"Mothership Connection (Star Child)" (Parliament)

The entire Mothership Connection album (1975) is a weird, wonderful masterpiece.  It's the album that definitively established Parliament as its own entity with a sound, look, and mythology separate from not only Funkadelic but the whole funk universe.
In fact, George Clinton invented his own universe, filled with sci-fi crusaders guided by Star Child, their messianic leader who railed against all flavors of oppression and repression.  Sensing the turmoil and general unfunkiness on earth, Star Child returned to our planet on the Mothership—his chosen mode of intergalactic funksportation—to shake the shackles of humanity's constipated thinking and get everybody dancing under the Almighty One...
Yes, this was the product of Clinton's chemically-fueled imagination.  But to chalk up the whole Parliament experience to drugs would be to diminish his talent and genius.  Narcotics or no, Clinton invented this elaborate backstory, which was equal parts Narnia and Star Trek, so that he could take his music and its young fans further than either were told they could go.  Galaxies beyond.
In a June 2014 piece for NPR, journalist Allison Keyes discusses with Clinton the Smithsonian's recent acquisition of the massive, metallic Mothership stage prop from Parliament's legendary stage shows.  Clinton comments on the significance of the Mothership and the entire Mothership Connection lore.
"I definitely felt we needed something to be proud of as black people.  We wanted to have a funk opera."

And the track "Mothership Connection (Star Child)" is where that opera really starts to gel.  Any initial "what the?" reactions you might have listening to Clinton's extra-terrestrial DJ ramblings on the disc's opening track start to melt away, and you begin to acclimate to the record's alien funk atmosphere.  Bernie Worrell's jazzy keyboard flourishes over Bootsy Collins's gulping bass provide the perfect backdrop for Clinton to rap about partying in space and reclaiming the pyramids.  It still sounds light years ahead of its time.

My absolute favorite part of the track is the coda.  Clinton makes an announcement like some kind of prophetic flight attendant (When Gabriel's horn blow / You'd better be ready to go); Worrell hits this jazzy chord that sounds like a beam of light coming out of the clouds; and suddenly you're in the middle of this gospel-tinged singalong: Swing down, sweet chariot / Stop and let me ride.

It gets me every time.