The Frost Live @ The Saginaw Auditorium 1970

I had only seen the Frost once before, just after the release of their first LP, Frost Music. I remember walking down to Howard’s Record Store on the corner of Genesee just kitty corner from the Saginaw Auditorium to line up with other eager kids to lay down a heavy $3.98 to get a pristine cellophaned copy. Some kids were buying 2-3, even four copies. I never asked them but I wondered why they needed to buy so many, perhaps getting’ copies for friends or bandmates or teammates, not girlfriends, no, girls didn’t seem so taken with the Frost. This was a GUYS band, a beer swilling, shoutin’ fist-in-the-air macho guys’ band. Man, did we play some mean air guitar to Frost Music, whew!! Lunchtimes at the AHHS gymnasium was jammin’. Rich Miller did a mean Baby Once You Got it… with a little help from yours truly. And forget about Mystery Man, it was all OURS... it had a great hook with an indelible harmonic majesty that recalled the Beatles - but with a harder edge. It was an almost perfect tune to jam to and so we did, every lunch hour for at least a semester. We were over-the-top, lost our heads, possessed insane clown posse rockin’ Dick Wagner worshipers. If he was the “mystery man” then we were too - that was the power of our almost cultish devotion, at least at noon hour anyway. The girls would watch us (‘cos we were watchin’ them but pretending not to) and they would shake their heads and talk about us. We thought they were complimenting us like, “Lookit Bo, he really plays a great air guitar, he’s so cute and sexy… wish he would ask me out.” But it was more like, “Lookit that dork, he’s a real failure, how could he be so stooopid…yeeew, hope he don’t ask me out.” All the while we thought they thought we were cool. Oh well. At least we could work out some pretty urgent adolescent frustrations that way and avoid thinkin’ about how boring and useless high school really is. Try as we may, few of us could admit to ever learning anything of substance from our classes, at least most of our classes. We had learned more from watching the young teachers pair off and get romantic or when we snuck down below into the caverns under the AHHS pool, and watch the young ladies swim. The school provided us with swimsuits back then and they never quite fit very well. For the girls it proved to be quite a challenge to keep the top of the suit in its proper place…oops, ahhh, quite a show for us guys. So what if we’re perverted, we didn’t see it that way- just a little innocent fun. A custodian, we called him Illya Kuryakin – ‘cos he looked like that TV-sidekick in the “Man from Uncle” – arranged this simple pleasure for us. He was always there…hmm.

By the time I attended this concert, The Frost had already released their second album, musta been a sophomore jinx, the disappointing, half crappy live, half crappy studio, Rock and Roll Music. Don’t get me wrong I loved the title song and the country rocker Sweet Lady Love blew me away but it was the poignant 1st time romantic lust of Linda that really popped my cork. YEAH. Wagner had already written the Frost’s underrated third album and many of those tunes had been in their concert repertoire since ’69.

The opening act was Brownsville Station, a good solid, rootsy band. Good old rock ‘n roll with the peripatetic Cub Koda running, jumping and bouncing all over the stage. He had quite a schtick goin'. But the rhythm guitarist Michael Lutz was a great singer with a commanding presence, the sex symbol of the group. The songs were solid…Rock and Roll Holiday, Be Bop Confidential, Road Runner… great retro stuff and not too loud. I recall a Brownsville fan once gushing that Cub & the boys were the loudest band he ever heard, louder than God… or even Led Zeppelin – not yet, not at this show anyway. Brownsville Station put on a good rock steady show even got a good ovation at the end but everyone was there to see the Frost and no one made any bones about it. These are the hometown boys and they were makin’ a stir in Detroit and beyond, even played the Fillmore. Yeah, they were goin’ somewhere. Though there were a few naysayers, I recall a Lester Bangs article in Creem in which he’s riffin’ about the school of metallic music that supposedly inspired the Stooges…”think of Grand Funk’s noxious sludge, the Frost clanging along like a brassy fire engine, appealing but just a shade inhuman…” The Frost is...Metallic? ...inhuman? Hmm, I never thought of them in that way. When I thought of the Frost I thought of great lead vocals and harmonies, the Bossmen, the Beatles – pop songs, but not metal, certainly not the dreadful atonal slasher, Iggy? I was in for a surprise.

The Frost took the stage. Wagner walked on all chest and shoulders while Gordie and Don almost bounced onto the stage. They were pumped. Bobby Rigg started pounding the skins and bangin’ the cymbals, guitars are wailing...then that familiar riff… baah…baah…bah-bum…”rock ‘n roll music, rock ‘n roll music…rock and ro-oh-o-oh-o-oh-o-oh-oll. And it set me free just like Wagner said it would. It was all energy and momentum and like a Zen meditation that repeats itself until you find its deeper meaning, a simple truth revealed by our adolescent longing. Baby Once You Got It is an almost throwaway blues rocker that is salvaged by the energetic interplay of Hartman and Garris, the heart and soul of the band. They stand in stark contrast to the older Wagner, they dance and move around the stage as if possessed, visually striking, this enfant terrible duo gives the Frost its “human” side, they are the everyman to Wagner’s tortured genius vibe. Wagner may be the mystery man but these cats are here to party with you. Both Don and Gordy sing well and possess a several octave vocal range that give the band depth and compliment Wagner’s incredible lead vocals. I must admit that the Frost had changed considerably since I last heard them, less pop and much more jammin’. I’ve heard a few critics that said the Frost were not much more than a bar band or that they were little more than high energy or mid-energy noise (whatever that’s supposed to mean). So let me set the record straight. The Frost used West Amps which provided a rich full sound and was not as loud or explosive and piercing as say the Marshall amplifiers used by the Mc5. In those days the sound came FROM the stage not from some crappy arena PA that homogenizes sound and fury. So the Frost was not metal and they weren’t a jam band (like the Grateful Dead) but they did several extended instrumental workouts, based in the 12-bar format that essentially revealed that Wagner was in a class of his own. He wasn’t showy and gymnastic like Nugent, though he riffed with incredible speed and precision. Wagner wasn’t a guitar-god and he never seemed content just to riff for the sake of the riff, no, he was more musical. He didn’t just rely on major or minor chording but would modify the sound with inverted chords - inverting the order of the notes in a particular chord. For instance, Wagner may change the combinations of the CEG notes while playing the C chord. Grand Funk’s Mark Farner once told me that Wagner was one of his early influences and that he taught him all about inverted chords. Wagner could produce an incredible aural landscape with almost effortless grace, he would hit that E-string and produce an astonishing vibrato effect, evident in songs like Mystery Man, Take My Hand, and Who Are You, all of which were performed that night. Early in the show, Wagner showcased some new songs on a medley that included Black As Night, a song Donny Hartman says Wagner tinkered with from night to night, shifting keys and tempos, a song that was never the same from show to show, 1500 Miles (From the Eye of a Beatle), and Big Time Spender. The combination worked well in showcasing Hartman’s soulful vocals and Wagner’s increasingly complex improvisations. At about this time in the show, Wagner addressed the crowd like a school marm to willful child, “Hey Saginaw, it’s about time you found out where’s it at.”
seemed a bit snippy to me. But he had a point, we were boppers, not yet adults and we had a very limited perspective, at least, that is, I had a limited perspective. I was wet behind the ears and didn’t know shit from shinola. I was looking for the Beatles through Wagner’s viewfinder only to discover that he changed the landscape. The music was complex less pop and more pile-drivin, ball-bustin’ blues based rock with a capital ‘R’. Mystery Man was the highlight for me, the closest thing to pop confection that evening. It’s still a great song with one helluva hook. But the closer, an extended 15 minute jam based on the opening bass riff of We Gotta Get Out of This Place proved to be the nadir of the evening. Wagner’s incredible virtuosity couldn’t even save it, they didn’t even try to bolster the song by singing a verse or two. And Bobby Rigg’s plodding drum solo only served to make a questionable arrangement even more abrasive. I grew up diggin’ Buddy Rich and Gene Krupa and Rigg, like most rock drummers, just couldn’t muster up the more intricate and complex patterns that a true master learns. It was just bang, boom, crash. Don’t get me wrong I felt Booby was an excellent rock drummer, powerful with rock solid timing, plus he could sing. But rock 'n roll drum solos were always a disappointment or a waste of time, except for maybe once. I saw Ginger Baker's Airforce and Baker made it jazzy and interesting, riffin' on some complex syncopation and African rhythms, incredible!

