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INTRO

"The single most important factor in establishing funk as an idiom unto itself was the thumb of Larry Graham"

--Bass Player, 1992
"I'm gonna add some bottom so that the dancers just can't hide"

The bellowing voice slices through one of the great dance tracks of all time, "Dance To The Music," and yet the man behind it is still a mystery to most music fans.

Larry Graham, Jr., is one of the least known yet most recognizable artists of modern music. As the bass player for Sly & The Family Stone in the '60s and '70s, bandleader of Graham Central Station in the '70s, and top-selling solo singer in the '80s, he is a living legend several times over. And into the 21st century, his work continues to be as innovative and surprising as it was in the 1960s.

Larry was born in Beaumont, Texas, on August 14, 1946. His family headed West when he was two, finally settling in Oakland, California. At five he was studying dance, and by eight, piano, all along gravitating toward music that would help shape his sound. As he remembers, "Clarence 'Gatemouth' Brown, he was my biggest influence, 'cause I learned his song 'Okie Dokie Stomp'--I learned that note for note. I used to love Frankie Lymon and The Teenagers. I used to sing some of those Frankie Lymon songs--until my voice changed."

Playing standards on the guitar and organ as a teenager in his mother's act, the Dell Graham Trio, offered Graham his first experience as a professional musician. A twist of fate, however, led him to the instrument for which he has become most famous. Before a performance with the trio, his organ broke down, forcing him to search for a replacement keyboard. With none in sight, he grabbed the only spare instrument he could find: a bass guitar. He took a liking to it quickly and was just starting to learn his way around it when the trio's drummer left. To compensate for the loss, he developed a unique thumping and plucking style on the bass.

Graham obviously had a knack for his new instrument. When a rabid fan coaxed local deejay and bandleader Sly Stone to come down to see the young Graham, the show resulted in a collaboration that would change music history. Larry joined Sly's eclectic outfit, Sly & The Family Stone, and after some storied rehearsals and even more frenzied performances, the group was signed to Epic Records.

The band worked as a collective around the creative spark of Sylvester Stewart. After one wildly imaginative--but flop--album, Sly bore down into a relentless party groove and produced the group's first hit, 1968's "Dance To The Music." With a breathless energy and driving beat, the track stood out from the pack. "The record FEATUREd all of us, and we got a little solo thing out front, so we're all being FEATUREd. And we're all doing what we do, and we were all different," Larry says of the song's signature band-member introductions. "You think about that drum solo on 'Dance To The Music'--wasn't nobody playing that kind of a beat then," he continues. "And those chord progressions and the way Freddie was playing, and the way Jerry and Cynthia would interact with the horn lines. To me, in my mind, I wasn't standing out more than anybody else. And Sly was the leader, so he was the frontman most of the time. It wasn't until after I started hearing so many bass players playing like me, I started to realize what had happened. To me, I was just doing what I felt needed to be done."

From that point on, Sly & The Family Stone established themselves as a revolutionary outfit. Their music, lyrics, look, funky groove, kinetic performances, and rocking spiritualism were like nothing else out there. The act immediately began a storied march to their pinnacle of musical success: their legendary performance at Woodstock in August of 1969.

Yet after that glorious moment in Upstate New York, only a few singles emerged. One was the deliciously bass-driven manifesto "Thank You Falletinme Be Mice Elf Agin," which soared to #1 on the Pop chart in early 1970 on the strength of Larry Graham's thumping bass line. It would turn out to be Graham's swan song with Sly, however, since the group was suffering from problems related to the bandleader's reclusion, drugs, hangers-on, and an assortment of other pressures.

By the time Graham left the Family Stone in early 1972, his style was already being integrated into the sounds of War, The Meters, Earth, Wind & Fire, Kool & The Gang, the Bar-Kays, the Motown empire, the Ohio Players, and Funkadelic. Offers Larry, "Once they saw us, they could see that I wasn't playing the overhand style, the traditional hand-over-the-top-of-the-bass playing with your fingers; they could see I was playing with my thumb and pulling the strings and thumping and plucking." As a result of his deep influence, Larry Graham is now recognized throughout the world as the innovator of the thumping and plucking funk bass style. The entirety of fat bass funk, from the 1970s to today, can rightfully be traced to the musical experiments of Larry Graham, honed in the inspiring environment of Sly & The Family Stone.

