I. Mothership Connection As A Blending Of Concepts

2025 marks the 50th anniversary of the seminal funk album Parliament’s Mothership Connection. Having made music since he was a teenager in the 1950s with his friends, the band’s leader, George Clinton, has never shied away from a pun, a hook, or an opportunity to be an iconoclast. As a songwriter, he has an uncanny ability to pick up on musical trends, subvert them, and evolve them. His original group, The Parliaments, was a doo-wop singing quintet he formed with his friends in New Jersey. Moving to Detroit in the 1960s, Parliament evolved into a group of Temptations clones, down to the choreographed dance moves.

As the 60s progressed, Clinton was inspired by Sly & The Family Stone’s bold musical fusion, merging rock, soul, pop, and the ethos of 60s counterculture. By this time, Clinton had put together a young band that dubbed themselves “Funkadelic,” and the musical possibilities expanded even further with the arrival of psychedelic drugs and musical prodigy Bernie Worrell. If Clinton had a song concept, Worrell could elegantly bring it to life, mixing his classical training with the nastiest funk grooves in his role as keyboardist and musical arranger. 

Against all odds, the sheer weirdness of Funkadelic and its legendarily unhinged live shows (a naked and tripping Clinton was not an unusual sight) started to create its own fandom and blew right past its musical influences. In the mid-1970s, Clinton reactivated Parliament as a recording entity, reinventing their sound as less guitar-centered and more similar to popular, horn-based, danceable funk. 

Of course, it may have been danceable, but it was no less weird. The famous image of Clinton emerging from a flying saucer on the cover of Mothership Connection is no less important than the back cover, which features that same spacecraft landing in the ‘hood. Indeed, the original title of the album was Landing In The Ghetto. Clinton said he wanted to put “brothers in outer space, in places people wouldn’t normally associate them.” Clinton’s fascination with psychedelia turned to science fiction and the pseudo-science of the 1970s that became popular, like the newfound interest in Atlantis and author Erich von Däniken’s claims of extraterrestrial influences in Chariots Of The Gods? Interestingly, Clinton was unaware of the Nation of Islam’s interest in aliens and wasn’t familiar with the work of Sun Ra at that time. 

Starting with Parliament’s previous album, Chocolate City, Clinton’s songs for Parliament were not only upbeat musically but lyrically as well. This is in sharp contrast to the frequently gritty and even occasionally apocalyptic lyrics of the Funkadelic records, which were heavy in every sense of the word. Parliament started a trend of creating conceptual environments that were not only fantastical but explicitly utopian. On Mothership Connection‘s title track, the refrain was “Swing down, sweet chariot, stop, and let me ride,” a direct reference to the old spiritual “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,” down to adding a line about “coming to carry you home.” Gospel and R&B songs were long coded as hymns of resistance, as the “home” and “promised land” mentioned in these songs is an extended metaphor for freedom from oppression. The Mothership is landing not just to start the party but as the literal vehicle of freedom itself. As Starchild asks, “Are you hip?”

II. Mothership Connection And “Total Art Work”

Surrounding himself with an array of brilliant young musicians, the artistically restless Clinton began thinking of funk music in a way Wagner thought of opera: as Gesamtkunstwerk, or “total art work,” blending music, comics, visual effects, dance, comedy, performance, and fashion into one unified aesthetic. Now, this was already something that was happening with funk, as musicians started to be integrated into screen performances to perform the score in groundbreaking ways that solidified a visually distinct aesthetic and fashion. This would later be repeated with hip-hop’s embrace of rap, fashion lines, graffiti art, film, and other art forms to create the dominant mode of expression of the last thirty-five years, but Clinton took this concept much further than his immediate peers.

