CMJ -OR- How Everything Never Seems to Change...

Five years have passed and it feels like nothing has changed.

The Dirtbombs are again playing CMJ.

And again me and one other band member had to make the lonely 9-hour drive to New York without any of our other stagemates to pass the time.

Back in 2002 it was just me and Tom Potter. Mick and Jim both flew out, Pat drove out early to see the Whirlwind Heat. It was Devil’s Night and Tom picked me up from my Wednesday night photojournalism class at Wayne State.

I’m terrible at night driving and honestly drove no more than one hour of the entire trip. We slept in rest stops along the way. Tom was confused during an early-morning rest stop. He comes back to the van and says “Man, it was weird in there. Bunch of people in costumes and shit.” It took a second for either of us to realize that it was Halloween. Potter had a magnificent way of perfectly soundtracking the trip too. I can remember the sun lazily rising over the Delaware Water Gap coupled perfectly to “Fairest of the Seasons” by Nico. That same day I would venture to Rockit Scientist (at the old Bleeker/Carmine location) to buy my own copy of Chelsea Girl and still think it wonderfully majestic. An earlier trip had him introduce me to Trans-Europe Express and set against the rolling Pennsylvania hillside is how I’ll always envision that album.

This year found me driving with Mick. I picked him up and we motored well. The less people in the car, the fewer stops. And match that with no smokers in the vehicle and your skin fails to gain that awful nicotine film that makes a day in a van feel like a week.

We marveled at the unrivaled ferocity of the mid-Seventies Detroit punk band Death. Their single on Tryangle records is high atop many wantlists and the five unreleased songs are more wickedness that may be introduced to the world via the Dirtbombs covering them.

We got to Jersey with relative ease. We took up in Hoboken, popped our heads into Maxwell’s and then down the street to eat at Wild Ginger. Mick and I were both in blue jeans and blue jean jacket with defunct Detroit sports team t-shirts underneath. I was hoping no one would notice. It was the first thing our waitress mentioned. The food was good, I got something I can’t remember with brown rice…maybe a udon noodle with chicken and mushroom. A few doors down we explored inside Frozen Monkey Cafe for a laugh and ended up both buying large waffle cones of Red Velvet Cake ice cream. Can you even imagine a tastier flavor? I’ll save you the time and tell you “no.”

We crashed in Jersey City where Mick became accustomed to Curb Your Enthusiasm while I slept through a toilet overflowing.

Soundcheck on Thursday was at 1pm. Surprisingly, every single band member was on time. This is a feat in and of itself. And of course, the soundman was an hour-and-a-half late. Just our luck. We used mostly the backline gear with me in particular rocking a sweet DW drumkit. Try as we may but we can’t find the issue of the Voice with a lampooning cartoon of the CMJ (or “Costly Musical Joke” as they dubbed it) shitterati. The only shining moment in the Bagge-like scribble is a goofy, blonde dude carrying a bass drum that says “Dirt Bombs” on it. I saw it online and thought it hilarious. I mean, everyone knows it’s one word.

From there, a quick sojourn to the beloved Rockit Scientist. If there is one consistent with any of my New York visits, it’s a trip to this unbeatable record store. Mick was already inside. I ended up with a handful of 7”s (Eat Skull, Cult Ritual, the Shebangs, Wolf People) a 12” comp called God in the Garage and an ESSENTIAL 3-CD collection of the first three years of Sun Records.

I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not even that big a Sun Records fan. But I will also say I’m a fan of proper documentation and history and chronological order. So starting with Joe Hill Louis in 1952 and ending with Johnny Cash’s earliest recordings in 1954, what you get is one of the most important spells of recorded music in American history. Sure there’s Elvis’ first two singles, but what about Rufus Thomas? “Bear Cat” and “Tiger Man” are just as savage and wicked as anything laid down by the King. And Dr. Ross’ “Chicago Breakdown” finally introduced me to the original the Gories had based their “Detroit Breakdown” on. The combo of raw rockabilly, dirty blues, primitive rock and roll, twangy hillbilly honky-tonk and gospel vocal balladry is such a perfect amalgam of Americana that I challenge anyone to name a label that’s covered more, better, in their first three years.

More aimless walking and without much dough in my pocket I chow econo with a Twix bar and a 25-cent bag of chips. They hit the spot, but I was far from sated. A random turn at a since-forgotten intersection lead me directly to the Ice Cream Man.

Matt Allen is a blessing. He drives all around the country setting up at music festivals like Bonarro and Coachella and gives out free ice cream. He tricks up some corporate sponsorships to cover his costs and has a blast doing it. Hell, this summer the White Stripes cooked up their own promotional ice cream boxes just for this guy to pass out around the USA. So while sucking down a creamsicle, we get to talking. He asks what band I’m in and when I say the Dirtbombs he responds with “I LOVE THE DIRTBOMBS.” He then goes on to tell me how the Gories are possibly his favorite band ever and that he was lobbying hard all summer to try and get the Dirtbombs at McCarren Pool in Brooklyn. We had a good talk and even had super-top-secret discussions about possible coups at Coachella 2008. Please do check out his website at www.icecreamman.com

I really barely saw anyone play at the Mercury Lounge when I really wanted to see EVERYONE play that night. The Turbo Fruits wholly won me over with the ringing, Who-esque power chords and nimble, “Achilles Last Stand” reminiscing bass picking of a song called “Broadzilla.” It was far and away the best song they would perform, with a cover of “Ramblin’ Rose” that was memorable as well.

I watched a couple of Cheap Time songs and can’t remember what I thought. My mind was not in it.

The Intelligence were next and the sloppy, fat bass lines coming out of their teensy-weensy Korg synth were all I needed to remember how much I love this band.

Miss Alex White and the Red Orchestra are so fucking underrated it hurts. Her Space and Time record makes me feel good all over. Songs like “In the Snow” with it’s Misfits-meets-Stooges meter, or the heartwarming lyrical simplicity and brilliance of “Space and Time” recalling a Goffin-King composition for the Crystals, there’s nary a dud on this album. And the handful of minutes I watched them live was as exceptional as I’d hoped. They could very well be cursed as one of those bands who’s appreciation will never measure up to their importance. These songs are timeless and you’re a sap if you fail to realize.

Jay Reatard is more genius than you can shake a stick at. While I was too late for his original version of the Reatards and only ever liked about ¼ of the stuff the Lost Sounds did (“Plastic Skin” is definitely worth your search efforts), his solo output is impeccable. And in the live theater, he does everything right. With a set that tops out at 20 minutes, there’s nary a breath in between songs. Instead, it’s song-after-song of four count drummer intros exploding into breakneck pop-punk paralysis. The band is crazy tight and jams like “Hammer I Miss You”, “My Shadow” and “I Know a Place” are what the label bigwigs are listening to when they’re losing their shit over Mr. Linsdsay claiming he could be the Golden Child who dethrones emo. Universal, Matador, Geffen and Polydent were all in attendance this night, chomping at the big to get Jay to wax for their imprints. Even money says he Hancock’s with whoever offers the most cheese and delivers them a steaming-pile of Metal Machine madness, laughing all the way to the liquor store.

The Dirtbombs were alright. Not great, not terrible. It was one of those shows where the band felt non-plussed by the performance, but anyone with a tongue was wagging it with praise afterwards. Meh.

Breakfast in Jersey City. Mick got shitty service but I was happy with mine. Our orders were included together on one check. He left a $1 tip because the waitress wench goofed up his order big time. But with our bills included together, how’s the best way for me to tip the lady accordingly, yet make it clear Mick was dissatisfied with his service? There’s no simple answer here and the entire situation is rife for lampooning on an upcoming episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm.

Mick and I drove through the Friday Brooklyn rain in search of the Academy Records Annex. I’d gleaned good things about the shop online and from Jeffrey Novak (who’d run into Blowhan Kugelberg the last time he visited the shop) so despite tepid warnings from our booking agent (and I quote “It’s not worth your time,”) we slowly inched our way down the BQE and made upon the shop.

Kids, always listen to your booking agent.

Don’t get me wrong, there were cool records there. But they were cool records I already owned. Academy Records Annex would have been a great place to visit when I was 15 years old. But now, I can tell that the hipster employees are snaking the primo stuff for themselves while what ends up on the racks is blah-worthy. I was prepared to spend big but bought absolutely nothing there

Soundchecked at Southpaw, ate leftover pizza in the basement and then walked the Park Slope streets with Mick. I stood outside Beacon’s Closet while Mick made some funk purchase inside. A couple feet away from me, a child, no more than 12-years-old, in moppish hair and Harry Potter specs, perpetually circling a tree and chatting on a cell phone. Here’s what I hear from the conversation:

“Yeah man, totally sorry we had to get out of there. Yeah dude, I’m really, really sorry. But do not worry. Come by later and we will totally get you in on this blunt. It’s gonna be crazy. You’ll have to get some of this blunt.”

It was then when I wondered if there was a phone number I could call to report possible pending pre-pubescent stupidity.

