One of the sought-after funk albums: a concept piece executed by a Las Vegas hustler, pairing the troubled musings of a transient vocalist with the exuberant funk of a teenage trio. Embellished by session musicians in Hollywood with synthesizers and a large horn section, Marvin Whoremonger lurked behind a garish, anonymous jacket and failed immediately, despite producer Cholly Williams exhortations in his liner notes that the album would lead to international stardom for all involved.
Forty years later it has aged well and stands as an immediately accessible – yet bizarre – exercise in late-period, real funk music.
