Bootsy Collins

Bootsy's Rubber Band was the most entertaining and longest-running spin-off of George Clinton's eternal P-Funk circus, and that's because Bootsy is a true star, the clown prince of comic, psychedelic, good-times funk -- if he weren't such a genius of the bass, you'd think he was Jimmie Walker in a sequined costume, star-shaped mirrored shades included. His career is like a Horatio Alger story based in Chocolate City: Plucked from teenage obscurity in 1969 to play with James Brown, the former William Collins of Cincinnati brought a slap-happy zest to JB's sound, then hooked up with Clinton and was reborn in his image, with a little help from LSD.

The groove flows free on a string of six albums for Warner Bros. from 1976 to 1982 (of which four remain in print), with Bootsy ably leading a top-notch band of mostly P-Funk vets, including his brother Catfish Collins on guitar, Bernie Worrell on keyboards, and a horn section including Fred Wesley and Maceo Parker. Though Clinton produced the albums and cowrote most of the material, Bootsy emerges as a character all his own. At first he's "Casper" ("not the friendly ghost/but the holy ghost"), the benevolent black spirit that was his alter ego in P-Funk. But before long his personae grow so numerous -- like Bootzilla, the funkiest wind-up toy on the market, "equipped with stereophonic funk-producin', disco-inducin', twin-magnetic rump receptors" -- that he's simply Bootsy, an indefinable.

The flash and goofiness can obscure Bootsy's formidable chops, as well as the quality of the songwriting. Clinton let some gems get away, like Stretchin' Out's impossibly sweet "I'd Rather Be With You" and the second album's "The Pinocchio Theory" ("don't fake the funk or your nose will grow"). The melodies are smooth and rich, and Bootsy's bass admirably unobtrusive; unlike some P-Funk discs from this period, the sound is focused and uncluttered, more akin to carefree disco than Clinton's utopian head trip.

The '80s were a transitional time for Collins. As disco died, he sought to modernize his groove with Ultra Wave and, after a hiatus of several years, the hip-hop-influenced What's Bootsy Doin'?, which was one of the first of many collaborations with bassist and avant-ish producer Bill Laswell. One of them, Zillatron (others are Praxis and Axiom Funk), has Bootsy assuming the monstrous guise of Fuzzface and muttering nonsense through a distorted microphone. Not quite as amusing as his Bootzilla adventures, although it does take Clinton's "space funk" concept to a new level of some sort.

As the '90s dawned, Bootsy was happily trading in nostalgia. After his appearance on Deee-Lite's 1990 party anthem "Groove Is in the Heart" put him back in the public eye, he established a New Rubber Band (with Catfish, Worrell, and some other holdovers) and hit the studio. Blasters of the Universe, a double that needn't be a double, finds him back in his grand '70s game with disco ballads and spunky crowd-rousers. The live Keepin' Dah Funk Alive (another double) is his standard set: 75 percent oldies from the Stretchin' Out era, 20 percent P-Funk faves ("One Nation Under a Groove," "Night of the Thumpasorus Peoples"), and maybe something recorded past 1979, if he's feeling frisky. Bootsy's later albums are quickies involving a lot of wide-eyed guest stars (Snoop Dogg, Fat Boy Slim, Fat Joe), but they keep him on the road, where he belongs.

Despite impressive packaging (including a Bootsy pop-up centerfold) on the Glory B two-disc set, the leaner and more selective Back in the Day is the Bootsy anthology of choice. The blistering live take on "Psychoticbumpschool" is worth the sticker price alone. (BEN SISARIO)

From 2004's The New Rolling Stone Album Guide