Anniversaries: Stone Jam by Slave
The album’s title couldn’t be more appropriate: this was a stone-cold jam, set in stone for posterity, and it continues to shine as a gem of funk music.
By 1980, funk music stood at a crossroads. On one side were the raw, sweat-drenched grooves of Parliament-Funkadelic and Rick James—explosively chaotic, bass-heavy jams that dripped with grit and attitude. On the other side, a smoother, sleeker strain was emerging in the polished funk of Chic, Rufus & Chaka Khan, and Teena Marie—records with tight arrangements, glossy production, and a crossover appeal to R&B and disco audiences. It was an era when bands had to decide whether to double down on uncut funk or embrace the new post-disco sophistication. The Dayton, Ohio outfit Slave found itself straddling that divide. Renowned in the late ‘70s for hard-driving funk workouts (their 1977 debut produced the hit “Slide”), Slave was known for heavy funk—all popping bass lines, blazing horns, and extended jams. But as the new decade dawned, the band’s sound evolved. Their fifth album, Stone Jam (released late 1980), captures that evolution in full effect: it’s the moment Slave managed to embody both the earthy, unfiltered funk of their roots and the silky, melodic groove that would define early ‘80s R&B.
Stone Jam arrived at a perfect time for the group. It would become their highest-charting album since their debut and the second Slave LP to earn an RIAA Gold certification. The record was produced by Jimmy “The Senator” Douglass alongside band founder Steve Washington, and it marked the end of an era—Stone Jam was the final album to feature Washington as part of the lineup. By this point, creative leadership within Slave was gradually shifting. Drummer Steve Arrington, who had joined a few years earlier, was stepping into the spotlight as a frontman. His joyous, gospel-honed vocals and rhythmic sensibilities injected a new energy into Slave’s music. On Stone Jam, Arrington took on far more lead vocal duties than ever before, and his charisma behind the mic—combined with the sultry voice of Starleana Young, the band’s female vocalist—proved to be a magic formula for crossover success. Arrington and Young’s vocal interplay gave Stone Jam much of its character and helped drive the album’s broad appeal beyond hardcore funk circles. This was still undoubtedly a funk record, but with a newly refined touch that made it sing in more ways than one.
From the first moments of the opening track “Let’s Spend Some Time,” it’s clear that Slave has expanded its palette. A sultry keyboard swell introduces the song, setting a mellow, late-night mood—but soon a growling bassline kicks in, joined by scratchy rhythm guitar and the steady pulse of drums. Then Starleana Young’s voice enters, and it’s dynamite: she turns the simple invitation of the lyrics into a showcase of vocal prowess. Young uses her voice like an instrument, belting powerfully one moment and dropping to a seductive whisper the next, sliding effortlessly through the melody’s ups and downs. She even holds big notes for dramatic effect before easing back, teasing the listener with dynamic shifts. It’s a performance that oozes confidence and sensuality—a brilliant demonstration of her vocal dexterity. In many ways, “Let’s Spend Some Time” (a romantic mid-tempo groove about seizing the moment with a lover) announces Slave’s new direction. The song blends a street-funk rhythm section (Mark Adams’s bass is already rumbling with that trademark Dayton “growl”) with a smooth melodic sensibility. It’s funky enough to move your feet, yet polished enough to charm radio DJs looking for the next Chic-style R&B hit.
Flowing seamlessly out of that opener comes “Feel My Love,” which keeps the mellow-funk vibe rolling. The lead vocals shift to Steve Arrington, whose tenor is warm and inviting. Over a steady, head-nodding rhythm and glistening keyboard chords, Arrington serenades the object of his affection, delivering the verses with an easygoing sway. The arrangement adds hushed horn interjections in the background—subtle accents that never overpower the groove. There’s a playful call-and-response happening too: Arrington sings a line and the backing vocalists (including Starleana) echo or answer him, as if carrying on an intimate conversation in the song. It’s a straightforward celebration of love’s delight—“Feel my love/around you,” the chorus urges, wrapped in harmony. Arrington, the drummer, makes his presence felt as well: the groove momentarily breaks down, and he executes some of his signature stop-start rhythms, briefly shifting from slow to fast and back, punctuating the song with deft little fills. It’s the kind of nuanced playing that gives Slave’s music extra depth—a reminder that beneath the glossy surface, these are seasoned funk musicians keeping things unpredictable. Bassist Mark Adams holds the bottom down with a bubbling bass line that almost seems to chase Arrington’s beat, creating a delicious tension as if the groove is so hot the band can barely contain it.
By the third track, “Starting Over,” Slave downshifts into true ballad territory. Atmospheric synth pads fade in and out, and a laid-back rhythm section establishes a slow, swaying tempo. This is a tender love song about renewing a relationship, and the spotlight is squarely on the vocals. Arrington and Young engage in a delicate vocal dance throughout the song. Starleana reaches deep, unleashing the full strength of her soulful voice in emotive lines that convey heartbreak and hope, while Arrington complements her with gentler, reassuring tones. Their voices intertwine in harmony on the chorus, almost like two lovers slow-dancing and finding their footing together again. It’s a far cry from the fiery funk jams of Slave’s early days—“Starting Over” floats more than it grooves—yet the soulfulness in the performance keeps it connected to the band’s roots in R&B. The presence of live drums and bass, however restrained, ensures the track still swings softly. At this point, one might be wondering: has Slave gone entirely soft? Are the “Stone Jam” promised by the album title and the band’s own rep for hardcore funk going to show up?
