Flow Back in Time: THANKS, SLY STONE, FALETTINME BE FUNKY!

By Jim Pfiffer

Sly Stone, one of my favorite musicians, the coolest of chill dudes and the man who introduced me to funk, died recently from prolonged COPD. He was 82.

Bummer.

It’s funny how we grieve the loss of people we’ve never met, but who have somehow intimately touched our souls and make our lives better, or in this case, funkier. That’s what the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame inductees, Sly and the Family Stone, did for me.

His music was an irresistible foot-stomping blend of funk, rock, soul, R&B, and psychedelic pop. It even incorporated elements of marching band and lullabies.

The band’s music was tight, joyful, surprising, chaotic, and put you in the groove, making me want to dance to the music. (It still makes me dance, but now I must ice my knees afterward.)

 I’m listening to Sly as I type this column, as the high-octane “I Want To Take You Higher” pulsates from Alexa and I sing along: 

“Beat is gettin’ stronger. Music gettin’ longer, toooo. Music is a-flashin’ meeeee …

I want to, I want to, I want to take you higher, I wanna take you higher. Baby, baby, baby, light my fire. I wanna take you higher.”

When Sly said he wanted to “take you higher,” he wasn’t kidding. Three notes in and you’re orbiting the moon.

Sylvester Stewart was born in 1943 in Denton, Texas. He shortened his name to “Sly” because a childhood friend kept mispronouncing it. In the early 1950s, Sly and three of his siblings formed a gospel music group, with Sly singing lead as early as age 5. 

By 1966, the Family Stone grew to include Sly on organ, brother Freddie on guitar, bassist Larry Graham, drummer Greg Errico, saxophonist Jerry Martini, and Cynthia Robinson on trumpet. Sly’s younger sister and keyboardist, Rose Stone, joined in ’68.

That magical musical mix of band members was best described recently in a New York Times article:

“Five dudes, two chicks, two white, five black. For a racially traumatized America, here was a landscape that redefined landscape.”

The band expanded that landscape with these lyrics from “Everyday People”:

“There is a yellow one that won’t accept the black one. That won’t accept the red one, that won’t accept the white one. Different strokes for different folks. And so on and so on. Scooby-dooby-dooby.”

We needed songs like that in the ‘60s when America was splitting apart in racial long division.

Every time I hear a Family Stone tune, the rhythm transports me back to my teenage years and the summers of ’71 and ‘72, when the band’s “Greatest Hits” album (it went “quintuple platinum”) ruled the airwaves, record shops and dance parties. Every song on it sounded like the finale, but it wasn’t, because the next song hit even harder.

It was common to hear Sly’s progressive funk booming from 8-track tape decks bolted to the bottoms of our car dashboards. We played the tapes so much they wore out, and we had to stuff matchbooks or paper wads in between the tape and the tape deck to keep the tape centered and gliding across the rubber rollers inside. 

The music funkified us with head-bopping, vibrant songs like “Hot Fun in the Summertime,” “Dance to the Music,” “Everybody is a Star,” and the read-between-the-lines “Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Again).”

My fav was “Dance To the Music.”

“All we need is a drummer. For people who only need a beat, yeah. I’m gonna add a little guitar,
And make it easy to move your feet.

(The bass comes in)

I’m gonna add some bottom. So that the dancers just won’t hide.

You might like to hear my organ. I said, ‘Ride Sally ride,’ now.”

By the time Sally was riding, I was on the school dance floor bustin’ some moves that were so funky, the chaperones thought I was suffering a fit of St. Vitus’ Dance and ran to get the principal.

I loved the whimsical and nonsensical verbiage in his songs, like “boop-boop-ba-boop-boop when I want to,” from “Hot Fun In the Summertime.”

I still boop-boop-ba-boop-boop when I WANT TO, and nobody’s going to stop me.

Then there’s “Boom shaka-laka-laka boom” from “I Want To Take You Higher.” That phrase was so fly that Bill Murray used it in the 1981 movie “Stripes,” while leading a ragtag Army drill team. The phrase later morphed into a shorthand exclamation of a fantastic play in sports (often a slam dunk).

Way to go, Sly. 

Sly dressed to the nines and tens; his pimp-like threads were as funky as his music: silver vests, bare chest, outrageous and colorful wide-brimmed hats, specs as big around as dinner plates and platform shoes that required a stepladder for him to climb into.

He topped it all off with a billion-dollar smile and swagger that was as flashy as his music.

Like many musical stars, Sly had drug and money problems. He was rumored to be homeless, but he said he lived a traveling life in a white Pleasure-Way RV camper because he couldn’t stand to be in one place.

He needed to boop-boop-ba-boop-boop when he wanted to.

To that, I say boom shaka-laka-laka boom.

Jim Pfiffer is a humorist. Read more of his work at https://fullofwitblog.wordpress.com/. Learn more about illustrator Filomena Jack at www.FilomenaJackStudio.com.