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11 Sep 2016

Sly & The Family Stone “There’s A Riot Goin’ On “1971 US Funk Soul

Sly & The Family Stone “ There’s A Riot Goin’ On “1971 US Funk Soul
Not even a 24k-gold disc – the centerpiece of this new deluxe edition of Sly and the Family Stone’s 1971 touchstone, along with a stitched flower-flag cover – can fully brighten this Rosetta stone of dark funk and proto-hip-hop blues. Recorded largely in a Los Angeles home studio over two years, Riot’s tapes were overdubbed so much they lost any aural luster. But the tracks’ hissy tonality merely enhances the verité feel of the most transfixing music Sly Stone ever wrote – and his most hard-nosed lyrics, depicting, as A. Scott Galloway puts it in the booklet, “a man in a tug of war with who he has become vs. who he has always strived to be.” It’s as lowdown as music gets – and as great….Rolling Stone review… 

Great dark soul album with layered drums, electric piano and forbodding bass sounds. The vocals, mostly by Sly, are full of despair and emotion, as are much of the lyrics. “Family Affair” is a major classic with some really druggy vocals from Sly. “Africa Talks to You” is a bit lengthy, but has some good guitar in addition to the driving bass and funky piano. “You Caught Me Smilin” is a really great, more mellow song while “Spaced Cowboy” has a bit of a country vibe with some good harmonica work. “Runnin’ Away” is a much lighter and poppier than anything else on the album, and it even has some good horns also. …… 

The most introspective and intriguing work of Sly & The Family Stone, “There’s A Riot Goin’ On” caught the artist known as Sly Stone at one remove at all times in an organic environment of his own making that was languid, harrowing and syncopated to extremes. Reflecting the literal riot of life changes Sly had been experiencing in the two-year interim since “Stand!” throughout all of its grooves, “Riot” WAS a riot as Sly painstakingly worked everything into it with an exhaustive amount of overdubbing to make it an embroidery of life about as tight as one of the knit hats that imposed upon his now huge and loose afro. 

Although the record’s label bore the credit ‘All Songs Written, Arranged and Produced by Sylvester Stewart & Sly Stone’ it may not have been as tongue in cheek as initially suspected for Sly had transformed into an entirely person since the elevated status he and his band accorded directly after the grand successes of “Everyday People” and Woodstock. And like the musical and lyrical counterpoint he regularly employed in his art, Sylvester Stewart the person was starting to both play up to and rebel against the image of Sly Stone as his behaviour turned increasingly erratic and insular once he moved from San Francisco to Los Angeles in late 1969. In the next year he would preside over his personal and professional affairs like a king while creating a distance between himself and the band, missing a sizeable amount of concert appearances and letting his record company hang fire for two years with no new material forthcoming. It was that same old song: 

With the success came the fame. 
And with the fame came the pressure to produce. 
And with the pressure came ulcers. 
And with the ulcers came pharmaceuticals. 
And with the pharmaceuticals… 

…came the snowballing effect of even more pharmaceuticals. 
As all this began to play on Sly’s perspective like a handkerchief in the breeze, it was as though the struggle Sly sang of two years earlier on “Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)” had been made to come to life and with a force no less or greater than himself. But if the re-recorded version of the track that wound up as the finale to “Riot” was any indication, it was hard to tell if Sly emerged as victor – if at all – from his interior deadlock. For in the uptight, hallucinatory atmosphere he then inhabited, there was little in the form of solace but much in the form of escape which led to Sly’s musical approach to drift into regions previously uncharted by himself (or anyone) to such a degree that if all the previous Family Stone records were ‘tight but loose’ then what followed on “Riot” could only be called ‘loose but tight’…while at times bordering on quietly shaking derangement. 