Cartoonist Pedro Bell’s Funkadelic album covers were a marvel of dense, detailed, funny, and raunchy excess rendered in marker. Another cartoonist, Overton Lloyd, drew several of the Parliament albums, many of which featured full-length stories starring the characters from the album’s songs. However, it was Parliament-Funkadelic’s live shows in the mid to late 70s that fully solidified their albums’ concepts. On the eye-opening P-Funk Earth Tour, Clinton was inspired by the excess of glam rock, especially their Casablanca Records labelmates KISS. Every musician wore some sort of costume or outfit, with Worrell adopting his “Wizard of Woo” persona in purple, Garry “Starchild” Shider wearing his trademark diaper, etc.

However, the climax of the show was always “Mothership Connection,” with singer Glen Goins imploring the audience to help call the Mothership down, like a Tinkerbell in silver face paint. This was a call-and-response spectacle torn straight from church, as the giant Mothership prop “landed” on stage amidst clouds of smoke. Clinton, in his “Dr. Funkenstein” persona, would saunter his way down a ramp for the show’s denouement, but the calculated incorporation and subversion of worship made this an unforgettable experience. Future tours would incorporate other song-related props, like a giant flashlight and a Bop Gun, along with Dr. Funkenstein’s makeshift car being stripped for parts the moment he stepped out of it. It was an exaggeration as catharsis; being big and bold was the whole point. It was not just trying to create a spectacle; it was making everyone in the building part of a larger whole.

III. Mothership Connection and Musical Collaboration

The history of music, and soul music in particular, is full of tight bands run by tyrannical frontmen. James Brown, the man who popularized funk, is the ultimate example of this. He famously fined members of his band if they dropped a beat or mis-timed a signal. He once fired his entire band before a performance when they demanded better pay and ruthlessly brought in a group of youngsters he had been preparing for this very eventuality.

George Clinton was far from perfect as a bandleader. Like James Brown, he often took credit for things that were done by others. Bernie Worrell was the real producer and arranger for most of the classic P-Funk records, but he received much less recognition, and more importantly, less money than he should have. As the band continued to tour, it wasn’t unusual for Clinton to pay his young musicians in cocaine or sometimes not at all.

That said, as a unifying force, Clinton was a remarkable collaborator. What he brought to the table was his conceptual genius, a restless intellect, and a talent for multiple plays on words. He understood how to blend political and social commentary seamlessly with the music without it devolving into a polemic. He also had an unerring eye for talent and knew when to get the hell out of their way when it was time to really get cooking.

The conceptual power of Mothership Connection would not have worked without the otherworldly sounds of Bernie Worrell. An early adopter of the Moog synthesizer and clavinet, he crafted a kaleidoscope of sounds that matched the otherworldly affectations of the lyrics and concepts. On an album with a highly limited use of guitars, it was Worrell’s fills on synth mixed with his piano riffs that provided the foundation for every song. This was especially true on “Night Of The Thumpasorous Peoples,” where Worrell’s squelching, distorted, and slithery use of synth was surrounded by the rhythm section.

Speaking of rhythm, another central character was bass player Bootsy Collins. A free spirit who had been one of those fill-in musicians for James Brown, Collins embraced technology as much as Worrell did. The result was his thumping “Space Bass,” a star-shaped instrument that he ran through a filter to create deep, primordial sounds that he turned into rock-solid grooves, thanks to his use of the slap style of playing on his bass, as opposed to plucking the strings.

Rounding out Worrell’s conceptual fills and Collins’ thundering foundation was the horn section, led by sax legend Maceo Parker, trombonist Fred Wesley, sax player Michael Brecker, and his brother, trumpet player Randy Brecker. Parker and Wesley played on any number of hits for James Brown before being in that aforementioned band that got fired. Brown went so far as to blackball Parker’s brilliant first solo album. The Brecker Brothers were well-known as soul, funk, and jazz session players who would go on to record many of their own albums. The singular, staccato playing style of Parker & Wesley was a perfect counterpoint to the smoother sound of the Brecker Brothers. Together, with Worrell & Wesley doing the arrangements, the horn section was the lead instrument on this record. They either led the riffs on most songs or doubled up the riff when they weren’t playing off of it.

