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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.
by Max Conroy
I first heard about the Third Power on this site a long time ago when the Cousins did a write up about their bass player Jem Targal in response to finding a signed copy of his rare solo album Luckey Guy. I downloaded Believe, the only album released by the Third Power and didn’t feel too bad about it because of the album’s obscurity; I believe that it isn’t too hard to track down on CD though. The download that I got was ripped from a record and the guy recorded the second side first, which I didn’t realize till finding the vinyl a few weeks ago. It doesn’t get much better than this if you’re looking for an aggressive, Grande-era Detroit power trio. I’ve scoped this record every now and then for the past few years on EBay and it seems like every copy that I’ve seen was in Europe, which is odd since it only sold about 16,000 copies, mostly in the Detroit area.
Like the record itself, information regarding the band is pretty rare. For the most part everything out there is very basic and states that the band formed in Detroit in the late 60s, were very loud, had a cult following, released one record, it flopped, they went their separate ways, the guitarist Drew Abbott went to play lead for Seger’s Silver Bullet Band, and Jem recorded Luckey Guy in the late 70s. I did find an early biography of Jem Targal, their lead singer and bassist, on someone’s personal website. The biography reads a bit strange, almost like it’s Targal speaking in the third person (pardon the pun). According to the site, Targal was born in Ann Arbor, his father studied and taught at the University of Michigan, and when he was young his father accepted a position at the American University of Istanbul and moved his entire family there: ”There were seven families, all related, living in the house together. Targal’s grandfather, a retired general, was there. So, too, was Targal’s uncles. One had been the head of NATO forces for seveal years; the other uncle was a professional wrestler.” Sounds like a trip, man. His family moved back to the Detroit area in 1951 and eventually many years later he met Abbott at Oakland Community College in a speed reading class. Abbott taught Targal the bass and they formed several groups, met their drummer Jim Craig, a solid powerful drummer, and came up with the name the Third Power in the van on the way to their first show together at a club called the Fifth Dimension (a popular venue that had featured Hendrix and the Yardbirds). Power trio…trio…third…third…power…like to the third power, man…get it? The band moved into a farmhouse on Haggarty road, between 12 and 13 mile roads. They were known for having massive parties at their place where rock icons like Rod Stewart and Badfinger would hang out. The band kept playing around and became very popular in the Detroit area, playing shows with local acts like the Rationals, Seger, and the MC 5. They signed with Vanguard, who also featured another Detroit act of the era the Frost, in 1969. The album was produced by poet and blues scholar Sam Charters and came out in 1970.
I almost shit my pants when I saw it in the stack at Encore. They pile up their new arrivals on the floor against the bins, in front of the register. I was in there a few days prior to finding it and noticed that they had a massive pile of new arrivals and quickly paid for whatever I had gone in there to find, so as not to be tempted by whatever was in the new stacks. A few days later I was walking in the neighborhood and decided to go back to see what was left in that pile, and there it was, perfect, in the shrink, bronze Vanguard label. I bought that and Grant Green’s Alive! for $30 and the dude working there said bye to me using my name off of my credit card. Respect, mon. Irie! I got it for $20; the price guide says $30 mint, but Popsike lists anywhere from $50 to $250 previously on EBay.
By Max Conroy:
The night prior to the Sharon Jones show, Cousin Justin and I made it to the Magic Bag to check out Scott Morgan’s Powertrane and Blue Cheer. I’d never been to the Bag, which apparently hosts a brew and view, along with live music. From what we saw, there doesn’t appear to be a bad seat in the house, which is actually filled with seats, and a tiny pit in front of the stage. The beer was reasonable: under $5 for a Bells.
Scott Morgan opened the show. His band consisted of himself on vocals and guitar, Bobby Gillespie on lead guitar (apparently a Detroit rock scene vet who played with Rob Tyner post-5) and a dramatically younger rhythm section in comparison to Gillespie and Morgan. The Sonic Rendezvous Band is a band that you either absolutely love or you just don’t get it. I’m part of the former crowd. When I got the Sweet Nothing album (recorded in ‘78 at Second Chance in Ann Arbor and released in ‘98) when it was released, my freshman year of college, I could hardly believe what I heard. While playing it for the first time, I saw a buddy on my floor walk by and I grabbed him and forced him to listen to a track at high volume. He likes cool music and is still a good friend, but he’s definitely a person who doesn’t get it. He politely found a reason to get the hell out of my dorm room quickly and I learned that people don’t have to dig your tunes to be cool. SRB never released an album, only a single, which the cousins have shamefully unloaded twice. That’s part of the mystery behind the band, that they could be so fucking sweet and never actually be a proper band. Scott Morgan was just as important as Fred Smith was to SRB, writing and singing approximately half of their material, so naturally I was very excited to have the opportunity to see some of this stuff live. Surprisingly, Scott Morgan still sounds great. He has to be over sixty and sings from the gut. They did two SRB songs, Love and Learn and Highjackin’ Love, which were great. His voice doesn’t quite have the force it did back in the day, but that was 30 years ago. They also did a Rob Tyner song, which Mr. Gillespie wrote and several songs that appear on the new Powertrane album. The highlight of their set was a blazing rendition of Respect, which was the song that put Scott Morgan on the map with the Rationals back in the sixties. There was one flub, where the drummer wasn’t able to hit a cymbal at the right time, but that seemed to piss off Scott Morgan more than the crowd, which is what we should expect from a professional.
