The gods of funk are far more disparate than we give them credit for, having come from the coastal regions around the Earth, moving along tributary migration paths (sometimes voluntarily, often times against their own consent) to locations in parts unknown. Yet the gods always seem to push their greatest prophets back from these nether regions towards the warm weather coasts again. The salt water is both the primordial breeding ground for the gods of funk, and where the necessary salt air is best for fermenting into the thickest sermons of funk best exemplifying the gods of funk's prophecy - that the thickness of the music is too much for brain, and in fact beyond the brain's ability to even deduce how to recreate in an analytical way, and in fact moves your heart, but even deeper still, pops your gut congresses with butterfly goodness, and gets your ass to shake against all better thinking (by brain). It is a beautiful thing, and we should all light a stick of incense and lay down some chunks of quartz somewhere in the house in honor of these great ancient gods of funk who continue to make our lives so god fuckin' blessed.
No comments:
Post a Comment