Even the sleeve was in stark contrast to those which preceded it. In place of the usual band photograph front cover there was instead a close up of an altered American flag with its blue field replaced with black and the five-pointed stars hijacked by nine-pointed suns while the only typography was swept together on an enclosed sheet that afforded the lyrics, along with the explanation: 

“It’s so complex 
Words get in the way 
Just look at the faces 
On the outside and the inside of this album, they’ll tell you 
Thank you agin’” 

It WAS complex. Inertia draped over the proceedings like a benumbed caul shrouding a pulsating core of dark heat that made “There’s A Riot Goin’ On” unlike any other album ever recorded as it carved out a slice of the future and brought it back to earth in the shape of eleven songs plus one titled patch of silence that ran a full gamut of emotions at great depth, sometimes at great length, sometimes muted, sometimes dark, sometimes light, sometimes deadly earnest and sometimes playfully comic. Sly took all these opposing emotions and arranged them into a pin-wheeling sequence that is the densest Sly & The Family Stone album, ever. Where once omnipresent horn arrangements blasted triumphantly, loose guitar rhythms weaved and bobbed against metronomic drum machine rhythms in electro-juju pulses. And when there were drums, they were rendered about as rudimentary as the slow grooves they propelled were multi-layered. The former wall of brass was all but scrapped with only a handful of tracks destined for single sides scored with the lightest of horn touches while Sly’s vocal delivery was slow, low and continued to waver like crazy over the record’s leveled topography. But instead of the confused jumble it had every right to be, what emerged instead was much to hear within the interplay of vocals and music, much to read in between the lines all was pressed to the ceiling by a heavy gravity created by its inferred off-beats, horizontally-inclined electronic rhythms and small yet highly detailed guitar and electric keyboard interactions. 

Sly also replaced the former Family Stone tradition of shared vocals with his own and they seemed to emanate not from his head so much as his entire body – the range of which bottlenecked into the lowest lung rung, peaking in a shrieking, pained psychosexual register he all but infrequently hit in the past while the words he sang were all but impossible to discern as the lyrics twisted round the grooves like secrets in curlicues of art nouveau ivy or extended into diffused mumbles, lazy drawls, letters slurred into words or words slurred into sentences and laid out above the burning sun of his soul to dissipate into vapour. 

Music journalist David Dalton accurately observed the contrast of “Exile On Main Street”-era Stones to their former musical incarnations when he wrote: ‘Their own removal from action infused their albums with a diffuse, electric, reflective, anomalous, and prolix sound and the lyrics…were now no longer buried but hermetically sealed beneath its murky grooves. They developed a disembodied intimacy that was not only the opposite of the punch, drive and clarity of their great albums of the sixties but precluded any contact.’ This statement squares perfectly with the differences between “There’s A Riot Goin’ On” and all previous records by Sly & The Family Stone. “Riot” was the first album of new material that sounded like a completely different band altogether: stripped as it was of its former utopian flash and bang while all tracks dealt with Sly’s interior world as opposed to the exterior, social world which was to a great extent the previous focus of his songwriting. 

The back cover held images as collaged as the music within, while the UNIPAK gatefold within was decorated with concert shots of the group from Madison Square Garden and here, Sly’s portrait was the picture of self-assured confidence: his afro coiffed into a foot high explosion of oiled ringlets as he promenaded the stage bedecked in a red, white and blue waistcoat with a smile (THAT smile) about as wide as a miles of aisles. Conspicuous in his absence from the gallery is drummer Gregg Errico, who had only recently dropped out of the group after the first recordings were laid down for “Riot” (His replacement came in the unlikely form of Gerry Gibson, previously the session drummer on the studio recordings of the television cartoon band, The Banana Splits.) The album was also shored up with uncredited appearances by auxiliary musician pals Bobby Womack, Billy Preston as well as a few other unconfirmed guests while the like of Miles Davis, Ike Turner, Buddy Miles, Johnny “Guitar” Watson, Joe Hicks and Jimmy Ford all dropped in at Sly’s Bel Air mansion to hang out, party, jam or record. 

With the entry of the opening track “Luv N’ Haight” Sly is galloping astride his funky steed flanked by muted horns. Loping and overwrought snare and egg whisking to the hi-hat erupt as accents of horns, keyboards and ensemble vocalising dance all around. Soon, a detailed latticework appears with the overlapping rhythms as fragments of guitar riffs loophole in and out as Sly bellows out for the first of hundreds of times “Feel so good/Don’t wanna move” and it’s soon becoming the mantra of not only the song, but the rest of the album as well (Apparently, Sly recorded many of the vocals on his back from a bed in the studio.) Rose sings unaccompanied for two lines and is the only singer to feature as the counterpart to Sly’s lead vocals for this and precious few other of tracks on “Riot.” When the chorus resounds with an “a-a-a-h-h-h-h” it almost sounds ominously like “t-i-i-i-m-e…” rolling over the rhythmic shifting sands of the piece. Sly thought enough of the track to have it featured on two different successive 45s and the title alone obviously must have tickled Sly’s sense of counterpoint and opposing principles. 