I left the show feeling a bit let down. I still considered Dick Wagner to be an enormous talent, an icon - and the Frost was an excellent live band. But something was missing, something just didn’t seem right. And then I remembered what Lester Bangs wrote about them…”clanging like a brassy fire engine, appealing, but just a shade inhuman” and I wondered what it all meant and if I could only get past those words maybe I would discover a cosmic truth, why my heroes never made a splash in a bigger pond.

Peace,
Bo White
12/30/2005

The Bob Seger System Live @ Daniel’s Den 1968

Seems like only yesterday, I walked over to Daniel’s Den to see Bob Seger. I lived just a few blocks away and anyway the Den was located only one door down from White’s Bar. We shared a gravel parking lot and whenever a big band like Seger, SRC, or the Amboy Dukes performed at the Den, the parking lot would be overflowing. On occasion I would work for my dad as a “parking lot attendant” and would try to keep Den customers from crossing the imaginary line into White’s Bar territory. The kids seemed to understand and I was never hassled about it, not even once. But tonight was my night out and I didn’t give a hoot about the parking lot…I was walkin’ anyway. And I was looking forward to this show. I idolized Seger and I had all of his hits (copped ‘em from my brother) on their original labels Hideout, Are You Kidding Me? Cameo-Parkway – my favorite records along with my Bossmen and Beatle’s 45’s. I even had a recently purchased pristine copy of Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Man that would soon be trashed by repeated playing on my precious Gerard modular phonograph – it could play about twenty 45’s stacked on top of the other for almost an hour’s worth of uninterrupted tunes. And though I wasn’t a fanatic LP collector – yet - I purchased Seger’s first LP on Capitol Records, Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Man as soon as it was released in 1969. It took me away to a whole other universe down by the riverside with fortune wheels, shady characters throwin’ dice, tales from the other side of the tracks. It gave me that first seed of wanderlust - that something else was out there, something different and full of life and just a bit on the edge. I liked that. I began to travel… Florida, Colorado, Tennessee, Oklahoma, Oregon, California. Yep. Seger was one of my early influences. He helped me believe in another way. This ’68 performance would be my first Seger experience but there would be several more, the Delta Pops Festival in ’69, opening for the Kinks at the Easttown in 1970 and a few others. The very last time I saw Seger he was rockin’ the Brewery in East Lansing in ’73. But after all these years it was that first show in ’68 that stands out in my mind. I was mesmerized by the band. They were heroes to me. I would collect the weekly radio charts at the local record stores…WKNX Powervoice 1210 BIG 10 Survey, Big SAM 1400 Super Sound Survey, WTAC Fab 40 List of Top Records. Even Shopper’s Fair had a CHARTBUSTERS 45 rpm Pop Hits survey. And in each and every one of these “surveys” local heroes such as Bob Seger, the Bossmen, the Rationals and others were listed right alongside the Beatles, Dylan, the Stones, Henry Mancini and the Mamas & Papas. I had no idea that they were only regional stars. Ultimately it didn’t matter. I loved ‘em anyway. And for the few that did gain stardom, like Seger, their best work (in my eyes) was their earliest work – the “Michigan Rock” stuff.

I arrived at the Den early, but a line had already formed. There was a much talk, alotta excitement. The Bob Seger System – a new name and an LP in the works – not just another 45 and it’s on a major label. Seger really has made the big time. There was a real buzz in the crowd. Whose in the band now? Same band…Dan Honaker on bass, the famous Pep Perrine on drums – he even hand made that incredible three-tired drum kit, and that new fella…Bob Schultz on organ, love that riff on Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Man…heard he sings just like Seger too. Seger’s playing guitar now…heard he can’t play and sing at the same time...naw…he just don’t play guitar very good. Finally the doors open and we squeeze ourselves (in an orderly fashion, thank you Officer Ed) inside and claim our territory. I’m close-up stage left, I can see everything perfectly. Seger is young, in his prime, with a trim Beatle haircut, bangs and all, nothing too long or outrageous. The band is good and Seger’s vocals are powerful. They open with the organist singing the Vanilla Fudge version of You Keep Me Hanging On - and it’s great, This Schultz fella has an incredible voice, even sounds like Seger. But then Seger took over and showed us why he’s the star. He proceeded to sing lion in heat, ferociously, as if his life depended on it. It seemed like he was possessed by some supernatural force. I never heard anyone sing like this before, such soul and grit. His voice channeled the anguish and longing of the ages as if he was the vessel for a thousand lost souls. I wondered how could he know this. He did those delightful regional hits I grew up with…East Side Story was a particular favorite, an emotional over-the-top performance and Persecution Smith was intriguing despite, or because of, its heavy-handed Dylan parody though the live performance sounded more like the Syndicate of Sound than Dylan. Heavy Music was incredible – brutal and orgasmic and aimed right at yer loins, one of the best rock songs ever waxed. Seger also did some covers - the best was a phenomenal version of Ike & Tina Turner’s River Deep Mountain High - Seger nailed it in a full throttle assault that beat his own later version. His voice was simply magnificent and at this time in his career he could still hit those upper registers that could give a song an extraordinary amount of juice. He even did a surprisingly soulful take on the Beatles’ recent smash hit, Hey Jude. I never put the two together – Beatles/Seger – but this version worked, it worked well. Honaker’s take on the Bee Gee’s Holiday was passable but ultimately a throwaway. But it was the new songs that lit a fire under the crowd – the soulful blues of Ivory, the foreboding almost frightening tones of Tales of Lucy Blue, and the peace and love vibe of The Last Song was crafted by the powerful unison vocals of Honaker, Schultz and Seger. 2+2=? was absolutely brutal, an anti-war anthem personal and in your face. But Ramblin’ Gamblin’ Man was the highlight. It’s piledrivin’, rockin’ majesty was evident from Schultz’s concise intro to Seger’s soulful vocal gymnastics. It was climbing the charts and the band was in a good spot, no noticeable dissension and a reasonable optimism for the future. The pendulum hadn’t swung back yet and a major label was getting’ behind the band. Hell, they may have only received $700 for the Den appearance but they were getting’ $10,000 or more in Florida. The future looked bright, very bright. But Seger, even at this young age, was a veteran of the scene and acquainted with the rock 'n roll swindle. He was already troubled, pissin' and moanin' about Cameo/Parkway, livin' with his mother, and doubting himself. He was quitting music and going back to college, sometimes he was in another world altogether. There were times when he wouldn't show up for a gig. Schultz would take over the vocals and no one seemed to notice. I never imagined these troubles and I couldn't tell from Seger's exuberant performance that so much trouble and pain existed underneath it all. In less than two years this lineup would be rearranged and Seger would lose his muse, only to return in the mid-seventies to write some of his best songs Night Moves, Rock ‘N Roll Never Forgets, Mainstreet, Katmandu. I never saw Seger during his arena days, coulda I suppose, but didn’t want to spoil the memory. I thought his best work was behind him and that his big hits were just retreads of past glories, sell a truck and lose your soul? Hmm, like Alex Chilton told me at one of them silly "Oldies Shows" doin' his Box Tops Schtick..."it’s easy money"