But despite his success, Larry envisioned creating and producing a band that would not FEATURE him as a live player. Shortly after leaving Sly, he assembled some musicians and called them Hot Chocolate. However, his break from the limelight did not last long: While watching the act's blistering performance at Bimbo's in San Francisco, Larry was urged onstage. He soon took charge as the leader and changed the name to Graham Central Station.

Larry had the best of Bay Area talents to choose from for his group, recruiting local legends for a stellar lineup. Keyboardist Hershall "Happiness" Kennedy became a mainstay on clavinet and piano, while Robert "Butch" Sam played organ. The original band also included first drummer Willie "Wild" Sparks, guitarist David "Dynamite" Vega, and the exquisite Patryce "Chocolate" Banks on vocals and "funk box," that ever-so-quaint predecessor to the drum machine.

A year of recording led to Graham Central Station's first album for Warner Bros. The self-titled debut, considered a Bay Area masterpiece, fuses rock with soul and funk and solidified Larry Graham's place as a music legend.

Graham Central Station is an adventure into the musical and spiritual soul of Larry Graham, Jr. The delightful a cappella "We've Been Waiting" launches the album's wild musical ride through the decade. On it Graham employs a soulful and clever musical clue with the song's familiar hook, a tribute to Frederick Knight's "I've Been Lonely For So Long."

Declaring Graham Central Station's funk revolution was "Hair," a thumping classic laced with Graham's Sly-esque social commentary on the '60s penchant for long hair and its consequences. Many young players grew up on this cut, as D'wayne Wiggins of Tony!Toni!Toné! once told me: "We used to sit around the house and jam [to] 'Hair' for hours."

Larry Graham remembers the time this way: "If you think about the Sly & The Family Stone days, it was about hair. If you look at the first album cover, we were way ahead on the braid jobs, the corn rows. Corn rows are back again, but we're talking 1972. Hair was a big thing coming out of the '60, going into the '70s . . . people would judge you by your hair. It could be a long straight-hair situation, or it could be a big 'fro. So that's really what that's all about, people judging you by your outward appearance."

Larry's smoother side is revealed--but intentionally not sustained--on the first GCS single to hit the airwaves in 1974, the indescribably delicious "Can You Handle It?" The track begins as a sweet, swaying song about a relationship, but then kicks into a grinding groove that perhaps asks the real question: "Can you handle a band about to break into a full funk thrust?!!"

Graham Central Station's groove power is in full effect with "People." One of Graham's many lost legendary songs, this cut, featuring guitarist Freddie Stone, showcases much of the the band's grit and savvy in full, stirring effect. The track is so potent that its vocal chant was later looped by hardcore rappers in such numbers as Kam's "Drama," the go go band Trouble Funk's "All Over The World," and a cut from from Santana's Grammy®-winning Supernatural album, "The Calling." As strong today as it was when first released, "People" is a prime example of Larry Graham's pioneering bass playing and social commentary.

But perhaps GCS's deepest message came from "Ghetto," a haunting tale of the black experience featuring the classic lyrics "I'm still tryin' to find out how we got here/'cause I know it wasn't on our own."1

With their second album, 1974's Release Yourself, Larry and the band had the chance to expand their creative range, dipping into some fast church-song rockabilly, gospel rock, and spacey jazz. In many ways the group found its "release" on this record, and nothing reveals this more than the hyperactive title track. Cranking up the tambourines and letting the groove fly, the dance floor would never be the same after making it through this song.

Release Yourself also FEATUREs one of the most defining songs of the GCS experience, "Feel The Need." The tune was originally written by Abrim Tilmon for the Detroit Emeralds in 1972, but Graham and company rev it up into a rowdy arrangement, complete with train-station sounds. "I liked the song, I liked the lyrics. I just heard it different. That song just sounds like Graham Central Station," Graham admits.

Clearly, this was a band with an original, signature sound, making music for the people. But GCS also created work by which people defined themselves. Many musicians I spoke to insisted that "'Tis Your Kind Of Music" be on this collection, mostly because of its deeply spiritual kinship to the craft of music-making. The category-defying song was a favorite back when '70s radio stations played album tracks, and Graham has fond memories of its creation: "'Tis Your Kind Of Music.' I could just hear that in my head. Sometime . . . sometimes I sleep with a tape recorder by the side of the bed, because you hear something. It was a blessing that I had those kind of instruments to produce what I was hearing."