While the keyboard-bass-horn trinity was the heart of the record, there were other important players. Glen Goins and Garry Shider sang most of the key parts, and both played a lot of rhythm guitar on the record as well. Finally, drummer Jerome “Bigfoot” Brailey was in the chair for the album’s biggest hit, “Give Up The Funk (Tear The Roof Off The Sucker),” a massive dance song that highlighted his flamboyant style of playing. This was an album that carefully balanced sonic and conceptual excess with just the right amount of restraint. Funk musicians always have an uncanny sense of what notes not to play, and the gaps and rests on this album are so effective that the listener craves more.

IV. The Songs Of Mothership Connection

The album starts off similarly to Chocolate City, with the narrator on “P.Funk (Wants To Get Funked Up)”  explaining that we are now tuned into radio station WEFUNK, home of the P.Funk, the Bomb. Clinton’s character Sir Lollipop Man (“chocolate coated, freaky, and habit forming”) lays on rap after rap about the miraculous qualities of P.Funk. Collins lays down some seriously thick grooves, the horns take over the melody, and Worrell provides the flavor with those ethereal keyboards. The comparison between coke and funk is cleverly phrased (“I want my funk uncut”), as something that brings you up and out. The Brecker Brothers come in with brilliant solos in the middle, as the song slows down, creating an aching tension. This is finally resolved in the orgasmic finale, as Clinton signals, “Well, alright!” and the whole band and chorus kicks in. The song is brilliant in the way it blends the patter of a DJ’s rap with the looseness and improvisatory quality of jazz and the structure of a classical piece.

This leads into “Mothership Connection,” as Clinton’s next character, Starchild, takes us on a tour of the Chocolate Milky Way galaxy. Another addictive bassline keeps it on the one, with gorgeous descending guitar & keyboard lines following. The horns are out front, filling in the gaps. The Mothership “ain’t nothin’ but a party,” but it’s also a means of salvation, for as Starchild says, “You have overcome, for I am here.”  The future is hip, funny, and vibrant.

Continuing on the sci-fi theme, we swing into “Unfunky UFO”, one of the most underrated gems in the P.Funk universe. It features lead-swapping between Shider, Clinton, and Goins, with an engaging story about aliens who want to steal your funk. The guitar riffs drive this song, right along with another solid bassline and superb drumming from Jerome Brailey, who is excellent on the entire album. His rhythms are crisp and precise, and he plays complex parts effortlessly.

“Supergroovalisticprosifunkstication (The Thumps Bump)” is one of those chant songs that showcases Worrell, as he pulls out all the stops working with weird sounds and effects. “Give the people what they want and they want it all the time” is a typical bit of Clinton’s nonsense. Here, the steady drone of the chants acts as an additional rhythm track for Worrell’s soaring synth lines.

“Handcuffs” is an R&B throwback, fully spotlighting the singers. The song is one of those over-the-top, ridiculously sexist creations that features lines like “If I have to keep you barefoot & pregnant, just to keep you in my world/Lay down, girl, and take off your shoes/Cause I’m gonna do what I got to do.” It’s one of the best vocal efforts ever from the group, even if it feels utterly incongruous with the themes on the rest of the album.

“Give Up The Funk,” the biggest hit from the album, is in many ways its weakest track. A pure dance track, it features a clever drum intro with singer Ray Davis’ famous baritone, with the horns and keyboards swelling into the main body of the song. Unfortunately, it tends to get a bit repetitive, although it is still quite entertaining, particularly the `dah dah dah dah-dah` chant. The true star of the song is drummer Jerome Brailey, who propels the song constantly and finishes it with a flourish.

The journey ends with “Night Of The Thumpasorous Peoples,” a crazed chant song that is once again dominated by Collins & Worrell. Worrell invents a variety of weird sounds that are so funky you can smell them, and Collins explores a lot of new territory on bass that would propel him into having his own solo act. And the chant of `Ga ga goo ga, ga ga goo ga, ga ga goo ga ga` is their most infectiously catchy. There’s a heaviness to this song that is reminiscent of a Funkadelic song, only the screaming guitars are replaced by the squawking of the synthesizer and the low rumble of a bass sound that pushes through all else.