Peace
Bo White
12/27/05

The MC5 Live @ The Delta Pops Festival July 1969

By 1969 I had attended maybe a hundred teen dances, rock ‘n roll shows or concerts. I had witnessed local & regional heroes such as E.J. & the Echoes, The Bossmen, The Motor City Bonnevilles, The Bob Seger System, Bobby Rigg & the Chevelles, Jay Walker & the Jaywalkers, The Excels, The Frost, The Cherry Slush and the Purple Gang...to name a few. But I’d also seen such pop icons as Simon & Garfunkel, the Turtles, the Association, the Byrds (the original lineup), Gary Lewis & the Playboys, the Kingsmen (of Louie Louie fame), the Gentrys (Keep on Dancing). But I’d never been to a “festival” and the late sixties was THE era of the “Rock Festival”, an indulgence that would culminate in the granddaddy of all rock festivals – Woodstock – only a month later.

A year after that Michigan’s glorious/notorious “Goose Lake Rock Festival”, ostensibly an ode to Peace & Love; it signaled the last gasp of rock culture in Michigan before its moribund decline, a death from consumption and bow to lost promise.

Goose Lake Park is part of Leoni Township in Jackson Michigan. The good folk of Jackson lived a relatively quiet and conservative life and were totally unprepared for the influx of 200,000 people, mostly young adults and teens, streaming in from across the United States and Canada. These interlopers then proceeded to set up a camp called Freedom Land where sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll reigned supreme. Mercy, these hippies, yippies, freaks, druggies, bikers, fast-buck artists and Hare Krishnas simply took over and some of ‘em even had the nerve to walk around NUDE. It sure got Bruce A. Barton’s panties all tied-up in knots and as the County Prosecutor he felt responsible to shepard community decency. Hmm, not this time. Years later the community still seemed divided in its perceptions about the event. Many felt that Goose Lake succeeded as a musical event but also as a symbol of peace and love. Others like Barton saw it as a massive drug infested mess just this side of the 7th ring of hell.
Peace, Love and Dante’s Inferno
Compared to the relative excess of Goose Lake, the Delta Pops Festival was a modest and understated triumph. Housed in the gymnasium at the University Center of Delta Community College, the festival accommodated only a few thousand kids. It would never go down in the history of the “Michigan Rock” era (roughly from 1960-1970) as a major event though it did showcase the incendiary spirit and energy of the MC5.

Before all this the “5” paid some heavy dues, getting’ their chops as the Grande Ballroom’s house band, rehearsing relentlessly, and learning the truth from John Sinclair, local poet and jazz aficionado and the founder of Trans-love Energies and later the Director of Information for the White Panther Party. Sinclair was their spiritual leader and political mentor. The MC5 moved with Sinclair from Detroit to Ann Arbor and found an almost perfect 18 room house in “Fraternity Row” on Hill Street. Women communed together with their men only to find entrenched gender roles. Men were hyper-aggressive and women were expected to be submissive. The men rocked; the women cooked, cleaned and did the laundry. Guess the revolution didn’t include equality. Sinclair suggested that Trans-Love was like Alice in Wonderland. Guitarist Wayne Kramer explained it thusly, “You gotta toke down to get down and in order to toke down you gotta get down, and if you get down, we all get down.” Wonderland indeed. But who am I kiddin’ – getting’ laid, and not just getting’ laid but gettin’ pampered and mothered like ya matter, was every horny, perpetual hard-on first-time-away-from-home adolescent’s fantasy. Yep, I was jealous ‘cos I wasn’t pretty, couldn’t sing and had no discernable talent. What hippie or otherwise kinda chick would wanna ball my brains out?

There was a heavy vibe surrounding the MC5 at the time of the Delta Pops Festival.



Their 1st album had just been released and they were the subject of articles in Time and Newsweek. Norman Mailer even wrote about their iconoclastic performance at the 1968 Chicago Democratic Convention and Mayor Daley’s brutal response to the protestors.


And lead vocalist Rob Tyner was even featured on the cover of the Rolling Stone. Heavy…real heavy.

So we were anticipating something extraordinary in Mid-Michigan, even when we were somewhat ignored as a hot bed for live music - despite the fact that we had one of the most vibrant youth scenes in Michigan with Daniel’s Den, The Y-A-Go-Go, Mt Holly, Sherwood Forest, The Roll Air Rink, and many more. The MC5 did not disappoint.

The show was plagued, in the beginning, with equipment problems. The PA just didn’t seem to function very well.


Bob Seger, playing organ, attempted a song or two before he gave up and stomped off stage. Just wasn’t his night. I’d seen Seger a coupla times before with mixed results. The rap was that Seger couldn’t play guitar and sing at the same time. I never knew that to be true but I did see him perform a few mediocre shows as well as deliver a few brilliant performances. Seger was known to possess an incredible work ethic and he often appeared to be playing everywhere at the same time.

Ted Nugent & the Amboy Dukes also struggled with “sound” problems and during a 20 minute delay, Nugent, dressed in Native American regalia, sat cross-legged on the stage, rocked himself to & fro, and proceeded to pound the crap outta a pair of maracas until the stage crew fixed the problem. He played well but “the Dukes” sorely missed their former lead singer John Drake. They performed their hit Journey To The Center of Your Mind and newer songs such as the fabulous instrumental Migration. It was a pretty courageous show for a band that seemed to be on their last legs. Hey, whaddo I know?



The Rationals gave one of the strongest performances of the night. The band was tight, the harmonies were spot on and Scott Morgan’s soulful voice was simply magnificent. They did all of their hits - Respect, Hold On Baby, Leavin’ Here, and the glorious I Need You. Great performance.