Following is the molasses-paced, blues-based and PCP-laced “Just Like A Baby.” Sporting the most traditional arrangement of the album, it’s also the simplest and eeriest of side one. The double-tracked drumming, Sly’s frighteningly ingrown vocals and his spidery, overdubbed clavinet accents are at the fore of the mix, but it’s spattered with further tiny keyboards and shards of guitar riffs that hang in the corner behind that seat you hear creaking a couple of times at the beginning and who knows who’s on bass. An ominous organ drone hangs WAY in the background only to disappear with the next phrase and reappear towards the end and the effect is of very late nights after days of successive work in a studio with deeply baffled walls. 

Severe drum machine wedded to a simple hi-hat/snare beat, darting clavinet clusters, wah-wah’d organ and bubbling bass are at the root of the following track, “Poet.” After Sly’s vocal statement of artistic intent, “Poet” weaves to and fro into an instrumental comprised of several clavinet overdubs, bass and several settings of drum machine punched down together and just as it begins to blossom and yield rich polyrhythmic textures and ceases to only appear as merely erratic, it fades off into silence. A completely different Maestro Rhythm King-generated tempo surfaces as the introduction to the well-known “Family Affair.” Starting up with a spinal column bass plucking as though strung with high tension wires plugged through a coffee percolator, it is equally as rhythmic and percussive as the strands of drum machine patterns that frame it. One of the most unique Top 10 singles to grace the charts EVER, its pulsation, half-mysterious lyrics and Rose and Sly’s muffled call and response voices were unlike anything I had ever heard on my clock radio during the early seventies – AM or FM – and it was played on both ceaselessly.1 Sometimes the DJ would fade it just before Sly’s final depth charge utterance of a scream followed by his highly sexual “h-h-h-h-H-H-E-E-E-E-E-Y-Y-Y-Yyyyy…!” But when it was, damn but I was allowed to be touched by an alien sensuality which to my then-seven year old mind was nonetheless enchanting as hell. Even then, I knew Sly & The Family Stone were worthy of attention because the song was powerful yet unrestrained and I was hooked: I’d imitate Sly’s vocal line to school pals, my brother and anyone else who’s stop and listen and wind up irritating the hell out of everybody and get called retarded in the process. “Family Affair” was an unsolvable puzzle until you took in the lyrics together with its unchanging accompaniment as a whole and realised that what it was about was something that was none of your damn business. Sly’s electric piano line is co-joined with old cohort Billy Preston’s immediately identifiable, rolling flourishes and gently hints of a more sprightly version of Manzarek’s e-ivory tickling on “Riders On The Storm” from the same year. 

The lulling and meditative “Africa Talks To You ‘The Asphalt Jungle’” follows. The drum machine is like an amplified stop watch being clicked off and on every four seconds, contributing to the flurry of syncopated polyrhythms that nudge along under a tense crosstalk of jittery Telecaster guitars that weave in and out. The majority of the track continues long after the main lyrics are sung, and only on the surface does it seem an irregular jumble of instrumentation but there is a pattern with the continual return of certain motifs on its wide rhythmic orbit around the instrumental groove. One is the set of five reprises of the chorus chant “Timbe-r-r-r-r-a-a-a-h-h-h!/All fall down,” slurring bass, Sly’s mouthing “wah-wah-wah, wah-wah” and a pair of electric keyboard dashes across the Hohner. The secret of the track’s complexity is in its unhurried measures and the space between the clusters of riffs, rhythms and vocals. 

What closes the album side is silence although listed on the album as the title track “There’s A Riot Goin’ On.” The meaning of the title has been all but surrounded in rumour and conjecture. Was it a reference to The Coasters’ “There’s A Riot Goin’ On,” Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Goin’ On” album or the riots at that occurred during two of their concerts? Apparently, according to a fairly recent interview with Sly, he revealed that he wanted no riots and that was why the unbanded title track was listed as 0:00: right before the needle hits the matrix trail off to lift up off the record. 

