EP 23: Muruga Booker [P-FUNK, et al]
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Episode 23: Muruga Booker [P-FUNK, et al]
“The funk is the stench that you smell after you work really hard.” So says MURGA BOOKER, drummer, percussionist, shaman & card-carrying funkateer. And he would know. After all, from 1980 to ‘85, Booker was deeply embedded in the P-Funk camp, working with George Clinton and everyone else around Disc Ltd. Studios in Detroit. He was snatched up by Rubber Band drummer Frankie “Cash” Waddy and Bootsy Collins himself after they had heard him play the Moroccan clay drums at his pad. They were also impressed by Booker’s work with Weather Report, bassist Michael Henderson, and Detroit soul group the Fantastic Four. By then, Muruga had figured out how to make himself indispensable to producers and bandleaders alike. “I saw everybody in Detroit at Motown playing congas and bongos and maybe some timbales.” He explains. “So I went to Israeli and Greek doumbek and Moroccan clay drums… By having those instruments, I was not in any direct competition.”
This explains the sounds of albums like the Electric Spanking of War Babies, which you might have noticed has a lot more varied and freaky percussion in the mix than Funkadelic records previous. Muruga’s funky hands are also busy on Clinton solo joints such as Computer Games (1982) and You Shouldn’t Nuf Bit Fish (1983), the P-Funk AllStars’ Urban Dance Floor Guerillas (1983), and the lesser known gem, a Bootsy project called GodMama (1981).
But that’s not all. Being around George during this period also put Murugua in direct proximity to Sly Stone, whom Booker was able to entice to play bass (!) on his project, Muruga and the Soda Jerks, a quirky, New Wave-sounding version of the P signed and produced by Clinton. But Muruga’s contribution to Parliament-Funkadelic was not only musical but also medicinal. He served as the group’s masseuse and yoga instructor, teaching Bernie Worrell, George, Sly, et al breathing techniques in between bites of Booker’s mother’s paprikash.
But Muruga’s musical journey didn’t start with the P — not by a long shot. In fact, as a teenager in 1960, Steve (not yet Muruga) Booker already had a hit. The band was called the Low Rocks and the song was “Blueberry Jam,” a super-sped up reworking of “Blueberry Hill” by Fats Domino. “We were the young garage punks of the era” says Booker, who was recruited directly from the audience when the previous Low Rocks drummer abruptly quit at a house party. The gig wound up lasting only a year, but the band had some exciting opportunities, including backing up Little Stevie Wonder in a battle of the bands.
Soon after that, Steve Booker began to see the drums not just as an instrument but also as a theory of life. He basically moved into Detroit’s legendary blues and folk club the Chess Mate, where he would eventually become bandleader. There he would play hours-long drum solos every night. But the young Serbian stickman still lacked some key ingredients. One night, after he had finished yet another one of his extended excursions, a Black gentleman approached. “I see what you’re trying to do,” he told Booker. But rather then launching into a lecture, the man handed him a cassette tape of Drums of Passion by Nigerian drummer Babatunde Olatunji.
And just like that, Booker’s life changed. He spent the next two weeks in his mom’s living room, eight hours per day, dancing to Drums and seeing how the music made his body move. Things were starting to make sense. “If you do not love Africa or it’s people, then you cannot love the blues, or jazz, or rock and roll,” he says. The lessons came in handy when he played support for none other than John Lee Hooker, whom he grew to admire deeply. “I realized that Hooker was not just a blues man, but he was a spiritual ju ju man, a healer,” says Booker. “Also he was a storyteller… That comes from griot. The griot is the storyteller of the tribe.” The pairing of the two went so well they were featured as a double bill, “Hooker & Booker.”
Booker also had some of the best jams in his life at The Scene club in New York, where the top musicians of the day would go to let it all hang out musically when they weren’t in the studio or on tour. There the Band of Gypsys’ Buddy Miles served as a musical lightning rod of sorts. “When you go play the top clubs like The Scene,” Booker explains, “it’s top musicians going there, but jamming and intermingling and exchanging with each other… That’s the place where a George Clinton or a Sly Stone or a Mitch Mitchell or a Larry Coryell could go. But Buddy Miles… He was creating an atmosphere that drew all of those musicians like bees to honey.”
By the late 60’s into the 70s, Booker’s deep plunges into musical depths had evolved into an intense curiosity and appreciation for spiritual contemplation—even more so than many peers of the era. This phase of his journey truly began on Day 1 of the iconic Woodstock Festival, where he landed in a helicopter to perform with Tim Hardin. It was there that he found himself in the presence of Swami Satchidananda, with whom Booker would live in ashram for two years as a celibate monk. In fact, it was Satchidananda who gave Muruga his name.
w/ Michael “Kidd Funkadelic” Hampton as the Enema Squad at the Zombie Ball
As a result of such intense studies, Muruga became very adept at tuning in rather than tuning out, and adapting his more avant garde, exploratory tendencies to a centered principle. “A musician has to listen,” he explains. “Then you respond.” But he contends that he reached his highest plateau as a drummer once he mastered the concept of ambience and space, which he defines as: “to play the space as well as the note, and to create ambience with the space within the notes.” This seemingly unlikely marriage of freedom and discipline ultimately leads to Muruga’s theory of employing “law and grace” when serving up the Funk. “1-2-3-4 is a law,” he teaches. “On the one is the law… But grace is ‘I’m being in the oneness’ while I am playing.” In other words, the law guides you until you are ready to transcend it, to exist in the groove. “You must know this,” he insists. “Otherwise you don’t even know funk.”
Today, Muruga lives in Ann Arbor and is as jovial and active as ever, an orthodox priest and patented inventor of the Nada drum with a catalog of music that is deep and wide. In this expansive, inspiring and often hilarious interview, Muruga talks about how he used to add wah-wah’s and phasers to his cymbals in order to “wake people up” by reenacting the then-ongoing Vietnam War onstage—causing half an audience in the South to give him a standing ovation, and the other half to walk out. Muruga also talks about why the rhythmic concept of “the push and drag” is the essence of life, mistakes drummers tend to make when playing the blues, and why he got scared the first time he heard the drum machine. As if that weren’t enough, Muruga also describes being made fun of by Don Rickles for 20 minutes straight, the magic of Sly Stone’s recording techniques, why Richie Havens is an “illuminary,” and that time he jammed one-on-one with JIMI HENDRIX on bass.
Produced & Hosted by Ace Alan
Cohosted by Jay Stone
w/ Content Produced by Aaron Booker & Andre Foxxe
Website & Art by 3chards
Engineered by Nick “Waes” Carden at the Blue Room in Oakland, CA
But we couldn’t have done it without Mawnstr and especially Scott Sheppard
Intro track “I Can Never Be” from Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth by the Funkanauts. Go get it wherever music is sold. RIP Brotha P.
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