The gospel-rock anthem "Today" is another one of those legendary efforts perhaps sprung from Graham's sonically vivid dreams. At the time of its release, rumors abounded that Larry had Sly in mind when he wrote this song about a musician "selling out." But as Larry explains, the message that "music is the only love" is universal: "I've heard so many different interpretations," he offers. "I think that if you take into consideration that that could be the situation of a lot of people, and if he fits into any part of that, then he could be included in that too. But so can I, and so could a number of other people that I knew." Regardless of rumors, the song stands alone as one of the most spectacular fusions of gospel arrangements and rock power.

On the heels of Release Yourself was 1975's Ain't No 'Bout-A-Doubt It, a breakthrough for the group. Larry Graham and his band amassed their individual talents into a monstrous slab of granite funk for the album's most memorable single, "The Jam." A landmark song of the '70s and one of the most definitive funk-rock blowouts ever, the cut was envisioned by Larry as a dance track featuring band introductions in the mold of Sly's "Dance To The Music." "I used to use that song, even before the first album," he remembers. "When we were playing like the Keystone and the Orphanage and places like that, I used to use that song to introduce everybody. And that was the purpose of the song, to introduce the band members."

And to drive listeners wild. The anticipation that "The Jam" builds is heart-palpitating. Once the band has introduced itself, Larry enters, almost with the suspense of a visit to the Wizard of Oz, and proclaims "I'm baass . . ." Then he continues to build the funk mountain brick by brick until it reaches a fiery crescendo that leaves no stone unturned and no booty unshaken. This is what much of Bay Area funk was really about: a tight band that could jam in the best traditions of jazz and rock, while making you dance from start to finish.

For pure dance-floor power, though, few tracks can match "It's Alright." As the second single from Ain't No 'Bout-A-Doubt-It, the ripping jam puts the "hump" in the funk and rides it for all it's worth. Graham really digs into "the one" here [that pump on the first downbeat], perhaps reclaiming it from the contemporary funk acts that had spent years following his lead. Yet no band in the land could match Graham's party flavors on record, with every scream and wail serving to get you out of your seat and into a frenzy. "That was a concert tune," Graham remembers. "You see how people react to things in concert, so when you think about it, 'The music makes you feel like moanin'/It's alright/Do you feel like singin' heah/Do you feel like screamin,' yeah!' We wanted to capture that on record."2

Despite the legendary tracks on his first two albums, "Your Love" was Larry's first #1 R&B single. With the song's bouncing piano and doo wop vocals reminiscent of Sly & The Family Stone's "Hot Fun In The Summertime," it seemed like GCS was ready to claim Sly's swaying, sentimental, mellow-funk mantle. "Your Love" is also a worthy indicator of Graham's future as a balladeer. "You know, before I joined Sly & The Family Stone, I was part of a doo wop group, I have doo wop roots," Graham says. "I remember at Herbert Hoover Junior High School, my doo wop singing group won the talent show. So that's a throwback to my junior high school days."

Dynamic vocals have always been integral to Graham's sound. For a cover of Ann Peebles' magnificent classic slice of soul "I Can't Stand The Rain," Graham handed the mic to the elegant and delightful Patryce "Chocolate" Banks, who stretches out and makes it her own. Fans of "Chocolate" really get a treat on this anthology. Some of her best work can be heard on the band's brilliant rendition of The Beatles' classic "Dear Prudence," recorded in 1976 during the Mirror sessions and FEATUREd here for the first time.

In 1974 Larry Graham began his spiritual conversion to becoming a Jehovah's Witness. The religious journey led to some of his most engaging message songs of the period, including the iridescent "Love (Covers A Multitude Of Sin)." On this track from 1976's Mirror, Larry and the band make a love song aspire to a higher love. Indeed, much of Mirror reveals Graham's deeply religious outlook on life and the world; one song is dedicated to his father, and he gives thanks to Jehovah.

"'Love covers a multitude of sin.' That's the scripture, it's in the Bible, and that's true, and I experienced that." Larry recalls. "The lyrics say it all: 'You know God loved us all so much he gave His Son/His one and only one/Not just for a few, or a thousand, and ninety-two/but for everyone.' Because of the love that God has for us, even though we mess up, he forgives us. So we have to be like that with each other. A person could jack you up a number of times, but if they are truly sorry and truly repentant, then we have to show forgiveness to them, like God shows forgiveness to us. You can cover over my sin with love. And really through life's experience, I came to learn that love does cover a multitude of sins."3

The spiritual Mirror also includes a return to the introduction song with "Entrow." New drummer Gaylord "Flash" Birch firmly claims his place in the group on the track, driving up the energy like he would from the first minutes of every show. Delivering the thrills of a marching band (an experience Graham is well-acquainted with, having been a member of the Hayward High School marching band), GCS still storms onstage with this song at every performance, setting the tone for the indescribably satisfying show to follow.