SRC put on one of their classic performances. Along with the Frost and the Rationals, SRC was one of the more musical bands of the era, certainly head and shoulders above the night’s headliners. They played most of their Milestones album, considered by many to be a stone masterpiece. They performedNo Secret Destination, Checkmate, The Angel Song, Eye of the Storm, even their first big hit Black Sheep. But the highlight of their set was their incredible take on In the Hall of the Mountain King/Bolero. This was Michigan Rock in its finest hour!
Iggy & the Stooges stunned the crowd with a maniacal, one chord feedback-drone, nihilistic push-all-the-buttons performance. Iggy was over-the-top, spittin’ at the audience, and cuttin’ and scratchin’ himself until he drew blood. He even sang and groaned a little. Finally he grabbed a girl from the audience, carried her through the crowd until he stumbled back, then forward, and deposited her on the gymnasium floor where proceeds to dry hump the hell outta the poor girl. A plant? Rumor had it that he humped the Dean’s daughter.
Make yo daddy proud!
But this night belonged to the MC5

There was a hush in the crowd as we anticipated the “I Wanna Testify Gospel” of Brother J.C. Crawford:
Brothers and Sisters

I wanna see a sea of hands

Let me see a sea of hands

I want everybody to kick up some noise

I wanna hear some revolution out there, brothers

I wanna hear a little revolution

Brothers and sisters the time has come

For each and every one of you to decide
\
Whether you are gonna be the problem

or whether you are gonna be the solution

You must choose brothers, you must choose

It takes 5 seconds, 5 seconds of decision

Five seconds to realize that it’s time to move

It’s time to get down with it

Brothers, it’s time to testify and I want to know

Are you ready to testify?

Are you ready?

I give you a testimonial, THE MC5!!!!!

The MC5 scrambled up to the stage and we all went wild. They were ON. Wayne Kramer opened up with his classic scratchy falsetto (almost in key) reading of Ramblin’ Rose, a great rockin’ tune by anyone’s standards. They ripped off the Troggs on I Want You (Right Now) which is only right and good. Rocket Reducer (Rama Lama Fa Fa Fa) simply exploded.


Fred "Sonic" Smith and Kramer led a guitar assault against the masses on Borderline - Powerful like a slug in the chest. Motor City Burning is an electric urban blues out of the streets of Detroit, the riots of ‘67. But my favorite of this show, just because it’s one of the best ROCK songs ever written, was Kick Out The Jams

This song remains the perfect vehicle to showcase Rob Tyner's power as a vocalist - a great tune; a greater performance. They even tried some jazzy Sun Ra licks on Starship that almost worked.

I left the Festival with a feeling that I witnessed something important. In hindsight it was important because only a year later, the scene would be all but finished and Michigan Rock would become a highly debated and disputed memory. I did a phone interview with former MC5 guitarist Wayne Kramer on January 28th, 2002. When I asked him about the Delta Pops Festival this is how he replied,

“It was a pretty good show for the MC5, at a timewhen the band was sharp. I smashed my new Fender Stratocaster that night. Later I learned that the smart thing to do was to buy knockoffs. It was an explosive time for Michigan rock – no one knew we had something new and unique. The MC5 music was an amalgam of diverse influences from the free jazz of Sun Ra, Coltrane combined with evangelistic gospel fervor and raw rock ‘n roll. Back stage(that night) was a neighborhood. We knew each other for years. It was very organic, very natural. We knew each others parents and dated each others girlfriends. It was all before anyone was famous – a lot of fun, no rancor.”

Amen Brother Wayne…Amen

Peace
Bo White
November 27th, 2005

Neil Diamond Live @ The Palace of Auburn Hills August 5th, 2005 aka Is Neil Diamond a Butt Head?

After 1972, I was always wary of a Neil Diamond concert...seems he became a lounge singer, a bad lounge singer singing trite and maudlin songs with a schtick just this side of Al Jolson comin' down from a bad acid buzz and smokin' dope just to soften the ride. Now...Neil's not only (technically) a lousy singer but he's a lousy singer who thinks he can sing - a dangerous and combustible lack of observing ego...even I know to confine my singing to the shower or the car The last time I saw him he performed to a sell out crowd at Pine Knob in Clarkston (now DTE). I was expecting a big Hershey Bar and all I got was a chocolate chip - and it was so bittersweet. Ever since that awful experience in 1972 - think Hot August Night - I flinched whenever a Neil Diamond show came back to the neighborhood. Lately I wondered if Neil woulda just kicked the bucket back in 1971, right after Cracklin' Rosie, he woulda been a shoo-in for the Rock 'N Roll Hall of Fame. Just think of it all those great early Brill-Building hits such as Cherry Cherry, Shilo, Kentucky Woman and his unprecedented and magnificent excursion into African music via Tap Root Manuscript but, alas, no train wreck, car crash, no plane goin' down...no Rock 'N Roll Hall of Fame. No -- Neil lived on to give us such unadulterated crap as Love on the Rocks and The Jonathan Livingston Seagull Suite...not to mention Play Me and Longfellow Serenade...YEECH.

But this time around I had hope for something different. Ya see, Diamond was recording a new stripped down album with famed producer Rick Rubin. He's the cat that did that last trilogy of albums with Johnny Cash, when Cash was terminally ill, just before he died. It was raw, stripped to the bone, aching and powerful - some of the best Americana music ever made - too real, too authentic for most folks. This is what Rubin was gonna do for Neil Diamond, strip off the pretension, make him strap that guitar back on, and write some great songs...just like he used to in the sixties and early seventies when he defied everyone's expectations and became a rock 'n roll icon. Not bad for a homely big-schnozzed Jewish kid. So I was excited about tonight's show, eagerly anticipating the re-birth of Neil Diamond circa 1969.

My wife Lisa and I are sitting in our seats, pretty good seats, just off the main floor, left/center when a disembodied voice, sounding somewhat what you might think God sounds like if he were a white upper-middle class American white dude, informs the audience they must kindly take their seats as no one will be allowed to be seated during the opening number.
"Hmm", I thought to myself, "are we getting off to a bad start?"

Suddenly this music starts building-up to a cresendo like Elvis' unfathomable use of 2001 Space Odyssey and platforms rise up from the depths of the stage, bringing each of the 14 band members into view - 3 girl singers; 4 horn players; 2 keyboard players; 1 drummer; 1 percussionist; and a stand-up bass player. And when Neil descended down the "Stairway to Heaven", I started to realize that this would be no stripped-down, back to basics artistic triumph...I was gettin' pretty nervous - and Neil hadn't sung a note yet. The glitzy send off did not ruin the opener, Grunchy Granola Suite. In fact, it wasn't bad at all...but then Diamond sang one crappy song after another - Beautiful Noise, Play Me, Love on The Rocks, Desiree, Longfellow Serenade, Remember Me - and having all those songs played in rapid rotation made me realize a coupla things...first off - THEY ARE ALL THE SAME SONG - the same chords, only switched arounds a bit, the same verse/chorus/verse hooks, only disgiused by the production, add a horn here; some strings there. secondly, Diamond's habit of talking through the verses and using his irritating and bombastic operatic voice on the chorus has become ingrained and practically ruins juts about every song he sings. The only saving grace during this slick Vegas lounge singer sputum was a passable but almost throwaway version of Cherry Cherry. This was the nadir of the show, it picked up with America Diamond's well-conceived and rockin' tribute to the courage of his immigrant grandparents, however, the crowd, instead of rockin' with the song, stood up joined hands and transformed Diamond's beautiful sentiments into a mindless appeal to false patriotism. I knew I didn't fit-in with this mass of 10,000 maniacs, too drunk on their own insecurities to allow the song its own voice. Diamond continued with some of his better later hits such as Forever in Blue Jeans and the poignant and touching You Don't Send Me Flowers with a great performance by vocalist Linda Press. To Diamond's credit he constructed skits and verse to introduce segments of the show. For instance he built an entire song with a cool jazz intro around his introduction of the band with the chorus
Bring the coffee
Ring the bell
Play it nasty
Give them hell
Whatever it takes