Like the cluttered “Luv N’ Haight” did for side one, so does side two’s introduction with the equally jumpy “Brave And Strong.” Opening with bass and a slight horn arrangement, snare drums and hi-hat are hit alongside then mysteriously replace the opening drum machine pattern. Again, a massive amount of overdubbing is prevalent, especially with the bass and multi-layered keyboard parts. “Brave And Strong” hints at the direction of arrangement Sly would investigate to its ultimate conclusion with severe funk angularity on his 1973 album, “Fresh” (from which “Skin I’m In” and “If You Want Me To Stay” were first worked on during the “Riot” sessions.) Also similar to his future approach on “Fresh” is “(You Caught Me) Smilin’,” which is nearly Al Green caught in a terminal comfort zone. Sly’s vocals lunge between near-spoken and hollering screams while the slap-happy bass and keyboards rebound off the horns and into the pocket, every time. 

“Time” brings it down. ALL the way down to an epic at dehydrated, forced-crawl-across-the-burning-desert pace. The metronomic drum machine pattern, tape hiss (organ?) gauges the sand draining from Sly’s own personal hourglass. Like watching the minute hands pass at the speed of hour hands, or slower. The electronic amp and tape hiss builds at the end, like the sunset tide’s electric waves rolling in then wafting away free of earthly gravity that sweeps it all away. This melancholy is then swiftly whisked away with the most playful moment of the album: “Spaced Cowboy.” The joker of the “Riot” pack, “Spaced Cowboy” is a complete anomaly in the Sly canon. Beginning with the firing up of the Maestro Rhythm King drum machine with combined massive banks of tape hiss and a quick “Shortnin’ Bread” vamp on the electric keyboard, massive wah-wah’d clavinet and gnarled bass plonks, Sly…sings. Then yodels the chorus. He does it again, and then again. His yodeling is distorted, funny, frightening and sometimes falls off uncontrollably into guffaws. Sly throws in some harmonica, which I believe is a vamp of “Livin’ In The USA” by The Steve Miller Band as a nod to the song’s title provenance for “Space Cowboy” by Steve Miller Band was the track that put the term on the map (Itself probably inspired at least in part by the sleeve design of The Byrds’ “Dr. Byrds & Mr. Hyde” that saw the band transformed from helmeted Mr. Spacemen 4 to a quartet of rangers hitting the high and lonesome trail on horseback.) Once abruptly cut off in its tracks, what then emerges is the succession of snare hits of “Runnin’ Away.” Another ‘conscience’ song of Sly’s, “Runnin’ Away” is analogous to “Somebody’s Watching You” from his previous “Stand!” LP only here the vocals are even softer and more feminine as Rose Stone sings the lead with brother Sly faintly harmonising in the background. Describing how the hour of decision has all but edged into the ever-receding past, somebody somewhere has taken a wrong turn and is overdrawn on their cosmic credit. The memorably cosmic statement “Time is here to stay” makes you wanna set about doing things in your life differently to give it meaning because even though time is the waiting room and you are the patient, time is more patient and it can wait an eternity because it IS eternity. The most pop-angled moment of the album, it features Cynthia Robinson’s light and quick double-tracked French horn playing throughout, and her solo in the coda is beautiful. 

The album is finally finished off with a harrowing re-recording of “Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)” retitled here as “Thank You For Talkin’ To Me Africa.” Ground out for over seven minutes with an excruciatingly dragging, lead-booted tempo that bore little resemblance to the original, even though the lyrics remained the same it does not ring half as triumphantly as it had two years earlier on their last single. In fact, it smacks of defeat as Sly’s torturously slow vocal delivery turns the meaning of the lyrics inside out into a gruesome mirror image of the original as if he had discovered a terrifying and penetrating glance that caused him to question deeply his own success and realise the song was on some level saying two things simultaneously and dependent only on the groove alone to either breathe it full of life or suck it dry as a bone. The track is also the only appearance of drummer Gregg Errico on the album and his achingly slow pattern continues to appear and disappear ghostlike from the sparse mix. Even after repeated listens, it is impossible to catch their comings and goings. And still this sucker-punched crusher staggering on its last legs funk dirge continues to grind itself down at the same unchanging pace for 7 minutes and 14 seconds until that cumulative trauma known as “There’s A Riot Goin’ On” finally ends….by Julian Cope… 

