, shifting, and growing organism. But with their fourth album, George Clinton’s collective of master funkateers found their sense of purpose and released the best album in their prolific catalogue in the process. It’s an album that bursts with imagination and creativity in a manner that funk hadn’t really seen before.
I’ve written a good number of tributes to albums by both Parliament and Funkadelic over the past four years, so I’ll forgo the in-depth explanation on what differentiated each group from each in terms of musical execution. Suffice to say that Funkadelic was the bluesy, rock-influenced, funk band, while Parliament skewed more towards upbeat, dance friendly material. After a period of dormancy, Clinton relaunched Parliament with Up For The Down Stroke (1974), leading the group to put out music that was more chart and radio friendly than the Funkadelic offerings. On Mothership Connection, Parliament stayed true to that mission, while espousing their philosophy.
The inspiration for Mothership Connection came after the release of Chocolate City (1975), the album Parliament released just eight months earlier. That project was a dedication to the city of Washington D.C. and its overwhelmingly Black population. On the title track, Clinton spoke about the possibility of a Black president, which was all but unthinkable 45 years ago (and 33 years before Barack Obama was elected to the highest office in the land).
Afterwards, Clinton said he and the members of the group continued to explore ideas about creating music based around where Black people were rarely thought to have access to. They settled on outer space. During the mid-1970s, astronauts were still mostly made up of square-jawed, crew-cutted white guys. And science fiction heroes in popular culture and film were made up of characters that were likely to look like Buck Rogers. Even on Star Trek, which was progressive for its time, space seemed to be ruled by white men.
For Mothership Connection, Clinton and crew conceived of the idea of the funk Afro-Naut, cruising the stars in space Cadillacs, bringing the residents of Earth good grooves. Years before, Clinton had established that “Funkadelic” was a benevolent, interplanetary force, and here, on Mothership Connection, he really built out the concept. It was the first of Parliament’s “operatic” albums, and broad in scope even at 38 minutes in length.
Mothership Connection is also the first of Parliament’s albums to feature contributions from Maceo Parker on saxophone and Fred Wesley on Trombone. Parker and Wesley had previously been veteran contributors to James Brown’s legendary JB’s backing band. Parker had worked two stints with the Godfather of Soul, along with forming his own group and spending a little time in the military after being drafted. The pair joined bassist Bootsy Collins, another former James Brown sideman, who had become an integral part of Clinton’s left-of-center collective.
But whereas Collins had been a way-out character for years, Parker and Wesley had at least been thought of as a little more straightlaced, especially operating within the confines of Brown’s band. With Parliament, both got to cut loose and even take more control. Wesley and longtime Parliament-Funkadelic keyboardist Bernie Worrell composed all of the horn arrangements on the album, while Collins and Clinton were responsible for putting together the rhythm arrangements. And it holds that Collins, Worrell, and the horn section (fronted by Parker and Wesley) are what musically makes Mothership Connection move.
Mothership Connection begins with “P-Funk (Wants To Get Funked Up),” manifesting itself as an alien transmission. Originating from the Mothership itself, broadcasting “uncut funk; The Bomb” from the “top of the Chocolate Milky Way,” beamed into our radio waves with the assistance of “500,000 kilowatts of P-Funk power.” Clinton assumes the role of the interplanetary DJ, Sir Lolipop Man a.k.a. The Long-Haired Sucka.
As Clinton narrates the program, he preaches the gospel of the funk. He also extols funk’s curative powers, promising that radio waves can cure “faults, defects, or shortcomings” like arthritis and rheumatism (“Funk not only moves, it re-moves!”). He also throws some notable shade at their less-funky peers who were getting radio play at the time, including Main Ingredient, Doobie Brothers, and David Bowie. Musically, the song is relatively low-key, as Clinton riffs are mostly backed by Collins, Parker, and Worrell, occasionally erupting into a full funk ensemble piece, with the band backed by the famous chants of “Make my funk the P-Funk, I wants to get funked up” or “I want my funk uncut.”