. The show got better and better and the crowd became more more invigorated when the early hits started showing up...Sweet Caroline, Holly Holy, a jazzed up I'm A Believer - then Diamond ruined the momentum with a horrid and interminable rendition of the Jonathan Livingston Seagull Suite, complete with a video from the film, Seagulls flying around and pooping all over God's green acre. But it was during a brief solo acoustic set that Diamond began to shine, sans the big band, Diamond revealing the soul behind such songs as Glory Road, The Grass Won't Pay No Mind, and Look Out Here Comes Tomorrow (his hit for the Monkees). The band re-joined him for Shilo, the UB40, reggaefied Red Red Wine, and a powerful Soolaimon that brought the show to an exciting finish - though disapointing "talking" versions of I Am I Said and Cracklin' Rosie ended the show on a sour note.

So this is a typical Neil Diamond show, perfect in its paradox, just like the man himself. For every Sweet Caroline or America was a Jonathan Livingston Seagull or Longfellow Serenade to dampen the mood. It made me wonder why Diamond could write such gems yet could also create such maudlin and overwrought crap. Is this his legacy?

Is Neil Diamond a Butt-Head... or something?

Peace
Bo White
8/7/05

Gary Lewis & the Playboys Live @ Daniel’s Den 1966 Saginaw, Michigan

I’m sittin’ here grinnin’, more than incredulous wondering how on earth I’m remembering these flashbacks from almost 40 years ago, when I can’t remember where I put my glasses. I started this project a few months back believing that out of the hundreds of concerts I attended between 1966 and 1976 that I may recall enough detail to write about a dozen reviews. As I continue my research, I’m sure I can go beyond that goal. My research involves looking through old articles, photos, albums and accessing online materials. This prompts memories and sometimes reveals actual dates and set lists. This has proved to be a blast…I’m lovin’ every minute, hope you do too, if not… well, fucka-duck, I’m lovin’ it anyway.

Back in ’66 I was more excited than Minnie Driver getting’ a tattoo on the left cheek of her ass just thinking about seeing Gary Lewis & the Playboys – especially since I was goin’ solo without my parents or my big brother watchin’ me. I was just 14 years old in the summer of ‘66 and I was an avid fan. I had several of his albums including This Diamond Ring, Sessions and Golden Greats. To me Gary Lewis was a superstar…7 top ten hits since 1965 and he even starred in a stupid-cool B movie entitled Out of Sight, with the tag line “It’s so way out, it’s out of sight”. It was cool though I never understood a bit of it…the plot was something about a rock band - played by the Knickerbockers, Freddie & the Dreamers and Gary Lewis & the Playboys, nobody noticed it wasn’t the same band - getting’ high and drunk and getting’ laid but is was all disguised by innuendo, smoke, mirrors, and fake-hipster dialogue spoken in a surreal falsetto voices. Great movie. It’s said that Gary considers Out of Sight as his Head, the music-film noir masterpiece by Jack Nicholson and the Monkees.

I attended the matinee show for younger teens, sometimes this can prove disappointing to both the artist and the audience. How on earth can you get a musician fired-up for an afternoon show when he’s just got to bed an hour before the show after traveling all night long, suckin’ the bong, and wearing down his man-part? And then there are the teeny boppers, all fresh faced, bratty, and terribly demanding…
”PLAY WIPE OUT”
”It’s not our song”
”PLAY WIPE OUT”
”Oh please…you must be kidding”
YOU SUCK
hmm…Wipe Out in “C”

The show opened with the MC announcing that this was Gary’s Farewell Concert that he was drafted into the military. A collective moan filled the house from the sunken dance floor to the rafters...but then Gary walked onstage and the tone shifted immediately as shrill screams pierced the hall, the girls loved him and so did I …I was screaming too! Here at Daniel’s Den is the biggest star I’ve ever seen…bigger than Kenny Roberts, the Jumpin’ Cowboy…I’d seen Roberts before, he even had a local television show for kids and man that cat could yodel. But today it was all about Gary Lewis and no matter what he did, what he said, or what he sang, the girls were screaming their fool heads off. Lewis seemed to derive some kinda wicked pleasure knowing the power he had over these teeny boppers. He sauntered over to the guitar player and put his arm around him; they’d scream. He skipped over to the keyboard player and mugged for the camera; they’d scream. He screamed; they screamed.
ENOUGH OF THE SCREAMIN’ALREADY!!!

Lewis did all of his hits, Al Cooper’s This Diamond Ring, Count Me In, Sure Gonna Miss Her, Green Grass and they sounded, well...powerful (for the time)...it didn’t make any sense to me that Lewis’ lightweight pop hits had such a volcanic sound. The band was terrific and the sound was layered and full. The rhythm section was crisp and tight and the drummer was absolutely awesome. He was fast and his beat wasn’t just on time it snapped and cracked with authority, the only comparison I can think of is Johnny Barbata, in my book, one of the best rock drummers of the sixties. Barbata initially found fame with the Turtles, a great underrated and misunderstood hit machine and went on to further acclaim with Crosby, Stills, and Nash. The Playboys' guitarist was sonic perfection with just a hint of bluesy rebellion behind the note-by-rote pop confection and the bass guitarist played some runs I never thought were possible. This was more power pop than bubblegum, though I didn’t think of it that way at the time. I just had a funny feeling about the band...they were just too damn good. The show’s highlights included a rockin’ version of Everybody Loves A Clown as John West, the only original Playboy, played his ass off on the cordovox, that accordian lookin' instrument that was strapped on and amplified (he didn't have to squeeze it) and the arrangement of Save Your Heart For Me was simply beautiful. But the surprise of the evening was the aural perfection of Without A Word Of Warning, it was the most memorable performance of the show, though it wasn't a hit. The uptempo arrangement built was structured around a descending refrain - powered with great harmonies - that accented the band’s tight interplay and skillful command of the music. I left the show thinking that I witnessed something special. And it was special in many ways. It signaled Lewis’ last hurrah as a viable hit machine and it was the last time he played with such accomplished musicians. I didn’t know any of that at the time and it took me about 40 years to find out that Lewis’ drummer was none other than Jimmy Karstein, who went on to work with Eric Clapton, JJ Cale, Bobby “Blue” Bland, and the Everly Brothers; the magnificent Carl Radle of Derek & The Dominoes (and George Harrison and many, many others) fame played bass guitar; and the lead guitarist was the extraordinarily gifted Tom Tripplehorn. The Playboys were perhaps the first rock ‘n roll super group, especially when you consider Leon Russell’s musical contributions. In retrospect, this gem of a show was like feelin’ a sharp pain, lookin’ down at your stubbed toe and findin’ a crisp dollar bill stuck to the bottom of your foot - you just never know...

