Funk Klub

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FUNK KLUB

The full blast of a Katoomba winter westerly was rattling the windows. Dr Funkenstein tried to smile, and heard a disturbing cracking sound. Was it his teeth, or the long-unused muscles in his cheeks? He brooded before the fire; gulped his red wine without tasting it. Then his lady-love spun a Chuck Brown and the Soul Searchers record. Cue lightbulb moment. Suddenly Dr Funkenstein saw it all: the way out of his self-pitying funk was funk.

If he put the fun back into funk, perhaps he would, in time, learn to smile again. But the good doctor was allergic to pretending to be an African American. He had too much respect for those who had bequeathed the world the basis for a century of popular music. No, were he to invent a machine for making funk, it mustn't churn out second-rate covers of James Brown and Sly Stone. So what about funking up non-funk? That might be funny and funky. In his usually dark and cheerless imagination the doctor suddenly saw people from 18 to 80 laughing and dancing to a band called the Funk Klub. That would make him smile.

He instantly knew who could help bring this monster to life: Professor Steam Funk, with his low-emissions, steam-driven keyboards and mind- of-God ideas, and El Chapo Funquero, a refugee from the revenge of Mexico's brutal drug cartels, and the funkiest bass player since Bootsie Collins strapped on a star-shaped axe.

The three disappeared into the Doctor's underground laboratory, emerging four months later having scientifically proved that anything from a Beatles song to jazz, from the theme from Game of Thrones to that of The Godfather could be funkified and fused into non-stop dance raves. Then they thickened the mix with guitarist Brother Funk, who could skank the legs off a possum at 20 paces, and convert country into funk just by playing some weird jazz chord on his trusty Telecaster.

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