#415: The Meters, ‘Looka Py Py’
JOSIE, 1969
I am at an interesting intersection in my life right now. I don’t know if it is a crossroads or a fork in the road, or even if all of those things are just synonyms. Either way, I am at a strange point. I am working more than I have in a couple of years – teaching creative writing, freelancing, and finishing a book proposal. I am fulfilled in my career, but it is all taking place on a shaky stage that I don’t think can hold up under the pressure of our political world.
Most of my students are Hispanic and are either in the midst or on the edge of ICE-inflicted trauma as more family members go missing. I don’t know how long journalism will last in this country. Are we all just cosplaying as the community dissolves and our autonomy is crushed?
I don’t want to write about Funk music right now. I don’t want to write anything right now.
I make my students write every single day, even when they don’t want to. I promise them that there is value in putting their feelings on paper. I will follow that advice and pray that after about 450 typed words, I will feel a bit of a release.
As one does when they have nothing to say about something, I started looking up definitions. I looked up the definition of Funk. The internet gave me many definitions - that of the musical genre, the definition of the smell (that smells funky), and the state of mind of funk (I am in a funk today).
Even though we are all here for the music, the definition that made me pause and smile was the one about the state of mind.
SO let’s talk about me for a moment. I am in a funk. I think we are all in a funk.
International news is horrific and apocalyptic. National news is disheartening and mirrors the histories of every democracy turned dictatorship. Personal news is full of the demolishing of marriages and families due to emotional and physical affairs and the justification of moral relativity of deeply selfish people. Work news is a very real risk to the demise of family units because of ICE.
We are in a funk. A deep, deep funk.
Looking at the date of this album’s release, America was in a deep, deep funk that year, too. 1969. This was supposedly the year everything changed with the hippies, Woodstock, the first moon landing, Nixon was inaugurated as president, the Stonewall riots kicked off the modern gay rights movement, and the Manson family murdered people. It was a lot. Talk about funky.
Oh! And this album was released, marking the moment that funk became funk.
The Meters all met in the 13th Ward in New Orleans. They perfected their groove on Bourbon Street, infusing jazz, 2nd line vibe, and horns. They also kept their sound minimal, encouraging a driving bass line.
They quickly became musicians’ musicians and can easily claim their impact and influence on funk as being as powerful as James Brown’s. The band was eventually invited to perform at album release parties by The Beatles and Led Zeppelin. The big guys loved ‘em! Yet, they are not considered when we laymen talk about how funk came to be.
If you look up The Meters on YouTube, there isn’t much to see. There are a few videos of founding members of The Meters in guitar shops talking about specific songs. There are a ton of videos of musicians teaching other musicians certain Meters’ bass lines, but no one is really making movies about them or lore about their legacy, the way we do about James Brown.
The Meters matter even if the general public does not recognize them. Does widespread recognition matter? Or does it only matter who is remembering you? Is this a matter of popularity versus quality? Being forgotten doesn’t mean you were unimportant. But it still stings.
They created a groove that everyone borrows. They created a vibe that redirected pop music towards R&B. That’s what they made their funk do. They changed the bubblegum into a full-blown bowl of gumbo.