In the spring of 1977 The Funk was bursting out of radios nationwide, from pop stars, disco divas, and big bands. Larry Graham knew what he needed to do to keep up: "People were into dance stuff during that time . . . my intent was to give 'em something that they could dance to continuously." He did this by creating a seamless stream of funk on Now Do U Wanta Dance.

By using the talk-box on the title track, Graham emphasized and deepened his already rich baritone to develop a "talking bass," driving home a relentless bottom-heavy dance cut that rips people from their seats. With a keen ear for the party-set standards, GCS then lined up the "Last Train" to kick in next, extending the party for another four scorching minutes. But the album is more than just a party record; it stands alongside Graham's earlier LPs as a brilliantly diverse spectacle of musical innovation, style, and excitement.

Some of us were lucky enough to experience the party and spectacle in person. Nothing gave us young funkateers more excitement than watching our heroes in the throes of an ultimate workout, and Larry Graham gave just that to his fans with "Earthquake." When I was 16 at Berkeley High School, Graham Central Station played a free (!) concert at our school and put on the first of many local shows to drum up support for the new album. Hardly any of us were old enough to have seen Jimi Hendrix, but what we got to experience was almost as phenomenal. Larry took the crowd through "Earthquake," stomping and scorching along with guitarist David "Dynamite" Vega, until everyone left the stage except Larry, who proceeded to work over the bass strings in a blistering fashion. Then he built up such a froth that he just held the bass in the air and let it scream, before merely blowing on the worked-up strings to get wild sounds. Next, he set the bass on the stage's floor, wound up a towel, and snapped the strings with it, creating an unbelievable punch bass effect that I recall to this day.

By that time I had already seen Parliament/Funkadelic and naively believed that they had somehow invented the theatrics of black rock 'n' roll. Little did I realize at the time that not only was Larry Graham an undisputed master at bass improvisation and rock explosion, but he was also the pioneer of rock-funk bass blowouts. Even Bootsy Collins, whose preposterously erotic bass workouts are the stuff of legend, steadfastly credits Larry Graham as the sole innovator. As Bootsy said in 1995: "It was Larry Graham. Definitely Larry Graham. At that time the things Larry Graham were doing with his bass, nobody else was even thinkin' about."

Innovation is a hallmark of Larry Graham's legacy, and that's one reason why he chose to promote Now Do U Wanta Dance with free afternoon concerts in Bay Area high schools during the spring of 1977. When hip-hop scholars do the research and discover that Bay Area rap artists have been some of the genre's most musical, the presence and dedication of precursors like Larry Graham cannot be underestimated. He understood what was at stake as well:


Our future music is going to come from the young folks. The influence that we can play in their lives now is really, really important, and that's a big deal to me, even to this day. I'm not happy with what happened with a lot of folks that got away from playing music. Electronics is cool--I got a lot of electronics myself--but if you don't learn how to play the instrument, if we just get into machine stuff or sampling stuff and not creating stuff ourselves, then we are not going to have anything new down the road. We are not going to have anybody to produce new stuff because we can't play it.
Going all the way back to doo wop at the height of the disco scene showed just how willing Graham was to mix the old with the new. He fashioned another original blend with the grooving, country funk sound of 1977's "Stomped Beat-Up And Whooped," another chicken-fried funk ditty that hit radios with no shame.

But no song emphasizes the band's originality more than the finger-popping swing of the title cut to their 1978 album, My Radio Sure Sounds Good To Me. The song's creation also led to the recruitment of Larry's wife, Tina, who joined the group full-time. Remembers Graham, "I recorded the album in the studio in the house. . . . I had written 'My Radio,' but the girl who was in the group at that time was not available . . . and you know how sometimes you know you need to do something now, so . . . Tina was in the kitchen cooking, and I went in, and I said 'I just wrote this song, and it has to be a girl's voice,' and she was like, 'I can't do that.' But I talked her into doing it, and so she did, and everybody I played the demo for just loved it."

On My Radio Sure Sounds Good To Me Larry Graham also gave the world one of his first all-out love ballads, "Is It Love?" The flowing, lush arrangement FEATUREs then-new players Nate Ginsberg on keyboards and Gemi "Chank" Taylor on guitar. The lush arrangement stamps the song as essential '70s, a precursor of Larry's ballads to come.