Peace,
Bo White
7/20/05

The Moody Blues Live @ Cobo Hall Detroit September 18, 1970

At this point in my life, I was still wet behind the ears, only 18 years old and still stumblin’ around the piss pot lookin’ for the handle. Little did I know at the time that the handle would be my holy grail and I would search for it many, many years. It became my lifelong quest. I didn’t really think much about lifelong quests, not really, but I was, for sure, seeking questions that might reveal universal and hidden truths. I was just enrolled at Michigan State University and felt very proud of myself. That deception proved to be short-lived, in fact, it didn’t last more than a few weeks when my academic counselor, on the basis of my SAT and GRE and Entrance Exam scores, dismissed me as an untalented misplaced youth who would probably flunk out before the end of the first semester. Such encouragement! And the dorm room hazing was particularly evil, seems that the upper classmen insisted on giving every fresh-faced freshman a swirly, forcing the student’s head down the bowl of a toilet and then flushing. A select few of the helplessly nerdy, or irritatingly cocky, or awkward freshmen were given a particularly sadistic version of the swirly that included either chocolate or lemonade or both. Yep, them creeps would force some young round-headed pin-dicked nerd down into the frothing human gruel. Higher education at work...right? Well, they tried to get me one day but I mustered all of my youthful resolve and sublimated rage and fought back, never did get a swirly, never was too popular. And I told them not to try it again or one of us might get hurt. I knew deep inside that I was bluffing. I wasn’t a fighter and I was more scared than confident. But a few years later, in the glow of my advanced standing as an upper classman and with the help of a little chemical enhancement, I caught myself doing the same thing to an underclassman that was done to me, until I stopped and wondered just who the hell I was and how on earth did I get there. It was a wakeup call that was never entirely heeded. I fight the impulse to this day. Anybody for a dip?

I’d been dating Joanne Miller, an incredible person, for the past three years. I was very lucky...she was only a year ahead of me in school but light years ahead of me in everything else like style, intellect, sense of humor, maturity...yada, yada, yada. Anyway, we enjoyed music together, mostly as a soundtrack to make-out sessions, and she never seemed to enjoy concerts as much as me, so I would take one of her brothers or one of her nursing friends, or my sister instead. The Moody Blues was one such concert. She wasn’t so captivated by their elusive avant garde lyrics and orchestral arrangements - but I was. I felt at the time, and still feel today, that the Moodies had something important to say in their modest zen-inspired poetry and their peaceful vibe. They spoke to a generation of kids who noticed the hypocrisy in our socio-cultural institutions and questioned the home-bred violence that was so cynically exported to countries around the planet. The Moody Blues were part of an upper echelon of sixties/seventies rockers that included the Beatles, The Who, The Stones, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Sly & the Family Stone, Crosby, Stills, and Nash and others who were able create words and music that so elegantly evoked our hopes and dreams and our worries. Well, at least for a few of us, the others just wanted to get stoned and laid. Hmm...well...maybe the groupings were more seamless than mutually exclusive, now where was I...oh...

So I’m taking my girlfriend’s brother Hugh to the concert and he’s a good guy, not quite a head but a stone mellow fellow with an intuitive mind. This is the first time I’d ever been to Cobo Hall and I found it immense. It was a sold out crowd and the traffic and especially the parking was murder on my nerves. But we survived it all and found our seats. I was stone sober and was, at the time, essentially a non-drinker and had tried marijuana only once or twice, so I was there for the thrill of the music. And what a night it proved to be.

Van Morrison opened the show with a rousing set with a funky horn-based band of righteous musicians that didn't flub a note or miss a beat. He said not a word to the audience and looked pissed or pissed-off the entire show. But ooh that music...the R&B of Domino, and Blue Money the folksy Irish vibe ofWarm Love and Caravan, and the soulfulIt Stoned Me and Crazy Love. It was a feast of lunatic perfection from one of the most enigmatic performers I’ve ever seen. He seemed not quite aloof, more irritated with an audience that was crowding his space and interrupting some kind of internal dialogue. At one point in the show, Van simply walked off the stage, the band still playing; the show is over, at least his part. The crowd didn’t seem to know what to do except to smatter some weak applause toward Van’s disappearing shadow. What he lacked in phony Vegas-like showmanship he made up for with great music.

The Moody Blues were, by this time, a revered first tier act, right up there with every great band of the era, just below the Beatles

With The release of Days of Future Passed, the Moody Blues advanced the orchestral trippy vibe of Sgt. Peppers and the album became an instant classic. Their record company was surprised and delighted by the feverish success of “Days” but was unwilling to finance a full orchestral sessions. The solution came from keyboardist Mike Pinder who worked at a factory that produced an organ-like device called a mellotron, that used tape heads, activated by the touch of keys, and tape loops comprised of sounds of horns and strings, the mellotron generated an edgy and dramatic orchestra-like sound. It was all the rage after the Beatles used one on Strawberry Fields and I Am the Walrus. But the mellotron was a sensitive instrument that wasn’t easy to tune or keep in tune and it seemed to be a stroke of luck that Pinder not only knew how to play the damn thing but he also knew how to fix it…a little duct tape here and a screwdriver and hammer there and Pinder could modify, re-engineer, and customize the mellotron to fit his particular specifications. The resulting instruments were nicknamed "Pindertrons". That said, the mellotron was featured prominently on the next several albums including, in my estimation, the Moody Blues’ greatest work, the 1970 masterpiece

On The Threshold Of A Dream. But I wasn’t thinking about any of that at showtime, I was at the edge of my seat just waiting for that magical moment...the lights went out and crowd erupted as the flashlights guided the Moody Blues onto the stage.


Gypsy, the hard rockin’ guitar-driven highlight from To Our Children’s Children, opened the show. The band was LOUD, much louder than their softer orchestral sound on record. And the mellotron was an eerie presence in each and every song, sometimes as a nuanced backdrop other times a thunderous lead. Pinder could make that mellotron moan and sing and swirl and growl into a stormy crescendo. It was the most unusual sound I’ve ever heard, even to this day. Singer guitarist, Justin Hayward appeared as delicate as his voice. He was pencil thin with long blond hair. He said something about a sore throat and his voice seemed a bit thin. But he was able to muster enough resolve to sing his ass off on hits such as Nights in White Satin, Tuesday Afternoon, and their latest hit Question. Each singer had an unusual voice. Pinder seemed to intone through Have You Heard, giving it an appropriate zenist edge and his Melancholy Man was …well, pretty melancholy. And Ray Thomas thin conversational singing on the psychedelic masterpiece Legend of a Mind gave it an ironic edge. Bassist John Lodge didn’t sing lead on any songs but his high falsetto harmonies gave a lift to Nights in White Satin, Ride My See Saw - a great hard rockin’ gem in concert - and on the moody and magnificent Never Comes the Day - a song of wondrous beauty that has a quiet-loud verse/chorus structure that is simply breathtaking. The Moodies unison singing on Ride My See Saw and Never Comes the Day, along with Pinder’s glorious mellotron gave their sound a powerful edge. This band could rock. And though it seemed that Thomas was the only one that moved around the stage with any energy, the Moody Blues maintained a visual and sonic presence that was compelling… Hayward’s delicate poetry, Pinder’s deep mysticism, and Thomas’ psychedelic whimsy. I left the concert awestruck and quiet and when I returned to Saginaw I told my girlfriend it was the best concert I’d ever seen, to which she replied, "You say that about every concert". And you know, she was right...

