Were I to fashion a list of my ten all-time favorite singles, this would be right there.
It’s hard to explain why.
I mean there isn’t much to it.
Not lyrically.
Not melodically.
But what there is, well, it’s just a real righteous groove, with an insistent cowbell, swelling, swirling horns, and exhortations to do the funky chicken.
The effect is like a party on plastic.
I was in a cab in Chicago once and called up this slab of Windy City funk on my iPod and I can tell you that it never sounded so good as it did then.
