Parliament Funkadelic Ft George Clinton
The Enmore was already humming before doors, a warm spring night pushing people inside early and tight to the barrier. You could taste the anticipation in the air and see it in the sequins—an eclectic crowd dressed to pay tribute to funk royalty, ready to dance before the first downbeat.
Drax Project set the table with precision and charm. Four players, big sound: crisp three-part harmonies, sax swapping mid-song with lead vocals, and a rhythm section that snapped like a mousetrap. The moment of the set—hands down—was the first airing of How Does It Feel. Sleek, melodic, and road-ready, it landed like a future single and drew a proper roar from a packed house. A buskers-roots medley tipped the hat to their beginnings (just drums and sax once upon a time), spiralling into a tight drum solo, a cheeky wink of Crazy, and—because they could—another solo. By the time Woke Up Late and All This Time faded, the room was primed and smiling.
Then the Mothership: no merch, no set list—just a living, breathing groove engine. A stage full of singers, horns and hype swelled to life as the bandleader, George Clinton strode on in jeweled cap, glittered layers and that unmistakable grin. He worked the lip of the stage like a conductor, wind-milling an arm to bounce the floor, then settling on a drummer’s stool to steer the storm. “I need to remind you why we’re all here tonight—repeat after me: We are—one nation.” Four rounds later, the room was one choir, and the band slid us under a groove like it was 1978 and 2025 all at once.
From there it was glorious chaos: shards of Flash Light, the velvet sway of I’d Rather Be With You in irresistible falsetto, horn lines stacked like neon, synths smearing into sax screams. The drummer detonated a solo that rattled the old theatre; later, a second percussive blitz answered it in spirit from earlier in the night. Jump Around arrived out of left field—Tonysha leading the charge, gliding on stage atop a motorised, neon-lit carry-on (because why walk when you can roll?), then swapping skyscraper platforms for fluffy slippers without missing a step. When Atomic Dog finally barked, invited fans—wristbands raised—streamed up to join the party and the place did exactly what the title demanded.
Visually it was a feast: magenta backwash and cool white keys carving silhouettes through haze; spot-pops pinging off Tonysha’s sequins; the bandleader bathed in warm amber against steel blues, every embellishment throwing tiny lightning bolts. The front line—vocalists and horns—moved like a living marquee, and the wide-open deck left room for struts, strafe-steps and show-and-tell solos. It felt less like a set and more like a sovereign state of groove, borders erased.
The roof-lifters? Drax’s How Does It Feel planted a flag for what comes next, and Atomic Dog made true believers of anyone still on the fence. But the night belonged to two things: the crowd’s full-body response—dancing from barrier to balcony—and that conductor’s arm, drawing crescendos from thin air as if the entire room were his orchestra. Tonysha’s magnetism sealed it: proof the family business is entertainment and the bar is still sky-high.
As the house lights came up, it was waves goodbye, high fives along the barrier, and one last shimmer of sequins in the magenta haze. Out on Enmore Road, “Jump Around—jump, jump, jump” echoed from a side street while the crowd spilled into the night. A bloke in an OG P-Funk shirt shook his head and grinned: “That wasn’t a concert, that was a coronation—he conducted the whole funking room.” A woman dressed head to toe in gold adjusted her heels and added: “Must be genetic—Tonysha just proved the entertainment gene runs in the family.” The cheer hung in the air a moment longer, like the Mothership was still hovering.
Thank you to Parliament Funkadelic, George Clinton, Destroy All Lines, Beehive PR and the Enmore Theatre for having us along.
Review & Photos by Andy Kershaw for Music Kingdom Australia
