The word “legend” gets overused, but make no mistake, Bootsy Collins is a legend. He cut his teeth playing bass for James Brown as a teenager. You know the bass riff on “Get Up (I Feel Like Being a) Sex Machine”? The one that bubbles up through the funk like hot tar from a vat? That’s Bootsy. Later he joined the myth-making factory of Parliament/Funkadelic and co-wrote classics like “Flash Light” and “Tear the Roof Off the Sucker (Give Up the Funk)”.
He notched some number-one records with Bootsy’s Rubber Band. You may know him as Bootzilla or Casper the Funky Ghost. The man recorded a song that’s nearly seven minutes long in which he fields questions from awe-struck fans over incessant stadium crowd noise topped off with a searing guitar rendition of “Auld Lang Syne”.
“Casper, why we can’t we see you?” one fan asks. Of all the fictions Bootsy Collins conjured through his music, this is the most implausible. Who could miss the man in the diamond-studded glasses? Some artists disappear into their music. For others, like Bootsy, music is an exhibition of the self.
Album of the Year #1 Funkateer is a celebration of Bootsy’s legacy. It’s ambitious. It swerves genres and stagnates. It wavers between nostalgia and history. It’s endearing and ribald. It’s zany and provocative and somehow still pop-conventional. Some songs are regrettable and some are good, and many are both. It’s all new material. You may feel like you’ve heard it before.
Case in point: the second track, titled “The JB’s Tribute Pastor P”, is a tribute to the JBs, the band that gave Bootsy his big break. Harry Mack, one of the most prolific freestylers on the internet, raps over the break from “Funky Drummer” and drops enough JBs trivia to fill a crossword puzzle: Clyde Stubblefield, “Mother Popcorn”, “Cold Sweat”, Catfish Collins, Fred Wesley, Jabo Starks, “Super Bad”, “Poppa’s Got a Brand New Bag”, Give it Up or Turnit a Loose”. The rhythm guitar hopping between channels is pure JBs. So are the horn solos. Mack chants “Pastor P like it used to be,” imitating the 1972 JBs jam “Pass the Peas.” Applause erupts from the pre-recorded arena.
The band is tight, and the raps are on point. The effect, though, veers close to that of a cover band, particularly the kind of stage show performance meant to entertain an audience while providing a touch of history about the music. The song seems designed to make listeners feel good about recognizing familiar names. Heartwarming, yes. Gimmicky, sure. More than anything, it sounds content. Like a successful cover band, Bootsy Collins and his crew offer impressive musicianship and light-hearted fun, but little substance save nostalgia.
#1 Funkateer fumbles through a grab-bag of genres. “The Influencers” is a mess of guest features. After opening the track with some cringeworthy babble about being a vegetarian “in heat”, Bootsy grants vocal duties to Snoop Dogg, Dave Stewart, Fantaazma, and Wiz Khalifa. The result is a kitchen-sink affair with little flavor to show for the royalty splits.
“Bubble Pop” is a by-the-numbers pop song with a forgettable Ice Cube verse. “I.AM.AI” is an awkward turntablist exercise that tries to convey a warning about the dangers of artificial intelligence. Bootsy makes an earnest attempt at space-age classic-rock lyricism on “Satellite”. The result is this: “As the trees reach their hands to the heavens / And the watchman began to stare / I saw the two rainbows laying across the highway / And, uh, I cannot stare.”
“Barbie T & Me (Tribute to Buckethead)” is heavy metal guitar noodling set to a hip-hop beat. Bootsy mumbles nonsense in the background, happening on a fitting summation of the song’s insignificance: “Some frizzle, some frazzle, some razzle dazzle.”
Some tracks work well. “Hondo P” summons the sounds of P-Funk and features some first-rate Snoop Dogg verses. “Reach the Zone” achieves R&B bliss, with Bootsy’s vocal contributions adding a satisfying warmth to the aural equivalent of a backstage sauna. There are several serviceable slow jams.
The album is a hodge-podge, but a few qualities lend it a sense of cohesion. There’s the pristine digital production quality. There’s Bootsy’s knack for churning out funky basslines. There’s his japing and jive-talking, always delivered with the same signature lilt. Bootsy lays the persona on thick throughout the album. Sometimes it’s tedious, other times he comes off as mythologically cool.
#1 Funkateer may celebrate Booty Collins’ legacy, but it won’t add or subtract from that legacy. The prolific bassist in the bedazzled top hat earned the clout to dork around in the studio without losing fans. Kudos to him for continuing to experiment 30 years after releasing a greatest hits compilation titled Back in the Day. He has nothing to prove. In a world where the careers of pop stars seem to be carefully crafted by meticulous PR teams, it’s refreshing to come across an album that at least appears to have been released for fun. Let’s not knock him for it. At this stage in his career, Bootsy deserves his hardcore jollies.