Swamp Dogg’s wildly eccentric approach to, well, everything, could well have been the primary obstruction to his attaining the legendary mainstream status he surely deserves. The cover art depicts stained newspapers and butt-ends juxtaposed against a blurred image of the dawgg with, uh,maggots on. It’s a detail from a photograph of a dustbin (or refuse can), into which a creased photo of Swamp has been slung. The cover, writes Swamp in the sleeve notes, ‘was designed to make you puke and possibly shit on yourself’. Nothing like telling it straight.
And then there’s the title, and the artist’s own explanatory sleeve notes, which border on the insane: ‘this album is so funky that it’ll gag a maggott and drown a drop. Due to the fact a maggott is the funkiest thing on earth; if this LP can make him gag which it already has, no telling what it’ll do to your funny ass... Here’s hoping you’ll like it as much as I do... if you don’t just pucker up as I’m backing up.’
‘I’ve been verbally chastised for the use of profanity... To those whom I’ve offended I say fuck you!’ it says on the disc itself.
So we know where we’re at here, and quite simply my opinion doesn’t count for shit. But what matters ultimately is whether or not this album, originally released in 1973, is any cop. And yes sir it is. I say that as someone who really doesn’t like funk – I haven’t got a funky bone in my body – and who can generally take or leave soul. Which means this album is seriously impressive and yes it phat, its funky and packed with some seriously deep grooves. Dogg’s right: it’s so damn funky I almost puked and shat on myself and it had nothing to do with the cover. From the smooth croon of the horn-bustin’ ‘Wife Sitter’, through the gritty rendition of ‘Midnight Hour’ to the rambunctious blues of ‘Plastered to the Wall’, Swamp proves he’s not only got game but that he was way ahead of the game. No two ways about it, this is a lost classic, and Swamp is one groovy motherfunker alright. Now work it, maggott!
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Swamp Dogg Online
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