It’s easy to write off There’s a Riot Goin’ On as one of two things – Sly Stone’s disgusted social commentary or the beginning of his slow descent into addiction. It’s both of these things, of course, but pigeonholing it as either winds up dismissing the album as a whole, since it is so bloody hard to categorize. What’s certain is that Riot is unlike any of Sly & the Family Stone’s other albums, stripped of the effervescence that flowed through even such politically aware records as Stand! This is idealism soured, as hope is slowly replaced by cynicism, joy by skepticism, enthusiasm by weariness, sex by pornography, thrills by narcotics. Joy isn’t entirely gone – it creeps through the cracks every once and awhile and, more disturbing, Sly revels in his stoned decadence. What makes Riot so remarkable is that it’s hard not to get drawn in with him, as you’re seduced by the narcotic grooves, seductive vocals slurs, leering electric pianos, and crawling guitars. As the themes surface, it’s hard not to nod in agreement, but it’s a junkie nod, induced by the comforting coma of the music. And damn if this music isn’t funk at its deepest and most impenetrable – this is dense music, nearly impenetrable, but not from its deep grooves, but its utter weariness. Sly’s songwriting remains remarkably sharp, but only when he wants to write – the foreboding opener “Luv N’ Haight,” the scarily resigned “Family Affair,” the cracked cynical blues “Time,” and “(You Caught Me) Smilin’.” Ultimately, the music is the message, and while it’s dark music, it’s not alienating – it’s seductive despair, and that’s the scariest thing about it….by allmusic…. 

As the 1970s dawned, and Altamont, Vietnam and civil unrest signalled the disintegration of the hippy era, Sly & the Family Stone were in a similar state of disarray. Their riotous Rainbow Coalition of funk, soul and rock had captured the optimistic spirit of the psychedelic era. Now, though, leader Sly Stone spent countless unproductive hours in the recording studio, fuelled by a fearsome amount of illicit chemicals, recording mostly alone, with funk luminaries like Bobby Womack, Ike Turner and Billy Preston adding occasional instrumental assistance. 
Released in 1971, There’s a Riot Goin’ On replaced the Family Stone’s bright and bold pop with a sound that was blurred by Sly’s endless overdubbing, murky but potent, as troubled as the times themselves. The grooves were edgy, restless: opener Luv n’ Haight was a desperate call-and-response set to fiercely combative licks; Thank You for Talking to Me Africa rewrote their upbeat 1970 anthem Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin) as a ghostly, enervated jam: still effortlessly funky, but unsettling rather than uplifting. The gonzo yodel-thon of Spaced Cowboy, meanwhile, sounds every bit as drugged-out and lunatic as the session which yielded it. 
Against this backdrop of paranoid and brilliant funk, Riot’s pop moments shone brightly, though this context also lent them a darker edge. (You Caught Me) Smilin’ was winningly vulnerable, a brief flash of joy; Runnin’ Away chuckled bitterly at Sly’s self-destructive tendencies (“making blues of night and day / ha ha, hee hee”). Family Affair, meanwhile, found a mush-mouthed Sly whispering tales of domestic tumult – warring brothers, anguished newlyweds – over drum-machine pulse and melting Fender Rhodes chords, while sister Rose Stone’s soulful vocal hook offered a precious note of optimism. 
The song’s blend of painful wisdom and enduring hope (Sly’s croak of “Blood’s thicker than mud”) delivered the group a #1 single, but the parent album’s hazy, disquieting funk left long-term fans puzzled. Years on, however, There’s a Riot Goin’ On is rightfully regarded as a masterpiece for its unique sound, for its bleak tone and wasted mood, summing up the unease and menace of its era as perfectly as their earlier hits had captured the positivity of the late-1960s…BBC review….. 

n the late 1960s, Sly Stone would often be asked, “Who’s family in the Family Stone?” I imagine him smiling at this point, a knowing, playful smile to fill the pause before he delivered his customary line. “We all are”, he would inevitably reply. 

It was, of course, in the way these things have to be, too good to be true. An inter-racial ‘family’ embodying all that was good about the hippy dreams of the Age of Aquarius; an R&B band who embraced psychedelia, who could rock harder than your favourite rock band; a band who couldn’t be anything but political just by dint of their being, but who wrote subtly brilliant political songs and got the party started with it. 

But everyone loves to hear of the fall rather than the rise, so here’s the question: how, after just five years, did Sylvester ‘Sly’ Stone find himself holed up in a secret studio behind a bookcase, strung out on cocaine, PCP and more, muttering into a mic, fiddling with a simple little drum machine, slowly piecing together a load of seemingly half-finished, unstructured songs with the Family Stone almost nowhere to be seen? And how - and this is the amazing part - and just how is the resultant muddle one of the most beguiling masterpieces pressed to wax? Oh, and one more thing: what’s with the yodelling? 