Clinton, as Starchild, and his band of funk warriors make their grand first contact with Earth on the album’s title track. Descending from the cosmos, they announce that they’re “here to claim the pyramids” and transform the planet into a utopia with their grooves. “Put a glide in your stride and a dip in your hip and come on up to the Mothership” remains my personal favorite Clinton couplet, and this is arguably my favorite Clinton song. The horn arrangement and the precision with which it’s executed are beautiful to behold. Worrell’s work on the synthesizers is also among his most intricate. The song is probably best known for its gospel-infused breakdown, where Clinton implores the Mothership to “Swing down, Sweet Chariot, stop, and let me ride!” entreating the funk to help us escape the harsh realities of life on this planet.
Mothership Connection features “Give Up the Funk (Tear the Roof Off the Sucker),” another of Parliament’s best-known recordings. The song became the group’s biggest hit up to that date, as the single was certified Platinum. It features a bevy of memorable, call-and-response choruses, which has made it an eminent crowd pleaser across the subsequent decades, and it’s just a great pure dance hit. Meanwhile, “Supergroovalisticprosifunkstication” is an overlooked funk-soaked jam. Its distinctive bouncy bassline and keyboards are infectious, as are the spirited bass-filled vocals and boisterous chants.
Parliament does include of a pair of songs with some traditional structure, rather than just free-form grooves with memorable hooks. “Unfunky UFO” finds the people of Earth battling a Bizarro-version of Parliament, “unfunky and obsolete” denizens from another galaxy here to pillage our resources and “save a dying world from its funkless hell.” These hostile aliens directly assault their victims through their minds, demanding those they encounter to “give up the funk, you punk!” You can hear the beginning of the development of the idea that would become Sir Nosed’voidoffunk, Starchild’s eventual archnemesis, whom Parliament would go on to “battle” on record for years.
“Handcuffs” is the only track on Mothership Connection that doesn’t follow the space theme. Instead, it’s about desire and jealousy, as Glenn Goins looks to keep the object of his lust under literal lock and key to prevent her from seeking love elsewhere. The song reflects the extremes some men go through to keep women under their control, as Goins swears that “If I have to keep you barefoot and pregnant to keep you here in my world,” he will. It’s a look into the desperate psyche of a man ruled by obsession.
Mothership Connection ends with “Night of the Thumpasorus Peoples,” a mostly instrumental jam, filled with towering horns, keyboard tweaks by Worrell, and a thumping bassline provided by Collins, some of his best work for the collective. The nominal Thumpasorus folk invade in zombie-like, yet benign, hordes, wandering through the lands, bleating gibberish like “Gaga googa, ga ga googa, ga ga goo ga ga!”
In the months and years that followed, Mothership Connection was the inspiration that would really transform Parliament-Funkadelic’s live shows, making them into swirling spectacles, part opera, part circus-like jam sessions. Casablanca Records’ owner Neil Bogart was a consummate showman, who spent big money on the live shows for acts on his label like KISS and Donna Summer, and he was equally willing to go big for Parliament.
Perhaps the most dramatic part of the tours that followed came from the large replica flying saucer that Clinton convinced band members to sink a lot of money into, and it became central to the performance of “Mothership Connection.” During the extended crescendo of the track, vocalist and guitarist Glenn Goins would “call down the Mothership” in the most “church-ified” way possible, inviting the residents of the city where they were performing “do [they] wanna ride?” The extremely expensive UFO would descend from the rafters, and eventually Clinton, dressed as Dr. Funkenstein, would emerge, whipping the crowd into a frenzy.
The cosmic themes that Parliament explored on Mothership Connection would continue to resonate through the subsequent albums that they recorded. Both The Clones of Dr. Funkenstein (1976) and Funkentelechy vs. the Placebo Syndrome (1977) were sequels of sort to this album, and each amazing in their own right. But Mothership Connection was that crucial first step, that key that truly unlocked the group’s potential, and transformed them into the funk legends that we recognize today.
LISTEN: