"They say the bigger the headache the bigger the pill!" Dr. Funkenstein shouts.

And how – cominatcha directly from the Mothership – Parliament, (designed to cure ALL our ills) is the show all us loyal fans, maggotts, clones and funkateers are churnin' burnin' and turnin' ta see...

Here's a double live set, horse-pill size, designed to bring George Clinton's space rituals direct from the Los Angeles Forum and the Oakland Coliseum (both gigs in January of this year) into the privacy of your own living-room.

Space Rituals. Uh-huh! I'd never clocked that one before. Hawkwind, dont'cha see? Parliament and Hawkwind try the same thing, to bring poetry/myth/astral extravaganzas to the stage, to encompass, envelop and enkapsulate the audience in their sound, to make them fly on wings of music muscle. Only difference is, Parliament are such heavy-duty musicians that the playing carries you glidin' even through moments of zero narrative – I mean, half of side 3 is just linking material, basically William 'Bootsy' Collins' bass strutting, churning up dense waves at the bottom of the magic cauldron of sound, with Bernie Worrell's synthesiser indulging in maniac doodles that quicksilver all over the sucker...just lie back 'n' enjoy it, maggotts, its chocolate-covered freaky and habit-forming.

Jon Savage said, "It sounds like they all have such fun," Dern tootin' – fun-with-a-k; un-kut.

Go on, you tell me what other musician has constructed such a watertight, compact independent kosmos? The show begins, you step on board the Mothership Connection, and from then on in you're in a separate universe with its own passwords, chants and magick – it's all a ritual, the audience spontaneously comin' back with the correct responses –

"L.A. SING!" the Long Haired Sucker calls out –

"MAKE MY FUNK THE P-FUNK!" they all yell back –

YEEEAAAAHHHHHH!

They're all WITH HIM out there, they all know all the words and rhythms. Like it says on the press release, they were gonna call it Audience featuring Parlianient. That's because the audience have the responses so down they never miss a beat, they urge the action right on. You can hear it all. Obviously Parliament wanted their funk uncut, therefore left all the intros and build-up exactly as is, so you can feel the time-flow.

Still, that makes for a lousy introduction to the band. You've gotta be indoctrinated, a convert, to fully appreciate this romp. Then the whole of side 1, a ritual frenzy-whipping makes sense, culminating in the loony gobbledeegook litany of Parliament lingo – phrases that occur arid recur, precious moments like the audience question/anser session – e.g.

"I got one question for the long-haired sucker?".

"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah – where's the party afterwards?..."

"ON BOARD THE MOTHERSHIP!"

Skip straight to Side 2, lots of numbers from Clones Of Doctor Funkertstein, like my fave from the album, 'The Undisco Kidd (The Girl Is Bad!)' aka "move your sexy body". Obviously, the groove is more expansive than on the original record, O.K., wait for it – it's looser but tighter as well. Boy, this music patois's tough sometimes.

But there's no getting round it, they play great but sound muffled. The volume's turned up almost full. Any other record – any Parliament record especially – and I'd be deafened for good. As it is, it feels like I'm listening either through a tinny transistor doin' it to me in ma earhole OR through fourteen layer of cotton-wool. Bad news, right?

But everything I can hear sounds so funkin' great. I've just gotta imagine all those crazy spectacles Parliament create, the spaceships landing ,the outrageous feathered, furred, glittered, totally over-the-top costumes the band wears to blow the cobwebs from your mind.

Listen, it's frustrating.

For a start, this album shouldn't have been released with such poor overall sound quality. Secondly, the whole idea is to bring the carefully-worked-out spectacle to them that hasn't been able to see it, as well as a souvenir to them that have. Therefore it's obvious that the montage of pix inside the sleeve should have included crisp shots of the stage effects as the boys get down in 3-D. You can just about see the mystic pyramid with an eye on the top (as seen on US dollars) made out of quilted satin, the quilted silver motor-car, but as photo-journalism, impressionism or expressionism of a highly visual music event, it sucks.

So why am I enjoying this so much, with poor sound and not much to go on in the way of ocular stimulus?

'COS THEY ALL PLAY THE ROOF OFF THAT'S WHY.

Parliament are Funkadelic. They are also the magnetic Bootsy's Rubber Band, they are also Fired Wesley's Horny Horns. Every unit with in the unit has splintered off for solo work, because there's that level of creative energy on board the mothership. They've all got somethin' ta say on their own, and even more to say together.

Aha, the leitmotif is coming back again, the audience are getting hysterical, like they're at Lourdes, about to taste the blood and the flesh, they're all howling, "SWING DOWN SWEET CHARIOT AND LET ME RIDE".

Gospel was never like this.

Or then again, perhaps it was. Like the band say on 'Mothership Connection', where they tell ya to lay your diseased limbs on the radio 'cos "funk not only moves it can remove".
Singing gospel/blues is catharsis designed to make the miseries of life more bearable and elevate the spirit and the soul. Parliament's music fulfills the same function. Sure, the quintesseritial image is a spaceship – it's escapism, as well as movement. You can drown in funk, and as you're going down, you soar through exotic lands with strange populations. The plethora of quasi-secret passwords make Parliament fans, in effect, a Secret Society with their own initiation ceremonies, rites and secret language.

Space is their territory, funk is their vehicle, to more than music pleasure.

But if you want to join the club, don't start with this release.