Chicapah When word got out about this album it spread like wildfire throughout the community of musicians I had the privilege to be part of. Larry Graham, formerly a member of Sly and the Family Stone, had not only gathered together a crackerjack band of his own but was introducing a way of playing electric bass guitar that wasn’t just novel but revolutionary. He personally referred to it as “thumpin’ and pluckin’” but the world would come to know it as the slap-pop style or, simply, “slappin’”. The only thing to compare it to would be when fretboard finger tapping wandered into the rock & roll fraternity of 6-string guitar players but while that technique stayed in the realm of being the exception, Graham’s contribution damn near became the rule within the still-blossoming funk movement of the mid 70s. I realize there’s always going to be some dispute as to who did it first but Larry is considered by the majority of folks that care about such things to be its inventor and this debut album by Graham Central Station was a strong statement that it was a new phenomenon destined to greatly influence not only soul music and R&B but also pop, rock and jazz. Now that’s what I call making a difference and this is where most of us heard it first.

As if to announce confidently that they’re not only present but ready to shake up the planet they begin with “We’ve Been Waiting,” a minute-long, finger-snapping, ensemble vocalized introduction in which they make their bold intentions clear (“Betcha by golly gee wow”). Then KABOOM! They land a mean uppercut that stuns you with Graham’s hair-raising scream of “Yeah!” and the funk assault is on. The great Al Green wrote “It Ain’t No Fun To Me” but I’ll bet it didn’t sound anything like this when he did it. I’m no dancer by any stretch but this song made me an instant convert to its sometimes being a necessity (at least in my living room). Larry’s innovative bass playing, Willie Sparks’ drums and Hershall Kennedy’s clavinet drive this locomotive relentlessly and everything from Graham’s energized vocal to the lively horns and the hot background singing is exciting as all get out. You hardly get a chance to catch your breath, though, before “Hair” opens with Larry putting on a slappin’ clinic that made every bass player worth his salt go slack-jawed in amazement. When the group slides into the groove beside him the rhythm is irrepressible and the Tower of Power horn section injects little blasts of bliss that’ll make you envious of the fun they’re having. This tune stirs up something inside me that can only be described as joy without condition. Feet don’t fail me now.

Unfortunately they couldn’t maintain that kind of fevered intensity forever and “We Be’s Gettin’ Down” is a downer. Perhaps they were trying to capture the infectious spirit of another popular act of that era, Rufus, but the song just plods along and as sincere as Patryce Banks was in her intent, Chaka Khan she ain’t and never will be. I’m just sayin’. But I must share one priceless line from Larry’s lyric: “A pigless oink don’t mean that slop don’t rot.” I’m not sure what it means but it’s a zinger in my book. I don’t know if Graham was emulating Stevie Wonder by playing both bass and drums on “Tell Me What It Is” but while the sparse instrumentation approach works for a spell it quickly grows tiresome. There’s plenty of enthusiasm involved but the very thing that would’ve splashed much-needed color onto the proceedings, Robert Sam’s piano, remains curiously buried in the mix. It does contain more cool words to pass on, though: “(And my woman said) What it takes to be my man/is more than playing in a jive-ass band!” Gotta love it.

Here’s some good news. Just when you think the rest of the record is going down for the count they jump up from the canvas and deliver another hard jab to the ribs with “Can You Handle It?” It starts like smooth-gliding, Motown-ish standard R&B (except for Larry’s fine slappin’, of course) but when they hit the chorus it turns into a funk flood that pulls you in like a rip tide. Punchy dynamics in the arrangement keep it fresh and the exhilarating ending (a variation on the finale of “It Ain’t No Fun To Me”) is magnificently uplifting. Now the bad news. That’s the last of the quality stuff. “People” is a blatant attempt to ape Sly and the Family Stone’s sound but it falls flat on its face. It seems forced, not natural at all. Nice try but no cigar. The last two cuts have Graham performing duties on the drum kit and other varied instruments and both suffer for it. “Why?” lacks any distinguishing characteristics, it incorporates an annoying drum machine noise that ruins the track from the get go and Patryce’s voice is too thin to carry the load she’s asked to tote. “Ghetto” is hardly better. Its slow beat is drudgery as it drags along, sapping all the potential impact the song might’ve held. The constant harmony singing strategy doesn’t allow for the contrast the tune desperately needs so Graham’s passionate lyrics about tragic despair brought about by the scourge of racism get lost in the mire of this sticky tar pit.

In a nutshell, the best songs on this album are the ones that the entire group participated in and why they didn’t play on every cut remains a mystery to me. Whatever the reason, the fact is that out of the eight numbers on this disc (the intro is a bit of a tease) three of them aren’t just good, they’re stellar. And, as I stated earlier, the interstate highway Graham Central Station opened up via Larry’s now archetypal but then radical style of bass playing soon became a busy thoroughfare eagerly traveled upon by the likes of Stanley Clarke in the field of fusion, Verdine White in pop R&B and Jeff Berlin in progressive jazz/rock. I’ve happily owned this album since ‘74 and I treasure it in appreciation for its fantastic triad of tunes that went such a long way in making funk a whole lot more than just a funny word.