Brisbane's The Fortitude Music Hall is humming before a single note is played, punters migrating in and buzzing with that pre-funk energy that feels half house party, half religious rite.
You can distinctly smell beer and weed mixed with the sweat of bodies who rushed to get here for the opening (18 September).
First up, Wellington's own Drax Project are stepping in. The Draxies bounce onstage like they're still busking on Cuba Street, just with a proper light rig and sound system behind them that they're probably used to by now with all the touring they've been doing.
They open a tad early, but with a blast of buoyant beats. Straight away the Music Hall's floor is moving, people clapping along and yelling back choruses they're learning on the spot like true punter pros. By the time two more hit us sweet, stripped back, raw and sweaty, they've recruited a mini choir.
Shaan Singh (vocals, saxophone) flicks between crooning and honking his horn like he's leading a marching band, strutting laps between Ben O'Leary (guitar) and Sam Thomson (bass) who slide between jazz licks and pop hooks, locking in tight and pushing it forward.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch – err back of the band – Matt Beachen (drums) pounds out beats that shake the froth on our beers. We get confirmation of the origins of the band name – they started out as a two-piece busker act with drums and sax. . . yup drax.
Drax Project - image © Clea-marie Thorne
To back up their story, they jam through their old street-mash style giving us a taste of their roots with 'Sock It To Me / Higher Ground / Still D.R.E. / Crazy', Singh dragging everyone along with that sax like the pied piper of funk-pop.
By the end of their own banger 'All This Time', the Draxies have won over this eclectic Brisbane mob who you can feel loosening up and are primed for whatever Clinton is about to bring.
After a short changeover, the lights drop, smoke creeps, and suddenly musicians and other vocalists proudly take their places all over the stage. When I say all over, I mean it – there's about 12 players onstage!
George Clinton & Parliament-Funkadelic - image © Clea-marie Thorne
Then out he comes to a roar! George Clinton wearing his gold captain's hat, black and silver trippy spiralised pants and mirror-tiled zip-through vest left open to show his George Clinton Funky Maggot Brain tee.
Those pants are sucking you into another dimension. The bloke looks like a cosmic pirate, idolised from the pit like a prophet of funk. Damn!
The band? A collective of casual dress, smart drapes and someone tottering out in platform heels with barely anything else on, busting jive moves that could floor a lesser mortal. Fit!
Clinton barely has to lift a hand before the whole room is moving, bodies surrendering to 'Good Old Music' as it kicks it off. The groove locks us in and the blood of the masses is pumping through veins in time to the jam.
George Clinton & Parliament-Funkadelic - image © Clea-marie Thorne
A guy behind me doesn't care what the opener is, he just keeps screaming "sh.t, goddamn, get off your ass and jam!" I think he's been waiting to cut that line loose. Maybe it's the only song he knows, as I hear it again during their next marathon song 'Cosmic Slop'.
The backup singers bounce on one side, the horns stab like brass knives on the other, flanking the seat Clinton has for momentary respite. Oh boy, the rhythm section is rattling ribcages, punters pulling stank faces like they've just bitten into a lemon soaked in backyard tequila.
'(Not Just) Knee Deep' has the whole joint grinding, stomping, throwing arms up. Clinton barks instructions, coming down to the front of the stage with his duo vocalist, telling us to get our asses in gear, and we shout it back.
George Clinton & Parliament-Funkadelic - image © Clea-marie Thorne
'One Nation Under A Groove / Flashlight' detonates next and suddenly it's a sweaty disco on steroids. If there wasn't the threat that security might throw them out, I reckon it'd be shirts off; but for now, it's just beers in the air and everyone stomping like they've lost control of their limbs.
The Fortitude's floor is shaking; not sure if the seated folk upstairs are bouncing in their chairs, but I'd be surprised if there aren't.
The funk engine is running hot, horns stabbing and basslines sliding. Clinton stands with arms wide, the crowd treating him like a high priest of groove, the band dropping into an unknown cut that has the whole floor sliding – one of those groove-haze moments where I stop even pretending to take notes.
George Clinton & Parliament-Funkadelic - image © Clea-marie Thorne
I couldn't tell you what the track was, because the mothership had fully taken hold, bodies pressed together, arms in the air, faces glassy-eyed like Clinton himself was baptising us in funk.
'Meow Meow' tears through next as two kittie hand-puppets make an appearance while Clinton lets the new generation take centre stage; he sits back on his stool, grinning like a proud uncle.
Another deep cut follows – again I'm lost in the trance, punters pointing at Clinton like he's some divine apparition, the crowd chanting as if the song itself is being dragged out of them rather than sung back.
George Clinton & Parliament-Funkadelic - image © Clea-marie Thorne
I remember why I am here: 'I'd Rather Be With You' slides in silky and sweet, couples swaying, arms linked. Then comes 'Aqua Boogie (A Psychoalphadiscobetabioaquadoloop)', splashing the room with the most ridiculous funk tongue-twister ever written. Nobody cares about pronouncing it right, everyone's simply riding the pulse.
'Up For The Down Stroke' keeps it rolling, then 'Wake Up' slams us all back into call-and-response mayhem. Oh it is delicious.
Then comes the moment – 'Maggot Brain'. Smoke thickens (half machine, half audience supply), as that guitar solo slices straight into hearts. A few punters here and there are swaying with phones in the air, glassy-eyed and grinning, until the bass drum thunders back in and we're all yanked straight back into the pit.
George Clinton & Parliament-Funkadelic - image © Clea-marie Thorne
Ok here's the twist up, a surprise 'Jump Around' House Of Pain cover, and the generational divide is showing – kids bouncing like pogo sticks, old heads waving arms because the knees don't allow that sh.t anymore. George even spits bars, and the younger crew onstage – the so-called 3GP – are throwing hip hop and go-go grooves into the mix like funk never stopped evolving.
We get some musician introductions including Kevin Oliver (guitar) who gives us a squealing solo and Danny Bedrosian (keys) who raises his keyboard like he's about to smash it, but instead smashes out a short solo.
A blistering medley closes out the gig, with a drum solo by Benjamin 'Benzel' Cowan thrown in for our pleasure. 'Give Up The Funk (Tear The Roof Off The Sucker) / Atomic Dog / Drum Solo / Atomic Dog'.
George Clinton & Parliament-Funkadelic - image © Clea-marie Thorne
Of course, 'Atomic Dog' detonates the place both times. That vocal hook – "bow wow wow yippie yo yippie yay" – has the entire Fortitude barking it back like we've all lost the plot. "Why must I feel like that? Why must I chase the cat? Nothing but the dawg in me." My Prince dog-catcher moves have just been liberated. I'm going to feel it tomorrow!
Beers are being spilled but no one cares, Clinton's back on his feet, grinning like a man who knows he's still running the funkiest cult alive. Two and a bit hours later, the band has shown they can still deliver in overdrive, pumping classics and jams without ever letting the funk engine cool. It's sweaty, filthy, euphoric.
We stagger out onto Brunswick Street hoarse, knees aching, ears ringing, and smelling like we've been rolled in a mix of sweat, smoke, and spilled beer. Clinton said it best: "Ain't no party like a P-Funk party, 'cause a P-Funk party don't stop!" Tonight at the Fortitude is proof.
More photos from the concert.
