Published on Jul 28, 1998
Quiet, surprise admission coming up… I have been humbled by
one of my industry contacts, who sent to me a “best of” CD from a
group I had never heard of.
I will pause now so that the loyal members of the Pierce Posse
can grab their smelling salts.
I was shocked, too, I can’t lie. Here was a CD from a late
’70s-early ’80s funk group, Sun, that I honestly can’t ever
remember hearing as a child. (Of course, I was in grade school when
Byron Bird and crew were at their peak of success, and disco had
invaded almost every aspect of life at that time.) Here was a group
that had surprised then-struggling acts like the Commodores by
hitting the big time with their first single, “Wanna Make Love
(Come Flick My Bic)”.
Problem is, acts like the Commodores and Earth, Wind And Fire
are still remembered, while Sun set back into obscurity after their
glory days ended around 1982. But this also leaves the door open
for a whole new generation to discover them, even to hear how some
groups like Boyz II Men might have found influence in them. The
recently released
The Greatest Hits offers that opportunity, and despite an
occasionally dated sound, the end product is still rather
enjoyable.
The major hit, “Wanna Make Love (Come Flick My Bic)”, is
surprisingly still fresh as it was in 1976. The use of the talkbox
by Roger Troutman is one of the more innovative uses of the device
I’ve heard in years of reviewing music, and actually found myself
looking forward to hearing more of Troutman’s talkbox work as the
disc rolled on. What is also intriguing is the idea of mentioning a
commercial product so prominently in a song; these days, even if
the reference was flattering, you know there’d be some asshole
corporate lawyer with a cease-and-desist order in his hand the day
the album came out.
In fact, quite a bit of the funk here has maintained its crisp
sound despite the passage of some two decades. Cuts like “Radiation
Level,” “Super Duper Super Star,” “They’re Calling For More” and
“Jammin’ In Brazil” all are locks to have the listener tapping
their foot to the beat, if they’re not lifted out of their
Barcalounger to start dancing. When you hear songs like these, you
have to wonder why Sun have not remained a household name.
The cuts where I could hear sounds similar to Boyz II Men were
the slower, more introspective works, like “I Had A Choice” and
“Baby I Confess”. While these might not have been my personal
favorites, hearing a possible influencing factor on some of today’s
music was rather fascinating.
The one drawback to some of Sun’s music is that it seems to drag
on, even if the songs themselves aren’t any longer than the others
on
The Greatest Hits. Some cuts like “Sun Is Here” sound almost
tentative, while others like “Light Of The Universe” and “Reaction
Satisfaction (Jam Ya’ll: Funk It Up)” just don’t click for me.
Another drawback to the overall package is that the disc doesn’t
present Sun chronologically, nor does it offer easy to reach
information as to when each song came out. A. Scott Galloway’s
liner notes do help, but you really have to search them to find out
information about the tracks.
Despite these criticisms,
The Greatest Hits provides more enjoyment than any skeptic
might think possible, and it serves as an interesting introduction
to a band that we probably should know better than names like
Vanilla Ice and Milli Vanilli. Sun was a band that helped shape not
only the world of funk, but they also laid the ground for more
modern R&B acts – and for that, they should be grateful.
If you lived through the era when Sun was high in the sky of
popularity, this one will cause you to flash back to the days of
bell-bottoms. For members of Generation X like myself,
The Greatest Hits is an interesting slice of musical history
– proving that even an experienced critic has a lot to learn.