Archive Review: Rare Earth’s The Best Of Rare Earth, The Millennium Collection (2001)

They might have well been the funkiest bunch o’ white boys to come out of the Motor City, kicking out the jams with a hybrid of Motown soul and hard rock ‘n’ roll. Much like Rodney Dangerfield, however, Rare Earth never gets any respect. Critics trashed them, the record buying public forgot them shortly after the last notes of their handful of hits had rung and, well, quite frankly, history hasn’t looked down favorably on the band. The Best of Rare Earth, a 7-track compilation released from the Motown vaults as part of the “20th Century Masters Millennium Collection” proves that these guys were ahead of their time by almost two decades.

Although they weren’t the first funkmeisters to mix create rock ‘n’ roll with R & B roots in the ‘60s – hometown heroes the MC5 did it a couple of years earlier – Rare Earth had greater success with the sound. Cuts like “Get Ready,” “Hey Big Brother” and “I Just Want To Celebrate” proved to be large hits for a relatively undistinguished bunch of players, and the songs hold up well even after thirty years. Rare Earth foreshadowed the jam bands of the ‘90s with extended instrumental passages filled to the brim with funky rhythms, rock riffs and jazzy interludes that stretched three-minute pop songs into 15- or 20-minute compositions. Sometimes tedious, sometimes exhilarating, it was nonetheless unique.

At their best, Rare Earth exemplified the sort of musical experimentation that made the late 1960s/early 1970s an exciting time for music. Anything might happen, with adventuresome bands throwing elements of country, blues, jazz, and R & B music on top of their basic roots rock sound. When they were good – as on the handful of hit singles featured on The Best of Rare Earth – the band was very good. Honestly, however, those moments were few and far between. Rare Earth’s more typical fare consisted of hackneyed R & B covers (like their slaughtering of Ray Charles’ classic “What’d I Say”), which is what earned them their reputation with critics and historians. For those listeners wanting a taste of one of rock music’s more obscure bands, I’d heartily recommend The Best of Rare Earth as a low-cost sampler that features the four big hits, which is all anyone really wants anyway... (Motown Records, released 2001)

Review originally published by Alt.Culture.Guide™ zine

Archive Review: Mitch Ryder’s Detroit Ain’t Dead Yet (The Promise) (2009)

The Legendary Mitch Ryder

 

Back in the fall of 1980, when Detroit rocker Bob Seger was riding high on the charts and packin’ ‘em into the stadiums with his Against the Wind album, he sold out every show during an unheard-of nine-night stand in the Motor City. For these triumphant homecoming shows, Seger hand-picked Detroit rock ‘n’ soul legend Mitch Ryder as his opener, a gracious act that jump-started Ryder’s second shot at the brass ring.

Born William Levise, Jr. in Hamtramck, a city within the city limits of Detroit, Ryder got his start singing as a teen with a local soul band named the Peps before forming his own Billy Lee and the Rivieras. Discovered in 1965 by producer Bob Crewe, the band was re-named Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels, and they would go on to score a string of early hits like “Jenny Take A Ride,” “C.C. Rider,” and “Devil with A Blue Dress On.” When the hits dried up, Ryder made the sojourn to Memphis to record the amazing The Detroit/Memphis Experiment with Booker T and the M.G.’s in 1969.

Mitch Ryder’s Detroit Ain’t Dead Yet (The Promise)

Returning home, Ryder put together the ground-breaking rock outfit Detroit, which released a single 1971 album that yielded a hit with an energetic cover of Lou Reed’s “Rock and Roll.” By 1973, though, Ryder was experiencing problems with his voice, and he retired from music. He still had the itch, however, and his self-produced 1978 comeback album How I Spent My Vacation led to the aforementioned gigs opening for Seger; more indie releases; a major label deal and a John Mellencamp-produced, critically-acclaimed album that went nowhere fast. Although Ryder’s overshadowing influence could be heard in ‘80s-era hits from folks like Seger, Mellencamp, and Springsteen, the man couldn’t get arrested with his own work.

