In my collection, among the vast sea of genres, is a small group of funk records. James Brown, Average White Band, The Brothers Johnson, Commodores, Sly, P-Funk, Rufus, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. Shit that makes the groove take over, that makes the funk oooze you right into next week. Sometimes in the morning, when it’s crappy and creepy out, as today, I spin my office chair around and dig right into that section. With vigor.
Today’s grab is so funky Cleopatra (our cat, the monsterlicious Cleo) fell off my pillow. The vibe found her slumbering and was not having any of that. At all…So she fell right off my pillow and ran to the front door, scared from all the funk; afraid and confused. I looked at her. She looked at me. I froze in the groove, she scratched the door, the Brothers Johnson punched her right in the face with thunder thumbs and lightnin’ licks. I spun to fetch my coffee. She’ll survive.
Do it. Hit play. Hit play right now and grooooooove your ass off.