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The year was At clubs like Studio 54 and Xenon—the Studio for the Warhol Crowd, Xenon for the Eurotrash—beautiful people with pin-hole pupils were doing the Hustle and even the wild thing on strobe-lit dance floors, snorting crystalline cocaine out of little plastic bullets, gulping Quaaludes and champagne to dull the edge.

Who the fuck can remember?

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Rick James was there. His first rock and roll band had included Nick St. Nicholas, later of Super freak milf loves to suck cock. His second included Neil Young. Prince was once his opening act. By the time this night had come, Rick James was known around the world as the King of Funk, one of the biggest names in the music business. His live shows were legendary. His long braids dusted with glitter, he strode the stage in thigh-high boots and spandex, crouching to accept joints and kisses from his adoring fans.

His orchestrations were brilliant, his shows spectacular. His funk was high and mighty while his attitude stayed down and dirty. His eroticism was raw. He was an early gangsta of love, outrageous, unmanageable, both benefactor and victim of his own inexhaustible energy.

So it must have been sometime inbecause James was at the height of his powers. They were somewhere between a family and a musical commune. Then James bought a ranch in Buffalo, and they all moved in together there.

Rick James believed in drugs. All of the songs are about drugs. That is the persona of this band. He took care of his crew. He never let a birthday pass without a catered party, though none bested the one he gave for the comedian Eddie Murphy, with hundreds of guests and a different kind of food in "Super freak milf loves to suck cock" of the themed rooms of the house.

James also let the crew drive his cars—he had more than a dozen, from Jeeps and Mercedes to an Excaliber and a vintage Rolls. Thirty pairs of cowboy boots. A half-dozen Cartier tank watches as gifts for different women. A riot would ensue as women rushed for his autograph. One trip through Bloomies brought him face to face with Linda Blair, grown up considerably since her role in The Exorcist. Moonlit dinners for sixty on a terrace at a hotel in Hawaii.

And, wherever James went, there were women.

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They threw crotchless panties on the stage when he played. They climbed the gates and knocked on his door at three a. They arrived in cars sent for them. All he had to do was open his bedroom door and point to someone at the party going on in his living room.

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James shrugged his shoulders, Why not? He made a motion in the air with his finger like a trail driver: The crew began to rise.

Rick James hovered there a moment, half out of his chair, slightly taken aback. Who, he wondered, could command more juice than the King of Funk himself? Now he was really curious. He gestured to his friend Taylor Alonzo, the manager of Xenon. Their friendship was solidified the day James took Alonzo along with him to buy a Rolls-Royce. James settled on a vintage silver blue Cornice. Then he asked the salesman to install wire wheels. He was totally drunk.

I just had to meet you! Fourteen years later, on a spring day inRick James shuffles into a small office within the Gothic walls of Folsom State Prison, near Sacramento, Calif. He is chaperoned by a prison official, who will stay at his side for the duration of the interview.

Now 48, James is serving the final days of a sentence for assault, false imprisonment and furnishing drugs, the result of two separate crack-fueled incidents involving James, Hijazi and two other women. To prison authorities, the King of Funk is just another resident of a two-man cell, with bunk beds and a shiny metal commode with no seat: James Ambrose Johnson Jr.

James has passed his days inside the prison with grace, humor and good behavior, prison officials say. He has worked in the prison library. From a computer in the library, he contributes to his personal web site, put up by some fans. He speaks every day by phone to Hijazi and their 4-year-old son, Tazman. He works occasionally as a model. Rick James sits down and folds his hands demurely on the table. What you want to know? The defense lawyer, Mark Werksman, continues his cross examination on the witness, a woman named Mary Sauger: His client, Rick James, was facing three Super freak milf loves to suck cock sentences: Werksman paused a moment, scanned his notes.

The trial was entering its second week; the prosecution was still presenting its case, leaning hard on the lurid details.

Werksman was doing his best to rebut. Werksman was a Yale graduate, a former assistant DA, in his third year of private practice. Yet even Super freak milf loves to suck cock his rarified world, he had never before had a client come to the office with his girlfriend and his personal lawyer in tow.

The district attorney had told Werksman: James, however, appeared unfazed. In his constellation of reality, this whole case was a bunch of shit, period. Since that first meeting, Werksman had begun to like James quite a bit. Reviewing the facts, getting to know his client, he began to sympathize with the King of Funk—and to disdain the alleged victims in the case.

The place was palatial, complete with guest house, gazebo, swimming pool and prize rose bushes.

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