Bernie Worrell and the Curative Power of the Groove
I’m not inclined to think constantly about the Grim Reaper’s rock and roll registry (though the fact that he’s added David Bowie and Prince to that unwelcome guest list just months apart from one another is the height, depth, width, and breadth of crappy). We’ll all be sharing space on said list sooner or later: How we all navigate our trek to that point is what counts.
Seeing someone fight the imminent prospect of going into that good night with wisdom and grace and spirit moves me more powerfully than any fear of death ever could. And that life-affirming energy courses through Bernie Worrell, in spades.
In case you need some catch-up from last week’s preview: Worrell formed one of funk’s pillars as a founding member of Parliament-Funkadelic. He helped bring the booty-shaking to Talking Heads (and, by extension, to a whole lot of awkward white people who didn’t know a groove from a hoed row in the ground). A veritable who’s-who of collaborators have been enriched by the guy’s keyboard skills, too.
The man’s battle with Stage 4 cancer has taken a lot out of him, but he’s still in the ring swinging—in more ways than one. So it’s not surprising that the Bernie Worrell Tribute at the Nectar Lounge last Tuesday felt utterly jubilant. People onstage and in the audience threw some love (and money—this was a fundraiser for Worrell’s medical expenses) at a legit legend. Everyone in attendance also got to see, and hear, that legend get down to some seriously funky business.
Pretty much every flavor of local funk and dance music talent took center stage at some point, all proudly wearing Bernie Worrell’s influence on their sleeves. Tip to Base began the evening with hyper, finger-popping Chili-Peppers punk funk. Staxx Brothers frontman Davin Michael Stedman, the event’s organizer, served as ringmaster and court jester, throwing on his frontman’s hat as his band mashed together southern-fried rock and hard funk through a sweat-inducing set peppered with Parliament Funkadelic covers. Midday Veil busted out a brief but terrific set that ended with a playful take on Talking Heads’ “Burning Down the House.” And the glorious misfit gypsy funk machine that was Eldridge Gravy and the Court Supreme converted the Nectar into a groove hothouse for their late-night set.
Unsurprisingly, Bernie Worrell’s onstage turn at the evening’s midpoint packed the house. Restless spirit that he is, Worrell refused to rest on his laurels with a covers set, preferring to serve as co-conspirator with Khu.éex’ , the ensemble he’s been playing with for the last two years. The band’s unlikely-sounding MO—hard funk and angular jazz, seasoned with doses of native Alaskan traditional music—turned out to be revelatory. Complicated time signatures were rendered deeply danceable by bassist Preston Singletary’s and drummer Stanton Moore’s rhythm section. Local avant-garde saxophone superstar Skerik added texture and a hard groove. Chants in Tlingit by vocalists Gene Tagaban and Clarissa Rizal cast a percussive, beat-poetry edge to the music, and singer Om Jahari let fly with some sultry, knock-you-on-your-ass soulful vocal work of her own.
Throughout it all, Worrell hung out at stage left, his vintage organ and synths forming a makeshift fortress around him. He fired off licks on both with precision and soul that felt all the more astonishing given his frail appearance, and the musical and body language between him and his bandmates felt positively telepathic. Laughing and good-naturedly goading his fellow musicians, Bernie Worrell was finding strength and joy in the groove—and refracting it back at the packed house a hundredfold.
You can (and should) contribute to Bernie Worrell’s cancer fight here.