Bo White
7/9/05

The 1910 Fruitgum Company Live @ Mount Holly August 1969

Now a lot’s been said about bubblegum music, its merits as well as its limitations. What can you really say about a genre that aims for the sub-teen market and yet appeals to teens as well as adults? Frank Patrick, the most visible owner of the infamous Daniel’s Den satellite of six or so teen clubs (originating in Saginaw), knew something was up with this new act, 1910 Fruitgum Company. Not that he liked bubblegum music or rock music, or any music for that matter. And maybe he wasn’t aware of the distinctions. But he was aware of what was hot in the market, as the former manager of Gettel Motor Sales and E.F Wieneke Ford, Patrick knew a thing or two about business and he was savvy 'bout getting the scoop on upcoming bands through talent agencies such as Ron Sunshine and industry subscription services that would rate new records. Well, Patrick took a chance on this new band and booked them for a one-off performance in 1968. Thing is Patrick booked ‘em when their 1st single, Simon Says, was climbing the charts and by the time 1910 was slated to play Daniel’s Den, Simon Says was a bonafide #1 Nationwide Smash Hit and the manager for the 1910 Fruitgum Company wanted to re-open the contract. Seems, Patrick agreed to pay them $1200 but now they wanted the going rate for a band with a #1-with-a-bullet-hit record, about $3500-$5000. No way. Frank Patrick was known for his iron-clad contracts (even sued Dick Wagner & The Frost for breach of contract, once upon a time), so the 1910 fellas had to buck up and play for peanuts. But I’m not reviewing that show, didn’t see it and didn’t care to see it at the time. But this Mt. Holly show was a different matter altogether ‘cos I had seen the Fruitgum Company at a Buddha Records showcase at the 1st Congregational Church just a few months before. The Reverend Gary Miller was the youth pastor and a regular customer at White’s Bar. He later went on to some kinda fame as one of the founding members of the New Reformation Jazz Band. Anyway, the show featured all them great Buddha Records acts including the Ohio Express, the Shadows of Knight, Question Mark (sans the Mysterians), and Jamie Lyons and the Music Explosion.

But the headliner, and the best of the lot, was the 1910 Fruitgum Company, led by lead vocalist and rhythm guitarist Mark “G” Gutkowski. In previous photos, and on television performances, he was the one with the policeman’s helmet playin’ the organ. But now he’s playing guitar and singin’ all them great bubblegum masterpieces in that oddly compelling boyish voice, such as the wonderfully salacious1,2,3 Red Light, Goody Goody Gumdrops, May I Take A Giant Step, and Indian Giver.

It was bubblegum at its juiciest!


But 8 months later, the Fruitgum Company was in a different bag, heavy jam rock complete with a horn section. Still, Mark “G” and his brother continued to write some fairly limber pop songs despite the decided format change. They recorded one last album, which I purchased before the show…


Hard Ride. On the cover is what looks like a motorcycle gang, all hairy, dirty and smelly and tattooed, and for all general appearances and purposes, look as if they are ready and able to rape, pillage and plunder at the drop of a hat...er... ah...helmet. Hmm, change of image…ARRRR, right ya arrrr, me mates. So I’m off to Mt. Holly with my buddy Bill Gerrish and a few others who could really give a shit one way another, at least maybe they’d meet some girls...don’t hold your breath. But me...I was there for the Fruitgum Company. Loved ‘em. They could sing and play better than a whole lotta bands I’ve seen and they wore the bubblegum crown like a tongue pressed firmly in their cheek until its all bulge-in’ out and noticeable. Nah...I didn’t care about anything else, not even the girl with the long dark hair, all tangled and sexy, she’s wearin’ a haulter top, revealing her firm supple gifts, and her jeans are skin-tight and she has a fine upright and uptight cantilevered ass. So...ok, I tried to talk to her but she wasn’t havin’ any, seems she was there to see the opening act

Turns out to be Grand Funk Railroad.
But I had never heard of 'em.
Had she mentioned the Pack or Terry Knight & the Pack, I woulda had more of an inkling. But NO, she doesn’t breathe a word about that. So I start to listen, the music is all dark and morbid, a bit cumbersome like Roy Wood on downers doin’ that Wizzard thing. I recognize a few songs such as Season of the Witch, sure don’t sound like Donovan, Land of 1000 Dances, give me Hannibal & the Headhunters any time before this lugubrious piece of crap. And their version of Midnight Hour was such a monolith of sound and noise and so devoid of any soul as to be almost unrecognizable - now that I liked. She loved Grand Funk and I was startin’ to love them...but I walked away...had to - better things to do. After all, 1910 was due on the main stage in just a few minutes. I wanted to get up real close and personal. See ya

Finally! 1910 Fruitgum Company climbs the stage and Mark “G” is front and center, only his hair is short-cropped and curly and he’s wearing tinted glasses and he’s playin’ bass guitar. He’s still the leader and takes charge of the mic, introducing the songs and the players (including Richie Gomez, formerly of the Soul Survivors - remember Expressway To Your Heart ?), but he's changed, low-key and not as spontaneous. "What's up". They start out with The Train, their last semi-hit from the Hard Ride album. It’s not so much bubblegum anymore, but a kinda funky white-boy soul music. Mark’s voice is in fine form and the band is tight. The horn section provides some punch to the arrangements of the bubblegum hits such as Indian Giver and Special Delivery. And Gutkowski’s Don’t Have To Run And Hide is a rockin’ gem, perhaps their most realized composition for the Fruitgum Company as a working, touring and recording outfit. The band stretches out with a coupla jams from their latest album Togetherly Alone, and Beggars Epitaph but they also mix in covers, like a wicked version of the Beatles’ Ob-La-Di, Ob-la-Da (Molly now does IT with the band) with Gutkowski’s original songs such as The Thing and Creations of Simon.

I left the show feeling somewhat vindicated, none of my friends would dare to express any kind of appreciation for “bubblegum” music, wasn’t cool. But they did – rather begrudgingly - admit that the Fruitgum Company was ok. And they were...

Bo White
July 4th, 2005

THE KINKS LIVE AT THE EASTTOWN THEATER DECEMBER 1970

Ah...yes, mid-December 1970, I remember it just like yesterday, although yesterday is not always clear...hmmm. I was just a young laddie-buck of nineteen, fresh from my first semester at Michigan State University. My brother Bill was thinking about transferring from Central Michigan soz we could be roommates and hunker in against a mindless academia that seemed so unlike the free thinking, sexually revolutionalized versions of college life we had heard so much about from friends and the ever-reactionary media. I didn't do so well on my SAT's nor my entrance exam. I was assigned an academic advisor who told me I'd never "make it", that such low scores suggested I wouldn't pass the mustard. He predicted, amongst other things, that I wouldn't make it through my first year of college and that I would have to go back to my hometown and find a more appropriate job in the "unskilled sector". And he went on to say that racial quotas had destroyed the integrity of higher education by allowing unqualified non-whites to lower academic expectations, and that universities all across the country were "dunbing down" just to accomodate the onslaught of minority enrollment. I thought, "My God, I just might have a chance! And though I feared my advisor, I went back to him each term, as required, to suffer the outrageous fortune of one too young and naive to tell an elder to "fuck off". Instead, I transformed my fear into something just this side of outright plucky hostility, I made fun of him. I would assume a different dialect each time we would meet, about every 16 weeks. Sometimes I spoke in deep-south cowboy, other times I did a cheeky "Nu Yahk" accent, but my coup 'd grace was when I mimmicked his voice...his haughty cadence, that deep, heavy inflection and his oh-so-mock-serious tonality that seemed to say, "You are a worthless fleck of paw dung". But he never seemed to notice.

