Funkmouf

The man, the myth, the afro

Instrument: Guitar, Vocals
From: Detroit, Michigan
Likes: The Funk, Adventure, Kung Fu
Dislikes: Brussels Sprouts, Squash, Clowns

One man, on a mission of epic magnitude.

One man, with the vision to stand up and lay it all on the line for what he believes in.

One man, who hasn’t purchased a single piece of new clothing since 1977.

Funkmouf Brown.

More than a band, more than a man, more than a funky can of spam glands in your hand, understand?

…what?

3:23 am. In the backseat of a speeding dirty cab in the mean streets of Detroit, a failed soul singer has her legs in the air. She is Big Momma Brown, and her screams are so loud that she’s drowning out James Brown (no relation) on the radio. She spent her life chasing the dream of the big time as a racy soul singer who would do anything to make it. Including sleeping with the sleaziest record exec imaginable who promised the world. Those promises, dreams and his soiled teddy bear plushie suit were left in the past. 9 months ago. The only reminder of it now was an afro-capped head starting to crown and the cab cleaning bill that she would receive a few weeks later. It was then that Big Momma Brown swore that her baby would have everything that she never did. Things like success. Respect. Underwear.

Funkmouf Brown was raised on the power of the most soulful music around. Gospel. Blues. Soul. Polka. The Funk. Big Momma Brown even played it for him in his sleep. She sang it to him daily and boy could she sing. With a name like Big Momma Brown, what would you expect? With a name like Big Momma Brown, would you tell her even if she couldn’t? No sir. Not if you liked your spine-parts. She sang to him about far away lands, adventure, love, fortune and glory and doing the dishes before the food gets crusty.

Embraced by The Funk as a child, FunkMouf cultivated a fine musical ear as well as an impeccable sense of rhythm. After mastering the subtle harmonic intensity of the kazoo, he made the natural transition to guitar by age 8. His formidable guitar chops and “how-on-earth-does-a-child-have-an-afro-that-big?!?” afro were all the tools he needed to begin wowing audiences. Some speculated that his talent came from his hair (others speculated that it could be seen from satellite…the hair, not the talent) and dared him to shave it off. Funkmouf refused, but fate had other plans as shortly thereafter in a bizarre but hilarious accident,  his afro became entangled and ensnared in a life threatening mix of jelly, dough, microphone cables and massive cellulite encrusted thighs. The afro had to be surgically removed, but the talent remained. The smaller afro’d, more mobile Funkmouf continued onward and has never looked back.

Acts the world over came calling for the talent and presence that was Funkmouf Brown. He played with some of the greatest performers ever to grace the stage, but ultimately felt the allure of creating his own act and sharing the music that was in his head and in his intestines (after an exceptionally potent batch of spicy Mexican food) with the world. Fate again took the wheel and slowly the players fell into place. He searched the world for talent to compliment his own and found himself also lusting for adventure as well as The Funk. He found himself in exotic places and far out spaces using nothing but his wits and charm to survive.  All of these excursions served to make him more worldly and reinforced his Funk (especially in places with limited access to soap) as well as allowing him to open his heart to others in need of a helping hand up in times of trouble.

Now, as the leader of Funkmouf Brown the band, he is dedicated to making Big Momma Brown proud and to bring world peace to the world pieces, one phat funky beat at a time. Now can you dig that?