“Standing on the Verge of Getting it On” by Funkadelic

It’s the 50th anniversary of one of the most gonzo funk-rock hybrids ever recorded.

Few albums from the 1970s are as gloriously unhinged as Funkadelic’s Standing On The Verge Of Getting It On. Even compared to the group’s previous efforts, including the all-time funk-rock opus Maggot Brain, it’s clear that everyone involved knew how crazy they were getting on these tracks and, instead of trying to temper any of that gonzo spirit, decided to turn it up to 11. You can certainly make the case that this record was also a soft course correction after 1973’s Cosmic Slop, a record George Clinton made with only five Funkadelic regulars, none of them named Eddie Hazel (more on him in a second). That’s not to say Slop has no redeeming qualities—far from it. But, if you play that LP and this one back to back, the bite lacking on the former is striking.

Even in its more subdued moments, like the winding, psychedelic ballad “I’ll Stay,” there’s a lot going on. Hazel, who’s routinely underrated on big, dumb lists of the guitarists ever (seriously, as much as I love her, St. Vincent should not be ranked higher than him), takes center stage melodically, driving the band with fiery, fuzzed-out riffs and solo work that are among the best of his career. I’m unsure how many guitarists could pull off buzzsaws like “Alice in My Fantasies” and funky stompers like the irresistible title track with the level of panache Hazel showcases here. Standing may also feature the tightest rhythm section Funkadelic ever assembled in a recording studio. Led by the excellent bass playing of Boogie Mosson, they’re the unsung heroes of this album, grounding the zaniness in enough R&B tropes to prevent the music from spinning out into full-blown chaos (think the ending ofTwister).

Finally, let’s not forget about Clinton, who’s still the mastermind pushing the right buttons at the right time. Credited as the sole producer and one of only three writers, his vision of unfiltered, unimaginable fun seeps into every crack and crevice of this masterpiece.

Long live the P-funk energy, am I right?