The year was 1974. The vice squad, code named “Fuzzy Dunlop”, was working deep undercover in “off the books” efforts to infiltrate and bring down ruthless drug cartels. But this rag-tag group of misfits and renegades had a dirtier, darker secret: each night, when the guns, wiretaps and fake mustaches were stowed away for the night, this street hardened outfit gathered together to unwind and work off their collective frazzled nerves. Not by drinking or indulging in vices of their own, but by plugging in their Arp 2600s, Minimoogs and obscure stomp boxes, and laying down the funk. Not because the wanted to – but because they had to. These reels were recently unearthed, buried under a pile of tweed jackets and an impressively diverse collection of snow globes, in the attic of an old woman suffering from an advanced state of dementia. Enjoy!

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