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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 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 Cousin Justin

I started the day yesterday by putting on one of  my favorite shirts, an original  Wu-Wear T-shirt that I got in High School.  You see I am a huge Wu-Tang mark since 36 chambers dropped.  Good albums have been few and far between over the last few years.  That was until Ghostface dropped Fishscale.  I dug that album more than any Wu joint in a long time.  Normally a rap skit is a good oppurtunity to skip to the next track, but the Bad Mouth Kid Skit on Fish Scale starts by Ghost saying “that’s soul right there, don’t touch that radio” in the background a dope ass song is playing that the foul mouthed kid insists on changing, much to the chagrin of ghost.  As soon as I heard the song in the background I used my little Google fingers to try and find out what the fuck it was.  I was unsuccessful and this has been one of those musical obsessions for the last 2 years.  So when I started the day I had no idea my wardrobe decision would have any affect on the cosmos.  Max was comming over later in the evening to hang out and to take a trip to the Record Collector in Ferndale.  I went through the Soul section and picked out a few Soul, Funk, and Disco albums.  One that stood out was the Brother To Brother album.  I took it to the listening station and dropped it on the second track, something I never do, and there it was, the song I have looked for for 2 years.  Needless to say I was pumped.  To keep the karma going, Max and I ended the night with a screening of the underrated Ghost Dog.

Brother To Brother-Vibrations

 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.

 By Max Conroy

Hong Kong Blues by Hoagy (ne Hoagland) Carmichael was recorded for Decca in 1942; he penned it and recorded it in ‘39 originally.   It’s a unique side recorded by one of the most highly regarded song writers of the first part of the last century.  Two of his biggest hits were Georgia on My Mind and the A side of this single Stardust. 

The song is a cautionary drug tale about “a very unfortunate colored man who got arrested down in old Hong Kong…for kicking Buddha’s gong.”  Kicking Buddha’s gong is a dated term for smoking opium. It took me a second to realize what he was singing about when I first heard the song.  It’s fairly subtle till the end of it where he actually mentions opium.  He doesn’t mention any specifics about the drug or his habit, only that he cannot leave Hong Kong for his home, which he tells everyone is in San Francisco, but is actually in Tennessee.  The geographic centering of the song is kind of strange in that he’s not from San Francisco but later in the song where Carmichael switches from the narrator’s third person to the first person testimonial, he keeps mentioning San Fran as his home.  Also, how would an unfortunate brother end up in Hong Kong in the 1930s? 

All of this gives one the impression that Hong Kong is opium addiction itself.  The only specific moment where you can really put yourself in his shoes is where he sings:

“Won’t someone believe me/I have a yen to see that bay again/But when I try and leave/Sweet opium won’t let me fly away.“ 

He’s asking his fellow opium enthusiasts in the den to take his desire to quit drugs seriously, but he’s obviously ignored. Also, the use of the word ‘yen’ is a pun here as it comes from the Chinese words for ‘addiction’ and ’smoke’.  Carmichael once described his voice “…as the way a shaggy dog looks…I have Wabash fog and sycamore twigs in my throat.”  His inflection and the first person voice in the middle of the song made me assume that Carmichael was black, so I was surprised to see a picture of him, white as can be.  Another strange thing about this song is that it’s difficult to discern exactly when he’s singing this in relation to his incarceration.  He doesn’t lament getting arrested and still has hope that he’ll make it home, so I’m inclined to think that he’s speaking before he got arrested. 

In the chorus he sings that he needs someone to love him.  When I first heard this, I thought that it was such a 1930s view of drug addiction that finding a good woman could save you from yourself and drugs, but if you listen to the rest of it, he’s asking to find someone that loves him so they can take his body back home.  Pretty grim stuff.  There’s also a part where he begs for fifty dollars to get home with, but one is left with the impression that he’d blow it on dope.

This music is great for the depressant glow of a burgeoning alcohol buzz, alone.  The white jazz comes out a bit more on Stardust, but it’s still worth a listen eighty-one years after it was written.