That question is answered with an emphatic yes as soon as track four, “Sizzlin’ Hot,” kicks in. This song is pure funk fire, a hard-driving jam that harks back to Slave’s earlier albums. After the string of smooth love songs, “Sizzlin’ Hot” arrives like a jolt of adrenaline. The groove is faster and grittier, built on a popping bass riff and snappy drum breaks. Horns (or synthesizers mimicking horns) stab accents around the beat, guitar licks sizzle, and the band locks into an extended instrumental workout. There are vocals—Arrington lends his voice to the track—but “Sizzlin’ Hot” is less about verses and choruses and more about the groove itself. It feels loosely structured, leaving plenty of room for improvisation and for each player to strut their stuff. In fact, on the original vinyl LP, “Sizzlin’ Hot” closed side one, essentially as a climax to all the building energy. One can imagine the musicians in the studio just feeling this one out, feeding off each other’s funkiness. The track’s title is no exaggeration: it’s a red-hot jam that nods explicitly to Slave’s gritty roots, reminding long-time fans that even with new polish, the band can still get down and dirty.
Side two of Stone Jam opens with the group’s biggest hit from the album, the irresistibly catchy “Watching You.” If “Sizzlin’ Hot” was all about raw power, “Watching You” is a study in controlled funk and crossover appeal. The intro keeps it simple: a crisp guitar flick, handclaps on the backbeat, and a four-note bass figure to set the groove. Instantly, it locks you in. The vibe is playful and infectious, radiating a sunny optimism that practically smells like a summer block party. Steve Arrington retakes the lead here, and he delivers one of his most engaging vocal performances on the album. “Watching You” is flirtation set to music—the singer details his infatuation with a beautiful woman on the dancefloor, confessing how he’s been eyeing her and dreaming of winning her over.
Arrington plays the role with charm and versatility: one moment he’s the smooth operator cooing flattering lines, the next he’s almost boastful and cocky, then genuinely earnest and vulnerable. He even pushes his voice to its upper limits on some lines, straining with passion, then dips into a lower, spoken cadence that’s on the verge of rapping. (In fact, there are moments in “Watching You” where Arrington half-chants the lyrics in a rhythmic patter that foreshadows how hip-hop would soon blend with funk.) The chorus is a killer hook—unforgettable but straightforward—and it’s delivered in tight unison by the band: “I’m watching you,” they sing, making eavesdroppers of us all. It’s easy to see why this track crossed over from R&B charts to the pop listings; in early 1981, “Watching You” sailed up to #6 on Billboard’s Soul chart and even cracked the Hot 100.
After the exuberance of “Watching You,” the album eases back into a more ethereal zone with “Dreamin’.” True to its title, this song has a dreamy, futuristic vibe, almost like a quiet storm track riding a funk undercurrent. It lifts off with smooth, swirling synth chords and a “trippy” bass-and-drum pattern that builds gradually, as if ascending into the clouds. The groove here isn’t as immediately hooky as “Watching You,” but it’s hypnotic—the bass pulses in a rolling pattern (some listeners note it’s reminiscent of an airplane engine warming up) while the drums keep a relaxed, head-nodding beat. Over this atmospheric foundation, Arrington and Young lay down more subdued vocals. They’re not belting or trading lines with urgency now; instead, their singing is gentle, almost reassuring, as they invite the listener into the song’s mellow space. “Dreamin’” has an inviting chorus that soothes, and the overall effect is like floating. It’s the kind of track that might not seize your attention immediately, but a few minutes in, you realize you’re swaying along, enveloped by its warmth.
“Never Get Away” continues in the vein of “Dreamin’,” riding the same laid-back, late-night groove. If “Dreamin’” took us above the clouds, “Never Get Away” keeps us cruising at altitude. The track brings the vocals slightly forward again—the singers come in stronger here, with Arrington giving a spirited performance about a love so magnetic you “never get away” from it. The rhythm section maintains that sleek, mid-tempo funk feel, and by now the consistency of Stone Jam’s sound is evident: this album is consistently melodic and addictive in its grooves. Even the more low-key cuts are polished to a sheen and built around memorable hooks or basslines. It’s worth noting how well the band plays as a unit on these songs—the guitar riffs are tasteful and never intrusive, the keyboards accentuate the harmony, and the bass/drums remain locked in sync. Slave’s ability to exercise restraint and focus on tight songwriting is one of their secret weapons; as one retrospective review observed, the group’s compositions stay fresh and never over-indulgent, yielding funky yet radio-friendly results. Indeed, Stone Jam illustrates that funk can be refined without losing its soul—a lesson many of Slave’s contemporaries were also learning at the dawn of the ‘80s.
