The most noticeable thing about walking up Columbus Avenue with funk legend George Clinton at 10 p.m. on a Thursday is that people can’t help but recognize him, and there’s nothing they can do but stare.

Clinton stands out, with his unmistakable rainbow dreadlocks and his oversized, graffiti-painted coat. Passersby know it’s not just some guy who looks like George Clinton — because no one really looks like George Clinton, except for George Clinton.

The customers inside New York Pizza on Massachusetts Avenue stare out the window in disbelief as Clinton saunters slowly down the street toward Wally’s Cafe,where we’re going for the night. He would have preferred to use his day off between gigs to fish (turns out, Clinton’s favorite hobby is fishing), but since it’s freezing in Boston, he wants to see live music.

At Wally’s, it doesn’t take long before Clinton causes a commotion.

”That’s George Clinton. That is [expletive] awesome,” says bar patron Bob Greff.

Greff gawks at the granddaddy of funk, who makes his way into the bar with three friends. There’s Clinton’s quiet publicist who goes by the name Fri (”like Friday,” he says), an assistant who looks 25 but says she’s 40 (”We come from that breed from the spaceship,” she says of her youthful look), and Garry Shider, whom funk fans know as ”Diaper Man” because he performs as a member of Clinton’s P-Funk All Stars in, well, a diaper.

The bargoers, many of whom are musicians themselves, crowd around Clinton, the granddaddy of funk, who sips a Heineken. They ask him for autographs. They paw at his dreads. They want to take pictures of him with their camera phones.

Clinton, 64, doesn’t say no to anyone. He doesn’t say much at all, actually, but he smiles and entertains every request. In some ways, he is like Santa Claus — jolly, round, and granting wishes.

Clinton peeks over the bar crowd so he can better hear the live music. It’s a group called Los Cinco Elementos, the regular Thursday act at Wally’s Latin Night. The band is in the middle of an upbeat salsa song.

People part the seas for Clinton as soon as he starts to move closer to the stage. He and Shider squeeze in so close to the band that they’re next to the musicians, taking the uncomfortable spot in front of the bathrooms. Clinton doesn’t complain and refuses a chair.

Band leader/saxophonist Tim Mayer turns around and stares. His eyes tear up when he sees it’s George Clinton who has come to hear him play.

Mayer quickly grabs the microphone and makes a speech about how Clinton ”inspires us all today.” Mayer is shaky and nervous, and Clinton smiles at him warmly.

Then, Mayer does what you do when a legend just happens to be listening to your set. He wails on his instrument. The other musicians join him, and they share a look of panic and excitement. Drummer Matt Brady grimaces with concentration. Bassist Danny Weller grins, eager to impress. Gregorio Bento bangs the congas.

Clinton responds most to rhythmic keyboardist Aruán Ortiz, who wears a New York City subway T-shirt. Ortiz is animated and wild, and Clinton loves it.

Well, he doesn’t actually say he loves it, but you can tell because he’s beaming in Ortiz’s direction. He bangs his beer bottle like a drum and dances, moving his head up and down, then from side to side.

When he catches my eye, he grabs my hand and spins me around in circles. Later, he tells me that we’ve just danced the merengue.

The band asks if Clinton wants to join in for a few songs, but he just wants to watch. Clinton and Shider, two old friends, stand together listening. They occasionally yell, ”Yes!” and ”Yeah!” when they like a solo.

Mayer finally pulls out a much larger saxophone, his baritone. Clinton laughs wildly and yells out, ”Yes! Yes! OK!”

”Sometimes you just need a bigger one,” Mayer says, proudly.

And with that, Los Cinco Elementos plays a few more climactic minutes as Clinton air drums to the beat. When the set ends, the place goes wild. Clinton pays his respects (he makes a point to embrace keyboardist Ortiz), and the funk entourage heads out the door to rest up before a weekend of New England gigs.

Outside, on Massachusetts Avenue, Clinton smiles and mutters to himself, ”I needed that.”

Meredith Goldstein can be reached at mgoldstein@globe.com.