As a kid, Larry tried piano, clarinet, saxophone, drums, and guitar before finding his true calling. His multi-instrumental background and open mind ultimately led him to create an entirely original electric bass style. Some call it slap and pop—Larry calls it “thumpin’ and pluckin’”—and it’s arguably the single most innovative and influential technique in the instrument’s history. Even players who consciously steer clear of its now-ubiquitous presence need to at least have a handle on the technique just to get through a typical wedding set. Larry Graham’s funky creation is a lasting one.

Graham found the ideal outfit for his bizarre chops and robust vocal resonance during his celebrated tenure in Sly & the Family Stone, the multicultural ensemble that sprung up from the same San Francisco Summer of Love scene that produced the Grateful Dead and Santana. Yet, even during the countercultural heyday of the late ’60s and early ’70s, Sly & the Family Stone was different. It was the first major act to include both black and white members as well as men and women. It was also the first to mix R&B with psychedelia, funk, and pop. No group before or since—with the possible exception of Prince—has had such success crossing funk grooves and pop melodies the way Sly and his band did on tracks such as “Stand!” and “You Can Make It If You Try.” The brilliant group vocal arrangements and socially conscious lyrics of songs like “Everyday People” and “Everybody Is a Star” made the music universally appealing—at once of its time, and timeless.

This spring, Epic/Legacy is issuing deluxe editions of the impossibly inventive band’s seminal albums. Each CD has been re-mastered, and includes previously unreleased material and expanded liner notes. There’s buzz about the band, too: The Family Stone’s long-reclusive leader, Sylvester Stewart (a.k.a. Sly Stone), made an appearance at the 2006 Grammy Awards. There, most of the original band members—but not Larry—appeared onstage with a cast of stellar musicians who had contributed to the Family Stone tribute album Different Strokes by Different Folks [Sony, 2006]. Sly has also lent his blessing to a new Family Stone run by his youngest sister, Vaetta “Vet” Stone, and reports of a possible new Sly album and tour add to the intrigue.

Graham, on the other hand, has rarely strayed far or long from the limelight since he left the Family fold in 1972. His band Graham Central Station reeled off a string of impressive bass-driven albums for the remainder of the ’70s, with incredible thump-led tunes like “Hair” and “The Jam.” Graham’s vocal-oriented solo material made him a star all over again in the ’80s, with ballads like “One in a Million You” and “Just Be My Lady.” Since the late ’90s he’s been living in Minnesota, collaborating with and spiritually counseling the artist currently known as the guy who blew the roof off the Super Bowl in the Purple Miami Rain. When we met with the elder statesmen of funk bass, he had just returned from a GCS engagement at Prince’s Club 3121 in Las Vegas. The two are currently cutting tracks for a new Graham release to be dropped in the hopefully not-so-distant future.

What are your favorite Sly & the Family Stone bass lines?
“Dance to the Music” stands out because bass players weren’t using effects up until that point, and that opened the door. “Everyday People” is unique because I’m just thumpin’ one note with the same rhythm for the whole song. I’d never heard that before. That’s simple as I could ever play. “Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Again)” features my thumpin’ and pluckin’ prominently. It’s the foundation of the song, so I’m happy about that.

You planted a thump-and-pluck flag on “Thank You.” How did you feel when everybody started picking up on the technique?
I always took the fact that they were imitating my playing style as a compliment. Most bass players come up and compliment me and thank me. I’m still overjoyed to this day because now it’s a part of how you play.
A lot of people that love my thumpin’ and pluckin’ style don’t know where it originated. Their favorite bass player listened to me, but they only know that bass player in that band. I’m not seeking credit, but it makes me feel good when bassists like Verdine White, Stanley Clarke, Flea, Bootsy Collins, or Victor Wooten talk about me being an influence on their bass playing. It means the most to know that I was able to contribute something to the world of music that is ongoing and will probably be around forever.

How did you and Greg Errico work together in the Family Stone rhythm section?
Fortunately, Greg had a drumming style that really complemented what I was doing. We never had any collisions. It wouldn’t have worked if he filled up a lot of space, which is what everybody else was doing at the time. He found a way to complement the song and the bass line by being creative and open.

Can you describe how you both approached the beat in terms of feel?
Greg plays on the money; he doesn’t rush or lag. I can play on the money, but I can also lay back, depending on the song. You can hear me deliberately laying back on “Just Like a Baby” [There’s a Riot Goin’ On], “Que Sera, Sera” [Fresh], and “Sex Machine” [Stand!]. The actual bass line to “Dance to the Music” [Dance to the Music] is an example of being on it. The fuzz track is a little more laid back. I laid it down after the regular part. “Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Again)” [on Greatest Hits] had to be on the money because the bass line sets the pattern, and lot of stuff was built on it.

How did you record your lines?
A lot of stuff was cut live, so we miked the amp in the control room and ran a direct line as well. We didn’t do anything fancy. The most important thing was making it sound right in the room by capturing what was coming out of the instrument, strings, pedals, and amp—like a concert—as opposed to trying to create something different.

