Although Sly Is Omitted, ‘Funk Box’ Still Grooves

In strictly musical terms, funk was the ‘70s child of ‘60s R&B; and rock. Funk adopted rock’s preference for emphasis on the downbeat, grafted on slinky R&B; syncopation and elevated the bass to dominance, reducing the lead guitar’s role to that of rhythmic accouterment.

But to its most ardent practitioners as well as its fans, funk is no mere danceable rhythm or musical genre: It’s an attitude, even a philosophy of life.

True funk promotes good times, to be sure, but its heavy rhythmic pulse also connects to something deep in the human soul.

That something can be personal, social, political or spiritual--or all of the above, which seems to be the message in Funkadelic’s 1978 mission statement “One Nation Under a Groove,” one of 55 funk classics or hidden gems in “The Funk Box,” a new four-CD set that by itself could be the soundtrack for an all-night party.

*** Various artists, “The Funk Box,” Hip-O. Some box sets are assembled to celebrate an artist or musical genre, others attempt to educate; the best do both. The primary goal in this set--billed as the first box devoted to funk and appropriately packaged in book form with a crushed burgundy velvet cover--appears to be celebration.

The alpha and omega of this set are James Brown’s “Get Up I Feel Like Being a Sex Machine” from 1970 and George Clinton’s “Atomic Dog,” which came 12 years later.

It’s also fitting that the only artists with more than one track are Brown and Clinton, the prophet and the messiah of funk, respectively.

Brown turns up twice more on his own after “Sex Machine,” with his 1970 track “Give It Up or Turnit a Loose,” here in a previously unreleased mix, then with his 1974 two-part single, “The Payback.” The latter was written for the film “Hell Up in Harlem” but was rejected, according to the liner notes, because the producers felt it wasn’t funky enough. It’s hard to imagine a track funkier than this pile-driving workout.

Soul Brother No. 1’s presence also is felt strongly in Lyn Collins’ “Think (About It),” a song Brown wrote, and in “Pass the Peas,” which he co-wrote, performed by his band, the J.B.’s.

Clinton’s numerous funk incarnations over the years and his roles as singer, instrumentalist, songwriter, producer and arranger mean he’s aboard in a variety of guises.

In addition to recording “Atomic Dog” under his own name, he’s in the driver’s seat with Parliament (1976’s “Give Up the Funk [Tear the Roof off the Sucker]”), Bootsy’s Rubber Band (1977’s “The Pinocchio Theory”) and the aforementioned Funkadelic 1978 hit.

Among the dozens of other artists covered in this six-hour survey are Aretha Franklin, War, Marvin Gaye, Barry White, Billy Preston, Bobby Byrd, Tower of Power, B.T. Express, the O’Jays, Kool & the Gang, Average White Band, Brass Construction, the Commodores, Zapp and the Gap Band.

There is, however, one glaring omission: funk pioneer Sly & the Family Stone, the group the Rolling Stone Encyclopedia of Rock & Roll said “virtually invented ‘70s funk.” None of Stone’s late-’60s and early-’70s tracks that helped form the funk blueprint are here--no “Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Again),” no “I Want to Take You Higher.”

The only mention of Stone is a passing reference in the annotation with “The Jam,” the 1975 single from Graham Central Station, the group started by former Family Stone bassist Larry Graham. After leaving Sly’s group, Graham became a strong funk proponent in the ‘70s before turning soul balladeer in the ‘80s.

Those looking for the definitive funk compilation will have to add their own appendix in the form of a separate copy of Stone’s “Greatest Hits,” which includes “Thank You” and “Higher” as well as the group’s many rock-R&B-soul; hopping hits.

Also disappointing is the absence of anything from Earth, Wind & Fire, Maurice White’s ‘70s- dominating R&B-funk; group. That lack is somewhat offset by a track from their musical and spiritual brethren, the Ohio Players.

If those gaps seriously compromise the authoritativeness of “The Funk Box,” they don’t detract from the high funk quotient of the groups and tunes that are included in this otherwise impressive compilation.

The set travels the full spectrum of funk, both musically--from the New Orleans-rooted style of the Meters (“Just Kissed My Baby”) to the jazz-tinged funk of fusion keyboardist Patrice Rushen (“The Hump”)--and lyrically, from the hormone-driven “Jungle Fever” (by the Chakachas, a white Belgian band) to the socially penetrating efforts of Curtis Mayfield (“Future Shock”) and rap forefather Gil Scott-Heron (“The Bottle,” his collaboration with Brian Jackson).

Funk purists might convincingly argue that a track such as Rick James’ “You and I” from 1978 more rightly belongs on a set exploring disco--its octave-hopping bass and metronomic drum work are typical of disco’s emphasis on thumping dance beats over complex polyrhythms that are the hallmark of quintessential funk.

“Funk Box” producers Harry Weinger and Dana G. Smart have organized the tracks chronologically and hit most of the key bases, their attention focusing largely on artists who devoted most of their careers to funk.

Their detailed annotations on each track do a better job running down the player rosters and referencing many tracks’ extended lives as samples on hip-hop hits than explaining what each selection represents in terms of the funk lexicon.

To paint the fullest picture of the music’s impact beyond the hard-core funk community, they might have devoted at least a few tracks to its structural forbears in R&B;, blues and gospel to demonstrate the long history in black music of the repeated single-chord “vamp” that defines much of funk.

By not exploring the seeds, “The Funk Box” makes it appear that funk was born fully formed in 1970 as the offspring of one man, James Brown.

Likewise, they could have earned more points had it included a few tracks showing funk’s wide-ranging influence on non-funk performers, such as Talking Heads’ “Burning Down the House” and Peter Gabriel’s “Sledgehammer.”

Each of those offshoots could easily support its own disc--unintentionally, perhaps, but still effectively proving just how far and wide the deep groove really runs.