We eventually trek on down to Norton Records HQ. A more comforting place we could not find. Billy Miller and Miriam Linna are possibly the best hosts we will ever encounter. Not only do they open their expansive home and record collection for us to visit, explore, dig thru, etc…but they offer drinks, showers, t-shirts and all kinds of other hospitality that is refreshing. They apologized that the place was cluttered due to the upcoming WFMU Record Fair. Mick and I had no qualms, we sat back and listened to the hi-fi, explaining that nothing makes either of us feel more at home than a room packed to the brim with records, posters, magazines and all the ephemera and trappings of the record nerd’s life. I picked up the Los Saicos 10”, the new Mary Weiss single, King Khan and BBQ’s Crypt 7”, Ricky and the Impressionables Band “Baco Walk” single, the Sound of Young Sacramento 7” comp from SAMCC Records and a Prince Albert/Psychedelic Psymphone split single on Arcania International. I entirely recommend the SAMCC single, as the Fugitives doing "Blowin' My Mind" is the best Sixties garage punk I've heard since Quagmire 1 intro'd me to "Don't Want Ya No More" by Mogen David and the Grapes of Wrath. Both are essential.

A choppy phone call from an Australian promoter regarding Dbomb dates in March was unceremoniously lost to the ether when my cell ran out of juice. I missed the Turbo Fruits and only saw a bit of the Intelligence. I used the Southpaw’s house drum kit and it sounded/felt crisp. After a shaky start that involved gibberish lyrics to Black Sabbath’s “War Pigs”, we eventually hit on a groove and by the time we sunk our teeth into the Black Lips “Oh Katrina” we had the crowd eating out of our hands. It’s a great feeling seeing people the whole room over slowly realize that they know a song in another form. The raised eyebrows, re-assuring nods to friends and fists pumping in the air are much appreciated by this drummer.

The highlight of the show, the weekend and (in my opinion) the entire year was the way we ended “Theme From the Dirtbombs.” What usually descends into schloppy noise gunk somehow caught onto a wicked loop that we chewed on for near-on four solid minutes. I thought it kinda sounded like Can krautrock mixed with A-Frames atonality. I was playing my fucking balls off, hitting the drums as hard as I could after already playing for over an hour. It was a stuttered, Mitch Mitchell wannabe beat coupled with Mick’s effected, Mission of Burma guitar slashes and similar wickedness from Pat, Troy and Ko. The whole time we were locked in all I could think was “I can’t be the one to stop. I can’t be the one to fuck up.” It was SO-DAMN-INTENSE! And in the end, no one did either. While an internal test of wills, we were able to commence together and stumble offstage, wholly pooped. I felt a level of self-accomplishment that I’ve never really experienced before. We did an encore, but the show was made with that ending.

Mick and I would PATH train into Manhattan and as if lemmings to the cliff, once again found ourselves at St. Mark’s Place. I bought biographies of Ya Ho Wa and Moondog, Naomi Wolfe’s End of America and the audio version of Colbert’s I Am America and So Can You! A quick trip to Metropolis vintage clothing had me pick up another pair of Levi’s 517’s to throw on the ever-growing pile along with a rugby tournament t-shirt from ’79 and a classic yellow phys ed shirt from a school named Belleview. I live for vintage phys ed t-shirts and it’s a dream of mine to one day have a full collection of shirts of all the classic Detroit public high schools, with particular favorites I’m looking for being Henry Ford (Trojans), Cass Tech (Technicians), Chadsey (Explorers) and Cody (Comets). Any help or trade offers will be greatly appreciated.

Showed up at Maxwell’s late, took forever to park (but there’s always something great about ending up on the street Frank Sinatra Drive) and finally ended up playing my own shitty drum set. The cruddy penne pasta from the Maxwell’s band menu (a scourge among most touring outfits) was only saved by my foresight in ordering the Oreo Cookie cheese cake. Oh so good. I watched almost all of the Turbo Fruits set and I will again declare that “Broadzilla” is one of the best songs I’ve heard all year. I cannot wait to hear a recording of it and if Ecstatic Peace doesn’t have their grimey paws already all over it, I just may try and slip it on a Cass side.

The Intelligence were at their best at Maxwell’s. I was finally able to catch a sizable chunk of their set. Only complaint is that they didn’t pull-out the classic song from their debut single, “Mindfuck’em.”

The Dirtbombs set…whatever. Maxwell’s is home away from home for us. Ko didn’t have a guitar amp (originally supposed to borrow from Jay Reatard, but he cancelled and Turbo Fruits had to jet immediately after their set) so she used Troy’s and he played direct and couldn’t hear himself. We played a few tricks we haven’t done in awhile…like “Encrypted” and “Wheatland” and as per Lars’ request “Little Miss Chocolate Syrup” into “Can’t Stop Thinking About It” like we used to in the Potter-Diamond salad days.

Mick and I rose early Sunday morn and kicked Pennsylvania’s I-80 ass. Have you tried the cheescake bites from Arby’s yet? Oh my lord. Do so with utmost haste. And TA travel centers should still have the 3lb. bag of Haribo gummi bears for $7. Those things have lasted over a week and I’m still not tired of them. Mick and I spin the final, mastered copy of the Dirtbombs We Have You Surrounded and after “Ever Loving Man” he remarks “I don’t know if we’ll ever record a more perfect song than that.” And I have to agree.

And I guess I’ve kinda abandoned the original intended arc of this entry…comparing the Dirtbombs first CMJ five years ago with the one from 2007. I forgot to tell you about how I helped my boss at Car City load into the WFMU Record Fair at some ungodly hour. But because of said help, I was able to scour tables before the public was let in. I spent way too much money, but justified it by only being 20-years-old. I got an original copy of No New York as well as the Beaux Jens “She Was Mine” and a couple-hundred dollars worth of more records that I can’t remember specifically as I spent an equally-absurd amount at WFMU the following year and now they’re both kind of blobbing together in my mind.

We played with the Kills, Electric 6, Datsuns, Rock and Roll Machine and Von Bondies all on the same night. I have soundboard recordings of every band's performance that night. We unloaded from the Bowery Ballroom while OK GO was soundchecking the next day. We saw “Pray For Pills” spray-painted on a building. I helped a friend make a crossword puzzle. Ran into Steve Turner from Mudhoney on the street. I regretfully ditched a chance to sit front-row for Saturday Night Live featuring Jay-Z as musical guest so that Potter and I could be home early Sunday morning. We got lost somewhere on the Garden State Parkway. The van was cold. He again drove all the way. Much like I did this year. While time, characters and background may change, it all seems like the story is always the same. Records are bought, food is eaten, shows are played, and after some time, the differentiating details are lost amidst the hubris.

How I Critique Musique...

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D-Tails and D-Construction of D-Tour Launch...

Friday night found me catching the last few songs of Carjack's set. Beginning to like him more and more. As a wise man once said, you can't have Detroit without a good carjack. There was a brief moment where his backing track was a spot-on replica of Suicide's drum machine sound. I first had that feeling when some DJ in Europe played Dead Combo's "You Don't Look So Good" (an overlooked classic if there ever was) and you think it'd happen a lot more. But it doesn't. Good for us. Check out CJ's cd-r/demo/whatever and dig on the total Kraftwerk instrumental of "Carbot's Departure"...beautifully sparse and pastoral in an unexpected yet totally welcome change of pace or "departure." Get it?

The Terrible Twos wreaked havoc after that. I can safely say that the Garden Bowl lounge has, pound for pound, hosted an overwhelming majority of my favorite shows in this town. Greenhornes on Superbowl Sunday '99 (2 sets), Soledad Brothers where Swank handed me the drumstix, Clone Defects a billion times, John Gillis solo '01, a rare Patrick Keeler-Tim Vulgar-Jack White jam session from some long-forgotten date in 2001 as well as my first-ever vocal performance, while on drums, doing "Stormy" by the Jesters of Newport.

So the Twos were on and the freaks came out. Within the first thirty seconds of the first song the overzealous security goon had kicked out Colin of the Frustrations for punk shit...you know, pogoing, slamming, whatever it is the kids are calling it these days. More than a few people were awkwardly hoisted over-head in an almost stationary crowd surf precariously trying to avoid the ever-present ceiling fan. This is the way and place that I like to see shows.

And apparently the owners have taken note. I've been told the Garden Bowl will start having more consistent free shows in their lounge. It's more likely to be shows that would usually be upstairs at the Stick and draw 50 people. So instead of constantly reliving that miserable prospect, bands will get paid a flat fee, people will get in for free, the club will rely on bigger bar receipts and in the end EVERYONE enjoys the evening so much more.

The Go did their thing upstairs at the Stick. I kinda prefer when Bobby's just singing. His guitar playing is nothing bad, but the guitar itself is so unpowerful and forgettable. I can't help but worry that the rest of the world will never truly understand or appreciate the genius of these guys. I truly hope they discover their place, because the world needs more bands with their skill and determination. Seeing them in bigger spaces leads me to wonder whether their better-suited as a 5-piece. However, when the crash into "Meet Me at the Movies" no one seems to care and for a brief moment it's as if everything is perfect.

