Marvin Gaye

Suppose you were to listen to Marvin Gaye with high-end headphones while stoned off a 10X dose of pharmaceutical-grade CBD oil. You would quickly realize exactly how trippy his music is: VERY trippy. An auditory praying mantis of clackety percussion tick-tacks in your right ear while in the left a flute and a quartet of horns interlock like a zipper. All that for about the count of some tiny multiple of four before your left ear hosts the feathery razorblade strumming of funk guitar as your right hears Marvin harmonizing with 3 others of himself in falsetto inside the world's most majestic rickety wooden gospel cathedral. The rhythm section is godlike hand-drummers and bass that's basically silken mercury intercourse fluid for your ears, and it's redlight orgy time. Angels encapsulate the whole torrent in a cotton candy tornado, and rather than busy it all oozes out with the grace of molasses: cool, calm, collected, confident, and SEXY AS #*&£.
It's funny because on the album cover he looks like an accountant.