Maliciously Musical Mopods and MollyfocksEddie Hazel "What About It?" - I never fail to be disappointed when some rag or another publishes some tired-ass list of Greatest Guit-artists Like, Ever Man. There's no suspense -- some Jim or another always gets the top slot -- and they usually prioritize virtuoso technique over a knack for catchiness (Eddie VH wasn't great just 'cause he weedy-deedly-whammelled, he was great because he wrote the best simplified riffs this side of "Louie Louie"). Blah blah etcetera, you probably know these arguments already. And odds are you don't care much. (No big deal -- ain't too many Strats on
Discovery or
Miss E... So Addictive anyways.) But dammit people, recognize: there is only one way to extrapolate what Hendrix would've done if he hadn't mixed vino and insomnia back in '70, and that is to listen to the one guitarist the VH-1ists always,
always overlook: Eddie Hazel*. In a Mothership where pretty much every member was one of the Best Somethings Ever -- especially when it came to laying down rhythms -- it's almost understandable that Eddie might get lost in the shuffle: true geeks know how deadly his solos on "Alice In My Fantasies" and "Super Stupid" were, but history recalls the P-Funk as an R&B; band, and that same history says that R&B doesn't live and die by who can churn out the baddest riffs; guitars that wail like that are for
rock bands, dude. (Hey, ever notice that Curtis Mayfield usually ain't high up on these lists, either? Guess they need space for John Frusciante.) Enough hectoring. Sorry. Anyhow, Rhino reissued Hazel's long-out-of-print '77 Warner Brothers solo record
Game, Dames and Guitar Thangs -- and considering that it's pretty much a Funkadelic record in all but name (the lineup includes Bootsy Collins, Bernie Worrell, Tiki Fulwood, Mike Hampton, Garry Shider, Billy "Bass" Nelson, a couple Brides of Funkenstein and Clinton lurking in the wings somewhere), the fact that it's taken forever to be reissued -- and even then, in a limited-edition 5000-press run -- is one of the more inexplicable mysteries in record label ass-dragging. As lost classics go it's slightly less solid than you'd expect from the personnel involved at that point in time, but since it's a guitarist's solo record as opposed to a showcase-for-everyone group effort, it'd be kind of naive to expect a "Flash Light"-caliber burner instead of something subtler like, for instance, the most beautiful cover of "California Dreamin'" ever. And a good handful of slow-seethe psych-funk hump-conducive ballads. And effects pedals. Damn, the effects pedals.
And, most of all, the rare event of Hazel trading riffs with Kidd Funkadelic. Around '75 Hazel quit the P-Funk and became a Motown session guitarist. Shortly afterwards, he got fucked up on dust, went all Nightmare-at-20,000-Feet Twilight Zone style ("there's a creature on the wing of the plane", that Shatner role, you know the one), bit a flight attendant (!) and wound up in a two-year prison stint. Meanwhile, his place in the P-Funk Mob was eventually filled by a teenage Mike Hampton, who eventually became so entrenched in the role that he began strumming Hazel's play-it-like-your-mama-died signature tune "Maggot Brain" during live shows. So when Hazel got released from Lompoc in '77 and rejoined his former bandmates to record
Guitar Thangs, there was the inevitability that sooner or later he'd have to meet up with his replacement. There was never much word as to whether or not the two guitarists got along well. The title of the song they collaborated on, "What About It?", has a confrontational tinge to it, one that only gets more prominent when you hear how dirty the beat is: one of the best P-Funk breaks to appear on a record without the name "Parliament" or "Funkadelic" on the actual spine, it adds an unspoken "motherfucker" to the end of the question and brings tremors so heavy it's almost easy to overlook the keening, high-pitched riffs, the calls of a seagull flying over Sturgis. Most of the song's dominated by this keep-disco-evil groove, a brief minimalist Hazel solo (done twice) and the intertwined free-fall chords notwithstanding -- it's a song mostly built on the intricacies of the guitar as a rhythm instrument, and Hazel doesn't even break out the real wailing until the three-minute mark of a three-and-three-quarter-minute song. It's worth the wait. As a contrast of styles between Hazel and Hampton, it's not a big success: the guitars weave in and out from between each others' empty spaces, meshing tight and proving inseparable. But it proves that a P-Funk with both guitarists involved could've been even more out there than the group already was in the late '70s. We're talking potential 20-minute version of "(Not Just) Knee Deep", maybe. And if you want to take sides and have someone get the last laugh, if there is one: on the original record's back cover, the second guitar's credited to "Mie [sic] Hampton". All hail Smeero.
*while
Rolling Stone and
Mojo both nominated him on their 100 Greatest Guitarists lists, both publications accompanied their blurbs with pictures of... Garry Shider. Way to go.
(Click here to buy it from Amazon.)Nate Patrin is a freelance writer who has appeared in the pages of Spin, Seattle Weekly, Stereo-type, and the City Pages.
