Some things are simply not open for discussion. Debating the merits of Sly and the Family Stone’s groundbreaking Stand! is one of them. When it was released 38 years ago, America was embroiled in an unwinnable war, racial tensions were high, governmental corruption was rampant, the voices of change were wafting in the breeze, and it seemed the world was about to blow at any moment.

Wait! That’s 2007 — my bad.

“Political correctness” — a term that’s never made any sense to me — had yet to be coined in 1969. If it had been, I have to wonder if Stand! would have been released, at least in its original form. Let’s face it — if the song had been called “Don’t Call Me the N Word, Person of Caucasian Persuasion,” it just wouldn’t have resonated with the same impact.

It wasn’t that they were going for shock value back in the day of Sly and the Family Stone. It was more a matter of understanding that in order to ultimately defeat an evil, it’s sometimes necessary to attack it unafraid. With Stand!, the band released a manifesto of peace and understanding whose message is every bit as important today as it was in 1969.

It’s like this: Stand! is probably the most life-affirming album to emerge from the sixties. Its message was simple: rise above whatever life throws at you. A line like “there’s a midget standing tall/ and the giant beside him about to fall” (from the title track) pays homage to the underdog in all of us. “Don’t Call Me Nigger, Whitey” was among the first songs to tackle festering race relations, and did so in such a darkly satirical way, accentuated with vocoders and anguished beats, that it rendered racial slurs utterly impotent. It wasn’t an angry song so much as it was a more aggressive version of the band’s constant cry against discrimination from any quarter. Next to it, “Everyday People” seems almost contrite, though certainly no less heartfelt. The constant in almost all the songs here rings of self-determination, most obviously in “You Can Make It If You Try.”

Sly and the Family Stone walked the walk they talked. They were racially and sexually integrated at a time when it was unheard of among touring bands. Women weren’t relegated to just vocals — they were playing instruments with the guys, black and white, jamming together in a psychedelic soul show the likes of which had never been heard before. It was a new sound that mixed soul, James Brown proto-funk, acid rock, gospel and blues, stirred it all together, and invented a recipe that shaped the face of funk.