Once-near-universally loved comedian/actor Bill Cosby’s had a rough year, as anyone’s who looked at the internet or read the news realizes. His reputation’s currently swirling around the toilet and only his wife and daughter have stepped forward to publically support him against numerous accusations of drugging and sexually abusing women.

While not condoning Cosby’s alleged crimes in the slightest, I’d like to offer one positive observation about the 77-year-old entertainer: He made a fantastic jazz-fusion album in 1971 titled Badfoot Brown & the Bunions Bradford Funeral & Marching Band. (Dusty Groove America’s 2008 CD reissue might be the easiest way to find it.) This is the one cultural artifact I own by Cosby—although I also have Herbie Hancock’s Fat Albert Rotunda, which is the soundtrack to a special animated TV show based on a Cosby concept, Hey, Hey, Hey, It' s Fat Albert.

Now, the man’s good name may be tarnished forever, but holy shit, is Badfoot Brown a mind-blower. In a review of the album published in the OC Weekly six years ago, I wrote these words, behind which I still stand—albeit with more of a sheepish slouch now:

Consisting of two long tracks, Badfoot Brown starts with the 15-minute "Martin's Funeral," which eulogizes in exceptionally soulful fashion assassinated civil-rights leader Dr. King. Cosby leads the way on keyboards; his uncredited bandmates are spirited ringers who could've graced stages with any of the era's major fusion figures. Passages of exquisite tension and suspense (thanks to the massively rumbling bass drums) alternate with those of building exultation as these excellent musicians try to come to terms with tragedy and rise above it through collective energy and inventiveness.

The 20-minute "Hybish Shybish" delves deeply into malarial groove science; it's not exaggeration to rank this with the best compositions by Miles' sprawling '70s groups and Herbie Hancock's mystical Mwandishi outfit. This is jazz-funk fusion with an explosive sense of purpose. It's powerful and intense enough to make one forgive Cosby for his misguidedly sweeping condemnations of hip-hop—and those dubious sweaters.

Oh for the relatively innocent times when Cosby’s greatest perceived transgressions were fuddy-duddyism and risible fashion sense.

Cosby's liner notes in the CD reissue conclude with this humble plea: "I hope you enjoy what you're listening to, and I would appreciate you telling your friends about it so that the Bunions Bradford Band can stay alive and record, and the Uni [his record label] folks can be proud and happy. I do not mean to run them into the ground and spend thousands and thousands of their dollars to satisfy my own ego. So, if records do not sell, then there will be no Bunions Bradford Band. Just one old Bill Cosby walking around humming his little tunes."

Note: I asked Bill Cosby—via his Twitter account—for an interview to discuss Badfoot Brown, figuring he could use a sliver of positive media attention right now, but have yet to hear back from him or his “people.” As I enjoy quixotic endeavors, I will keep on Mr. Cosby about this matter.