Sylvester Stewart was born in Texas in 1941 and moved to California as a child. His recording career began at the age of 11 and by his early 20s he had some pedigree as a singer and producer, an A&R job for a local label and a Saturday night radio show in San Francisco. Sly and the Family Stone came together around ’67, as Sly’s own project Sly and the Stoners crumbled around the same time as his younger brother Freddie’s band, Freddie and the Stone Souls. So there’s the first ‘real’ family: Freddie played guitar. More family came after the debut LP, in the form of keyboardist and sister Rose Stone. Cynthia Robinson took the trumpet, Larry Graham Jr. the bass. They all sang, more or less. 

Then there were the white boys, two Italian Americans: Jerry Martini on saxophone, and Greg Errico on drums. A white drummer! Was this some happy, hippy accident, or was Sly playing with us? It wasn’t like Errico was the hottest drummer in town, nor Martini the finest saxophonist. And mid- 60s San Francisco wasn’t exactly short on musicians. Whatever: this was a pretty radical proposition, and if we’re now jaded by hyperbole and deceitful pronunciations of novelty, we should read the sleeve of their ’67 debut album with whatever naivety we can muster. ‘A Whole New Thing’ was pretty good on its promise, if no revolution. It didn’t really sell and ’68’s ‘Dance To The Music’was a more conservative affair, a successful swipe at the pop jugular. The rockier, superior ‘Life’ followed hot on its heels and then the real breakthrough: ’69’s ‘Stand!’ 

You can make it if you try, they sang: black and white, boy and girl, rock and funk. They were Everyday People. America loved them. 

By 1971, the story goes, everything had changed, both for the band and in the world around them. They had achieved stardom: their performance at Woodstock in ’69 helped see to that. Their label rushed out a Greatest Hits in 1970 to meet demand as fans waited and waited for the new album. Many of them were to be disappointed. 1971’s ‘There’s A Riot Goin’ On’ was a long way from the gleaming exuberance of old. It sounds tired. Not dated, but exhausted. Jaded. Bitter. The ‘end of the hippy dream’ angle has been done to death but if there’s a sound to match the disillusionment of the time, of the breakdown of the civil rights movement, of Richard Nixon, of Altamont, of Martin Luther King and Malcolm X, of Vietnam, of Jimi Hendrix, it’s deep in these grooves. Not of the title track though: that doesn’t exist. 0 minutes and 0 seconds. I don’t know why Sly did that. I wouldn’t be sure he does either. 

Recorded in a $12,000-per-month Bel Air mansion, replete with secret studio behind that bookcase, details of the recording are hazy at best. Most of it was done alone by Sly, or members of the band recording single overdubs – despite the track, this is no Family Affair. It was overdubbed to death, creating that awfully seductive murky sonic sludge. The world’s sharp corners are blunted, its bright lights are dimmed. There were bodyguards, guns, groupies, in-fights, affairs, a constant stream of celebrity guests, from Ike and Tina to Miles and Herbie. You can hear Bobby Womack, Ike Turner and Billy Preston on the record, you can sometimes hear the Family Stone. But what you can really hear is Sly, and Sly’s crying. Even when he’s yodelling. …by Alex Robinson…. 


Sly Stone - vocals, organ, guitar, bass guitar, clavinet, piano, harmonica and drum programming. 
Rosie Stone - vocals, piano, keyboard. Freddie Stone. background 
vocals, guitar. 
Larry Graham Jr. - background vocals, bass guitar. 
Cynthia Robinson - trumpet. 
Jerry Martini - saxophone. 
Gregg Errico - drums. 
Gerry Gibson - drums. 
Little Sister (Vet Stone, Mary McCreary, Elva Mouton) - background vocals. 
Bobby Womack - guitar. 
Ike Turner - guitar. 
Billy Preston - electric piano. 

01. Luv ‘n’ Haight 
02. Just Like a Baby 
03. Poet 
04. Family Affair 
05. Africa Talks To You ‘The Asphalt Jungle’ 
06. There’s a Riot Goin’ On 
07. Brave and Strong 
08. You Caught Me Smilin’ 
09. Time 
10. Spaced Cowboy 
11. Running Away 
12. Thank You For Talkin’ To Me Africa 

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