While my personal coney preference is clearly Duly's in Southwest Detroit, my after-show go-to is always American Coney Island. Forget that Mack Rice supposedly wrote "Mustang Sally" at Lafayette. Forget that Lafayette is supposedly where Fred and Patti Smith met. There's no feeling in that place. Too often an old restaurant or club or hotel is trumpeted for the fact that it hasn't changed, that it's been the same since the Thirties or whatever. Half the time that's a good thing. But on Lafayette, I call bullshit. It is uncomfortable, small and sub-par. And the place doesn't even stay open 24 hours! It's no contest. I prefer the sophistication that comes with American's Flatiron-esque vista of two avenues meeting at a V. I can get past the gaudy sports-bar decoration of the place and long for the time when a place naming itself "American" was a sign of pride. Disagree? Bring it on in the comments.

Saturday started at the CAID and the pushed-back scheduling left me having to endure the last half of the Nice Device. How do you type the sound a yawn makes? They sound like bland, sanitized 89x modern rock. Which is good for them, because that has to be what they're going for, as there's no way such mediocrity can be confused for anything else. Didn't the singer used to be in some Indigo Girls folk act?

Following that lameness was the long-awaited return of SSM. I was really slow to warm to this band when they started up two years ago. My initial sentiment was that I'd rather see each one of the band members in their previous/other band....John in the Hentchmen, Marty with the Cyril Lords and Shettler in the classic Sights three-piece line-up. I passed up a chance to put out a 7" by them because I just wasn't "feeling it." That was my loss.

With time, their self-titled album has grown on me like ivy at Wrigley Field. The first three songs (which were the proposed 7" tunes) are flawless and the memorable moments do not stop there. The craft behind songs like "Dinosaur" and "2012" as well as "Sick" is phenomenal and the whole thing is easily one of the best full-lengths to emerge from Detroit in the past 10 years.

Their performance was solid. All the old songs held their weight. Was glad to see Shettler without the drum machine, but then thought that the newer songs sounded a bit thin in the rhythm department. I'm also a fan of them without the light show. Focus on the tunes and the crowd will focus on you. Dare I say I'm excited to hear what their upcoming full-length has to offer.

Walked in halfway through the Mahonies' Garden Bowl set. I'd first been hipped to these guys last year when word on the street was that they'd be doing an impromptu guerrilla gig through an unguarded power supply at Tastefest. Some douche told me the wrong time and I missed it. So this would be my first time seeing the Mahonies and it was perfection. I'd missed the band-sponsored coney eating contest (won by Hunter Muldoon with a respectable four coney dogs downed) but was otherwise wowed with their otherworldly absurdly dumb genius. Like the Ramones, the Stooges, the Sneaky Pinks before them...you either get it instantly or are perpetually confused. And a song written about Clone Defects bassist Chuck Fogg? Unreal! I must've had 4 different people come up to tell me the Mahonies were their new favorite band. And I'm in agreement with them. I got to get them on Cass...it should be possible to fit 8 songs on one side of a 45.

Freer upstairs was horrid. Someone mentioned to me that they'd seen lots of bands lately with a piano-playing lead singer. Interested and thinking they'd meant local bands, I inquired "Really?" to which they replied, "Yeah. Coldplay, Keane..." And that's the unfavorable company I would lump Freer in with. And in a lot of ways, I love this.

I love the fact that I've been hearing about this band for God-knows how long and keep making that mental note that I still need to check them out. Even if what I've read about them has failed to intrigue me or spark my interest, I still gotta know what's up, in my own opinion, on my own terms, for my own sake. So to finally see this band and be able to say in my own voice that they are shitty...nothing beats that. Still on the to-see-if-they're-shitty list: Johnny Headband, Bang Bang, Ghost City and a ton of other shit that is most-likely shitty.

The unexpected (unexplained?) return of Ko and the Knockouts drew a sizable crowd at the Stick. The Decks crew were up front in full-effect and singing and dancing like the lovable fools they are. Eddie Baranek is surprisingly captivating onstage when he's not drunk off his ass. Ko was a little spotty at first, but eventually found her footing.

Good heckles heard were: as Ko said "This many people didn't like us when we were really a band..." to which some smartass replied "We still don't!" and when Baranek introduced a song as being "written in my US History after 1945 class" a razor-witted one remarked "Get your degree!" And that is my new favorite band taunt. Get a degree. Don't hesitate to use it. Steve Nawara joined for the last few songs and they ended with "Black and Blue" their best-known song as featured on the Sympathetic Sounds of Detroit compilation that no one ever got paid for.

Downstairs immediately afterwards were the Frustrations. While the crowd reaction was tepid (most likely in response to the same overzealous security guard from the previous night in attendance) it did not keep this collection of weirdos from destroying. When they cruised into "Exploding Mind" I moved more than I would all weekend. Dancy? Calypso? Is Dunkerly finally listening to some Fire*Eater drumming? Either way, shit was tits.

Random unsolicited Matt Smith comment:
"It's like (GI) meets Band of Gypsies"

And allow me a brief aside on the topic of unsolicited Matt Smith comments. Matt is always coming up with these zany pairings of bands to try and describe something. I think the first one I ever was privy to was him comparing the Buzzards to Motorhead and the Velvet Underground, and I'm sure they were doing something like having a tea party in Valhalla or some bullshit. The thing is, whenever Matt makes these distinctions, while he may be somewhat close to describing the sound, he just sounds so asinine that I can't help and discredit EVERYTHING he says afterwards. He's so immersed in obscure records and recordings to notice the obvious and likely comparisons for bands. And, for some reason, this really irritates me.

Anyway, to end their set, Colin from the Frustrations climbs on a chair and smacks his guitar down on a cocktail table. He breaks a few bottles, nothing crazy, but nevertheless a good ending exclamation point for the show that would ultimately end in utter mayhem.

The previously-mentioned overzealous security guard took this as an affront and overreacted. He was closely followed by an heretofore unmentioned security guard (it's worth mentioning both of these guys are pretty damned new to the job). One of them goes after Colin and the other grabs his guitar. Big no-no. Don't ever touch anyone else's guitar even when they let you. Let alone some burly dude who's probably never held one before and is likely to break the instrument that Colin built himself.

Chris Campbell of the Terrible Twos (essentially big brother to the Frustrations guys) calmly tries to grab the guitar back and this other security guard flies off the handle. He grabs Chris, starts unnecessarily pushing him out the door where Chris is clearly willing to do so of his own volition. I got in the guy's face for a second and said "You need to chill out" and was fucking scared to shit. He had the crazy-eyed stare and I backed off. While still being pushed out the door Chris spit in his face and shit went nuts.

The security guard immediately threw a punch at Campbell, grazing his head. The force of the blow jarred Chris' head backwards and that, coupled with the subsequent follow-through of the punch, shattered the glass on the front door to the Magic Stick.

Chris continued to leave (as it was clear he was already set to do) and the security guard was flying off the handle at this point, chasing Chris down the street and very audibly threatening to kill him. The other security guard at this point was attempting to restrain the unruly one. It was kinda funny, if only for a second.

A mass of people crowded outside but nothing much happened from there. Chris was fine, a small knot on his forehead was practically unnoticeable. The bouncer was rightly fired on the spot and the higher-ups at the club planned an upcoming meeting on how to deal with punk rock situations.

Aftershow back at the CAID and I finally got to check out this Charlie Slick that all the kids are talking about. While the performance was a tad engaging (flashing lights, bubble machine, confetti), the music was god-awful. I've got no stomach for the mid-80's UK fey electro-pop, let alone a tired re-hash of it twenty years late. I understand people want to dance and believe in something, but the singer's voice is static and unremarkable while his dance moves are high school drama club embarrassing. Too often something is touted just for being different or original without taking a step back for some perspective. And that seems to be the case with Charlie Slick.

As for Detour itself...I don't know what to make of it. It's basically a Detroit-centric website full of pop culture detritus. Movies, music, television...I guess they took their cue from the It Came From Culture City blog. It's cool to have a website that puts on shows and will be somewhat active in promoting cultural happenings in this town, but in the end, I still prefer Steve-O.

Asking the Tough Questions About Rock and Roll Music...

I am by no means an end-all, be-all repository of rock and roll knowledge. And armchair rock and roll repartee is rampant with claims of firsts…shit like whether or not Jackie Brenson and His Delta Cats “Rocket 88” from 1951 is the first rock and roll song is purely arbitrary. But collected below are some questions that have been bugging me for awhile (and some that I just made up) that I feel can be answered one way or another. Anyone who can solidly prove or disprove any of these questions as fact is strongly encouraged to post the relevant, fact-checked information in the comments section. Also feel welcome to ask your own questions. Hurry. I may just participate in the comments. This just might be fun.

1) Is Bo Diddley the first performer to reference himself by his full name in his own song? Is Bo Diddley the first performer to use his name as the title for a song?

(I know most of the old bluesmen…Robert Johnson, Blind Willie McTell… refer to themselves in their songs, but I can’t think of a specific example of one using their full name)

2) Is Frank Zappa’s “Freak Out” the first LP packaged in a gatefold sleeve?