By 1979, however, Graham's daring was not paying off in record sales, and he went full throttle into disco with "Star Walk," an engaging and underrated effort. While the Star Walk album FEATUREs its share of straight funk for the big-footin' masses, like "(You're A) Foxy Lady," it was lost in the sparkle of the disco glitter ball. As Graham remembers this time:


Obviously, a lot of the disco stuff was good--that's why it was so big. You had a lot of stuff [that was] not good, but some of the stuff was really good, so it was just a natural thing to do something like that. Not a whole album, but a song was cool. Record companies had a lot to do with people experimenting with disco stuff because that's what they were pushing. And I remember some companies that would take an artist's record and make them go in and remix it and try to make it disco, or more disco. I personally know of that happening. Did it happen to me? Well, we won't talk about that.
Clearly, as much as Graham Central Station's music was a standard bearer for originality and spiritual richness, Larry Graham himself was at a crossroads in 1979, caught between his funk roots and his own innovative musical nature.

Larry chose to use one of his greatest assets--his voice--to return to the charts with a vengeance. After recruiting two youngsters, Eric Daniels (keyboards) and Wilton Rabb (guitar)--who literally walked up to Larry's Oakland home looking for their hero and wound up in his act--Larry relocated to Los Angeles and developed an entirely new sound. "It wasn't really a plan. By that time some band members had moved on, and at that time all indicators were, do to your own thing," Graham recalls. "Ron Nadel, my new manager, convinced me to move. The record company was down there, the booking agencies, everything that's connected with the business. So he basically talked me into seeing that would be the logical thing."

With plush strings, twinkling pianos, and Larry's velvet voice, the new Los Angeles-based group arranged a Sam Dees ballad, "One In A Million You," into one of soul music's all-time classics. The cut soared up the charts and stayed at #1 R&B for two weeks, in addition to snagging #9 Pop in the summer of 1980. One thing was clear: Larry Graham's relentless drive to be the best would not be deterred because radio no longer appreciated his bass playing and musical innovations.

"One In A Million You" was also a one-of-a-kind production, since Larry and Tina Graham had been winging it in the studio when the track was recorded. As Larry explains: "I could hear the mix in my head, but it was a Sunday, and the engineer was not around. So I told Tina, 'You take this half of the board, I'll take this end of the board. I'll show you the moves to make and when to make them and stuff, and when to bring certain things up.' So I just showed her what to do and had my part together and turned on the tape, and that was the mix you hear on the record!"

Proving that "One In A Million You" wasn't a fluke was the second single, "When We Get Married." The cut jumped onto the charts in October, displaying Larry Graham's ability to make classic love songs with the best.

Also unveiled on this anthology is an extended take of the delightful "I'm So Glad It's Summer Again," a sweet throwback to the innocent sounds of Sly's "Hot Fun In The Summertime" that appears on One In A Million You in edited form.

When it came time to record GCS's next album, Just Be My Lady, Larry stuck to the One In A Million You formula and pulled together a magnificent follow-up. The title track was also rewarded with pop radio play and reached #4 R&B in the summer of 1981.

Much of Larry's early-'80s ballad work was the result of his reconnecting to his early soul roots. In a fascinating career twist, he became a crooning sex symbol--with the crowd-pleasing style of legends Teddy Pendergrass and Barry White--almost overnight. To be true to all sides of himself, though, he also maintained a repertoire of raw dogg funk when he went out on tour, causing a bit of confusion for the audience:


What was interesting about that time is that when One In A Million You came out, if you go into a concert to hear the person that sings "One In A Million You," what are you going to wear? You go in kind of dressed up. There were a lot of people who didn't know that the person singing "One In A Million You" is the same person who did "The Jam" and the same person who did "Thank You Falletinme Be Micelf" or "I Want To Take You Higher" or "Dance To The Music." So you would get these folks in T-shirts and jeans, and you would get these folks in suits and ties and dresses. We had this mixed crowd thing going, and it was funny, because they would all come together, and everybody's groovin' together, the folks that's coming to hear "One In A Million You" and the funkateers.
At this point Larry Graham was on top of the business. With a legacy in three eras of music (Sly Stone's '60s and '70s sound, GCS' '70s jams, and Larry's '80s ballads), it looked like the Los Angeles move had paid off, and the future was bright. Yet for the musicians Larry brought down from Oakland, L.A.'s distractions were too great: Daniels and Rabb moved on to their own studio work and careers (including touring and playing with the likes of Janet Jackson, Mariah Carey, and others).

