| Monday, December 08, 2008 | | · | 313 Jac Closes | | · | Charlene Kaye: Things I Will Need In The Past | | Sunday, December 07, 2008 | | · | Dawg House Rocks For Tots in Clinton Twp. | | Saturday, December 06, 2008 | | · | National Ghost Debut CD Release Party @ The Berkley Front Dec 6th | | Tuesday, December 02, 2008 | | · | MichiganArtists.com brings you The Christmas Gift | | Thursday, November 27, 2008 | | · | 6th Annual Jingle Bell Jam Dec 6 | | Thursday, November 20, 2008 | | · | MB Welcomes Introvert | | Tuesday, November 18, 2008 | | · | Check Out Detroit Rock Review | | Wednesday, November 12, 2008 | | · | MB Welcomes David Nefesh | | Friday, November 07, 2008 | | · | Friends of Bill Koggenhop Plan Musical Tribute |
Older Articles |
|
| Michiganbands.com, A Prequel: Funkilinium @ JW's |
|
 Since prequels are all the rage, here's a review I wrote almost a year ago about an outfit called Funkilinium. This was before Michiganbands.com was up and running, before September 11th, before the Stanley Cup. I never published it because I could never get ahold of the band based on the information I'd scribbled on a bar napkin. Then yesterday, a new member by the nickname of "GT" posted on Michiganbands.com forum to promote his band - you guessed it, Funkilinium. God, it seems longer than a year.
Funkilinium @ JW's in Novi (at which time Mitch rediscovers bar-life and live music)
Hey, I Remember this...
Been a while since I've been out. After my stint at Michiganartists.com, I stayed home to tend my domestic duties as Dad and Husband. But with the launch of Michiganbands.com looming and inspired by my wife's recent bout of well-timed frigidity, I make a whimpering return to night life. Baby steps; local bars first - really local.
I chance upon Funkillenium at J.W.'s in Novi (the old Goat Farm) and suck-down the first drink I've had in months. The band is a six-piece funk band that plays covers. I don't normally review cover bands for the site but I need the writing practice. Besides, playing covers is how I made my living for over a decade and people want to know where they can find a decent cover band that plays "The Hits" . Sometimes, hell, most of the time people don't want to think about the music - they just want to dance.
It's early and the band is still wrestling with a farty mid-cabinet as I take a seat next to the dancefloor. They noodle with cables and twist nobs until the offending noise goes away. I plow through a couple 7&7's while they set up. Gulp. Gotta find my groove again. Gulp. I feel like a pathetic loser sitting here by myslef with a pile of borrowed tab-paper to scribble on. Gulp. Suddenly the room takes on a familiar buzz. 'Heeeey, I remember thiiiis.....' Lesswrite!' My critics be damned.
Mallworld and the Many Faces...
A brother stage-left wraps his dreads in an orange do-rag and settles back to watch The Wings score on the bar's wall-mounted idiot box. A clean-shaven brother stage-right tickles the keys in a groovey Rhodes patch to loosen up his fingers. It's a relaxing sound; I sink into a comfortable haze and decide to people-watch until the band starts.
A couple of groupies are gossiping near my table, their blue eye-shadow glistening in the neon barlight. '... their blue eye-shadow glistening in the neon barlight?' Did I really write that down? Barmaid!
The bandmembers are the only brothers in the house. Not surprising. This is Novi after all; whitebread capitol of Southeast Michigan and the monied retail plantation of mega-mall developer Alfred Taubman. Save for the white ponytailed conga-player (you don't see that too often, 'In these here parts it's yoosh'a'lee the other way 'ray-ound.') the band is decidedly darker than the clientele. ( I hope they like it so much at J.W.'s they decide to move here. Despite the abundance of ultra-violet spas in the area, Novi really needs a tan. ) I put my race-card safely back into my conscience and decide to put my red-neck to the task of listening to the 'mewsic'.
I ask one of the bandmembers to spell the band's name for me. There's a short debate, a huddle (new band and all) and then they decide. "It's spelled like an element," says one. "Not like 'Millenium,'" says the second. "Yeah," chimes in a third. "It's F-u-n-k-i-l-i-n-i-u-m." Not one of them ask why I want to know. That's a good sign - you get superstitious about these things when you've been doing it a while.
I order up a cold Jeigermeister. J.W's actually has a large, chilled dispenser from the Krauter-Liquor Company just for the oogly stuff - I like this place already.