(I don’t even own a copy of this record, but I know it came before “Sgt. Pepper’s” which is usually credited with the honor)

3) Is the Beatles “Back in the USSR” the first example of irony in pop music?

(please be thorough and refer to a proper dictionary definition of the word irony. This one will be hard, but I honestly think it’s a pretty important distinction)

4) Is the photo in the gatefold of the Stooges Funhouse LP the first example of ripped jeans in pop music? In popular culture?

(Again, hard to prove, but terribly important)

5) Is the Jarvis Street Revue’s “Mr. Oil Man” the first environmentally-minded LP/song?

(Only other one of remotely the same time period is Marvin’s What’s Goin’ On LP from 1971. JSR is from 1970)

6) Is Ricky Wilson’s four-string guitar the first instance of a guitarist purposefully omitting strings to obtain a specific sound?

(I’m almost certain there’s examples of people doing this just for a recording session…but not so sure that I can name any particulars...can you? But is Wilson the first to do this and stick by it?

7) Is there a band before the Gories whose drummer used no cymbals, no snare drum and no kick drum?

(Uh…if I need be more specific, how about a drummer in a ROCK band)

8) Was Sub Pop’s Singles Club the first 7” subscription club?

(I’m lazy…)

9) Is the White Stripes “Lafayette Blues” single the first double B-side 7”?

(I’m lazy still…)

10) Is Whirlwind Heat’s “Do Rabbits Wonder?” the first album to have all the song titles be the names of colors?

(Everyone always says there’s some jazz record that’s already done this, but no one ever seems to be able to name that jazz record)

The Art of the Band T-Shirt...a Perspective

Not too long ago I helped some valued friends work on a book about the history of band t-shirts. The whole process excited me and I learned a lot on the way. For example, each t-shirt featured in the book needed to be cleared by the band/their management before being used. Now my legal training is relegated mainly to weaseling out of parking tickets, but common sense would've led me to believe that an image a band has licensed to be manufactured on wearables should be fair game for publishables. And it could quite possibly be that way and the folks over at Simon and Schuster were just being cautious.

Either way, I still think it's pretty cool that David Byrne gave permission for them to use a bootleg Talking Heads t-shirt design. And it's lame that Grandmaster Flash wouldn't let them use his awesome '81 tour t-shirt complete with Sugar Hill Records logo printed on the reverse.

My main duties for the book involved interviewing rock stars and rounding up a variety of shirts for possible inclusion in the book. Included are such personal jams of mine like a baseball-style 3/4 length red sleeve from the first run of White Stripes tees, a thrift-store salvaged Gories black cat (later edition, printed after the screen for the white trim around the letters broke), a Jonathan Fire Eater monstrosity complete with band-supplied blood stains bleached-out, a couple of Sonic Youth prints and some more I'm forgetting.

Personally, my only problem with The Art of the Band T-shirt is the six pages dedicated to Blood on the Wall t-shirts that are, at best, faintly memorable. Otherwise, this portable tome rates head and shoulders above the trashy, fashion photo'd Johan Kugelberg curated Vintage Rock Tees (available at shitty Urban Outfitters near you) or the laughable dribble of Rock Tease. Both the latter books focus primarily on the 70's and 80's era of rock and roll t-shirts whereas The Art of the Band T-shirt has no set cut-off date for band inclusion. Conversely, The Art of the Band T-shirt provides way more historical background and storyline with each piece mentioned whereas the other two toilet rolls, more often than not, just give you a picture of a t-shirt lacking any relevant context or story.

Hilariously though, all three books include the Jamie Reid designed, promo-only Sex Pistols Never Mind the Bollocks... shirt printed inside out with both the front and back cover of the LP depicted on the front and back of this shirt. Granted, the shirt is BADASS and supposedly the print resembles properties more similar to a latex applique as opposed to standard t-shirt ink. But badass enough to warrant inclusion in all three books?

Plus, the other two books are particularly white. Mainly old shirts of boring old white musicians. The Art... features such United Colors of Benetton diversity as 95 South, Public Enemy, James Brown, the Boredoms, Afrika Bambaataa, Run DMC, Rick James, Martha and the Vandellas, MF Doom, etc. This book feels more American than either of the other two. And in turn, American is always better.

So I hereby give my full support behind The Art of the Band T-shirt and urge all twelve of you faithful readers to up and purchase a copy. To spur the possible purchasing, I am offering two (2) copies here as a giveaway. Whoever emails me or posts a comment here with the best/funniest/most amazing t-shirt find/story/dream/whatever will soon become the proud owner of a copy of The Art of the Band T-shirt (I really prefer the comments, you know, just in case you want to win). Also, positive comments on the Amazon Reviews page for this book will possibly be taken into consideration for extra credit.

Feel free to answer the standard t-shirt questionnaire I used on all the stars and post it in the comments.

What was your first rock band t-shirt?
What was/is your favorite rock band t-shirt?
What was/is the most annoying rock band t-shirt or design?
What do you think is the most iconic rock band t-shirt or image?

Ten Little Known Facts About the White Stripes...

To help celebrate their ten years of performing together, here are ten juicy nuggets of White Stripes trivia you may or may not have heard before...

- If you listen closely, you can hear the pet chihuahua Elroy on the song "Sugar Never Tasted So Good"

- the first White Stripes silk-screened poster (not including the Gutterfest '99 mention) was printed on thrift store LP's (not the sleeves but the actual records) for a show in Milwaukee opening for the Mistreaters in 1999. These were printed by Eric Von Munz.

- No one has yet to successfully discover the final easter egg from their Under Blackpool Lights DVD.

- They have played "Do You Love Me Know?" by the Breeders and "I've Been Loving You Too Long" by Otis Redding in rehearsals, but never in the live setting.

- Their first show outside of the Detroit area was in Toronto at Club Shanghai on October 14th, 1997.

- The first magazine that ever put the White Stripes on the cover was a photocopied fanzine called Hot Dog.

- the White Stripes have opened for both the Pretty Things and the Rolling Stones

- the 3" record for "The Denial Twist" is only available personally from Jack White

- people who've performed live on stage with the band include (but are not limited to): Chris McInnis, Chris Mistreater, Steve Nawara, Steve Damstra, Beck, Jeff Beck, Johnny Walker, Jack Lawrence, Jools Holland, Hector Macquarrie and Loretta Lynn

- no one has yet to properly identify the mysterious white object in Jack White's hand on the cover art for the album Get Behind Me Satan

Got any good triva yourselves? Post it in the comments. I live for this shit.

Eric's Trip, the Record Collecting Impetus and a Journey Escape

I write from Moncton, New Brunswick, home of Sub Pop's first Canadian band Eric's Trip. It's not too often I visit a band's hometown and get excited (in Thunder Bay I called all the local record shops looking for the Jarvis Street Revue's "Mr. Oil Man" LP with no luck) but having never imagined in a million years that I'd have any reason to be in this town, I will have to admit I'm a bit geeked.

Eric's Trip lasted from 1990 to 1996, with reunions in '01 and '06 and a performance planned for this year's Sappy Fest in August. Taking their name from the Sonic Youth song title, their lo-fi home recordings and creepily simple artwork (pen/ink, cut/paste, b/w photos) have always rung true and cool without pretensions to do so. Lead singer and guitarist Rick White is a pure musician who seems wholly unconcerned as to how the surrounding society views his music. He is not a musician because he wants to be one, he is a musician because he can be nothing else.

Where a song like "Behind the Garage" is a soft lullaby played simply on an acoustic guitar and sung with plaintive voice, the band also thrashed out fuzzbombed and noisy indie rock like "Sloan Song", obviously indebted to Sonic Youth/Sebadoh/Dino Jr, but ultimately branching off into its own independent, mid-Nineties, maritime province originality. The later stuff off of Forever Again leans a little more psychedelic, but never does it wary from its honesty and intrigue. With Julie Doiron's able-bodied bass and sweet-as-pie vox, Marc Gaudet's solid chops drumming and whatever Chris Thompson decided to add as guitarist, the band is as pure as a French mountain stream.

Eric's Trip is a band I think a lot of people still don't know about, almost frustratingly so. These records are so clearly amazing, differing from their inspiration and existing almost in a vacuum where the sounds are sincere and timeless. Yet you rarely hear anyone mention word one about them. So I guess that's why I'm writing now. Spreading the word. Y'all definitely need to check out their Sub Pop debut Love Tara and fill in all the blanks from there.

This fascination started when I called Sub Pop in the Winter of '97 to request their free mail order catalog. I'd previously hand-written them a love letter asking about the vinyl availability of Superfuzz Bigmuff, Screaming Life and Bleach (at the time, non-existent) the status of the Singles Club (defunct) and whether or not they would send me any free shit. I was amazed to get a stack of the rocket ship "Powered by Sub Pop" stickers, some Supersuckers guitar picks and two Eric's Trip pins. I believe I gave one to Trevor Naud. The other should be in my archives somewhere.

