Clinton’s enthusiasm for science fiction was a long-in-the-making part of his identity, whether it made its way into his sociological philosophy or informed his on-stage persona — pardon the redundancy. In 1975, as the only passenger on the Dallas airport’s shuttle train, he found a sci-fi novel about clones that held his attention and started stirring the creative process. Once his next flight landed in Portland, he hit the library on a mission to learn as much as he could about genetic engineering and the battle between mortality and science — enter Dr. Funkenstein. Where Mothership Connection first floated the idea of an overarching P-Funk mythos, helmed by an extraterrestrial traveler bringing funk to planet Earth à la The Day The Earth Stood Still gone Wattstax, The Clones Of Dr. Funkenstein revealed that this Star Child answered to a galactic emperor with a Boys From Brazil lab, except with funkateers instead of Nazis.

It is, on the whole, goofy as all hell in the best ways. After all, musicians might age, but cartoons never do, and Funkenstein’s crew put forth a looney toons version of themselves that dialed up the outlandishness of their alter-ego history to preposterous levels. In the words of the prelude track: “Funk upon a time, in the days of the Funkapus, the concept of specially-designed Afronauts capable of funkatizing galaxies was first laid on man-child, but was later repossessed and placed among the secrets of the pyramids until a more positive attitude towards this most sacred phenomenon, Clone Funk, could be acquired.” That’s one way of saying the listening public wasn’t ready for a band this out-there, but what with Mothership Connection going platinum and hitting #13 on the Billboard Hot 100, it’s clear that they were — and Dr. Funkenstein actually followed through by making their sound just a little less outrageous. Not that much less outrageous, thankfully. There aren’t many elaborate solos, and it’s heavier on the hooks, but it’s relentlessly fun and bright; the horn arrangements that Fred Wesley concocted with Bernie Worrell wound up being some of the liveliest to date in the whole P-Funk catalogue. “Children of Production,” “Gettin’ To Know You,” and especially the soaring charge of “Funkin’ For Fun” enshrined the Horny Horns as the not-so-secret sauce that made Parliament impossible to duplicate — well, except maybe from within.