How were the arrangements created?
One of the elements that contributed to the band’s success was that folks were allowed freedom of expression to a great degree. Sly would lay out the song and the pattern—the basic course that we were to follow—but everyone was allowed to contribute, especially the rhythm section. We would do extended versions of songs in concert. We’d start by playing the song pretty much like the record, and then we’d run through it a second time when you had the freedom to do whatever you wanted. Some of those licks and concepts would end up being new songs.

Did you ever write lyrics or share a songwriting credit?
No, but I played whatever I wanted to play. Nobody else in the band is credited with writing or co-writing any of the songs, although by today’s standards we would all be viewed differently, and some would probably be credited differently. We’re making no claims or complaining about credit. I’m happy for the success we had, and that it proved to be a springboard for me.

What was your first major musical moment?
My father gave me his guitar when I was 11 because he decided he wasn’t going to play anymore. I taught myself to play it, and one of the songs I learned was Clarence Gatemouth Brown’s “Okie Dokie Stomp.” A mutual friend told Ike and Tina Turner that I could play it well, and they brought me onstage with their band at the Fillmore West. That night was a big deal to me because it was my first experience on a big stage. The crowd went crazy watching this little 13-year-old guy playing that song note for note.

How did you follow that up?
I continued playing gigs with my band, the Five Riffs, and then when I was 15 my mother and I started playing all over the San Francisco Bay Area as the Dell Graham Trio. She played piano and sang, I played guitar and sang. Reuben Kerr, from my old band, played drums; then it was a guy named Pinky, and after him, my mother decided we would just be a duo. We were working at the Escort Club in Redwood City. They had an organ, and I would play the bass pedals with my foot while I played the guitar. We were used to having bottom, so when that organ broke I rented a St. George bass from Music Unlimited in San Leandro, which is still there. I was renting the bass until the organ could be repaired, but they couldn’t find parts, so I got stuck on the bass [laughs].

Did you start thumpin’ and pluckin’ straight away?
I started thumpin’ and pluckin’ from the first time I played bass because I played guitar with my fingers—not a pick. I would thump the strings with my thumb to make up for the bass drum, and pluck the strings with my fingers to make up for the backbeat snare drum. It made sense to me because I had been a drummer in the school band. I wasn’t interested in learning the so-called “correct” overhand style of playing bass, because in my head I was going back to guitar, anyway. Then I realized, Hey—this is pretty cool.

What were you doing just before you joined the Family Stone?
I went straight from playing with my mother to Sly. We were playing at Relax With Yvonne near the corner of Haight and Ashbury when Sly came and told me about this band he was starting. With my mother’s blessing, I went to a rehearsal at Sly’s house, and we all hit it off right from the jump. He was originally going to be the bass player, but he jumped to keyboards, and we started playing gigs around the Bay.

What were the circumstances when you left the Family Stone in 1972?
Sometimes in a family, it comes time to go. Nothing is specifically wrong; at some point you leave home, and you aren’t mad. You still love your parents and your brothers and sisters, but you leave. Everything is still cool. A number of us have worked and toured together since then. Greg Errico is on my instructional video. At one show, I had everybody from the original band onstage at the same time with the exception of Sly and [guitarist] Freddie Stone.

What was it like to assume the reins in Graham Central Station?
My mother and Sly were both great bandleaders, and I learned from them. Sly & the Family Stone was an appropriate name because the whole band ran like a family unit. You always felt secure and protected, and that the direction given was reliable. I brought that vibe to my band, and it reflected in the music, especially during live performance.

Were you able to do more of the things you wanted on bass?
Sure—I was able to feature my bass more, and my singing, too. In Sly & the Family Stone I mostly sang parts, but with GCS I sang a lot of lead.
Did your bass approach change at all due to increased songwriting, vocals, and showmanship duties?
I changed more as a singer, especially by the time we got to One in a Million You, because for the first time in my career the focus was more on my vocals. Million was my biggest record, so it kind of overshadowed my bass playing. Some folks didn’t know my funky history with Sly & the Family Stone and GCS. Seeing me walk onstage with a bass was a surprise to the suit-and-tie crowd that started showing up at concerts. I’d go from “One in a Million You” to “The Jam,” and they were like, “Oh, that guy!” [Laughs.]

How did you hook up with Prince in the late ’90s?
He invited me to an after-show jam, and knew all my stuff backwards and forwards. We had such a good time that he invited GCS to open for the rest of his tour. We became really close. He knew I was one of Jehovah’s Witnesses, so he would ask me stacks of questions about the Bible. After a while, he looked and my wife and asked, “Do you like snow?” [Laughs.] He followed by asking me to come to Minnesota to teach him the Bible. We moved from Montego Bay, Jamaica, to Chanhassen, which is near the Twin Cities. When we landed, my daughter thought we were still in the clouds, because everything was white!

What are your thoughts on the new Family Stone?
I haven’t heard them live. Vet and [original Sly & the Family Stone trumpeter] Cynthia Robinson invited me to a gig in Minneapolis, but I was out of town. I heard about the recent concert they did where Sly showed up. I’m happy he’s playing again. I hope he does more.

How do you feel about the band’s legacy?
I think we made a major contribution to the music world. We influenced so many groups, who in turn influenced other musicians. We were like a massive tree with multiple branches that provided comforting shade to keep a lot of people cool.