"Some of today's hip-hop content is narrow because I think that certain things are underplayed," explains Public Enemy's Chuck D. "I mean, shit, you got to have a topic. You can't just write. I think a lot of times it's safer searching for similarity. But young people need guidance and leadership. And sometimes, when it comes to music, there is no direction. The companies are all just out for the bottom line."

More often than not, that corporate bottom line has spent an inordinate amount of time pushing sensationalist product rather than keeping Clinton's progressively political spirit in the public view. 50 Cent is just one in a long line of gangsta fairytales involving bullet holes, manhood insults and fast-lane living; he is anything but unique. Whereas, even now (but especially when it landed), Clinton's booty-movin' Mothership was more about singularity than the "similarity" that Chuck D mentions. As volatile as the music industry was when the Funk Mob were ascendant (Clinton was involved in a slew of tiresome legal battles with his labels -- and still is as of this writing), it has since become a more homogeneous environment, largely uninterested in musical history and tradition. In fact, looking back is the last thing the industry wants to do.

"Listeners don't know that they're missing history when radio stations go, 'Let's take it back to the old-school,' and play something from four years ago," says Davey D. "There's a premium on what is new and what can be marketed. Knowing your history goes against the grain of businesses that sell culture. So they make culture disposable, and the way to do that is to cut out history so there's no connection."

It is that crucial connection between not just musical histories and traditions but also disparate styles and genres that Clinton and the Funk Mob negotiated to a stunning degree. They had a knack for letting it all hang out on a record -- and especially in their mind-bending live concerts -- and were unafraid of trying something radical, if only because it had never been done before. In fact, part of Clinton's funk aesthetic was based on pushing artistry's conventional envelope; sounding like the next man was anathema to P-Funk's sense of mission. That method of constant risk and exploration can get lost in translation to newer generations, who look at Parliament's finest work on "Mothership," "Down Stroke," "Chocolate City" and other albums as one extended sample database.

"That's what a lot of this is -- really shitty rap music on top of hittin' beats," says Vincent. "Some joker will come along with a weak rhyme and get paid for taking a song that someone spent a career working their lives toward and finally got recorded. These samples come from human beings who have laid out careers blending jazz and gospel, rock and soul into this form of music that everyone wants a piece of. P-Funk knew they were building a library of sounds, songs and sensibilities; they always covered a wide range of tones and moods. George Clinton has such an expansive brain; he could take doo-wop and make it psychedelic. But 'Mothership Connection' was a moment in time when all of those high standards for great music fell into place."

It was also a moment in time when the political landscape of America was searching for alternative means of communication, different modes of expression and, most importantly, an answer from someone else besides the establishment. It is that aspect of funk's nature, and hip-hop's history, that some are worried may be ignored or forgotten by future generations.

"Political conditions brought about the music of hip-hop, but now some people just want to hear a dance beat," says Davey D. "Are they actually listening to the lyrics? Melle Mel isn't welcome. Chuck D isn't welcome. George, to a certain degree, has tried to keep himself relevant. He wrote to make every word count, but all some people can remember is his colorful hair."

Whatever they do remember, one thing seems almost certain -- it will be a very long time before an ensemble as massive, intricate, inclusive and talented as Parliament-Funkadelic will walk the earth again. As the Federal Communications Commission strives to consolidate media ownership even more than it has already, homogeneity might well be the hallmark of the next generation. That could breed an environment in which something as potent as P-Funk would never stand a chance.

It's almost impossible to imagine P-Funk arising today, says Vincent. "Someone would have to have both the vision and access to the pop industry, which is tough because they're just cycling pop stars in and out," he explains. "By the time you're 22, you're over the hill. It's going to be really tough to pull something together that puts a collective vision out; the industry is usually in control of vision, and it's not democratic in that respect. It's not democratic, period.

"But the idea that there's a transcendent vision for the world we're living in? How are you going to get that when the kids are watching the Disney Channel, the teenagers are watching MTV, and the adults are listening to the oldies stations? No one's trying to get out of their situation, they're trying to cope within it. And the music industry feels like it's losing the battle or its frame of reference. It once was a movement that opened people's eyes. They need to go buy these Parliament albums and understand that it is possible. It can be done."

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