Foo Fighters, Robert Plant, John Fogerty, David Byrne – the Austin City Limits Music Festival was never built on beats and rhymes but there is plenty to like in this year’s lineup for hip-hop heads and funk aficionados. Here are ten sure shots for fest-goers who don’t worship at the temple of rock. Erykah Badu: The self-proclaimed analog girl in a digital world has been laying low of late but recent release New Amerykah Part One: 4th World War is a bizarre and beautiful masterpiece. (Saturday, 4:30pm, AT&T stage) Antibalas: Brass-driven, Brooklyn-based infantry Antibalas has been spreading the gospel of Fela for more than a decade but 2007’s Security busts beyond the bounds of Afrobeat. (Friday, 7:15pm, WaMu stage) Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings: This year's 100 Days, 100 Nights proves her a modern day Ms. Dynamite, the hardest working woman in show business. (Saturday, 2:30pm, AMD stage) Manu Chao: The trilingual troubadour builds bridges across continents as salsa sashays with ska and rock rubs elbows with reggae, goofy electronic wizardry tying the whole carnival under a single tent. (Friday, 8:30pm, AT&T stage)

I’ve got a birthday this week and to celebrate I’m looking back at the best album from every year I’ve been alive, a concept I lifted from an interview with writer Chuck Klosterman. Here goes: 1979: Michael Jackson, Off the Wall This is the only album from my birth year still in semi-regular rotation. The first great MJ record is pop perfection. 1980: Bob Marley & the Wailers, Uprising A worthy final act, Uprising is the final studio album from a truly transcendent figure. 1981: Rick James, Street Songs With steamy funk jams like "Super Freak" and "Give It to Me Baby," Street Songs is a coked-up sex party pressed in wax. 1982: Michael Jackson, Thriller To paraphrase Dave Chappelle, Michael is cleared of all charges and subsequent creepiness; "he made Thriller." 1983: Violent Femmes, Violent Femmes One of only two rock albums on my list, the Violent Femmes debut is undeniable. Credit my brother Jake for spinning this album on repeat during his angsty teenage years. 1984: Prince, Purple Rain What more to be said? 1985: RUN D.M.C., King of Rock The kings from Queens wouldn't raise hell with their masterpiece for another year but King of Rock was still groundbreaking.

An interesting historical tidbit from the wildly entertaining and frequently off-color hip-hop blog Jump the Turnstyle: Chris Faraone writes George Clinton was moved to pen “We Want the Funk” after incredulously watching some white boys “with jeans on playing funk.” The fraudulent funk offender? David Bowie singing “Fame.” I might add that any site with a Wu-Tang Wednesdays feature is probably worth checking out.

Those who know me well know I put Fela Anikulapo Kuti on the highest of musical pedestals. In my home office, four framed photos of the Afrobeat pioneer adorn the walls, including the one above my desk, where a shirtless Fela – face painted as if preparing for war – places a chain around the neck of his bowed head. As I write this, Fela watches over. In my ears only James Brown rivals the radical Nigerian rabble-rouser. From the playful wit of “Gentleman” and “Expensive Shit” to the scathing indictments of the military government on “Zombie” and “Coffin for the Head of State,” Fela’s marathon polyrhythmic funk jams are utterly hypnotizing. The Afrobeat torch is now in the hands of Fela’s sons Femi and Seun who, like Damian and Stephen Marley, are burdened with introducing their father's enormous legacy to a new generation. Femi is a phenomenal live performer but I’ve never been enamored with his studio albums. The modern R&B and hip-hop touches don’t always work and too often sound like Afrobeat lite. If you’ve had similar misgivings about Femi allow me to introduce you to Seun Anikulapo Kuti, youngest son of Fela. Seun (pronounced Shay-oon) Kuti’s debut album, Many Things (Disorient), finds him fronting his father’s Egypt 80 ensemble, a band he first played with at age eight. The youngest of the Kuti clan doesn’t run from the shadow of Fela, proudly wrapping it around his shoulders like a sorcerer’s cloak. With tracks clocking in at an average of seven minutes, Seun takes aim at Nigeria’s government and big oil corporations over classic Afrobeat grooves. Songs like “African Problems” and “Don’t Give That Shit to Me” tend to bludgeon social issues rather than prod them with the wry humor present in Fela’s best work. Of course, Seun is only 25 and with years will come nuance. More importantly, he shares his father's unflinching intensity and fierceness of spirit that is at the heart of Afrobeat.

“I want somebody to tell my mother and go down yonder in Georgia and tell my father that I’m way over here crawling in these trench holes covered with blood,” yearns the Mighty Hannibal on his devastating 1966 anti-war anthem. “But one thing that I know … there’s no tomorrow, they’re burying me.” In a just world, “Hymn No. 5” would have made the Mighty Hannibal a household name rather than another obscure footnote in the book of lost soul legends. Born James Shaw in Atlanta, 1939, Hannibal had the outlandish personality of a superstar and the talent to back it up but his career was often derailed by drug addiction. After breaking the chains of crack and heroin, Hannibal found Jesus and released the only full-length LP of his career in 1972. Titled simply Truth, it’s righteous, defiant, gritty, and funky as hell. The last time Hannibal was here, in April 2007, TCB had a lively chat with the man before his show at the Scoot Inn. Bump & Hustle catches up this time around, rapping about Barack Obama, upstaging James Brown, and how much he loves Archie Bell’s big, fat butt. Hannibal, Bell, and Barbara Lynn play the Continental Club Saturday.

