Unveiling 'Cosmic Slop': Parliament-Funkadelic's Underestimated Gem

Delving into the vibrant complexities of one of Funkadelic's most underrecognized albums.

George Clinton, accompanied by Parliament-Funkadelic, is noted for seminal albums such as Mothership Connection and One Nation Under a Groove. Nonetheless, the less appreciated Cosmic Slop deserves praise when the collective’s chronicles are eventually penned. A vivid recall that it was the year 1970 when Clinton conceived Funkadelic as a potent, groove-oriented group rooted in blues and rock, firing off twisted beats propelled by equal measures of THC and LSD.

Half a century since its debut, Cosmic Slop remains prominent in the group’s musical arsenal, constituting an unnerving amalgamation of funk and other elements. The album’s mood oscillates from electrified gallows humor to navigating through a dismal emotional morass. The transition between these disparate moods is so skilfully accomplished that the drastic shifts appear subtle to the average listener.

Sexuality is Cosmic Slop’s crux, compared to much of the Clinton-led discography. Yet the album leans toward the obscure aspects accompanying the physical act. This could result in heartache, dishonor, or, often, it becomes the root cause of misery.

Two vital components were brought into the Funkadelic blend through Cosmic Slop. The first being singer/guitarist Garry Shider, the “Diaper Ma” hailing from New Jersey, recognized for his sharp falsetto that served as a counterbalance to the deep vocals of singers like Calvin Simon. The second addition, providing a crucial visual aspect to the collective, was the first gate-fold cover art by Pedro Bell for Cosmic Slop. Bell’s convoluted, erotically intense, and simultaneously unsettling illustrations and liner notes were deeply intertwined with the group’s vision.

Cosmic Slop generally partitions into two categories: structured songs or lengthy improvised sessions. The latter often features either funk or rock-based beats, with Clinton’s spoken word performances sporadically providing lyrics. In “Nappy Dugout,” the funk broadly speaks for itself. The guitar-driven rolling groove renders the song as accessible as any on the LP, interspersed with spirited percussion echoing duck calls and whistles.

Clinton and his cohorts display a softer side on one of the group’s more somber albums with “No Compute,” a spicy tale of sexual pursuit and the ensuing remorse. Accompanied by gentler guitar grooves, Clinton narrates a story of a sexually charged dream, the quest for a partner, and the unfortunate outcome.

The LP’s seventh track, “Trash A-Go-Go,” features a hard rock vamp spanning two and a half minutes, narrating the tale of a hustler standing trial before an unsympathetic judge and jury. The tune initiates with a robust drum introduction, transitioning to intense funky guitars, as the powerless narrator pleas innocence and questions societal norms.

The narrative veers towards darker terrain with “March to the Witch’s Castle,” a tune about Vietnam War veterans. As described in Clinton's memoir, “Brother Be, Yo Like George, Ain’t That Funkin’ Kinda Hard On You,” the national mindset shifted post-Vietnam, and Funkadelic responded in kind. Clinton utilizes profound vocal distortion studio techniques to narrate the story of 591 war prisoners returning to the United States on February 12, 1973, following “Operation Homecoming.” He paints a picture of the struggles faced by those left shattered, adrift, drug-addicted, and disillusioned. The melancholy guitars effectively convey a sense of despair and loss of hope.

Most conventionally structured songs on the album concern love, primarily its loss and occasional sacrifices made for it. The tune “You Can’t Miss What You Can’t Measure” is a cheery composition about managing life post-breakup. Some playful imagery is present, including “turning green from being blue” and a house flooded with teardrops, but the tune eloquently encapsulates the emotionally draining experience of loneliness. “This Broken Heart” is a funky yet sorrowful take on a doo-wop song by The Sonics, distinguished by Bernie Worrell’s dominating towering strings, lending the song an exquisite quality.

Cosmic Slop culminates with its title track, arguably one of the most excellent Funkadelic compositions. It’s a complex, proto-heavy metal tune brimming with despair. Through a remarkable vocal display, Shider narrates the tale of a poverty-stricken single mother of five who makes personal sacrifices, including selling her body to provide for her family. He effectively conveys the mother's anguish from the perspective of one of her sons.

In a particularly poignant section, Shider illustrates the mother’s nocturnal pleas for forgiveness, praying, “Father, Father it’s for the kids / Any, and everything I did / Please, please don't judge me too strong / Lord knows I meant no wrong.” The recurring refrain “I can hear my mother call…” reverberates throughout the song, intensified by Shider and Ron Bykowski's guitar wails and thunderous percussion.

The album concludes with “Can't Stand the Strain,” a quasi-prequel to “You Can't Miss What You Can't Measure.” The song encapsulates witnessing love slip away, being helpless to prevent it, and clueless about the cause. Shider passionately sings, “I'm losing you, I don't know why, tell me what can I do / I don’t want to say anything, just to hold on to you,” implying his inability to endure a break-up.