Category Archive

By Max Conroy

Four years ago, I had the chance to see Bo Diddley play a concert at Fitzgeralds, a small bar on the outskirts of Chicago where they filmed some of the Color of Money, for his 75th birthday.  All I had to do was hop in my car or catch a train and go, but I got lazy and probably spent the night doing something very unmemorable.  Living in a thriving metropolis like Chicago numbs one to culture because you can do something great every night, all year round.  You have to pick and choose and I chose poorly here.  I was definitely into Bo Diddley at the time, and I think must have got a lot more heavily into his records shortly thereafter.  I didn’t read any reviews of the show and have no idea if he was good or not, but that would have been beside the point…it’s fucking Bo Diddley, man.  This ranks up there at the very top of my rock and roll regrets list, along with missing out on seeing Johnny Cash, pre-revival, in Kalamazoo and hearing about the last Pavement show in Michigan days after it had happened. I knew that I would never have another chance to see him live.

Bo Diddley died in Florida today of heart failure.  He’d had a stroke, followed by a heart attack a year ago and had been in poor health since.  He was 79 years old and one of the people that created rock and roll. 

When I realized, after years of seeing the name E. McDaniel listed as the writer of songs that were such blues and rock and roll standards that I thought that they must have been traditional arrangements and the name a ruse like Allan Smithee in the film industry, that it was in fact Bo Diddley, I gave him some serious listening attention.  A lot of people dismiss Bo Diddley as a one-trick-pony, and those people are missing out in a big way.  Sure, he did ride the wave of rhythm that he created on the track Bo Diddley for a long time, but the power and influence of that rhythm cannot be overstated.  EVERY garage band has used it, from Buddy Holly on.  But there was so much more to his sound than that rhythm.  He wrote some fantastic straight blues numbers and countless chugging rockers; take a handful of your favorite rock and roll records recorded in the 60s, flip them over and see how many times you see the name McDaniel.

Bo Diddley, sadly, doesn’t get the respect he deserves, but I’m confident that his importance to rock and roll will be realized as long as people continue to look back and question what is rock and roll and where it came from.  Here are four examples that made me a huge fan of his.  I don’t think I’ll ever be able to listen to his music without thinking about that show at Fitzgeralds…

Bo’s Bounce:

Keep Your Big Mouth Shut:

I Can Tell:

Road Runner, from Beach Party: one of the best live records of the early 60s:

 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

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.

     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

Damn trying to write a review of the other junk I brought home, it was too tough to follow the Grand Funk.  So a little NY Dolls should be fun and keep me up and typing at 3:30am.  Rolling Stone gave the new Dolls record like four stars.  Has anyone heard it?   David Johansen’s show on Sirius satelite radio is a strange one.  It runs on Friday nights but it is rare to be home and ketchup.  Hot Hot Hot.  Why does Arrow’s version not have any interest.  Maybe this weekend I can convince Max Conroy to submit some more random thoughts to this page.  I think it is time to chill out now.  Here is a shameless way to get some debate, Stones or Beatles.

Cousin Justin

P.S.

In case you were wondering, it is the Stones