Flash forward almost 30 years and, much like the gardens that are starting to crop up in the abandoned lots around the urban wasteland formerly known as Detroit, Mitch Ryder is still punching away at success. He never really went anywhere you know…Ryder remained somewhat of a star in Europe, and he has continued to record and release albums to the present day. In the closing days of 2009, he teamed with producer Don Was – another Motor City talent – to record Detroit Ain’t Dead Yet (The Promise) in L.A. with a top notch batch of musicians. Working with a set of largely original songs, Ryder has delivered a spirited performance that equals his mid-1980s creative peak.      

Ryder’s calling card has always been his uncanny ability to blend blues, soul, and rock ‘n’ roll into a single artistic entity, and it’s no different on Detroit Ain’t Dead Yet (The Promise). Ryder’s whiskey-soaked vocals still ooze with blue-eyed soul better than anybody ever has; nowhere is this more evident than on the album-opening track, the semi-autobiographical “Back Then.” Ryder’s vox slip-n-slide across a funky soundtrack with characteristic swagger, growling when necessary and hitting the high notes when appropriate as the band lays down a vicious groove.

And so it goes…the Southern-fried soul of “My Heart Belongs To Me” benefits from some Steve Cropper-styled geetar pickin’, a lively rhythmic backdrop, and Ryder’s passionate vocals. The intelligent, sometimes shocking “Junkie Love” is a frank discussion of addiction that benefits from 1970s-styled rolling funk-n-soul instrumentation, lively vocals, and Randy Jacobs’ squealing fretwork. A beautiful cover of the great Jimmy Ruffin soul gem “What Becomes of the Broken Hearted” was recorded live and showcases Ryder’s emotion-tugging vocal abilities while “The Way We Were” is a haunting, topical tale of society’s decline that rocks as hard as it rolls.

The Reverend’s Bottom Line

Detroit Ain’t Dead Yet (The Promise) isn’t an exploitative cash-grab taking advantage of some over-the-hill, broken-and-broke-ass rocker. No, this is the one-and-only Mitch Ryder, still kicking ass and taking names at age 65, delivering a monster set of songs that combine the artist’s 1960s rock ‘n’ soul roots with his edgy 1980s solo work. With a sympathetic producer in Don Was, who worked with Ryder in the 1990s with his own Motor City band Was (Not Was), Ryder is able to make a late-career statement that stands tall alongside anything he’s ever done. Detroit ain’t dead yet, and neither is Mitch Ryder… (Freeworld Records/Floating World Records, 2009)

Review originally published by Blurt magazine, 2009…

Archive Review: Sonic's Rendezvous Band's "Sweet Nothing" (1999)

When I lived in the Detroit area back in the late 1970s I used to hang out at a place not far from the house called Dearborn Music. A third-generation record store that had been passed down in a straight line from grandfather to grandson, the store had never sent back any records that it ever bought during its thirty-year history. This practice would make today’s retailers, with their sorry philosophy of limited selection and “just-in-time” inventory, wince and cry. But the result was a wonderfully dusty, crowded store that offered everything from still-sealed Big Band albums to ‘60s psychedelica and punk rock imports. Knowing my penchant for loud, high-octane Detroit rock ‘n’ roll, the grandson called me over one day and laid a 7” 45 rpm copy of “City Slang” on me. It was the first release from Sonic’s Rendezvous Band, a local “supergroup” made up of members from the MC5, the Stooges, and SRC and named after guitarist extraordinaire Fred “Sonic” Smith.

Little did I know at the time that this single would also be the last official release from the band. Although a couple of live bootleg tapes have circulated among the faithful during the past couple of decades, those of us thirsting for more had to be satisfied with our rare copies of “City Slang.” Imagine my surprise then when I opened up a copy of Mohair Sweets zine and saw an article on Sonic’s Rendezvous Band and a listing of a web site. Although Smith died a few years back, his wife – the talented Patti Smith – asked longtime associate Freddie Brooks to look through the band’s collection of tapes with an eye towards releasing some of the material. The first result of this jump into the vaults is the “Sweet Nothing” CD, which captures the band alive and scorching during a 1978 performance. Needless to say, I sent in my hard-earned coin as soon as possible and grabbed a copy of this gem before it disappeared on me.
 