Hong Kong Blues:

Stardust:

by Max Conroy 

If you refer to my post about the jazz flute, you know that I’m just getting into soul/funk-jazz/fusion.  I’m crazy about the stuff.  It’s also allowed my formerly tepid interest in hip-hip to expand slightly.  It’s like punk rock for me; not the music of course but how I view it.  Some of my favorite music, proto-punk, is the music that led directly to the development of punk rock, but I really don’t like straight punk all that much.  I love the Dead Boys and the Sex Pistols, but both bands were badass rock and roll acts before they were punk.  I love all of this music that’s been sampled a ton or could be sampled if it hasn’t but can take or leave the hip-hop that’s made it famous, so far at least.  As my obsession has grown for the (I’ll call it fusion, to incorporate soul/funk-jazz) fusion over the past few weeks, I’ve purchased a shit ton of great records and thank God some of it can be found cheaply. 

I’d heard of the Ramsey Lewis Trio, but that was probably from hearing them mentioned by NPR DJs a split second, before I slammed the radio off in disgust before my appreciation of fusion.  I totally thought that they were venerated by jazzbos and that they were classic bop, but how wrong I was.  Justin hooked me up with a rough copy of the In Crowd, which is apparently an early soul-jazz classic.  After digging the album, I also noticed that reissues of it are advertized in Waxpoetics, and have noticed the record at numerous shops and online.  I thought that the record would be pricey, but since it obviously sold well for a jazz record and was on Chess’ Argo imprint, it’s insanely cheap.  Like you would pay three times what an OG copy would cost to get the reissue.  Dig the ‘In’ Crowd…

I also recently picked up Ramsey Lewis’ Sun Goddess for cheap.  The cover alone is worth the money, but the music could have been sold in a paper bag and it’d still be sweet.  It’s ten years after the In Crowd and the funk had dropped in the meantime, and it’s obvious on this record, that Lewis was hip to it.  Check out Sun Goddess, Livin’ For the City (the S. Wonder jam) and Jungle Strut…

On the Blue side of things; some Blue Note records from the periphery of their dark days can be got fairly cheaply too.  Some of these records sold very well, which makes them easy to find and cheap, but not bad at all.  For instance, Donald Byrd’s Black Byrd (the best selling record in the entire Blue Note catalogue) and Byrd’s Best are about $10 records; the cover of Black Byrd, depicting a black wedding or hoedown of some sort, ca. 1890 is worth it, and the music’s funky as can be, slightly dated, but that’s a large part of the appeal for me.  I recently acquired Grant Green’s Alive! album, which is a live gig recorded in a small club with Idris Muhammad tearing the place up on drums, for $10.  I’m not as much of a purist as the Cousins and will pick up a reissue or a comp here and there, and found a Grant Green record that was part of the Blue Note Breakbeats series for under $10.  Sometimes on these records, as with every record, there are bum tracks, but it seems more common for jazz records to me, so a comp with six of the most notable tracks by someone can be a good thing.  But I don’t necessarily think that’s true for Grant Green; I’m willing to bet that anything he did in ‘70 and ‘71 with Idris Muhammad on drums is good throughout.  Ronnie Laws‘ Pressure Sensitive must have also sold a shitload because it’s everywhere and it’s cheap.  One of my dad’s buddies gave me his record collection when I was about fifteen.  There were about fifty or so records, all early 70s stoner rock…and Pressure Sensitive.  It’s like the fusion Frampton Comes Alive, but way cooler.  Here are Grant Green’s Sookie Sookie (the Don Covay song) and Ronnie Laws’ Nothing to Lose…

 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. 

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by Max Conroy

I was at the Cousins’ warehouse this weekend, hanging out, looking through piles of records that were in too poor shape to sell, talking about music.  We found tons of cool stuff and unfortunately it won’t be available to you guys out there because they’d like to provide you with the best records available.  Perhaps email them or reply to a post if anyone out there is willing to have a less than perfect copy of a hard to find record.  One of the records that Geoff pulled out was by Jimmy McCracklin.  I’d heard the name but knew nothing about him.  Later that day Justin threw on his Twist with Jimmy McCracklin album.  It was definitely good, but we were hanging out, talking, not paying too much attention to anything.  It definitely didn’t sound like Chubby Checker.