(The letter writing campaign came to me in a spell as I trolled through my record collection one night looking for any address listed on a back cover, liner notes, whatever. The Foo Fighters never wrote me back. The Super Stinky Puffs letter got returned to me. Rage Against the Machine sent me free copies of the "Ghost of Tom Joad" and "No Shelter" 7"s.)

My receipt of said catalog is one of the ultimate watershed moments in my brief life. Not only did the descriptions of the records hit me as honest, poignant and funny as fuck (and would thus be my sole inspiration for my attempting to write about music) but the catalog was my slow birthing process into the seedy world of record collecting. I've not been the same since.

While my introduction to the Sub Pop Singles Club history would be via two pages from the indispensable Rolling Stone's Alt-Rock-A-Rama book (also responsible for introducing me to: the Shaggs, the Memphis Goons, drummer jokes) my full immersion came through my purchase of the Sub Pop discography poster. This 24"x36" full-colour placard on 120-pound paper pictures all of the label's releases starting with Bruce Pavitt's original Subterranean Pop fanzines and going all the way to the soundtrack for the documentary Hype some 15 years later.

So many times I referred to that poster that the images might as well be tattooed to the inside of my eyelids. With clear demarcations as to what releases were sold out, still available via mail order, never released to begin with, recalled, that poster acted as my road map for years to come.

So with a little teasing from the catalog and flat out taunting from the poster, I made it my mission to collect all the releases depicted therein. The Moby 7" where he covers Misson of Burma's "That's When I Reach For My Revolver" in speed metal fashion? No thanks. It's not on the poster. While others my age surely pined for Pamela Anderson as depicted in a skimpy red bathing suit poster on their wall, I dreamed of the days I could actually hold a copy of Nirvana's "Love Buzz" single.

So I discovered Eric's Trip the same way I would discover loads of other bands I came to adore... through the "With Love, Sub Pop" poster. Whereas I'd heard about Soundgarden, Mudhoney and Tad through my voracious Nirvana literature consumption, it was this poster that led me to search out other titles I would have otherwise ignored. So I grabbed a copy of the Fastbacks Zucker at a Southwest Detroit pawn shop (only because of the label it was released on) and fell in love. I grabbed the ESSENTIAL Hazel "Truly" single before I had an inkling it was essential. And I slowly accumulated every Eric's Trip release on the label, resigning myself to the fact that they were the real deal.

I bought my Flaming Lips single off Brendan Benson over a meal of mozzarella and tomatoes with blueberries and milk for dessert. The Jon Spencer 7" from Dave Buick as we carpooled to go see Mudhoney. Fugazi at the WFMU Record Fair. The Dwarves "She's Dead" b/w "Fuckhead" as my first-ever eBay purchase in February 2000 for the price of $37.50. The "I never thought I would ever own this record in all my life" Nirvana "Love Buzz" from Chris Brokaw (of Sub Pop bands Codeine and Come) via Nils Bernstein (long-time Sub Pop employee who I stumbled onto as he was eBay selling and managed to get a Gories 7" test pressing, Billy Childish #'d 2xCD and loads of other goodies not to mention tons of invaluable writing advice) with money I was given for my high school graduation.

And with a little bit of hindsight, my Sub Pop collecting provided me with a wealth of information that still proves valuable daily. It was my gateway drug into the world of indie rock trivia and minutiae. So while I may not care much about the Mad Daddy's single I own, I do know that band member Slim Chance would later go on to play with the Cramps. Or that creepy Helios Creed dude has a single that kinda sucks, but he played in a band called Chrome that made some whacked out racket that's pretty alright.

I can trace my existence through Sub Pop releases and where/when/from whom I bought them. Even nowadays where there's no poster to designate all the releases after catalog number SP-374, I still know that I bought Sleater-Kinney's One Beat on tour in Munster, Germany in 2005 or that I got the Wolf Eyes "Stabbed in the Head" single at their show opening for Sonic Youth at the Majestic Theater in the summer of 2004. Even more insane to me in a way that is impossible to explain is the amount of Sub Pop product I get sent for FREE without even asking for it.

Partially because I write about it. Partially because I've come to know some people who work there. Partially because they stock some Cass product. But on the whole, I turn into a nerdy little school boy every time that Sub Pop promo mailer makes its way to the HQ. I think too many reviewers believe they are owed records, the promo spigot eternally pouring its riches (and its wealth of mediocrity as well) onto them in an orgy of Western wastefulness. I buy a LOT of the shit I review (as far as 7"s, practically all of it) and am proud to do so. I view the promos I receive as a privilege and not a right.

So as one of the last remaining few who actually consistently purchases music in the tangible form, I am eternally grateful every time it is given to me. I don't write about music to make money. I write because I love music. To get a free CD, especially something I want or plan on reviewing, is just magical. Once that feeling is gone, you can put me out to pasture. And the same should be true for ALL music writers in the world.

So with hopes of turning up Eric's Trip super-rarities, I pencil out the addresses of all the record stores listed in the Moncton Yellow Pages and start walking. At Live Wire I get the CD version of Songs About Chris and Rick White's recent solo LP. More importantly, the guy behind the counter tells me that Marc Gaudet works at Frank's Music. They call me a cab and $12 later I'm at Frank's only to find out that Marc is on vacation.

So after buying a live Elevator (post ET outfit featuring White and Gaudet) LP, I thank the clerk and offer him a guest list spot for tomorrow's show. He graciously accepts and tells me Marc will be at the show as well. I leave my phone number and note that I'm looking for vinyl copies of and The Gordon Street Haunting and Elevator Part 1, you know, just in case he has any lying around. I figure it pointless to bother asking for any of the original cassettes, but maybe I can ask him in person.

This time a $15 cab ride gets me to Spin-It where a deadstock Canadian pressing of Thee Midniters "Land of 1000 Dances Pts. 1 and 2" is tempting, but a quick needle drop proves some groove damage on side 2 does affect play. I instead buy some post cards and the Atari game Journey Escape.

So I ask this of you...how come it was only at the beginning of this tour that I was told the shitty, shitty band Journey was given their own Atari game? I'm equally befuddled and pissed at this fact. Taken from the the Wikipedia entry for this game, here's the description of the plot...

You're on the road with Journey, one of the world's hottest rock groups. A spectacular performance has just ended. Now it's up to you to guide each Journey Band Member past hordes of Love-Crazed Groupies, Sneaky Photographers, and Shifty-Eyed Promoters to the safety of the Journey Escape Vehicle in time to make the next concert. Your mighty manager and loyal roadies are there to help, but the escape is up to you!

Funny though is the fact that you start the game as one of the lowly members of the band (you know, the shitty second keyboard dude) and each level gives you a member with a little more prestige, ultimately ending with (I can only assume) the legendary Steve Perry. Correct me if I'm wrong, but this is the first ever band tie-in with a video game? That alone is pretty interesting and unbelievable.

Back at the hotel and a perusal through the phone book leads me to an entry for a "Doiron, Julie" and I muster up the balls to call her this morning and invite her to the show. How embarrassing for me when the Julie on the other line, clearly confused, says "you're looking for the singer, eh?"

Oh well. I don't get chances like this often. At least I tried.

And it's all because of that little mail-order catalog...

Mix For the College-Bound...

My 18-year-old cousin Rebecca is going off to college this year and my gift to her was in the form of my infinite musical knowledge. Not really knowing what music she likes or dislikes, here's the mix I made for her that will (hopefully) prove valuable during freshman year...

Cat Power "I Don't Blame You"
Pure perfection. Some say this song is about Kurt Cobain? When Chan Marshall hit the mark so precisely, it hurts that much more when she misses completely as on The Greatest.

The Orange Wedge "From the Womb to the Tomb"
Unknown bridge-spanners from garage punk to psych rock from the wilds of Western Michigan and somewhat affiliated with the legendary Fenton label.

The Shins "Young Pilgrims"
In first grade we had a Thanksgiving time Pilgrim party where we made tri-corner hats out of black construction paper and ornamental buckles fashioned out of square pieces of yellow construction paper (with a square cut out of the center) taped to our shoes. We marched down the main school hallway as all the other classrooms took time out to watch us and admire. That is what this song reminds me of.

Eddie Floyd "I'll Never Find Another Girl Like You"
I called an audible...barely even know this song but it seemed like a bit of Detroit oldies can never hurt the mix. Dig his version of "Raise Your Hands" as well.

The Walkmen "Look Out the Window"
From their over-looked split EP with Calla. Such a memorable guitar part that Paul Maroon tweaks out of nowhere. Very Necessary.

The Rondelles "TV Zombie"
Unbeatable bass line, hand-claps and nonsensical teenaged lyrics. Priceless.

OOIOO "UMO"
Brought to my attention via Mick Collins and "The Night Train" on WDET radio. Can't remember the last time before this I bought a song after hearing it on the radio? Queens of the Stone Age "Lost Art of Keeping a Secret" maybe?

The Fiery Furnaces "Rub-Alcohol Blues"
Originally by Dock Boggs, the Furns keep the lyrics but add their own waltzing piano to update this tear-jerking wonder.

The Yardbirds "Happenings Ten Years Time Ago"
Because it rocks and paved the way for "I'm Sick of You" by Ig and the Stoogs and "Touch Me I'm Sick" by the Mudhoneys.

Beat Happening "Indian Summer"
Is Calvin's voice just putting us on? Or is he really serious? I don't know and that's why I adore this band.

Cybotron "Alleys of Your Mind"
The first Detroit techno record and currently the most-played song on my iTunes. Makes me love Adult. even more than I did before.

Dan Sartain "When You See Me Coming"
This dude is tearing up stages all across Canada opening for the White Stripes. And this is his best song to never appear on a full-length record. Complete with uncleared Ol' Dirty Bastard sample.

Quasi "Hot Shit"
Another song that is perpetually in my head. Perfection plain and simple. Going so long into the start of an album without any lyrics is a ballsy move, but Quasi does so with ease and killing you with its sincerity and clarity.

Nick Drake "Pink Moon"
There's no reason any 18-year-old girl should not think this guy is amazing.

The Hentchmen "Gawker Delay"
See the 3700 words of pure bullshit I wrote about this album a few posts ago.

Six Organs of Admittance "Close to the Sky"
Jingle-jangle drone guitar angle. Chasny cooks this one live with his wicked band.

The Pretty Things "You Don't Believe Me"
The lyrics to this one get me every time. And the chimey guitar is heavenly. Another great 1st song on the album wonder.

Sleater-Kinney "Tapping"
From the "Get Up" CD single. Wonky Brownstein guitar wackery stops and goes without ever losing momentum. Why buried here?

The 5.6.7.8's "I Walk Like Jayne Mansfield"
Such ingenuity could only be birthed in Japan. The musicians in that country are smarter than Einstein and Bill Murray put together. Oft-imitated, the fakers are never remotely comparable.

Kelley Stoltz "Put My Troubles to Sleep"
"There ain't no rhyme, there ain't no reason, why you are free and I am freezin" starts the masterpiece from Stoltz's upcoming Lp for Sub Pop. Complete with numbing "Ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba" vocals that rouse you up like "Hey Jude" at Live Aid or some shit, this one will destroy you in the most beautiful way. Stoltz jams always end mixes tight.

The First Twenty-Five Songs I Purchased On iTunes...

So I got suckered into this whole "online music purchasing" scam with a $25 iTunes giftcard for my twenty-fifth birthday. First off, some songs I wanted to buy but could not find on iTunes:

Foo Fighters "Darling Nikki"
Folk Implosion "Cabride"
EPMD "I'm Housing"

And then, songs I wanted to purchase, but forgot about or wasn't going to buy the (necessary) entire album...

Big Star "Thirteen"
Dock Boggs "Rub Alcohol Blues"
Yeah Yeah Yeahs "Sealings"
Soundmaster T "Dance, Too Much Booty in the Pants"
Sonic Rendezvous Band "Electrophonic Tonic" or their cover of "(Like A)Rolling Stone"

And the songs I actually purchased, in order...

Stone Temple Pilots "Big Bang Baby"
I'd been searching for this one on a 7" for ages. It don't exist. So iTunes may have it's advantages.

The New Pornographers "Mass Romantic"
I think I'd been searching for this one on 7" as well. I think it doesn't exist. Heard it once on CJAM (Detroit's only college radio staion, located in Windsor) about two years ago and have been wanting to hear it again ever since.

The Walkmen "Red River"
The lead single off the SpiderMan 3 soundtrack? What awesome world are we living in?

Yeah Yeah Yeahs "Cheated Hearts" (iTunes Acoustic Exclusive)
Saw them do a better acoustic version at their AOL Sessions back in 2004. A free Cass record of the winner's choice to anyone who can email me an MP3 of THAT version. Email me at cassdetroit@aol.com

Yeah Yeah Yeahs "The Diamond Sea" (iTunes Acoustic Exclusive)
My sister has this song on her computer and on first listen I wasn't impressed with the Y's take on the Sonic Youth staple. But I'm willing to give it another chance for ninety-nine cents.

Oaktown's 3-5-7 "Juicy Gotcha Krazy"
Ok, so this is where the secret gets out. I've been trying to recapture the innocent booty hip-hop of my youth (late Eighties and early Nineties) for some time now. Back when 96.3 WHYT in Detroit had such stylin' DJ's as the Party Princess Lisa Lisa and (lest we forget) Fogold, I was the hypest, flyest white kid on my block. After this, the deluge...

KRS-ONE and Boogie Down Productions "Love's Gonna Getcha"
Remember the cable TV channel "The Box"? I wish I had videotapes of their old broadcasts.

Marcy Playground "Saint Joe on the Schoolbus"
Ok, so 89X used to play this a lot and I thought it could've passed for a Nirvana b-side.

Del Tha Funkee Homosapien "Mistadobalina"
Urged to search this one out at my older brother's request. Trying to figure out how to spell the song's title was half the fun.

DJ Freaky and MC Nas D "Gold Diggin Girls"
Vivid memories of 5th grade and Mrs. Hasho's class come rushing back. Sweet sample of Midnight Star's "No Parking on the Dance Floor" is pure finesse.

World Class Wreckin Cru "Turn Off the Lights"
A booty ballad. I thought I'd never get to hear this song again.

K7 "Come Baby Come"
Remember ESPN's "Jock Jams" CD series? This guy must've made millions, right?

DJ Magic Mike "Drop the Bass"
Sampled by the Beastie Boys. Or maybe Magic Mike himself sampled the salty "DROP!" lyric from someone else. Anybody?

AMG "The Booty Up"
Lyrics like "I can play Monopoly and still do it properly" just don't turn up in indie rock. That's why indie rock is lame.

Wyclef Jean "We're Trying to Stay Alive"
Featuring Jean Forte with the unforgettable line "I'm eatin mangoes in Trinidad with attorneys" and although I have no idea what in the hell that means, it has not kept me from repeating it. When I first spun? Clicked? (I don't know how else to say you played a download) this for the first time my eyes welled up, in awe of the ultimate perfection achieved with the Bee Gees "Stayin Alive" sample coupled with a swagger full of half-time drums.

Poison Clan "Shake Whatcha Mama Gave Ya"
I never knew Luther Campbell was on this track. This is featured on the "Booty 101: The Forbidden Dances" album. And to think I'd never have an excuse to type "Booty 101" on here.

Poison Clan "Dance All Night"
A song I had actually forgotten about, but thanks to the existence of "Booty 101" I remember.

DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince "You Saw My Blinker"
Vividly remember venturing into a Harmony House where my dad tried to convey this song title ever-so-delicately without mentioning the obivous "Bitch" addendum to the title. Quite possibly one of his favorite songs of all time after Rick James "Superfreak" and the B-52's "Rock Lobster". My dad rules.

Cybotron "Clear"
Reading about Cybotron it's as if every song they ever did is the most important track in techno history. I unexpectedly discovered that "Clear" is sampled on Poison Clan's "Shake..." and cracked a smile. Awesome.

Cybotron "Alleys of Your Mind"
So this is supposedly the first Detroit techno record. It is perfect in every way, equal parts Bambaaataa and Kraftwerk and totally paving the way for jams like Adult. One of the top 5 dance records I've ever heard.

Cat Power "House of the Rising Sun" (iTunes exclusive)
Her track record of covers versus originals is pretty damn close. If i could just get a complete version of her take on the Nerves "Hanging on the Telephone" then I think the covers would easily win.

The Yardbirds "Happenings Ten Years Time Ago"
I guess this is how they get you...too lazy to figure out how to transfer my LP or 45 versions to CD, I opt for laziness and spend ninety-nine of my last 125 iTunes cents on it. And it still rocks.

Questions: How do all those Stooges bootlegs end up on iTunes? Anyone got any tips for good late 80s/early 90s booty jams I may have forgotten? Or better yet, 96.3 playlists? And what's the deal with album-only tracks? How does everyone else feel about iTunes exclusives? Do the bars under "Popularity" signify how many times these tracks have been bought? Am I the first person to buy some of these?

For a brief moment, I feel as if I've recaptured the days of rollerblading in the basement with the radio cranked. There is no such thing as a guilty pleasure for me. It's just all pleasure.

The Hentchmen and the Strange Case of Revisionist History...

The story behind the Hentchmen’s mini-Lp Hentch-Forth and its CD reissue as Hentch-Forth.Five is an intriguing microcosm of the Detroit rock scene as a whole, both upon the initial release in 1998 and upon its re-release now in 2007.

What began as an unassuming live collaboration at the Magic Bag on February 6^th, 1998 soon developed into much more enterprising endeavors. At that show (a bill that included Rocket 455 and the Wildbunch) White joined the Hentchmen for a rather spirited take on the MC5’s “Looking At You” segueing straight into a cover of the Brit-Invasion classic “Some Other Guy” penned by Barrett/Leiber/Stoller.

Sometime after that the combo agreed to record a single together, most likely drunkenly decided at a Pin-Ups bowling league night or a Keep on Trash John Syzmanski/Dave Italy DJ night, either of which would’ve been at the Garden Bowl, the nascent nexus of Detroit’s then-burgeoning garage rock scene. It would be the first time the Hentchmen would be joined with an extra player on record and only their second waxing without the trusty Farfisa organ.

The single was recorded later that February by Jeff Meier at White’s Southwest Detroit house located at 1203 Ferdinand. Using a piano salvaged from a local Catholic school, the quartet banged through “Some Other Guy” and the Jeff Beck and the Yardbirds’ “Psycho Daisies”.

The choice of “Some Other Guy” stems from White’s then-current obsession with the Beatles BBC version of the track. At 2 minutes and 50 seconds, the Hentchmen’s version would be the longest song they’d released at that point

“Psycho Daisies” stems from the brief five-month period in 1966 where both Jimmy Page and Jeff Beck were members of the Yardbirds. While accounts differ as to who plays what on the recording, the centerpiece of the song is a back-and-forth dueling guitar match that White and Hentch stringsman Tim Purrier recreated with admirable intensity and aplomb. The CD version eliminates a cruel fade-out on the 7” that robbed the listener of some prime riffage real estate.

The song’s lyrics are a geographical hop-scotch across the United States explaining why one wouldn’t want to stay in places like Mississippi or Pennsylvania. As the song modulates into its chorus, it’s made clear that California is the place to be, if only for the fact one Mary Hughes is there.

Hughes herself was a featured actress in Dr. Goldfoot and the Bikini Machine and was romantically linked to Jeff Beck (hence her inclusion in the songs lyrics). The endearing thing about this is that the Hentch version of the song sings the lyrics as “Mary Lou” It’s cute and funny and a prime example how songs can change meaning upon re-interpretation.

The problem is the Hentch-Forth.Five version has vocals John Syzmanski re-did some eight years after the fact. It’s clearly audible when the song modulates into the pseudo-chorus and there’s suddenly double-tracked vocals where, for it’s entire existence until this point, there’d been John alone and monotone.

And that’s not it. A majority of the songs originally featured on Hentch-Forth have been tweaked or overdubbed to the point where anyone who’s even remotely familiar with the original will notice the difference.

While clearly a matter of opinion, I take these overdubs as an affront. Chalk it up in the same column as Steven Speilberg’s decades-after-the-fact digital erasure of guns in law-enforcement hands in E.T. or the abominably pointless “Greedo shoots first” kerfluffle of the redone version of Star Wars.

One can argue a piece of art is never finished, always in a constant state of flux open to reinterpretations and edits. And I can agree with this. But what we’re left with now is a revisionist history where the version of “Psycho Daisies” preserved for posterity, digitally burned into tens-of-thousands of compact discs is not the same one presented to people years ago, the version that provoked the reaction and status that made these recordings worth reissuing in the first place.

That being said, I prefer Iggy Pop’s remix of Raw Power. As my Stooges CD buying days started at a time where one could make the choice between the original ball-less Bowie mix or Ig’s needle-burying testament to ferocity, I chose Iggy. And so as the remix version is established as the one I’ve grown-up listening to, I develop an affinity and attachment to it.

So too will the scads of kids out there hearing these songs for the first time, no clue or warning as to the original presentation of the music. And that’s the shame, because the vocals on “Psycho Daisies” stick out like a sore dick. It’s CLEARLY not of the era. And so I ask: What was gained?

“A lot of it is just me doing it for myself” says Syzmanski of the overdubs. And that’s all music should be for. Once you start figuring in what the audience wants to hear or what some punk blogging kid’s gonna write, you’ve tainted your inspiration and your output. So while I completely disagree with the finished product, I wholeheartedly agree with John Syzmanski’s principle.

The single’s artwork was meant to conjure images of Liverpool in the 60’s…the smokestacks in the background and the somewhat out-of-place chain on the front cover conveying the feeling of an industrial town. The “Featuring Jack White” tag was tongue-in-cheek, as at that time, no one had ever even heard of the guy.

In August of 1998, under the working title Gawker Delay, the band decamped to record in an old auto factory in Pontiac, MI with Jeff Meier at the knobs. Owned by Gerald Shohan (member of Detroit punk patsies Coldcock and later Bootsey X and the Lovemasters) Room 222 was stocked with a Hammond B3 organ and piano that would prove crucial in the album’s dynamic. And only being occupied for a weekend in, the band was in and out without bother. Coincidentally, it would be the same weekend White shuttered his Third Man Upholstery business.

A live version of this song, complete with the “garbage, junk” lyrics as well, can be found on both the Ghettoblaster Volume 1 compilation and the Motorvatin’ Hentchmen full-length on Norton. The (as John calls it) Rolling Stones-like “ooh-ooh” backing vocals were inaudible on the original mix. Pointed out by Tim Purrier during the ‘98 mixing process, it was possibly a lengthy procedure to go back and re-do the mix to DAT. So as was their attitude at the time, they demurred “fuck it” and soldiered on.

With hindsight and a handful more albums under his belt, Syzmanski now admits they should have spent the extra twenty minutes at the time to go back and do it right. Further explaining his reason for re-doing parts on the record, John explains, “This is the only record of ours we own. It’s the only record we can do this on, whether we want to or not. Our first two albums, to show you how punk we were, were done on cassette four-track. When we were done with the songs, we’d record over the mastertapes. I wish we still had that stuff around so I could remix it.”

“LA.M.F.” is an abbreviation of “late model Ford” and a nod to a Johnny Thunders album with the same initials with differing punctuation (supposedly co-opted from NYC gang graffiti). The words invoke the metaphor of a poorly performing automobile toward having faith in a higher being

I’m three quarts down and it’s black all around

And I’m halfway pissed cause I don’t deserve this

This lyric is immediately followed by a wordless backing vocal accompaniment reminiscent of a church choir. It could just as well be a keyboard, but I like to imagine it as vocals, majestic and angelic, recalling a happy-go-lucky 1950’s television show theme song. This moment is one of those Hentch intangibles that’s so hard to explain the importance or significance of. You either get it or you don’t.

White’s bass on the song is as fresh an interpretation of a standard walking blues progression as you’ll find. Each verse plucked slightly different than the preceding one, not taking center stage, but providing the punch and balls that the band knew they were getting when they enlisted White’s services.

“Automatic” sticks out bad. The redone parts are out of place, from an airy organ that appears nowhere else on the record and wouldn’t show up in Syzmanski’s arsenal until years after the initial waxing of this song. Still, lyrics like

One on my left

And one on my right

One in my hand

And one out of sight

are a witty and original stance on as mundane a topic as manual versus automatic gear-shift in your automobile. While I will tire quicker than most of lyrics about cars, hot rods and that whole subculture, the Hentchmen have always managed to be innovative and imaginative when incorporating the subject into their songs. See also “LeSabre Radar” and “Cars on Film” for further reference.

“Gawker Delay” is un-retouched here and is the absolute pinnacle in the Hentchmen recorded canon. As always, it’s a Hentch instrumental with a brilliant title (see also “Naked Sister”, “Casmere and Campau” and “Creep of the Year”) that captivates.

This is, without a doubt, my favorite Hentchmen song of all-time. With the repetitive bassline conjuring the monotony of being stuck in traffic, Tim’s guitar buzzing with feedback-laced bounce and drummer Mike Latullipe’s metronomic pounding punctuated with apropos accents are all perfect. But it holds nothing to Syzmanski’s organ playing.

The dramatic and thundering string of notes the Hammond B3 hits at the 1:05 mark of the song are so rife with emotion and full with being that I feel my efforts to describe it will be fruitless. And this feeling struck me the first time I heard the song, July 25^th at St. Andrew’s Hall in Detroit. My immediate reaction was something like “What the fuck was that?” feeling entirely struck and overwhelmed at the power with which an instrumental song could move me on first listen.

And after almost nine years, hitting the repeat button over and over as I A-B the LP versus the CD I am still in awe of this song. If you get stuck in this wordy, self-important overwrought review or are just fed-up by this point, I will leave you with this simple advice: the song “Gawker Delay” is reason enough to purchase Hentch-Fourth.Five.

(side note: White joined the Hentchmen for this St. Andrew’s gig. Syzmanski recalls him playing the entire show while I remember otherwise. John also claims Jack played guitar on one song while Tim played bass…this I do not remember. There were probably no more than 50 people in attendance.)

“Me and My Monotone” is where side 2 would begin. Here we have Syzmanski’s insightful lyrics:

You know

nobody moves

they all just sit there

They think they’re going places

But they don’t know how to get there

And I feel so all alone

Just me and my monotone

This personally feels like an indictment of the state of affairs in this town, both in 1998 and 2007. Some things never change. Same as it ever was. People speak big and act little and the wise ones are left only to observe it all. White would oftentimes cover this song during solo live performances, appropriating his Hentch-Forth bass part to a Kinks-styled guitar stab. I thought I had a recording of this to share, but a long trawl through the archives proves otherwise.

I honestly don’t think I’ve ever seen Syzmanski given credit as a gifted lyricist and that’s a shame. Where the “Monotone” lyrics above are studied and attacking, he’s just as capable of being charmingly juvenile and aloof. A song like “Perpetuate the Continuance” from FormFollowsFunction is the perfect example as to how a painfully obvious self-observation can carry unforeseen weight and meaning.

“Big Screen Lover” is a Purrier tune about a cineaste-turned-shizo, off to Hollywood in search of the glitterati. Tim’s driving punk guitar augmented by Syzmanski’s harmonica and brilliantly ends with the line “All the stars are old or dead.”

Tim songs are almost perfectly analogous to Lee Ranaldo’s songs in Sonic Youth. Never more than one or two a record, they are perfectly written to the point of perfection and are a welcome momentary departure from the singular voice of the band’s front-person.

“Little No More” is reminiscence turned wow as a high school sweetie is seen all-growned-up. The mention of a seeing her at the “civic fair” could point to a reality-inspired track as Syzmanski spent some of his youth in St. Clair Shores and I vaguely recall attending a fair in that city that was neither state, county, church or vanity…no, it could only be described as civic. Which is odd, because I can’t think of any other instance of a fair I would consider “civic”.

While weak only in comparison to its surroundings, “Carry Me Home” is similar to “Little No More” in blurring the divide between what could possibly be a drunkard’s plea (the song’s title) or a sweet-hearted request for some quality time spent snuggling. The pre-solo drum fill is actually White and Latullipe playing matching parts on opposing drums (a tom and snare, respectively, I believe).

“R&R Cancer” also suffers from unseemly organ additions and vocal re-dos. While the original piano arrangement was pounding, the organ doubled over Syzmanski’s vocals, while slightly charming, ruins the stripped-down early Chuck Berry vibe the initial version had. The cribbing of Darby Crash’s “gimme gimme your heart” lyric from “Lexicon Devil” is an appreciated re-appropriation and the idea of a “rock and roll cancer” itself can be a humorous hypothetical…is Syzmanski implying a diseased music scene? A tired and tread genre? Something that needs to be cut off with a scalpel and tossed into a pile of medical waste? Or am I reading too much into this?

John says, “After we recorded ‘R&R Cancer’ I immediately started doing the vocals differently live. And that always bugged me. So I changed them.”

I always thought this collection of Hentchmen songs had a fair amount of weird stops and starts. Things like the punctuating blasts before the lyric “rock and roll cancer” or the ping-ponging guitar/organ on “Little No More” always struck me as odd little slashes. With hindsight it doesn’t feel so pronounced, but maybe a bit of their Devo infatuation poking through, coupled with a knack for making independent song structures and parts gel with a dose of ingenuity.

According to Syzmanski, there’s even silent film footage of the band in the studio.

“Jack had found some 16mm camera he was messing around with. On the way up to the studio we stopped and got some film for it. There’s probably a good 20 minutes of footage, you know, silent, of us goofing around. I’d really like to see that.”

The title Hentch-Forth came from yours truly and originally appeared on a headed-for-the-dump chair at Third Man Upholstery. I jokingly told White he should suggest it as the album title to the band, as he’d mentioned they were having trouble coming up with one. I didn’t know it was their fourth album, nor did I register they were adding a fourth member. I merely thought it sounded cool. There’s debate between White and myself as to whether the initial use of the word was as “hentchfourth” and not the hyphenated version actually used on the album.

When told that the band would be using the title, White presented the news with regret more than anything. He didn’t want to see me get a big head at the age of sixteen. Latulippe envisioned the future as such: me removing a pair of mirrored sunglasses slowly before saying, “Hentches, your new song title is….” Luckily, that never happened, though the big head is debatable. White lobbied for me to be thanked on the record but alas, it was not meant to be. With the reissue, I’m still not thanked. I think it’s better that way.

The album cover of Purrier onstage in Athens, OH on New Year’s Eve 1997 is iconic. Clad in a stylish 1960’s houndstooth dress, legs perfectly akimbo at 120 degrees from the knees, Mike just barely peeking over his left shoulder, Misfits Fiend Club pin clearly beaming from its place of distinction on the guitar strap, eyes fixated downward…it’s an image that totally doesn’t make sense if you’ve ever met the guy. He’s as straight-laced and un-crossdressing a man as you can meet.

And therein lies the beauty. The juxtaposition of this, in Dave Buick’s words, stereotypically nerdy guy, wearing a 30-year-old dress, onstage, captured in mid-rock is comparable to the juxtaposition of a 9 song mini-LP released the same day as your CD/LP full-length, of adding a bass player just for the recording and release, of doing it all so fast that your already not happy with the mixes, of coming back years after the fact to finally make proper what has become an essential cog in Detroit music history to many people the world over.

The back cover photo was taken at a local funeral home. It also spawned a creepy outtake of the session, an image of White, eyes closed, in a coffin with the Hentch boys paying their respects. In some ways it seems that the inclusion of that photo would be symbolically appropriate on this reissue, the idea that the recording has finally been put to bed.

White would join the Hentchmen onstage for the record’s release party on October 23rd, but only for a rendition of Hank Williams “Jambalaya”. Tim would don the same dress he sports on the album cover and it was generally a rollicking good time.

The next two tracks, “Club Wagon” and “Ham and Oil” were originally featured on a 7” released by Gas Records from Finland. The band was put in touch to the label through Norton Records and the request was for two instrumental tracks. They were done at the Pontiac sessions.

“Club Wagon” is most likely a reference to the Hentch van, a Ford Club Wagon bedecked with many a bawdy bumper sticker, lots of highway miles and a top-notch stereo system. Tim’s guitar makes the song. “Ham and Oil” are traditional gifts at a Hamtramck wedding and the song is ultimately forgettable.

Rounding out the CD is a previously unheard second take of “Psycho Daisies”. I find this interesting to no end. At the time, I can’t imagine any of these bands completing a usable second take. Once you had a passable recording down to tape, you were done. You mixed the thing and sent it off. And this isn’t just the Hentchmen…you will be hard-pressed to find alternate takes of any Detroit bands of this era…the White Stripes, the Dirtbombs, Bantam Rooster, Detroit Cobras. Tape and time were at such a commodity that what you hear on the finished records is, most-often, all that was laid down in the studio.

But the alternate take had no vocals (which makes sense, no reason in completing two separate vocal takes at that time). So Syzmanski was finally able to right the lyrical wrong of “Mary Lou” to “Mary Hughes”.

Despite my griping, this record is still beautiful. Syzmanski explains that many of the vocal takes were missing from the original ¼ inch 8 track tapes and so there was no choice but to redo them. He believes his original performances on “Yesterday’s Trash” and “Me and My Monotone” were worth keeping had they actually been available. ( ¼ inch 8 track is, mathematically, the same fidelity as a cassette 4 track)

He also says he’d always thought the LP was a little fast, that all the songs sounded sharp and that it’s been corrected now. Add to that an ill lacquer-mastering engineer and what you end up with is a 12” that was known to skip on many turntables and never achieved its full potential because of it. While the LP tracks spark with a force unrealized on the vinyl release, the songs originally released on 7” ultimately feel a bit flattened from the transfer.

The CD running order mistakenly places “Little No More” and “Carry Me Home” up one spot each where “Big Screen Lover” is relegated down two notches. This is merely an oversight, John acknowledges, and was not intended.

There are so many reasons this re-release shouldn’t make sense. But it ultimately does. My self-implied personal attachment and involvement notwithstanding, Hentch-Forth (and its .Five companion) is the best single collection of Hentchmen material you will find, and thus, one of the best documents of Detroit garage rock in its coming-of-age phase of the late 1990s.

Image Details

-from Metro Times advert for the show
-from Metro Times general advert for the Garden Bowl, featuring Syzmanski in performing a bar handstand. Must be viewed in person to achieve full affect
-label scan of Canadian pressing of "Psycho Daisies"
-originally lyrics hand-written by Syzmanski for "Psycho Daisies" note the "Mary Lou" inclusion
-original Keep On Trash flyer. Unsure of the origin of this phrase, it would appear in the run-out groove of the "Psycho Daisies" side and eventually end-up the title of a song by the Go
-poorly photographed 16x24 poster for the St. Andrew's show. a two-color silk-screen designed by Steve Shaw. Silk-screened posters for local bands at this time were unheard of and this one is considerably rare.
-excerpt from hand-written Jack White solo show setlist, note the inclusion of "Monotone"
-perfunctory CD cover scan
-perfunctory scan of original Gas sleeve
-Hentch-van State of Michigan registration, recovered from Car City Records lost and found circa 2000. I hope his license number has changed, cause I don't know how to black that shit out.
If you've made it this far, I've got one free copy of the Hentch-Forth.Five CD to giveaway. Email cassdetroit@aol.com with something worthwhile...a scan I should've included above, a searing critique of my opinion, a sycophantic agreement with what I wrote, whatever. Winner will be picked at my discretion. And as always, keep posting comments. That shit makes my day.