A little Thai chick, maybe Korean (no, there's a little Mayan Indian in her I think) hangs on a Vietnam-era boy over in the corner. She's about four and a half feet tall wearing "designer" jeans (remember those?) and a tight, low-cut t-shirt. The Nam boy's got a good buzz on and slobbers all over her. He looks like a cop; he has a military precision salt 'n pepper hair-cut with a mustache. Who wears a mustache anymore but a cop, a fireman, biker or a Freddy Mercury look-alike? (did you ever hear Freddy Mercury Talk? Sounded like Dudley Do-Right) But he ain't no biker and he aint Freddy, but he's one lucky s.o.b. "You like? Me love you long time Joe." He's got himself a little fireball from another world and I've got you, a stack of 4"x4" bar-tabs and licorice breath
Acute Exposure to Funkillinium. . .
"Hey dudes, " one of the brother's on stage blurts to the crowd in his best white-collar caucasian-man imitation, "T-G-I-F!" The band laughs amongst themselves and get down to it, opening with a white-town favorite from Kool and The Gang. 'Celebrate Good Times, Come On!' Ugh. It's wedding music but the band does it proud, like they owned it and collected royalty checks for playin' it proper.
By the second song Funkillinium is a club-owners dream; the dance floor is packed at 10:15 and the patrons are frumpy and clumsy but happy to wiggle to the thumping beat. "Get Down On It," doo-bee doo-doo, "Get Down On It!" Funkillinium has a deep punch and sharp kicking groove that would make any room dance, even one filled with cynical cranks like me. Despite myself, my foot's tapping to the rhythm and I'm beginning to wish I weren't flying solo tonight.
Without so much as a breath in between, the band keeps cranking out funky dance favorites one after the other, perfectly mimicking The Commodores, The Gap Band, P-Funk, Kool and The Gang, Earth Wind & Fire, and Prince (o.k. nobody can keep their gonads and perfectly mimic Prince but they're as close as you can get without estrogen injections). It's almost too much music for ten o'clock but the band is determined to own the entire crowd. "We're gonna make you work tonight," says one of the brothers. "So you'd best un-glue your asses from those chairs right now!"
Funkillinium's first set is better than most dance band's closers. They burn from the very first bar and don't let go until they choose. When they do downshift, you'd better be prepared; near the middle of the set the band whipped out a swanky rhumba from their vast repertoire and stopped the unsophisticated dancers dead in their tracks, leaving them scratching their flaky white scalps (I swear the band did it just to mess with them). But their not totally antagonistic toward the crowd; they tease them just enough to let 'em know who's in control then slap 'em with some more groovin' funk to satisfy the anxious hips of many, if not all the women in the room.
...Makes the Animals Restless
The Vietnam era dude with the little Korean girl (or whatever her decent) is eyeing me suspiciously. He probably thinks I'm writing nasty porn limericks to his 4-foot mistress. He clutches her jealously and sucks on her face, which disappears in one slobbery gulp.
The two blonds with the blue eye-shadow are are dancing with eachother in a way that's making me a little anxious; I'm squirming in my seat as my buzz deepens and burns. I avert my eyes and scribble on my bar-tabs but I'm already making plans for a late night ambush (no pun intended) on the wife.
The blonde wearing the black trench-coat (of all things) is grinding her body down like she'll snap the first unsuspecting fly who wanders past her sticky trap. I'm tempted to play stupid, but I've seen her type so many times I just know somebody will be pouring her ass into the back seat of a parked car before the third set - and it's not going to be me.
A hard-core drunk falls from dance-height and sends drinks and a table crashing to the floor. Apparently, acute exposure to pure Funkillinium is too much for her. An errant bus-boy wanders by to clean up the mess but doesn't know where to go. I point him towards the wet spot on the dancefloor (you know, the one with the broken glass!) and he knocks my drink off the table. Things are getting a bit out of hand and it's only the second set. Funkillinium is great, but they've got the crowd whipped into a frenzy and I'm not sure I'm ready to see how this one ends.
Dance Your Ass Off
If your girlfriend, wife or sister likes to dance (and you don't mind butchering a step or two in the process) you couldn't find a better group to play the funk "dance-favorites" of the 70's and 80's than Funkillinium. This is a sure-shot, bar-owner's wet dream who will keep the dancers drinking until they pass-out. If there's any fault to be found, their wicked urban mojo might be a bit too exciting for your hard-core party drunks who don't know when to quit.
-Mitch
|
|
|
| Michiganbands.com, A Prequel: Funkilinium @ JW's | Login/Create an Account | 0 comments | | The comments are owned by the poster. We aren't responsible for their content. |
|
|
No Comments Allowed for Anonymous, please register |
|
| |
| Michigan Business Directory |
Average Score: 5
Votes: 5
|
|
|