The next day, I went to Encore to get some paper sleeves for the records they graciously let me have and casually looked at the first stack I saw, and there was Jimmy McCracklin’s My Answer record.  I really didn’t want to spend the money; $10 isn’t going to break the bank, but you know how it is, the end of the month and all.  So I walked around holding the record not convinced that I’d buy it, but not ready for anyone else to walk off with it.  I dropped the needle on the record, looking around the shop, earphones on, with the feeling that I’m on the inside looking out, through a fish bowl.  Hiss, pop.  All of a sudden $10 was put into perspective, it wasn’t a problem.  Jimmy McCracklin was worth whatever I would have spent the money on, including food or tobacco.

McCracklin was born in 1921…and still performes!  He cut his first record in 1945, ya know, back at the birth of the atomic age.  That would make him 45 years-old back in 1966 when My Answer came out.  I’m not sure if the record is supposed to be a greatest hits record or if Liberty records slapped a bunch of previously released songs around the title track, but I know some of the songs are on other records and the title track was released as a single the same year the record came out.  Anyway, I digress.  The music can’t be beat and is surprisingly broad in its variety.  When I read that it was a comp, I thought that it must have been over several years, but he was only on Liberty in ‘65 and ‘66.  The music is strange in that it’s soul, it’s blues, it’s funk, it’s so much all of these things that it’s almost difficult to pin down right away.  The first song, the title cut, is a Southern soul ballad about leaving a woman with a letter, ending it with, “I’m sorry for you”.  Meaning, I’m sorry for what you fucked up and that you’ll die alone, not I feel bad.  The second song Beulah is the one that really caught my attention.  James Brown and Dyke were hammering out the finishing touches of their grooves on the anvil of funk when this was made and it’s pretty much as funky as what they were doing at the time.  McCracklin’s drummer doesn’t seem like he gets the picture but he’s trying his best in a jazzy sort of way.  The next song, Every Day, Every Night, is a straight Jimmy Reed-style blues number.  Magic Sam later did a cover of it and it’s obvious that McCracklin was an influence.  All of these styles on this record are done so well that it’s mind blowing. 

My Answer:

Beulah:

Every Day, Every Night:

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 Cousin Geoff, featuring guest writer Ameritape John:

508 Maus Street in Ypsilanti, former home of Pathway label

I got an email the other day from a guy named John who said that he had read one of my previous posts about the Ypsilanti gospelgrass label Pathway.  I’ve written about The Smith Family Sings Your Gospel Favorites LP, and Carl and Evert’s I Have Found The Way 45.  John may be one of a handful of Pathway followers out there, excited as I was when I stumbled onto one of their records and became strangely obsessed with the 1960s lo-fi off-tune religious music from Ypsilanti, Michigan.  John may be one of the few people in the world who is actually more into Pathway than I am.  He gave me permission to publish this piece he wrote for a UK record collecting mag, where he attempts to explain the sacred/weird localistic significance and also provides additional info on other Pathway LPs. 

Another concept to consider here is the idea of collecting and searching for “deep” gospelgrass, as opposed to the much more popular digging for rare funk, soul, garage, hip-hop, ect.  This “Xian” genre that John refers to is something I’ve also taken an interest in, like my post on The Pathway Quartet out of Sandusky, Ohio.  There’s something about this primitive religious music that takes on some sort of an intriguing local, cultural, and almost psychedelic aspect.  The thing is, I’m not sure if I even want to publish this.  I like being able to find an seemingly endless supply of these records at garage sales and local salvation armys, passed over and passed over, as few people are actually into it like me and John.  Like he says, most people don’t even want to talk about it, much less search for it (although I can see some UK folks, some of our best customers and really the heavyweights of record collecting, start getting into it).  Nevertheless, it’s a great concept to explore.  As Max pointed out in a conversation today and John alludes to, Pathway seems to be very much the essence of what punk rock is, but instead of drugs or booze or fuck the man it’s about Jesus and getting into heaven.  And all this coming from the homemade basement recording studio of 508 Maus Street in Ypsilanti. 

