When I first meet Danny Bedrosian, I’ve heard of Parliament-Funkadelic, but I don’t know how much P-Funk I’ve actually heard. He’s a friend of a friend. He doesn’t strike me as this world-class musician who gigs on six continents with George Clinton. Danny’s just this ridiculous, hilarious guy that comes around the house sometimes and knows a lot about geography.
One afternoon, I drive to Danny’s house, sun setting orange through the oak and pine and crepe myrtle of his quiet Tallahassee neighborhood. He opens the door and introduces me to his cats: Ruby, Lucy and Mumphy.
For a second, I remember that this guy is some kind of famous. I don’t know much about the band. I have a lot to learn. I have to get it right. I don’t know where to start. Continue reading