Rhyming-or writing-about the funk without ever having gone there is pointless, like feeling the heat without complaining about the humidity. This probably explains why the roadside of such a pilgrimage is littered with DAT cassettes, gold records and backup bands with shallow pockets. That's because the Promised Land of Funk is an uncharted expanse of electro-magnetic technicolor modulations, and being Afrocentric alone might not qualify you for the trip. But we donвЂt want to make it no big racial issue or no shit like that.' Something can sound funky or look funky, but my opinion of the funk is a certain freedom that started way back in Africa. 'The funk is not a certain sound or a certain way you dress or a certain look. 'The funk is basically freedom,' he says, not real heavy on it, just kind of think-ing aloud. More than the headband or the mixed metaphors of his clothing, its the occasional sad, faraway look in his eyes that reminds you of Hendrix, a sense of being young and world-weary at the same time. This is when he conjures most the man from Electric Ladyland. But even as he watches the road and directs his Land Rover or whatever towards Big Boi's house in the woods, his eyes have turned inward and his mind has moved in another direction, past the other side of the game. вЂ™It could be that purple, or that funky-ass music.'ДЄndre is driving. 'Stankonia is whatever's the funkiest shit ever,' he explains, lucid. But now the moment has taken on a timelessness, a surrealism that threatens to steal it all away to a land of no return.ДЄndre has fallen silent, leading only Big Boi holding the lifeline. Twelve hours earlier everything was understandable: OutKast, a new album, a photo shoot, an interview. From four in the morning вЂ™til two the next afternoon, just kickinвЂ it.' Every time we finished at the studio, weвЂd head to the house. 'While we were working on this album we would do this three or four nights a week. 'This is how we made the album,' continues Big Boi. In various stages of undress, they pose in and on the Paddymelt. It's just fun, you know?'ДЄt 4:37am a few of the women come down from the Boom Boom Room. Little get-togethers at the crib, with the fellas and some hoes. 'Really, this what we doing tonight? I love this type of shit. The car is a pale cheddar with purple iridescence, and there is pride in his voice when he calls it his Paddymelt. 'I do this all the time,' says Big Boi, leaning up against his mint Cadillac. The only thing to do is keep up, keep your eyes open, and try not to pass out in that chair in the kitchen.Дownstairs in the garage the photographer is still shooting in a race against sunrise. lt's like any foreign land in that way, men and women acting out roles that are diffcult to understand when observed from the straight world. Unmastered tracks from OutKast's upcoming album blast from the stereo system.ДЄ lot of shit is talked in the Boom Boom Room, but most of the conversation remains unspoken. At the bar, more of OutKast's Earthtone crew- Slimm, C-Bone, DJ and Nathaniel are making headway on a gallon of Hennessy and more than a couple of blunts. They all have names in which Ys replace Is- Chyna and Kym. On the other side of the Boom Boom Room, several more women languish on low-slung couches.

No one's really watching her and sheвЂ™s not dancing for anybody else, a caged bird needing no listener to sing its song. Except that it's not really dancing, just a repetitive slow-mo gyration suggesting ennui. In fact, the stage is so small that you really donвЂ™t notice it's there until one of the women gets off the couch and starts to dance around the pole.

Outkast album cover 2000s