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 by Max Conroy:

Until very recently I’ve not really paid much attention to jazz.  As a matter of fact, jazz has almost bothered me for about the past decade.  I used to listen to it back in the day, from about sixteen to nineteen.  Man, reading the Beats and playing the Bird and Diz, that was it.  Also, throwing on 102.1 FM to hear Bob Parlocha, after dropping off my last friend that needed a ride home, for the hazy drive back to the nest was also pretty great.  But I got into rock and roll heavy.  And my girl can’t stand jazz and I am ashamed to say that I kind of didn’t want to hear it if I were to get into it.  NPR also ruined jazz for me for a little while there too.  I know every NPR station is different and some have very well rounded programming, but not the ones that I’ve listened to in the past, 90.5 FM WKAR in East Lansing and 91.5 WBEZ in Chicago.  Both of these stations when not playing classical or the typical syndicated shows like Car Talk, Fresh Air, and All Things Considered, play jazz exclusively.  WBEZ would play like six hours of jazz on a Sunday afternoon, starting at 11 AM, right when I’d want to hear some talk radio or a comedy show.  And they wouldn’t play any of the shit that I’ve been getting into lately at all.

Justin turned me onto Waxpoetics around Christmas time and I’ve devoured the last few issues.  I’ve, as a result, come to the realization that there is more jazz out there than bebop and free jazz.  Soul-jazz and funk-jazz are legitimate categories that I’ve been blind to as a result of my prejudice.  That’s where all the badass samples came from in the heyday of hip-hop.  I had no idea what Blue Note turned into in the late 60s: a jazz label that put out soul and funk records.  I also had no idea that there were people like Eddie Harris out there: check out the article about him in the latest Waxpoetics and also check out Swiss Movement and Silver Cycles, two of his albums.  I read about Blue Note’s Droppin’ Science record somewhere in Waxpoetics, a double record best of Blue Note’s records sampled by hip-hop artists, and ordered a copy.  I’m obsessive when it comes to learning about music, so I’ve been taking some stabs in the dark based on the list of guys on Droppin’ Science in the time that it’s taken to get here.  I found Grant Green’s Alive! at Encore and got a reissue of Lou Donaldson’s Alligator Boogaloo, which the Sugarman Three’s Sugar’s Boogaloo (one of the records that launched Daptone, the first one featuring Gabriel Roth) pays homage to.  Both kick ass to be sure. 

I’m not sure if any of you have seen the Anchorman with Will Farrell, but it illustrates what my thoughts are regarding the flute perfectly.  I tense up whenever I hear a flute on a jazz, soul or funk record no matter how appropriate to the song it seems.  One of the guys on Droppin’ Science that I looked for around town in the past week was Jeremy Steig.  I found a couple of his records at Encore, pulled one up out of the bin and quickly dropped it and piled the records on it hoping no one had seen me even looking at it.  First off, he’s a flautist (I feel strange typing that word); second he looks like a weasely, mustachioed, Yoga instructor.  I’d have to wait to get the comp in the mail to hear this guy.  When I got the record today, I was shocked to hear the hook from the Beastie Boys’ Get It Together and how raw and primal the actual song was, how rock and roll.  Based on the intensity of his playing, he sounds like he could go ten rounds with Hemmingway.

Jeremy Steig’s Howling for Judy from Droppin’ Science, originally off of Wayfaring Stranger/Legwork

Eddie Harris’ I’m Gonna Leave You By Yourself off of Silver Cycle

by Max Conroy: 

The other day I woke up with Major Lance’s Hey Little Girl in my head.  It was the best morning I’d had in a while as a result.  The comforting, safe yet punchy rhythm of the song is perfect for laying there without your wits, looking for motivation to get up.  It’s almost as good as a cup of coffee or at the very least an excellent background for the coffee.

