Sly & The Family Stone were never funkier than on this tune, with Larry Graham’s bass to the forefront of Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin).

If James Brown was the godfather of soul, then Sly Stone was the wayward genius of a younger brother who took up the family trade.

Sly Stone was a name I used to hear long before I ever heard his music. I can only imagine the impact this appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show would have had on me if I was even five years older and living in America.

But I was only ten and when I started to hear soul music it was the smooth radio-friendly pop-soul of Motown rather than the exuberant funk of Sly & The Family Stone.

A groundbreaking innovator, as his family rightly described him in a statement following his death, Sly was ahead of his time in so many ways: infusing gospel and soul with fearsome funk and psychedelic rock – and one of the first drum machines.

Even more importantly, he visibly challenged racial attitudes by bringing diversity to his band – the first major act to have a racially integrated mixed-gender line-up.

Sly & The Family Stone really was a family affair, as the song said, and mixed one to boot, with Sly’s brother Freddie on guitar, his sister Rose on keyboards, trumpeter Cynthia Robinson, bass guitarist Larry Graham and two white musicians: drummer Greg Errico and sax man Jerry Martini.

To appreciate how pioneering (and, in some quarters, controversial) this was, you only have to remember that racial segregation had only been abolished in 1964, two years before the band formed (and four years before this clip) and housing discrimination lasted until 1968, when this TV show performance was aired; so kudos to Ed Sullivan as well.

And when the Black Panthers told him to get rid of the white musicins, their pleas fell on the deaf ears of a man who prided himself on being colour-blind; often making the point onstage by chanting: “Don’t call me Nigga, Whitey!”

Born Sylvester Stewart in Texas and raised in San Francisco during the racial upheavals of the ’50s and ’60s, he was also a pioneering figure in the civil rights movement, infusing political protest with as much joy as anger in titles like There’s A Riot Goin’ On.

Looking back, it seems the UK was not as ready as America for Sly’s brand of funk at the time; while he had three US No.1 hits, Sly & The Family Stone only managed one Top Ten single here (Dance To The Music in 1969), though Family Affair and Runnin’ Away both made the Top Twenty in 1972.

Sadly, as with so many great musicians, drug addiction cut short his career – it really was compressed into the years 1967-73 – and cocaine turned him into an eccentric, erratic and elusive figure in later years.

So much so that sadness at his death, at the age of 82, is tinged with surprise and satisfaction that he made it this far; I’m sure I’m not alone in thinking we must have lost him years ago.