V. Mothership Connection As The Beginning Of An Extended Conceptual Universe

Mothership Connection introduced what would be a complex and joyful extended universe of characters and concepts that would be essential elements of Parliament’s future albums, as well as side act Bootsy’s Rubber Band. Intergalactic funk liaison DJ Sir Lollipop Man and funky savior Starchild were the foundation of Clinton’s increasingly expansive influences. Building on the science-fiction elements of Mothership Connection, Clinton furthered the references to the pyramids, Easter Island, and the Bermuda Triangle (all popular in the 70s) on Parliament’s next album, The Clones of Dr. Funkenstein. That album introduced that character, an expert on “clone funk” that was the secret of the pyramids, laid by Afronauts. His motto was “the bigger the headache, the bigger the pill” and the good doctor was “preoccupied and dedicated to the motion of hips.”

Parliament’s next album, Funkentelechy Vs The Placebo Syndrome, featured the return of Starchild and the introduction of his arch-enemy, Sir Nose D’Voidoffunk. Starchild’s weapons in this funk war included the Bop Gun and the Flash Light, which were deployed in order to make Sir Nose dance. All of these characters and props were, of course, incorporated into the stage show, with the character of Sir Nose being played by a dancer who would naturally succumb to the grooves of the Flash Light. If all of this sounds cartoonish, that was exactly the intent. Clinton’s aim was to create an animated universe featuring his characters, and cartoons featuring all of them were made and shown before concerts. The characters were featured as part of album art, and entire comic strips were crafted featuring them.

Parliament peaked at a conceptual level with The Motor-Booty Affair, where the intergalactic party went underwater to “#1 Bimini Road, Downtown Atlantis.” With Mr. Wiggles the Worm as the “DJ for the affair,” Clinton once again took familiar cultural tropes like DJs with smooth on-air patter and blended them with fantastical characters. Atlantis represented another utopian society, and the song “Deep” lays out the mission statement: “We’ve got to raise Atlantis from the bottom of the sea…with the Bomb and the Bop.” Clinton kept layering on callbacks and references, as Sir Nose returns and declares “I’m too cool to swim or dance…I don’t even sweat” on “Aqua Boogie.” Even as the band started to run out of steam, the same characters and concepts took on new forms. Sir Nose was defiant in “Theme From The Black Hole” on Gloryhallastoopid, threatening to turn Starchild into a donkey and daring Dr. Funkenstein to make a house call. On Parliament’s final album, Trombipulation, Sir Nose and Sir Nose Junior come to terms with their actual funkiness.

The P-Funk characters populated albums with consistent running themes, but they stopped short of being full-blown concept records. Not every song fed into the mythology that Clinton was creating. That looseness was deliberate, and it inspired not only a number of other funk bands to indulge their inner freakiness, but the entire conception of hip-hop. As a cultural force, hip-hop has encompassed rap, TV, film, fashion, and much more on a far bigger scale than funk, but funk left them the template for hip-hop on how to seize and exploit its own cultural authenticity before anyone else could. Parliament’s concepts and grooves resonated with dozens of rappers, most prominently Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg.

It all began with Mothership Connection, which was the culmination of a superb team of musicians, vocalists, and conceptualists, working at their peak. It was an avant-garde funk album that broke all the rules and wrote a few of its own. It was a brilliantly fused assortment of funk, jazz, gospel, Motown, science fiction, sex, drugs, and more. It was the PhD project of Dr. Woo, Bernie Worrell; the genesis of a freaky universe that sprang full-born from George Clinton’s mind; and Bootsy Collins’ coming-out party: the bass that launched a thousand Motherships. It was the simultaneous coming-of-age and birth of P.Funk: THE BOMB. It’s all that and more, and it sounds as fresh, vibrant, and important now as it did fifty years ago.