As always, Larry Graham soldiered on. His third '80s Warner Bros. album, Sooner Or Later, had more of a family feel. Wife Tina picked up more of the vocals, as did Larry's son Darric, who lends his fine voice to "Don't Stop When You're Hot." Still, it was the smooth dance hit single and title track that made the rounds of clubs and radio.

Clearly, Larry Graham was still a force to be reckoned with. On his final charting Warner Bros. LP, 1983's Victory, his sound and style were as sharp as ever, as evidenced by the exquisite ballad "I Never Forgot Your Eyes." "That was a pretty intense song. Somebody else wrote that, and I liked it because it was strong. I think if it had been pushed, it would have been a great record," Larry recalls.

After Graham's last Warner Bros. album was released in Japan in 1985, he became hard to find on the radio. Settling in Jamaica, he kept busy playing with Eddie Murphy's musical group Psychedelic Psoul as well as The Crusaders. He also continued his spiritual work.

Meanwhile, the funk craze began to pick up in Japan, where Graham's entire Warner Bros. catalog had been released on CD. On the urging of Japanese funk fans, he recorded a monstrous return engagement in Japan in 1992, along with guitarist George Johnson of the famous The Brothers Johnson and steadfast bandmates Hershall "Happiness" Kennedy, Gaylord "Flash" Birch on drums, and Robert "Butch" Sam on keyboards. That ensemble's rendition of the Family Stone classic "I Want To Take You Higher" is FEATUREd here.


***
When Sly & The Family Stone was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1993, Sly was just as elusive as ever, but Larry Graham was ready to bring his pure funk back to the United States. "I brought my bass to the ceremony just in case Sly would be ready to play," Larry recalled. While the rest of the Family Stone was ready, Sly slinked in and out, without so much as a whiff toward the incredible band he single-handedly created.

Graham kept the flame alive, however, recording a "comeback" album, released in Japan in 1997. Its title track, "By Popular Demand," is FEATUREd here. In addition, Graham Central Station made a triumphant return to the Bay Area in 1995, headlining a set with The Chambers Brothers at the Fillmore West. All dressed in pure white, Hershall, "Butch," "Flash," the one and only "Chocolate," and, of course, Larry were in full effect for this spectacular event that was worth the decade-long wait.s

The band went on to barnstorm the country as the '90s progressed and toured with Sinbad's Soul Music Festival through 1998, whereupon they came across the one and only Prince. Larry recounts the depth of their relationship since their first jam session, which took place in December 1998 while on the road in Tennessee.


And we jammed for the first time, that's when we connected. . . . After that tour was over he asked me would if I'd like to do a few gigs, and I did, then we did a few more . . . then we did a few more, and a few more.
In the meantime he asked questions, because he knows where I'm coming from spiritually--he knew that up-front. So I started answering his questions from the Bible. Not in my own words; I was simply showing what the Bible said. The more I showed him, the more he wanted to know. And that's where we are. He's three years deep into that now, having all his questions answered from the Bible.

What Larry Graham has done is set forth an incredibly vast track record of musical and spiritual accomplishments. With legendary funk and #1 Pop hits to his credit, few musicians on Earth today could claim the achievements of Larry and Dell Graham's only son. And having collaborated with easily two of the modern era's most gifted artists, Prince and Sly Stone--and having transcended them in his own work--Larry Graham's legacy in music is unparalleled.

At his best, Larry Graham is a pure musical force of love. His sound is an explosion of spiritual love, of personal warmth and generosity, and groovalistic oneness with all things good. As pure in spirit as a baptism, as exciting as a sky dive, and as loud as a buffalo stampede, a full frontal Graham attack can be a life-changing experience.

To witness a Larry Graham trance is to understand all of what funk is about. The epic spectacles of Earth, Wind & Fire, the lunatic tribalism of Parliament/Funkadelic, the fluid soul fusion of Stevie Wonder, and Herbie Hancock's overhaul of jazz into electronic funk are all echoes of that ever-widening wave of pure spirit ignited by Sly & The Family Stone. A supernova still expanding, spawned from that atomic reaction at its core, is the funk of Larry Graham.

Can you handle it?

--Rickey Vincent
Rickey Vincent is the author of Funk: The Music, The People And The Rhythm Of The One. Special thanks to John Carvallo, Neil Austensen, Eric Daniels, and Natalie Nielsen. And to Larry Graham for his faith in me

i'm still waiting for the release of....



THE TOWEL: THE BEST OF TINA GRAHAM

Anxiety said:

Sad But True.
[Edited 10/5/04 21:39pm]