The jacket of Steam Heat’s 1975 album, Austin Funk, paints a brilliantly colored dance party at the famed Armadillo World Headquarters. Yellow lettering pops off an orange background and revelers groove to the beat sporting green butterfly-collar shirts, purple tube tops, and white fedoras. It wasn’t until after the album was released that the band discovered artist Micael Priest was color-blind. “Well, he could see color on acid,” chimes drummer Eddie Cantu, who played with the band from 1979-1984 after their Extreme Heat makeover. In a city where public schools didn’t fully desegregate until after 1970, Steam Heat was something of an anomaly; an integrated band playing funk in the land of cosmic cowboys. “We were the first band to draw mixed crowds to clubs on the Westside,” says vocalist Bruce Spelman after a recent South Austin rehearsal. “There were other integrated bands but they didn’t play on the Westside of Austin.” The band is tuning up for a reunion show Thursday at Threadgill’s World HQ, celebrating the reissue of Austin Funk on CD. They’ll be joined by fellow 1970s Fable mates Starcrost, 47 Times Its Own Weight, and Beto & the Fairlanes. “It’s gonna be like a big huge high school reunion,” laughs guitarist Mike Barnes. “We’ll need everyone to wear name tags.” Channeling influences from Little Feat to Tower of Power, Steam Heat cooked up a jazzy funk fusion that served as a soundtrack to many wild nights at the Soap Creek Saloon. “It was out in the country where anything goes,” Barnes marvels of the defunct hot spot off Bee Caves Road, where they held down a weekly residency. “You could smoke a joint out front with total impunity,” trombonist Phil Ritcherson laughs. “It was a bunch of white people who liked to drive through the mud.” Visit Margaret Moser's Girlie Action blog for more Steam Heat memories.

Take away the Shaft soundtrack and all of his solo albums and Isaac Hayes’ contribution to soul music would still be monumental. In collaboration with David Porter, Hayes penned and composed more than 200 songs for Stax Records. I love Sam & Dave, but that duo would be nothing without Hayes & Porter, who wrote mega-hits “Hold On, I'm Coming,” “Soul Man,” “I Thank You,” and a healthy portion of the pair’s entire catalog. For such a prolific songwriter, many of Hayes’ best-known songs are not his own. Only one of the four extended tracks on his 1969 masterpiece, Hot Buttered Soul, is an original and 1971’s Black Moses is dominated by covers as well. But anyone who's listened to these albums knows Hayes never really covered songs. He transformed them. On “Walk On By,” Hayes freaks a pleasant three minute pop tune into an epic 12-minute opus. At the 5:12 mark, the crescendoing strings all but snap before the intoxicating wah-wah kicks in. He didn't just sound different, he was different. In an era when either the processed 'do of JB or the Black Power afro of Angela Davis was en vogue, he rocked pink tights and a shiny bald head. There's a reason his performance was the grand finale for the epic 1972 Wattstax concert at the L.A. Coliseum. The liner notes from the soundtrack express it best: “Isaac appeared as planned. And when Isaac arrives, the whole world knows it. Two Harley Davidsons rumbled through the main tunnel with lights flashing and sirens going full blast. People stood in the aisles screaming 'Black Moses' as he emerged in Academy Award splendor: a gold chain vest, shiny bald head, metallic orange pants with black and white fringed cuffs. Flamboyant, cool, haughty, and, without a doubt, the true Black sex-symbol-idol of the century." Rest in peace, Ike!

Slow your roll next time you cruise past the Victory Grill on East 11th Street. The storied venue got a makeover this weekend courtesy of the Trust Your Struggle artist collective. The California and New York-based group is touring the country this summer, creating murals in collaboration with local artists. The mural covering the west wall of the Victory Grill honors Austin soul queen Lavelle White, who drove by to see the piece Saturday night. Also pictured is Johnny Holmes, who founded the venue in 1945, and pianist Roosevelt “Grey Ghost” Williams, the first musician Holmes booked to play the juke joint. Mary Lindsey, who helps run the venue, put it best: “When I drove up tonight it blew my mind. They say we're losing our history but when I drove up tonight – there it is.” Click through the gallery for more.

For someone claiming to rap about nothing, Wale (pronounced wah-lay) sure has a lot to say. I first heard the DC rapper when he blasted off on the opening track of 2007’s Daptone Records Remixed, packing in obscure references to Seinfeld characters with cocksure flow. In May, Wale took the concept further, dropping a free download coyly titled Mixtape About Nothing. Stitched together with dialogue from his favorite sitcom, the opening track leans on that distinctive slap bass from the Seinfeld theme as Wale riffs on “what’s the deal?” “If you love substance you love Wale but most niggas love nothing so I made this tape,” he declares.