Even though it had been twenty years since I saw the band play live in Ann Arbor, “Sweet Nothing” immediately brought up fond memories of that night. A solid hour-long set of raging “Motor City” rock ‘n’ roll, “Sweet Nothing” does not disappoint, even given my high expectations. Sonic’s Rendezvous Band were a monster of a live band, with Smith and fellow guitarist Scott Morgan dueling like sword fighters in a death match, trading deadly, razor-sharp riffs with abandon. Ex-Stooges’ drummer Scott “Rock Action” Asheton kept up a steady, often-times manic beat while bass maestro Gary Rasmussen laid down a rhythmic groove that propelled the music along like nitro in your gas tank.

With a sound that’s loud, meaty, and muscular, booming out of your speakers like a metal stamping machine in a Detroit auto plant, the songs on “Sweet Nothing” are almost immaterial, given the heaviness of the performances. These are good, not great songs, mostly originals by Smith or Morgan. Some are standard, guitar-driven love songs, like the mesmerizing “Hearts,” the engaging title track or the band’s drunkenly passionate cover of the Stones’ “Heart of Stone.” Other songs – like “Asteroid B-612,” for instance – are more esoteric, blazing a musical trail across territory that’s more akin to Sun Ra than to anything rock ‘n roll was spitting out in the late ‘70s.

That legendary single, “City Slang,” is presented here as an eight-minute, album-closing rave-up that’s guaranteed to stand you on your head, leaving you with the certain knowledge that Sonic’s Rendezvous Band were a great band. It’s a damn shame that they never became huge stars, but then again, their cult status befits them. After all, like Neil Young once said, “it’s better to burn out than to fade away.” For a too-few brief years, Sonic Rendezvous were the underground rock scene’s brightest burning stars, blazing their way through hundreds of live shows. Lucky for us that somebody captured one of these special nights on “Sweet Nothing”. (Mack Aborn Rhythmic Arts, released 1999)

Review originally published by Alt.Culture.Guide™

MC5's Brother Wayne Kramer, R.I.P.

Wayne Kramer is a bona fide rock ‘n’ roll legend. As guitarist for Detroit’s MC5, Kramer was part of an anarchic, creative band that was a major inspiration for both the late ‘70s punk revolution and the early ‘90s alternative rock movement. Kramer’s four late ‘90s solo albums recorded for the independent Epitaph label with members of bands like Bad Religion, The Melvins, and Claw Hammer only added to his already considerable musical legacy.

The guitarist also recorded albums with Johnny Thunders (Gang War), British rock legend Mick Farren (Death Tongue), Brian James of the Damned (Mad About the Racket), and former MC5 manager John Sinclair (Full Circle), among others. Perhaps the most exciting album that Kramer recorded aside from the MC5 was the 1996 Dodge Main album, a sort of Motor City “homecoming” with Kramer, Deniz Tek of Radio Birdman, and Scott Morgan of the Rationals and Sonic’s Rendezvous Band.

Kramer passed away this week at the age of 75 after a brief fight with pancreatic cancer. This phone interview was published in 1997 in my R Squared music zine.

It has become somewhat of a cliché, but in practice, Wayne Kramer is usually referred to as a “legend.” It would be much more accurate, perhaps, to label him as a survivor. As guitarist for Detroit’s notorious and influential MC5 – musical mouthpiece for the revolutionary White Panther Party – Kramer made it through the tumultuous ‘60s alive, if not unscathed. He’s lived through poverty, drugs, and prison to emerge from the other end of despair. Picking up the guitar again during the ‘80s for a series of musical collaborations with folks like Johnny Thunders and Mick Farren, it wasn’t until Kramer’s mid-‘90s emergence as a significant solo artist that he’d begun to forge his own identity and earn the critical respect he’s always deserved.

“For me, I didn’t really have a choice,” Kramer says of his chosen career path, “this is what I have to do. I’ve been confused about a great many things in my life, but I’ve never been confused about my reason to exist. It’s always been to do this work, to play this music. In the end, to hopefully share something with other people like they have shared with me...the things that I’ve gotten from great music, from great art. That sense that maybe I’m not alone, maybe I can spread that idea to someone else, that maybe they’re not alone, hopefully to leave the place a little nicer than I found it.”