Now for Blue Cheer. As I mentioned in my previous post, I don’t really know a whole lot about the band or what they’d sound like after all this time. The most recent Cheer song I’d heard up till the show was recorded in 1968. Walking up to the doors Justin and I were talking about the Grande and how we were certain that they played there and that we’d have been on acid if we were walking up to the doors of the Grande to see them. After the first song, Dickie Peterson reminisced that his first time playing Detroit was at the Grande in ‘68 with the Stooges and the MC5, which he called the first power rock concert. As Dickie recanted the days of yore my heart started to regain its natural rhythm and my brain stopped boiling for a second. Dickie is the rock star of the band and the bassist, so the bass is cranked to the point of affecting the body’s internal chemistry: eyes cross, synapses misfire. Then, wham! They’re into the next song. They played virtually all Vincebus Eruptum, excluding BB King’s Rock Me, and several more recent numbers, more recent being ‘85 to the present. The band is made up of original members, Dickie and drummer Paul Whaley, and Andrew McDonald on guitar who has been with them for the past 23 or so years and wails with the classic uncontrollable guitar-face. Whaley looked to be in poor health, but could still pound those skins. Peterson even mentioned in between songs that there’d been rumors about Whaley, presumably that he wasn’t with us anymore. He also mentioned that he’d seen Whaley do unspeakable things with Janis Joplin, which was kind of cool. Justin asked me if I saw that guy walking down the street would I believe that he’d been with Joplin…no. They sounded great, played well and rank up there with Slayer and Motorhead as one of the loudest, heaviest shows I’ve ever seen. Immediately after the music stopped, I looked around and noticed that every last person was wearing ear plugs. I should have brought ear plugs.
jsREVIEW:
The first thing to do: Turn up your bass.
Now turn it up again.
This is a sexy, funky, bassy, sticky, strutting, fucking album.
“They say I’m nasty, they say I’m wild… Say you will, say you will..” Davis sings on “If I’m In Luck You Might Pick Me Up,” the album’s opener. Davis was nasty, was wild, to the point where religious groups picketted her shows. While she’s rarely overtly raunchy, especially by today’s standards, the permeating sexuality that oozes from her Tina Turner growls and the sparse, punchy basslines would make Bill Clinton blush, and would still earn her brickbats if any of the Religious Right were listening.
By the time this self-titled debut came out, Davis had already had songs written about her (the “Mademoiselle Mabry” of then-husband Miles’ Filles De Kilimanjaro), and was credited with introducing Miles to the music of Jimi Hendrix and Sly Stone, leading to his dark funk rebirth.
Miles would divorce her because she was too wild and too sexy, and on “Anti-Love Songs,” the throbbing bass underscores this perception. Davis isn’t gonna love you because she’d fuck you so hard you’d break, and on “Your Man, My Man,” she’s more dangerous than Me’Shell NdegéOcello ever dreamed of being.
It’s not just Betty on this either, as she’s backed by the very best and funkiest musicians of the time: Larry Graham (bass) and Greg Errico (drums) of the Family Stone, The Pointer Sisters sing backup, Doug Rodrigues an Neal Shon of Santana’s band, classic sessioners like Merl Saunders and Hershall Kennedy make this the Avengers of funk and are the best band since Motown’s Funk Brothers.
This is the Just Sunshine Records first pressing, making this a bit rarer than the usual Vinyl Experience or MPC pressings, and if the rest of Cousins Vinyl would let me, this’d be mine. It’s almost a tearful parting, putting it up for sale, but goddamn… Just give it a good home, OK? Put it on any time you need to fill the floor or have the dirtiest sex of your life.
V.I.P
jsREVIEW:
In 1966, for Motown subsidiary V.I.P. records, Chris Clark (one of the few white artists who succeeded under Barry Gordy) released “Love’s Gone Bad,” a Holland-Dozier-Holland joint. It made it to 43 on the R&B charts, 105 on the pop charts, fueled by her hard voice and sparse, bass-heavy production.
That same year, the first white band (not white artist) signed by Gordy, The Underdogs, also took a crack at it. It’s hard to argue that their version is better— it’s one of those Otis Redding/Aretha Franklin “Respect” moments. It goes from being a thumping R&B floor-filler to a badass garage moment, recalling just how rock and roll got going in the first place (and where later bands like The Buzzcocks got their inspiration).
The Underdogs were Grosse Pointe’s premier rock group at the time, and I have to imagine that if they’d ever been heard outside the Detroit area, they’d be on Lenny Kaye’s rolodex. As it stands, this track’s bleak lyrics (”I see a rainbow/turn to black/it’s a sign/ you’re not comin’ back”) and absolutely fantastic backbeat make for a perfect companion to better-known songs like “96 Tears” and “Black Monk Theme.”
jsREVIEW:
In 1980, Jamaica was a hot musical touchstone. From Police to Clash, Joe Jackson to 10cc, even Robert Palmer, the 2/2 skank and “ska” guitar noise seemed to reach everywhere. Even Detroit, apparently.
Black Market’s debut album, Air Freight, could be just another genre exercise (they do cover “No Woman No Cry,”) if not for the phenomonally deep bass and sharp rhythmic chops of Black Market.
Larry Duncan, who wrote the songs, sings and plays guitar, apparently spent time in the late ’70s in a small fishing village called Negril in Jamaica, falling in love with the sound of the island, and his tunes are sharp and mercifully lacking the insulting patois that too many of his contemporaries felt was necessary when singing reggae. Tracks like “Rescue You” and “Bossman” legitimately feel like they’re his voice, not some aping.
But really, the standout here is Nolan Mendenhall’s phenomenal bass work, recalling Robbie Shakespear’s easy mastery. Full and rich in a way that only vinyl can provide, this album cries out for dubplate treatment (and if it exists, Cousins’ll be the place to find it). And since producers Jim Dudek and Marc Beznos know how to space out the instruments, this would be killer sampling material for beatmakers.
A surprisingly good album that’s more fun than most of the accepted reggae canon, Air Freight is heavy low beauty.
-js