I picked up Um, Um, Um, Um, Um (that’s right five Um’s) the Best of Major Lance in a great record shop in Long Beach, California called Bagatelle Records recently.  I’d heard the name Major Lance before but had no idea what he sounded like.  The cover looked cool, heavy boards and wax, and it was on Okeh records, which I found to be odd.  Okeh always seemed like a label synonymous with the 40s and 50s to me, so a mid 60s soul guy on Okeh was worth a shot.  The back of the record also proclaims under the title ‘The Great Songs of Curtis Mayfield’, and I’m on a huge Curtis kick right now.  This kind of made me suspicious because I didn’t want some hack covering a bunch of Impressions songs and it was $12.  I went to the listening station, which had a Grado cartridge, and threw it on.  It was one of those records where you just had to hear about a second to know that it was worth the money.

It turns out that Major Lance grew up with Mayfield and Jerry Butler; and Mayfield got him a shot with Okeh in 1962.  Pretty much all of his hits were written by Curtis and feature him on guitar and the Impressions on backing vocals.  Lance’s songs seem to typify the Chicago soul sound of the early to mid 60s: smooth Latin flavor, horns and great harmonies.  The Monkey Time and Um, Um, Um, Um, Um were his biggest hits.  His popularity waned towards the end of the decade and he signed with Curtom in 1969, leaving in ‘71 to cash in on the Northern Soul craze in England.  He moved back to the states in the mid 70s, was convicted of selling cocaine, and did four years.  He died at 55 of heart failure in 1994. 

One of my girlfriend’s friends and her four year-old daughter came to visit us the other weekend.  I pulled a record out of its jacket in front of the four year-old and she asked me, What’s that?  A record.  See it’s got these grooves on it that play music…don’t touch it!  I put on Major Lance and she was getting down, I tell you what.  I even danced.  Every morning I hope to wake up with any Major Lance song in my head, but he hasn’t been back.  I’m glad I bought that record.

Hey Little Girl

Um Um

Dyke and the Blazers are often compared to James Brown and the JBs for obvious reasons; they both played and helped to define funk music, Brown credited with creating it. It’d be a close call to say who actually came up with funk. I’m sure it’s about as confusing and pointless as trying to figure out who came up with rock and roll. Both were recording full fledged funk in 1966, Brown with the Sings Raw Soul album and Dyke with Funky Broadway. There are a ton of similarities in their styles that are indicative of funk; the focus on rhythm, eschewing melody; slashing guitar; the often incomprehensible, chanting vocals; double sided 45s with part ones and twos of the same song. Funky Broadway was actually the first song to have the word funky in its title.

Given all the similarities, there are also plenty of differences that make Dyke and the Blazers unique. They seem like The Stooges to James Brown’s Rolling Stones. On one hand a massive, hardworking, polished and established recording artist, considered the most powerful and influential black person in America. On the other hand, you have a band that was stuck in Phoenix because they couldn’t afford to leave. The Blazers were the touring band of the O’Jays briefly and were stranded in Phoenix when a tour was abandoned and the O’Jays couldn’t afford to get them back home to Buffalo, leaving them high and dry. The bass player and singer Arlester “Dyke” Christian became the bands leader and they released Funky Broadway on the local Artco label, the single being picked up by Original Sound out of LA for national distribution (see my last post about 45s for a clip of Funky Broadway). They remained in Phoenix putting out one LP, Funky Broadway, and a bunch of great singles on Original Sound, notably Funky Bull, We Got More Soul, So Sharp, and Let a Woman Be a Woman - Let a Man Be a Man.

Dyke and the Blazers’ sound is more primitive than Brown’s. Their musicianship is great, snapping drums, punchy horns accentuating the rhythm, biting guitar, heavy bass and shuddering organ all very tight. Their singles have a totally live sound to them and apparently a lot of their singles were sections of extended 15-20 minute jams that were edited down to fit a 45. I’m guessing that not having a perfectionist like Brown running the show might have added to the loose feel of the music. Also, Dyke isn’t as skilled a vocalist as James Brown either, but like Iggy to Brown’s Mick, he lets it all go and it works.

At the height of Dyke and the Blazers’ potential, Dyke was shot dead as a result of a bar room altercation in 1971. The case was dismissed some time later as a result of “evidence indicating self-defense”.

So Sharp:

Don’t Bug Me (B Side):