After stints in New York and Nashville, Kramer ended up in Los Angeles, writing the songs that would eventually become 1995’s The Hard Stuff, his first album of three so far for Epitaph Records and the one that many consider his comeback effort. With backing from the L.A. band Claw Hammer and guest performances from a literal “who’s who” of punk rock (including inspired liner notes by Henry Rollins), The Hard Stuff is an excellent album, brimming with energy and lyrically exciting songs. Kramer quickly followed up with Dangerous Minds in 1996. The powerful Citizen Wayne is this year’s model, a stripped-down, hard-rocking, saber-rattling menace of an album. Lyrically, Citizen Wayne covers everything from Kramer’s MC5 days, the ‘60s and prison, to the struggle for human dignity and economic justice. Musically, it features a potent brew of hard rock, metal, punk, and free-form jazz that few artists have the talent to even attempt, much less make it work like Kramer is able to.

As one of the few icons of the ‘60s still standing, what are Kramer’s memories of the era? “They were exciting and romantic, but they were dangerous. You never knew when something bad was going to happen. You never knew what direction it was going to come from. If it wasn’t the police, it was the right wing – the ‘America, love it or leave it,’ John Birch Society – you add to that mix the volatile passions of the day, the militant rhetoric, and the fact that most everybody was high on acid most of the time, it was a time that was unique. That’s one of the things that I tried to do with Citizen Wayne, to try and grab a snapshot of what it was like. Songs like “Down On the Ground” or “Back When Dogs Could Talk,” that sense of limitless possibilities, that we could change the world, that there could be a new kind of politics, a new kind of music.”

The Motor City seems a strange place to grow musical legends like the MC5 or Iggy and the Stooges. What was it about Detroit that allowed for this kind of musical phenomena? “I think it was that there were jobs there,” says Kramer. “There was work, and there was kind of a boomtown atmosphere, a sense that we could do anything in Detroit. If you wanted it built, manufactured, fabricated, we could do it in Detroit. People worked hard for their money and they wanted their bands to work hard. We carried that work ethic to the band and in the kind of music that we liked. It was what we called ‘high energy’ music. It was a visceral music, it was not a pretty, delicate music; it was a hard music. It was the music of James Brown, the avant-garde free jazz movement, Chuck Berry, and the rhythm section at Motown. Later, it was the music of the Who and the Yardbirds, that was experimental and pushed things.”

In many of the songs on Citizen Wayne, as well as his previous solo work, Kramer treads on political ground that is anathema to rock artists these days. With a perspective every bit as radical today as it was in 1969, Kramer is not afraid to take an artistic stand. “The wage and wealth gap is the human rights issue of today,” he says. “We don’t have the war in Vietnam now; we don’t have the generation gap. What we have is the difference between wealthy people and all the rest of us. I don’t believe that any thinking person can be an optimist today. I do believe that we are prisoners of hope. One sign that I see as really hopeful is that the unions are coming back.”

After touring throughout 1997 to support Citizen Wayne, Kramer will begin work on writing the soundtrack album for a proposed movie version of Legs McNeil’s history of New York punk, Please Kill Me. Afterwards, Kramer’s future is wide open. “My plan is to do an album a year for the next ten years, do a tour every year,” he says. “Music is not the kind of thing that is tied to being young. It’s something that you can continue to do through your thirties, your forties, your fifties...and continue to do it with meaning and passion. For me, my plan is to ‘do the work.’ That’s what living is all about. Push this music and sound into a more pure sonic dimension and try to write some good songs, tell some of the stories of what it’s like to be alive in this time and this place.” Like the true survivor that he is, Kramer works to create something that will live on beyond his brief time here. “Ultimately,” he says, “maybe I can become a blip on the horizon of our day.”

Also on That Devil Music:

Wayne Kramer’s Citizen Wayne CD review

Wayne Kramer’s The Hard Stuff CD review