Fittingly, the album ends with its title track, “Stone Jam,” and it’s here that Slave pulls everything together in one grand finale. Running nearly seven minutes, “Stone Jam” is an extended funk excursion that does exactly what the title implies: it jams. The track opens with a solid groove and then just builds and builds, layering elements from all across Slave’s sonic palette. There’s a bit of everything: the hard-driving bass and drum interplay harkens back to the band’s early funk thunder, the horn lines and keyboard solos nod to their love of improvisational jamming, and the vocal chants give it an anthemic party feel. It’s mostly an instrumental showcase—the singing here is minimal, used more for color and hype (the band chants the phrase “Stone Jam” as a rallying cry)—which makes it the spiritual cousin of classic P-Funk workouts or the Ohio Players’ old jams. About halfway through, there are some twists and turns: breakdowns where the percussion percolates on its own, moments where the bass grooves alone, and sections where the whole band hits accents in unison like a well-drilled funk orchestra.
Taken as a whole, Stone Jam stands as a turning point in Slave’s catalog—a perfect equilibrium between where the band had been and where they were headed. The album strikes a fine balance, blending the tough, brassy funk foundation laid by the band’s original members with the fresh, inventive touches brought by Arrington’s leadership and Young’s vocal firepower. Many of the ideas explored on the prior album (Just a Touch of Love, 1979)—like tighter song structures and pop-inflected melodies—were honed to perfection on Stone Jam, resulting in a more fully realized and finely polished product. Crucially, though, Slave didn’t polish away their identity. The grit is still there, just under the waxed surface. A contemporary reviewer, Alex Henderson, later noted that while earlier Slave albums were 100% hardcore funk, Stone Jam largely embraces a more sophisticated approach—yet that “sleeker” style is every bit as appealing as the aggressive workouts of old. You can put it on to get a party moving (the dancefloor-ready cuts will “stone cold” satisfy any funkateer), or you can savor it in headphones and appreciate the songcraft and soulful vocals.
The public clearly appreciated what Slave accomplished with Stone Jam. The album climbed to #5 on the R&B album chart and even breached the Top 60 on the pop album chart, an impressive showing for a funk band that had been considered pretty “underground” a few years prior. It ended up among the top 10 soul albums of 1981 by year’s end, fueled by the success of its singles. Beyond the charts, Stone Jam earned the group a legion of new fans and became their most enduring classic. Years later, in interviews, hip-hop turntablist Jam-Master Jay of Run-D.M.C. would cite Stone Jam as one of his all-time favorite albums, and it’s not hard to see why—the album’s combination of complex grooves and tight hooks laid a blueprint for the funk-infused hip-hop beats of the ’80s and ’90s. The influence can be heard directly: as mentioned, Snoop Dogg borrowed from “Watching You” for “Gin and Juice” and again in 2004 for “Let’s Get Blown,” bringing Slave’s funk to new generations of listeners. Countless R&B and funk enthusiasts rank Stone Jam among the essential albums of the era, and some even argue it’s one of the greatest funk albums ever made. Its appeal is enduring because it captures that transitional moment in Black music—when the raw funk of the ‘70s was being distilled into the slick grooves of the ’80s—with authenticity and flair.
Its grooves continue to light up dancefloors at funk nights and old-school reunion parties, while its smoother cuts have become staples on “Quiet Storm” playlists and R&B radio throwback segments. The album’s enduring popularity underscores how well Slave achieved their mission of bridging the two paths of funk. The oldies who crave the raw, uncut funk can cue up “Sizzlin’ Hot” or the title jam and get loose, while those in the mood for something more melodic and romantic can drop the needle on “Watching You” or “Let’s Spend Some Time” and be instantly satisfied. Few albums manage to serve these different moods without losing cohesion, but Stone Jam does it effortlessly. Credit is due not just to Arrington and Young—whose vocal chemistry and energy are the album’s driving force—but to the entire band for playing with such tasteful balance. Mark Adams’s bass lines, in particular, deserve a shout: his gritty, growling bass tone is all over this record, providing a solid funk backbone even in the sleekest tunes. The guitarists (Mark Hicks and Danny Webster) and keyboardist (Ray Turner) lay down funky riffs and chords with economy, never overshadowing the vocals, and the presence of horn players adds that extra punch when needed.
You can hear its echoes in the West Coast G-funk of the ‘90s (which cherished those mellow synth-funk vibes), in the neo-funk revivalists of the 2000s and 2010s who cite bands like Slave as inspiration, and in any modern R&B ensemble that tries to strike the balance between tight funk grooves and smooth soul appeal. For Slave themselves, Stone Jam was a high-water mark they’d only partially replicate; the following year’s Show Time album continued the evolution with an even more stripped-down 80s funk approach, but by then several original members had departed, and Steve Arrington would leave soon after to pursue a solo career. Stone Jam thus remains the last moment where all the classic elements of Slave were together on one record: the old guard and the new blood, jamming in harmony. It captures a band at the peak of its powers and at the crossroads of an entire genre. Stone Jam is the sound of a funk band confidently walking a tightrope—with the funk’s past on one side and its future on the other—and absolutely owning it. The album’s title couldn’t be more appropriate: this was a stone-cold jam, set in stone for posterity, and it continues to shine as a gem of funk music.