“Never trust a big butt and a smile” BBD (1990)

I tripped over the melody and lost the beats.  I started this blog believing that time would bend to my wishes, and every waking moment would find me dribbling words and phrases down the lane, and sinking dope podcasts from well beyond the 3 pt. marker. That did not happen.  This is what really happened: I dabbled with mixes and playlists that bricked the backboard, and sang hollow notes of failure out of my headphones.  I had Michael Jordan hopes with Sam Bowie talent.

If Fall and Winter find abject laziness masquerading as “seasonal hibernation”, then Spring and Summer are the times to shake-ass and shovel off that extra set of hips we picked up between the Thanksgiving turkey and Mardi Gras King Cake.  So the soundtrack has got to be funky grooves that hint at unlimited potential to swing, shimmy, and stomp. In that spirit, the Aural Palace introduces Funk It Friday: a playlist to shrug-off the toejam of another work week slaving in the corporate field for paper pennies and wooden nickels.

From 9 to 5, Friday is about FUNKING IT! Project not finished?! Too damn bad. Contacts not made? Hey, it’ll hold. It’s Friday and we’re revisiting the absurdity of a 5/2 work/play ratio. We’re pulling out our “Wrap It Up”  clock and slamming it on the desk.  Define Friday by ONE question: How do I BLOW THIS JOINT?!?! We hit the ground running away from the terror-firma of our corporate cloaks. We’re ready to crop some hours from the workplace, and binge on gin and sin if we’re celebrating with the ignorant magic possessed by twentysomethings.

If Birthday #40 is just 365 winks away, the head-banging and club-hopping bass of the Friday night hang-out joints will only aggravate that arthritic knee we’ve complained about. “Funk” for us might need to be scaled and stripped down as to discourage unnecessary “old man in the club” escapades. We can’t “dig potatoes” and “pick tomatoes”, and we shouldn’t be trying to impress our little cousins by “doin the dougie” at the Family Reunion picnic. We might remember when Friday meant a committee meeting of  flyboys seeking manhood in rum & Coke while ladies squeeze a Burger King ass into tofu & granola-sized jeans. We were brave, stupid and shameless behind cheap liquor, funky beats, steamy rooms and the illusion of unlimited freedom known only to the young and the stuporous.  Lips lie, hands grope, pelvis to pelvis push..push…back into the memories of songs from the days of high-top fades and asymmetrical cuts, baggy jeans and rope chains.  But since flirtations with the past will never bring memories to fruition, with dignity, we should go quietly into the Electric Slide line and pray we don’t step on some brothas white patent leather gators. Well….maybe we ain’t that old, yet.

Hook up the I-pod and download the tunes. If you get too loud and people start staring, just tell ’em to Funk It!

Track List: