Category Archive

By Max Conroy

There are several definitions of the word scrummage.  It is synonymous to a rugby play called a ’scrum’, but also means ‘a general row or confused fight or struggle’.  A scrum can also, according to the Brits, mean ‘a place or situation of confusion and racket; hubbub’, which seems like the closest definition to the venue in Detroit.  Here is their mission statement from their site (do not click on this link if you have or might possibly have epilepsy): A psychedelic loft in Detroit’s Eastern Market district.  We achieve maximum fun.  We have giant parties with totally rad music encompassing all generas.  We teach you here at our university that no one is too stuffy to party.  This is the place where all your wildest dreams can come true.  There is apparently a market in Detroit’s Eastern Market district, but there’s no evidence of it at night; in fact, there doesn’t seem to be anything besides a graveyard, bombed out buildings, and the occasional liquor store and gas station…and this place. 

Scrummage University is a huge warehouse that must have been a toy factory at one time, based on the painted signage on the front of the building.  I drove by it a few times before coming to the conclusion that this must be the place.  There were several flyers that mentioned that it’s the large building that has ‘Toys’ painted on the front of it, but not the flyer that I had.  The flyers also stated that the event was to begin at 9PM, which is when I arrived, but there was no one there, except for a few people running the show and the performers.  Also, there is no mention of the Silver Apples playing at Scrummage on the venue’s site, so I’d seek other verification that a band will be there before driving through post-apocalyptic Detroit to get there. 

The Scrummage gate is barely wide enough for a car to fit through and is situated next to an operational junk yard; I deduced that it was operational based on the five rabid dogs hurling themselves at the fence, attempting to kill hipsters.  The parking lot is huge with weeds thriving in the cracks of the asphalt, an active train line in back, and several huge bonfire pits.  I walked around for a bit, soaking up the scenery, snapping photos, as other guests arrived.  After awhile, I noticed that everyone had 40s of beer, and asked the door guy Ian if it was cool to bring beer here: ‘Sure, man.  You should pick me up something.’  He gave me some shoddy directions to a liquor store, but I ended up finding a different one that had all the choice malt liquor and grabbed a 40 of Olde English and Ian a 24oz of Cammo XXX High Gravity for the shitty directions; he was thrilled.

By this time they were throwing huge pieces of furniture into the fire pit and igniting them.  When the fire would get low, they, presumably ‘official’ events organizers, would politely ask some people to get off of the wardrobe they were sitting on and then drag it into the fire.  This place is the ultimate in blind pigs, anything goes. 

You enter the warehouse through a defunct loading dock and enter into a wide open concrete room, piles of debris in the corners and outsider art everywhere.  There is a working bathroom that isn’t the worst that I’ve ever seen.  From what I gather, people live at Scrummage, so they probably rent the space, or maybe even squat there.  The electric hair trimmer in the bathroom also made me think that people live there. 

The opening act Benny Stoofy is kind of Scrummage’s house band.  They are some talented musicians that blend the low fi aesthetic with competence, much like Dr. Dog.  I dug a few songs and then went back to the bonfire with my 40 to chat up some people and enjoy the evening.

The Lotto Ball Show went on next.  They’re a synth-driven postpunk outfit from Chicago.  They seemed good, but the vocals were noexistent in the mix, so I again headed out to the fire after about two songs.

I went back inside after the music stopped to look at the unattended merch table and to watch people climb dangerously onto makeshift trapezes hanging from the ceiling.  Simeon, a perfectly normal looking fellow in his mid-to-late 60s, dressed in a bright green turtleneck, strolled across the floor to his rig and began calibrating or whatever one has to do to a pile of oscillators and beat machines to prepare them for a performance.

The Silver Apples are Simeon now.  He manipulates bass and melody sound oscillators over drum tracks, and sings: that’s the sound of The Silver Apples in 2008.  After listening to some of their records recently, I’ve come to really appreciate the late Danny Taylor’s drumming.  He lays down a hardcore breakbeat jazz style that really propels the monotonous vocals and bleeps and bloops.  But the music is essentially electronic music and the last thirty years of music has proven that a drummer isn’t absolutely necessary.  The lack of a drummer has actually transformed the Silver Apples sound into what it inspired: electronic dance music.  It’s fitting to see one of the pioneers of electronic music performing this way to the city that basically took what he was doing eons ago and went crazy with it. 

Simeon played for exactly an hour and politely declined an encore; this isn’t exactly encore-type music.  He performed a lot of the ‘hits’ like Oscillations and I Don’t Care What the People Say and did a handful of new compositions.  In the middle of the set, about twenty people got on stage a danced their freaky, uninhibited dances.  I went back to the merch table and bought the only Apples vinyl available: a limited press of 1000 called Selections from the Early Sessions.  I then went up to Simeon’s rig and snapped a picture of it just before he went up to it to tear it down.  I said, “Thanks, man.”  “It’s a pleasure,” said Simeon.

Click Below for information about the Selections record, some audio of the show, and pictures.

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By Max Conroy

The enigmatic and visionary electronic ‘band’ The Silver Apples will perform tomorrow night at Scrummage University.  I don’t know anything about the venue and was handed a flyer for the show, which is a photocopy of a primitive pen and ink drawing, by a group of teenagers that I befriended at the Jandek performance in Ann Arbor. 

The Silver Apples formed in New York in 1967, consisting of Simeon Coxe III (Simeon) and Danny Taylor, drums.  The duo were in a band called The Overland Stage Electric Band prior to the Apples, where band members rapidly left the group as a result of Simeon’s incorporation of a 1940s vintage audio oscillator, leaving the two.  Simeon developed a homemade instrument, the Simeon, consisting of “nine audio oscillators piled on top of each other and eighty-six manual controls to control lead, rhythm, and bass pulses with hands, feet, and elbows”(from the liner notes of their first album).  They recorded a self-titled album, released in 1968 on Kapp Records that barely cracked the top 100 and the follow up, Contact, in ‘69.  They toured to support Contact and recorded another album in 1970, but it was shelved when Kapp was devoured by MCA.  This third record would eventually be released as Garden in 1998.  The band dissolved as a result of Kapp folding and lay dormant for the next twenty-five years.

The Apples were brought back to life in 1994 when a German label TRC began issuing bootlegs of their first two records, causing a long-awaited rebirth of interest in their music.  The original records eventually were officially reissued, they toured (Coxe and a multi-instrumentalist named Xian Hawkins), and released several singles and albums in the late 90s that received favorable press.  In 1999 their tour van was involved in an accident that broke Simeon’s neck.  He’s been recovering since, but will probably never fully recover the movement of his hands, so apparently his performance is a bit more direct now.  Danny Taylor died of a heart attack in Kingston, New York in 2005.  Simeon went back on the road as a solo version of the Silver Apples in 2007 and is supposed to still put on a good show. 

This music must have been totally unpalatable in the late 60s, but it absolutely presaged the future of music and the advent of electronic music, from bands like Suicide and Kraftwork in the 70s to Detroit to Radiohead.

Oscillations:

I Don’t Care What the People Say:

From Pitchfork:  Better bring some extra cash to these shows, as Mr. Silver Apples will be peddling both a tour-only ChickenCoop Recordings LP of remastered tunes entitled Selections and a new Gifted Children Records EP called Gremlins at the merch table.

By Max Conroy

On Wednesday night, Donita Sparks and her band the Stellar Moments performed at the Magic Stick.  They were great.  Unfortunately, there had to have been less than fifty people there, even thought it was a featured event in most Detroit entertainment papers.  It’s a bummer, but those are the breaks; hopefully the turnout in Detroit wasn’t indicative of the turnout for the entire tour. 

Observing this band from a slight distance makes me like them all that much more.  They all hung out in the bar before the show and seemed approachable and even goofy.  I’ve been burning the candle at both ends lately and had a chest cold, in the middle of a heat wave, the night of the show, so I opted not to speak to anyone other than Cousin Justin, and I could hardly understand what he was saying half of the time.  Most of the band also made it a point to watch the young opening acts, and were very supportive of them.  This shows a lot of empathy and character because there is nothing more disrespectful or arrogant than not paying any attention to your opening acts.  The Stellar Moments also tuned their own instruments and did the sound check; to save costs I’m sure, but the overall sound of the show only benefitted from this simple act. 

They played a full hour set and did an encore.  The set consisted of the entire Transmiticate album and three L7 tunes.  Donita has still got it to be sure and was all over the stage shaking her ass, blonde hair a blur, gold tooth shining in the lights.  Allan the Italian was a perfect lead accompaniment to Donita and Logan’s rhythm guitar.  Dee Plakas created a driving train of sound while Dat No (probably spelled wrong) carried the rhythm.  Donita declared that the crowd was tiny, but mighty.  Everyone there loved it and was dancing instead of head banging, as Donita predicted in the interview that I did with her.  Should have been there, man.  You missed out on this one. 

I’m posting a couple of tracks from the show.  Again, a Digital Voice Recorder that has a built in mic was used, so this is hardly representative of what the show actually sounded like; the vocals were much more prevalent at the show.

Pretend We’re Dead:

Headcheck:

By Max Conroy

The Raconteurs played Saturday night at the Fillmore Detroit with the Atlanta-based garage punk revivalists the Black Lips.  All 2900 seats were accounted for, but the place didn’t seem overly packed at all.  This would probably have been a concert that I wouldn’t have thought twice about, seeing the ad in the paper or hearing about it on the radio, but a friend called me before getting tickets the day they went on sale.  What the hell, I’ll go; I like the rock and roll; I consider myself a fan of J. White even though at times I want to dislike the White Stripes.  I really like the Black Lips, particularly their 2005 record Let It Bloom, but didn’t know that they were opening until after I’d committed to the event.  No matter what you think about White’s music or his opinions regarding his music, he’s done a lot for rock and roll.  I can’t blame him for leaving Detroit either.  That said, I can pretty much take or leave the Raconteurs.

When I first heard that White was forming a band, I thought that it was a great idea: breaking away from the mold of a two-person ‘band’ where he most definitely calls the shots to working with three to four other extremely talented people, writing songs and collaborating in a super group, like they did back in the late sixties through the seventies.  I could really give two shits about Brendan Benson, based purely on ignorance, but drafting the rhythm section of the Greenhornes, bassist Jack Lawrence and drummer Patrick Keeler, made me have to take this band seriously.  I have seen these two play live probably more than any other group of musicians. 

I’ve seen several incarnations of the Greenhornes, as a four-piece and a trio, and have seen them play with Holly Golightly several times.  One of my most profound dipshit, foot-in-mouth, moments was making some boneheaded comment about how the Greenhornes weren’t all that great to Holly Golightly while smoking cigarettes outside of Kraftbrau Brewery in Kalamazoo, and she basically said, “There are a lot worse bands out there.”  About ten minutes later, the Greenhornes tore the place apart.  I’d seen them open for Golightly a few nights prior at the Magic Stick and they didn’t exactly put their best foot forward, but every time that I’ve seen them since, they have been absolutely amazing; one of the best bands I’ve ever seen.  And so much of what made them so good was their impossibly tight rhythm section; Keeler, the definition of the jazz-influenced rock drummer, killing the skins, sweat flying everywhere, drinking whiskey; and Lawrence the silent rock carrying the rhythm, his expression is comparable to Elijah Wood’s character in Sin City:  blank, verging on scary.

I got the Raconteurs first record when it came out, but never really listened to it seriously.  I also had the chance to see them a Lollapalooza a few years back, but chose to see some other band that was playing there at the same time; it might have been Sleater-Kinney playing their last non-Olympia show.  The music seems fine, and I’m not sure why I haven’t taken the time to listen to their records, maybe there just hasn’t been enough time, who knows?  So this show was a good opportunity for me to really give their music a chance.

Upon entering the Fillmore Detroit, if you are a guy, you have to empty your pockets, hold all your shit for security to go through while they frisk you.  It’s been awhile since I’ve had to do this and was somewhat freaked out by it as I did have something that would be considered contraband, which I held under my wallet, hoping they wouldn’t notice.  They were some huge fellows and seemed very good at their job.  I made the mistake of wearing a green shirt that said ‘Boston’ on it with a clover.  The guy who was about to frisk me mumbled something, and it sounded to me like, “If I find anything in your pockets, I’m going to fuck you up.”  My stomach sank as I was holding onto my wallet and contraband, hands shaking.  I quickly ripped out anything else that I had in my pockets and explained rapidly what it was.  He could tell that I misunderstood what he’d said and repeated it: “I should fuck you up for wearing that shirt.”  That I could handle.  The Pistons were just knocked out by the Boston Celtics in the conference finals.  “Oh, sorry, man.  I totally didn’t think about it.”  “You should go home and burn that shirt.”  “Oh, I will.”  My hands were still shaking when I bought a round of beer five minutes later.

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By Max Conroy

The other day I sent a letter to Jandek.  Well, I sent it to Corwood Industries; to the same post office box that’s been used by Corwood Industries/Jandek for the last thirty years.  I felt kind of lame for doing this because I thought of how many geeks like me have done it over the years.  I was also thinking about stories that I’ve heard and read about where Jandek will send radio stations and journalists interested in his music crates of records for years on end, and if at all possible I want crates of Jandek records.  I’m not sure if a shit-ton of Jandek records could possibly be healthy in any way, but I’d certainly listen to them and be obliged to review them.  Naturally, we focus on vinyl here and Corwood only makes CDs now, so I also wanted to find out if Corwood has any records lying around the apartment.  I had also seen in Jandek on Corwood that Corwood Industries would send letters in response to people searching for information about Jandek, presumably from Jandek, that have polite and firmly cryptic refusals to provide any information beyond the records: 

The story must be crafted from what you have and know from the music.  We cannot provide interviews or other exchanges of information outside of the releases at present.  It’s probable that your crafted story would be more interesting than any other.  Intrigue goes a long way sometimes.

The examples that I’ve seen of these response letters are typically written in slightly sloppy block lettering and are signed by ‘Corwood’ or ‘Your friends at Corwood’.  I wrote the letter and asked for recommended records, since there are 53 of them, any promotional material to review, and asked if they had any vinyl left.  In the letter I addressed Corwood as to whom I was writing, referring to Jandek only in the third person.  I didn’t really expect any response beyond an order form for CDs, but would love records or even a letter written in the same format that I’d seen.

This was two weeks ago approximately that I sent the letter.  I went to my mailbox today, opened it, and there was a single letter in the narrow box.  It was a letter from Corwood Industries, the address stamped in the top left corner of the envelope.  It seemed eerily appropriate that the letter seemed lonely in my mailbox, as it’s a rare day that it doesn’t get filled with a bunch of bullshit, wasted paper.  I took care in opening it, not wanting to destroy the envelope or the letter and noticed that it was written in slightly sloppy, mostly block lettering, the paper looked like it had a rough time of it at Corwood or on the way from Houston:

We literally have no vinyl to offer.  We sold all vinyl and moved to CD.  Vinyl is in production at:

Jackpot Records, 203 SW 9th Ave, Portland, OR 97205

We suggest you inquire therein.

(No Signature)

I checked out Jackpot Records online and they only offer Jandek CDs.  Perhaps I will see if they are going to manufacture Jandek vinyl.  The letter seems typical, but there was no salutation or signature.  If you’re out there, Jandek, Cousins would love to review some records or hear from you.

Click below to view the actual letter and to hear a jam off one of Jandek’s most recent platters The Myth of Blue Icicles.

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By Max Conroy  

The co-founder of the great all girl rock/metal/punk/raunch band L7, Donita Sparks, has just released her first solo record since the band’s break up eight years ago.  The amount of time between break up and solo effort might make some fans a bit skeptical as to the quality of her new material, but a lot has happened to the music industry in the past eight years, and it’s a lot more difficult to make a record these days when it’s on the artist’s dime.  Allow me to assuage any trepidation that you might have regarding this record because of how long ago 2000 seems.

I first heard that Donita Sparks and her new band the Stellar Moments were releasing a record not by Mojo or Pitchfork, but on Fresh Air with Terry Gross.  The review was by Ken Tucker, their music critic, whose reviews I greatly admire.   

I hadn’t thought about L7 for awhile, but they definitely have a place in my subconscious.  Bricks Are Heavy and Hungry for Stink are several albums that came out at that magical time for me, where development goes into overdrive and everything was confusing, troubling and magical; the junior high, early high school years.  They were big players in that soundtrack of those awesome, yet horrible times for me and most people that I can relate to now whether they realize it or not.  For example: a couple of years ago, I met a new friend and we were hanging out at his place; he was into psychobilly music and I was into protopunk at the time; the first record he put on was Bricks Are Heavy and it was the perfect choice…we both knew that we had a lot in common at that point.   

Natural Born Killers was also a polarizing experience for me when it came out; looking back on it, it seems like the A Clockwork Orange of my generation.  I can remember smoking weed out of a pop can with my two best friends on an outcropping in front of the movie theater before attempting to sneak into the film because we were underage.  Shitlist is still my favorite song on that soundtrack and the scene where Juliette Lewis puts the coin in the juke box and slices up that redneck while it plays, the most memorable in the film.

I also was lucky enough to have seen L7 on the ‘94 Lollapalooza tour at Pine Knob in Detroit when I was fourteen.  I was lucky enough to have some college-age neighbors that I grew up with who knew I was into music heavy.  When L7 went on early in the day, I remember looking to my friends and saying, “Those are some crusty bitches.  I wouldn’t mess with them.”  And that’s been my impression of them ever since; intimidation based on their hardcore stage presence.

Nostalgia in art and literature is regarded as something to be avoided at all costs.  I guess that it kills the ability to think in the present and clouds memories in a grotesque rosy hue.  But I’m a nostalgic person at times and all of this history came back to me as Terry Gross’ intro faded and the first notes of Need to Numb came through my speakers.  I had to stop what I was doing and listen.  It’s a straight ahead NY Dolls style rocker that convinced me right there before the review even began that this record has to be good.  Tucker’s review was laudatory and included clips of Creampuff, a take on the 60s girl group sound, and He’s Got the Honey, probably the most commercial song on the album; a good overview of the record.

A little while later, I acquired Transmiticate (the album title is a made-up word, combining transmit and communicate) and am quite impressed by it.  Make no mistake, it’s a departure from L7, but the evolved sound is an appropriate balance of maturity and the best of what L7 had to offer: fuzz and great hooks.  The album incorporates modern electronic effects, particularly on layered backing vocals, and the classic human/band feel beautifully.  The production by Ethan Allan is par excellance and the drums played by Dee Plakas, the only other member of L7 on the record, are fantastic, tight and big. The record successfully jumps tempos throughout and ends with a ballstothewall rocker, Into the Hi Fi.  If you are looking for new music that’s provocative, a fan of L7, or interested in supporting people out there that still give a damn about rock and roll, you should find this record.

A few weeks after hearing the review of Transmiticate on Fresh Air, I was presented with the opportunity to interview Donita in conjunction with her show here at the Magic Stick on June 11th.  I jumped at the chance, but was a bit cautious based on my teenage impression of L7.  I did some research and watched some interviews that she’s done recently and was happy to learn that she’s a seemingly normal person that probably wouldn’t put me on her shitlist and knock my teeth out if I mumbled the wrong question. 

Here’s my stellar moment with Donita Sparks…

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 By Max Conroy

This past week has been one of the most eventful/busy of my entire life.  In seven days I saw Jandek, wrote about it, interviewed Donita Sparks, saw Blind Mellon in Flint, crashing that night in East Lansing, saw Solomon Burke in Detroit and motored immediately after to Grand Rapids to hang out with Uncle Fucker.  I got back to Ann Arbor last night around midnight.  I had a real good time, but I’m glad to be convalescing here on this beautiful Memorial Day.  In my travels to East Lansing and Grand Rapids, I picked up some great records at some great shops.  If you’re anywhere even close to Grand Rapids and like records at all, you have to go to the Corner Record Shop, just outside of GR.  It rivals Encore and is about to become an entirely analog recording studio and venue as well!  Another surprise is that Uncle Fucker dusted off the Telecaster this weekend in a moment of clarity, and I recorded some of it for you.  I have also edited some of what I recorded at the Solomon Burke show.  Featured here are Lay My Burdon Down, performed by the choir before he went on, and Diamond in Your Mind, the song that Tom Waites wrote for him on his first comeback album.  The choir provides an accurate representation of the enthusiasm of the crowd, along with a healthy dose of ecstatic joy in loving Jesus.  Diamonds is just a great song and was recorded by Burke recently, so it captures his sound now.  The third track is Uncle Fucker shredding All Down the Line, the Stones song.

Lay My Burdon Down:

Diamond in Your Mind:

All Down the Line:

Stay tuned for the Donita Sparks and the Stellar Moments review and interview.

By Max Conroy

The deacon Solomon Burke played a free show in Detroit last night (refer to the previous post).  It was a fantastic show and one that I’ll remember forever.  He’s still got it to be sure.  A gospel choir performed Lay My Burden Down before he went on.  Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to stay for the entire show, but I saw a little over an hour of his set and caught a lot of classics: Cry to Me, If You Need Me, Down In The Valley, the Tom Waites penned Keep a Diamond in Your Mind, Sittin’ On the Dock of the Bay, and many others.  I recorded some audio of the show and will work on getting that posted.

Soul legend Solomon Burke will play a free show tomorrow at Campus Martius park on Woodward In Detroit. Call 313-962-0101 for more details.

Freep.com had a great mini-interview with Burke, with the 68 year old discussing his love for Detroit, his time spent working with Aretha, and his upcoming album, where he performed songs written for him by various artists including Cousin Geoff favorite Ben Harper:

Q: Your collaboration with Ben Harper, “A Minute to Rest and a Second to Pray,” is easily one of the best moments on the new album. What was it like working with him?

A: The first time I met him was right in the studio, and I was intrigued and excited. Ben said, “I’ve only got the first verse done. I ain’t finished with it yet.” So I told him to finish the song right now and then we immediately recorded it. As we speak right now, some folks don’t even have a home. In the last 48 hours, how many people have (only) a minute to rest and a second to pray?

Read the rest of the intereview here.

Check out some Solomon 45s we have in the store here.  We did come across a copy of his hard to find Rock and Soul LP a few years ago, and we regrettably sold it as Justin and I could not hustle the other into letting one of us have it!

By Max Conroy 

On Saturday, May 17th Jandek played a free concert at the University of Michigan’s Lydia Mendelssohn Theater.  The show was sponsored by WCBN-FM (88.3 on your FM dial), the student-run station of the University, booked by Brendt Rioux, and featured James Cornish on trumpet, Christian Matjias on harpsichord, and Biba Bell on vocals and improv dance.  Apparently this was the first Jandek performance to feature live improv dancing.  Jandek played hollow body bass and sang.  This is what’s known.

This is what’s unknown:  the identity of Jandek, the aim of his endeavors, and virtually everything about the production and meaning behind his music.  Jandek has put out fifty-three albums in thirty years.  The records range from atonal bluesy folk to thirty minute vocal-only tracks and some feature other musicians most likely (even though he does overdub tracks).  The lyrical content of his songs are most definitely poetic in nature, possibly autobiographical, and definitely surreal, causing people to speculate as to whether or not this is a sort of diary of a person suffering from mental illness or records to be enjoyed as such, art for art’s sake. 

There are only a handful of people who have ever spoken to or communicated with Jandek; and in these instances, the person is known only as a “representative of Corwood Industries.”  Corwood Industries is Jandek’s record label and in his only recorded interview, by John Trubee for Spin in 1985, featured on YouTube and as an extra on the Jandek on Corwood DVD, he discloses that he is the “sole proprietor” of Corwood, which has maintained the same PO Box in Houston since 1978.  All of his records and DVDs are purchased directly from Corwood/Jandek, cheaply, and none are sold to record stores or libraries. Jandek also mentions in that interview that at the time he was working as a machinist and living in Houston, Texas.  The name on the copyright information for Jandek’s records in the Library of Congress is Sterling Richard Smith, born in Rhode Island in 1945 (he mentions Rhode Island in several songs).  He originally recorded one record under the name The Units and sent his record to radio stations and record stores, and was forced to change the name when a guy whom he sent the record to in San Francisco threatened to sue him as that was the name of his band.  As a result he wanted to find a name that no one could possibly have, so he ended up speaking to a fellow named Dekker in January and came up with Jandek. 

The more that I research Jandek, the more his history or what he’s illuminated for us seems to be the creation of a highly intelligent, very sane person, very similar to the way a novelist comes up with material culled from his past, subconscious, and ability to tell a convincing story.  Before his days as Jandek, he allegedly wrote seven novels, which he burned after being rejected by publishers.  He tells Trubee that, “I put out a product, and that’s it.  I don’t want to get too involved.”  This smells like bullshit to me, but very good bullshit.

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By Max Conroy

I’ve been attending rock shows consistently for the past twenty years and have seen a lot of great bands, the Stones a few times, Chuck Berry, the Pixies a few times, Tom Waits, the Ramones, The Stooges; trying to list them or rate all the shows would be futile, but I can safely say that last night’s Dexateens show at the Crofoot Ballroom was one of the best show I’ve ever seen.  I can only imagine what seeing them in Tuscaloosa, headlining, would be like.  They are the closest thing to rock and roll perfection there is: technical proficiency, great songwriting, swinging swagger, shit loads of chemistry, great records, it’s all there in spades.

The Crofoot seems like a decent place to see a show, even if it is way the hell out in Pontiac: decent sound, $3 Pabst, not so surly staff.  The Dexateens opened for the Drive-By Truckers, who are riding high on the acclaim of their most recent record Brighter Than Creation’s Dark.  It’s kind of an iffy thing to go to a show specifically to see the opening act because sometimes it’s obvious that no one there has heard of the band and could care less how well they play or what they sound like and also the opener’s set is usually short.  But the Dexateens have history with the Truckers and played a plentiful set, consisting of songs off of their last three albums.  I don’t typically jock musicians if I see them hanging around by the merch table after shows out of courtesy to them.  They’re people like you and me and probably appreciate adoration, but I don’t want to be ‘that guy’, the annoying fucker looking to suck as much blood from these people as possible to obtain fodder for their blog. 

But for me the Dexateens are different.  Their music blows me away and I respect the situation they’re in, playing music for the sake of the music, not for the pussy, not for the drugs, not for the fame, certainly not for the money but because they have to do this.  So after their blistering set, I raided the merch table, picked up their tour CD, a CD that’s one member, Elliott McPherson’s acoustic take on Kiss’ Destroyer album, a shirt, and Hardwire Healing, their only record I didn’t have on vinyl.  The dude working the table who apparently works at the 40 Watt in Athens, GA, offered to have the band sign it and gave it to their bass player Matt Patton who passed it around to the rest of the band.  I spoke with Patton for awhile, trying not to sound like a teenage girl confronting their favorite teen mag idol.  We did a shot of Jack, which I usually steer clear of because a whiff of it can make me aggressive, bordering on violent, and grooved to the Truckers’ cover of Alice Cooper’s 18.  I must say that he is positively one of the most gracious people I’ve ever met.  I also spoke with their guitarist and vocalist John Smith briefly who seemed real nice and happy to have some fans in the tundra.  Patton said that pretty much the only way they’re able to travel this far north is because of the Truckers letting them open for them and that they all have day jobs.  It’s truly a bummer that they aren’t getting rich off their shows and records, but that’s the way it is, so let’s pray to God that they can keep it up!

Oh yeah, I also snuck my digital camera into the show.  I apologize for the quality of the footage, as I had the camera held at chest level for fear of a roided up bouncer confronting me and smashing it or my face or worse yet kicking me out of the show.  Also, the sound is a bit muddy as it’s a cheap Casio digital camera.

by Max Conroy:

The Go’s latest album Howl On the Haunted Beat You Ride is a fantastic record that doesn’t seem to get much credit, and I live in the land where it was made.  Shamefully, until I moved to back to Michigan this past August I’d never heard of them and the way that I heard of them was from a magazine published in the UK, Mojo.  Mojo gave the record a four star review and the write up was good; garage, overlooked band, Detroit, etc.  There was also a picture of the record’s cover accompanying the review that pretty much guaranteed that I’d look for it.  It’s perfectly psychedelic: two huge hipster faces with lifeless hipster expressions, flanking the jacket; the entire band arranged vertically in the center of it, all wearing black or stripes; their far out logo in the upper left; a brown and orange, early mid 60s to early 70s, color motif; all of this on a hazy blanket of stars.  I know being interested in a record because of its packaging might be a bit careless, but this record is so cool looking and feeling that I’d be happy to own it even if the music sucked, which it most certainly doesn’t.  It’s on Cass records (Cass is a street/area in Detroit for all you non-local readers), which I’ve never heard of, but they totally knocked the ball out of the park on this one.  It’s a gatefold with super heavy boards, it feels like it’s a record made in the 50s, and has great graphics pasted inside along with the lyrics. 

The Go formed in Detroit in 1998.  Jack White was an early member of the band and is featured on their debut Whatcha Doin’, playing lead guitar and singing back up.  I had read somewhere that they kicked Jack White out of the band, which would be one to tell the grandchildren: Yeah, I was in a band back in the day…and we kicked Jack White out of the group…We could have been rich!  I’m pretty sure that he just left the band because he didn’t want to be a sideman.  I have no idea if there is any bad blood as a result of the split, but the Go wasn’t on the White compiled fantastic comp. Sympathetic Sounds of Detroit.  There is footage the Go out there playing live during the JW era on an obscure movie called the Detroit Rock Movie, which also has footage of JW jamming Stop Breakin’ Down in his tiny Detroit apartment.  If any of you out there have a copy of this movie, I’d be happy to receive one; please respond to this post.  Anyway, Whatcha Doin’ was released on Sub Pop and is a great debut record on the noisy side of the garage.  They made a follow up for Sub Pop called Free Electricity that was never released because it was allegedly too heavy, which has to be bull shit…too heavy for Sub Pop?  I found a copy of it on Soulseek and it’s definitely worth finding.  I think there were other reasons Sub Pop shelved it though; one song starts with the lyric, “Big cock angel”.  They were ultimately dropped from Sub Pop and put out a more focused rehashing of 60s garage and 70s glam on Lizard King, called The Go.  The group then waited four years to put out another record, the brilliant Howl on the Haunted On the Haunted Beat You Ride, which AMG has listed as coming out in April of 2007, but I’m pretty sure it was more like late summer and they still haven’t reviewed it.

Howl On the Haunted Beat You Ride represents the Go fully coming into their own.  The music is derivative of 60s psych and 70s glam to be sure, but they certainly make it theirs.  The production on this record is simply amazing and it was produced by Bobby Harlow, their front man, in Detroit.  The album utilizes clean tones, trippy imagery, and classic CSN-like harmonies with great effect (and I really dislike CSN).  The bizarro-poetic title comes from the song Yer Stoned Italian Cowboy, a romp about an irresitible character that “shoots directly from the Id”.  Fucking brilliant!  In my opinion, there’s only one bum track on this record and that’s the lead off song called You Go Bangin’ On, which was released as a single, so I might be missing something.  But don’t listen to the first thirty seconds of this record and file it away.  I bought this record seven months ago and the Go haven’t played around here since to my knowledge, until this past Saturday where they played at Gold: a fund raiser for the Museum of Contemporary Art Detroit.

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by Max Conroy 

The who? The fucking Dexateens! Arguably the best band trying to make a buck out there now, not that they’re in it for the money at all.  But unfortunately if you don’t live in Tuscaloosa, Athens or the UK you probably won’t have a chance to see them. I’ve actually entertained the idea of driving from the Midwest to either Tuscaloosa or Athens (they’re from Tuscaloosa, AL but play the 40 Watt in Athens, GA somewhat frequently) to see these guys. In my mind their second album Red Dust Rising is one of the best albums to come out in the past few decades.

I was introduced to them by my old time music guru, my best buddy’s uncle, who we’ll refer to as Uncle Fucker from here on out. In the course of a drunken phone conversation I asked him what he was listening to. This can be a mistake because this question usually has the same effect as waiving a red cape in front of a bull, causing him to slur non stop about me being young, stupid and about how I’ll never know anything about rock and roll, etc. But this time he actually had something to contribute, The Dexateens…this was about three years ago or so. I’m surprised I remembered the name of the band after the conversation, as I have to be drinking in order to speak with Uncle Fucker for obvious reasons, but I did and found them on Soulseek and was blown away. I’ve subsequently bought all of their records.

They are the new wave of southern rock. They also have some very cool album covers.  I won’t even try and describe their music in depth here because I don’t want to make this that kind of post. They have four albums and an EP out. The first album is a punk-ish, raunchy delight, self-titled. Their second, Red Dust Rising, is a goddamn masterpiece. Listen to the guitar sound on that album and think that they don’t use fuzz pedals, but the natural sound of the amps and be amazed. Their third album is also great, but they mature here a bit, which is fine but the tempo slows a bit much for my taste. The album was produced by Drive-By Trucker Patterson Hood. Their latest album Lost and Found as far as I know came out today because I got an email from the band (I’m on the mailing list) and is free. It’s a free download, much like Radiohead’s In Rainbows, but you’re not going to have to suffer all the frustration of it taking forever because every hipster in the world is trying to download it too…unfortunately for the Dexateens. That’s why we should donate at least a few bucks to the cause, and they do give you that option. I’m certainly not going to judge you if you don’t pay as you’ve probably never heard them, and the more important thing is that people get turned on to the music.

They write on the site that they’re doing this to try and recoup recording expenses in order to put out the album on record and CD. This makes me very sad. This is an example of what’s become of great rock bands: they have to have day jobs and can’t tour the Midwest! It’s a strange time we live in, so whatever you do don’t drop out of high school to spend more time playing that guitar.

Here’s the link to obtain the new Dexateens album.  Go ahead, don’t cost nothin’.

Here are a couple of tracks from Red Dust Rising

Pine Belt Blues

Red Dust Rising

I attended the blowout last year and it was fantastic.  The blowout is a 4 day music festival that plays out in the city of Hamtramck (Ham-Tram-Ick for our non-Detroit readers).  I attended only 2 nights last year but I had a great time.  Last years opening night had more bands I was familiar with, The Muggs and The Hard Lessons in particular, so I will have to do a little more research on the bands playing at the Majestic. On Friday Carjack is playing and this is the one can’t miss show for me.  The wife and I saw him play at the K.O.C. Lounge last year and it is not a live show to miss. The only negative thing is that he is playing at the same time as the Detroit Cobras.  On Saturday I will be at the K.O.C. to see Scott Morgan’s Powertrane and Mitch Ryder for a Grande ole time.  Beyond that I am gonna do some myspace searches and decide who I wanna go see.  Here is the list of performers so you can do the same.  ANYONE GOT A RECCOMENDATION?

Cousin Justin

     Every fan of rock, rhythm and blues has entertained the notion of time travel. We’ve all thought about going back in time to see our favorite musicians play. I’m speaking in regards to contemporary music; some historical events might outshine cool music if the power actually existed: the signing of the Declaration of Independence, the crucifixion of Christ, etc. What if you could somehow transport yourself to a juke joint or a street corner in Arkansas ca. 1938 to see Robert Johnson play? Or what if you could have weaseled your way into Stax to help Otis Redding carry that band’s equipment in the day he was given a chance? We could use the power like Scott Bakula in Quantum Leap, traveling in time to correct some atrocity without affecting the space-time continuum. We could tell Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper, and Ritchie Valens to blow off tomorrow’s show and to go get plowed in the hotel bar until the weather clears up; we could tell Syd that acid is not a good thing when taken every day; we could pull Brian Jones out of the pool.
      The era that I’d choose changes daily as my tastes run hot and cold, from record to record, and article to article. One day I am the only white dude in the juke joint buying the whole place a round in 2007 money while RJ uses his lazy eye to seduce every woman in the place (somehow I never get robbed or stabbed or robbed and stabbed in the fantasy), some other days I’m in the Grande Ballroom watching the Stooges and MC5.
     Several things have influenced my current destination, London 1965. I recently picked up a Mono version of the Rolling Stones Now! album (maroon, unboxed, London label, without the FFRR ear, two bars running across it, full liner notes and no mention of hi-fi recording on the label) for $10. It’s not in perfect shape, but it’s not bad at all. It’s probably my favorite early Stones album; right up there with 12 X 5. It’s got awesome covers and one of my favorite originals, Heart of Stone. After seeing the movie Stoned, about the death of Brian Jones, their cover of Little Red Rooster represents to me exactly who they were at that time (much like the album cover to December’s Children) : a badass band, doing something with an edge better than anyone else, with the power to put a room in the palm of their hand. Stoned is not really a good movie at all, but the scene where they play Rooster at the Marquee Club makes the movie worth watching. The other thing that influenced my decision to travel back to London in 1965 is a brief article I read in this month’s Mojo about the Pretty Things. The article was somewhat of a let down, only because I wanted to keep reading more about the band. They are often compared to the Stones, now and back then, and their guitar player was the original Stones bassist. The Pretties in ‘65 were playing the same type of music as the Stones, R & B covers and a smattering of great originals, but they seem a bit more primitive and reckless. If I had my way, I’d find a weekend in 1965 where the Stones played on a Friday and the Pretty Things on Saturday and I’d have a nice weekend getaway in history and here’s what I’d be screaming like a pubescent girl for.
Little Red Rooster 

The Pretty Things’ Midnight to Six Man