But that was the last thing on my mind when my brother arrived at The MSU campus on a cold and snowy mid-December night. I had talked him about the show and that this "oldies" band The Kinks had just released an album that was real cool.

Lola VS The Powerman. We had some time so I played him several tracks: "Top Of The Pops" with that familiar chunk-chunk-chunk Louie Louie riff that Ray Davies lifted for You Really Got Me and All Day & the Night;Davie Davie's beautiful tome of Walden/socialist reflection, Strangers and, of course, the exquisite Lola with those elusive lyrics and incredible falsetto harmonies. I also played this rare promo album I had just snagged, Then Now & Inbetween , that contained full songs as well as snippets of unheard of Kinky treasures culled from unheard Kink albums, such as:

Something Else by the Kinks, 1967


The Village Green Preservation Society, 1968



Arthur…or the Decline and Fall Of The British Empire, 1969

This body of music reveals Ray Davies’ quirky British sensibilities and his keen observational narrative-based anthems about social class and pastoral longing. Arthur shifted Davies’ focus to the horrors of WWII yet managed to convey a sentimental and loving look as his semi-autobiographical family struggled with the devastating affects of war. All in all, these wondrous Kinks albums (roundly ignored in America) revealed Ray Davies to be one phenomenal cat indeed. So by the time Bill and I set off for the Easttown Theater, we had a glimpse of the true genius of Ray Davies and the Kinks. Those “lost” songs from the late 60’s sure were different from the way I remembered the Kinks. I loved all the early rockers and I absolutely re-grooved the vinyl of the Kinks Greatest Hits on my Gerard modular phonograph. But we were not ready for, nor could we have ever imagined, what lay in store for us that fateful frigid night.

The Easttown is located on the corner of Harper and Van Dyke in a run down, seedy part of town, the end result of urban renewal. All kinda folks, hung out on the street corners and around the block, I thought to myself, “I don’t think they are Kinks fans”. Well, Bill parked the car across the street, it was dark and the street was only dimly lit, giving off a vaguely menacing vibe. The only illumination came from a silvery winter moon and the marquee that announced The Kinks and Rita Coolidge. We were more than excited for visions of the Kinks evoked visions of all those great British Invasion groups, the Beatles, Stones, Who and Dave Clark 5…Dave Clark 5?
…HELL YEAH, THE DAVE CLARK 5!!!!

So, we get into line and slowly make our way into this old dilapidated movie theater cum rock palace. Before we can enter, security frisks us; we gotta open our coats and take off our hats and scarves. I wondered why and once we were seated I asked a fellow Kink-fanatic. Seems they are lookin’ for weapons since a rash of violence caught the attention of the local polezi. What they didn’t look for was drugs, ‘cos there was all sorta gettin’ high and buzzin’ goin’ on around me. I didn’t do too many drugs at the time so I just took deep breaths, sucked in the fumes and held ‘em-in for about 15 seconds or so...didn’t work. Damn. Or maybe it did. I started wanderin’ around the theater, sucking in all the excitement and anticipation like a Hoover in cat lady’s house when I start to notice something funny, all these big big women, lotsa makeup and deep voices and stubble on their chin...My God - TRANSVESTITES. I’d never seen a transvestite before, so I start talking with one. She thinks I’m sweet and innocent and when I ask why there are so many men dressed like women at the show, she laughs her ass off and walks away. I get plenty of looks and a few comments from the crowd as I stumble back to my chair. I may be 18 but with my hairless baby face, I look more like 12, an easy mark.

Rita Coolidge opens the show and she looks like the most beautiful, sexy woman I’ve ever scene, with that dark ethnic look and long, jet black hair. She possessed an earthy soulful voice and her band played it tough and tight. I thought she was a rockin’ blues goddess. And this was several years before she had any hits. She earned her dues.

But what I really wanted was the Kinks

Tension mounted as we waited, and waited, and waited some more. Seemed like an eternity but it was probably no more than 45 minutes between sets. When suddenly the recorded music stopped, the lights went out and a disembodied voice announced, “Mick Avory on drums”. And ol Mick comes running out on stage , gets behind his kit and starts to lay down the beat; “John Dalton on bass”; “Dave Davies on guitar”; “And Ray Davies on vocals and guitar”; each member, in turn, picks up his guitar and begins to play. It seemed a bit corny like something we’ve seen on Shindig or Hullabaloo. But corny has its charm and this whole shtick segued neatly into Top of the Pops. It’s a great rockin’ number with a tough Louie Louie riff and some bitter lyrics aimed straight at the recording industry...a fully realized performance and a return a heavy guitar style. It was a good start, but the band started to lose direction with a misguided rock ‘n roll medley with Dave screeching off-key through much of the discordant racket, in fact, this may have been the sloppiest, most under-rehearsed performance I’ve ever seen. And their performance of their big hit, Lola was astonishingly repugnant, an embarrassment of epic proportions. I’ve never before or since witnessed a band so hell bent on destroying its reputation through a perfectly dreadful performance.

Neither Ray nor Dave could stay on key and the band limped-on at break-neck speed, as each instrument seemed to struggle with tempo and tonality, to finish this farce. Ray smiled weakly and said he had some grass and then pulled out some weeds he yanked from out back of the Easttown. The crowd groaned; I was mesmerized.

Davies’ understated British charm gradually won me over. He performed Harry Rag with all the good humor of a cockney master and the song itself with its marching band beat and rhyming slang (for cigarettes) was unlike anything I’ve ever heard before…
Tom was young and Tom was bold
Tom was as bold as the knights of old
But whenever he’d get in a bit of a jam
There’s nothing he won’t do to get a Harry Rag

Tom’s old ma was a dying lass
Soon they all reckon she’ll be pushing up the grass
And her bones might take and her skin might sag
But still she’s got the strength for a Harry Rag

Ah yes, Davies was a humble self-deprecating genius. Before jumping into the next song, Davies said, “Now we’re gonna embarrass some old friends”. The band lovingly presented Dedicated Follower of Fashion, You’re Looking Fine, Dandy and Sunny Afternoon. Newer songs included a choppy Arthur and a rockin’ Brainwashed. Dave performed an acoustic version of Strangers that was absolutely stunning. This cat can really sing when he tries. But before he launched into the song Dave started to piss and moan, “I don’t wanna play a fuckin’ acoustic”. Ray gave him a stern look... sibling rivalry. I was intrigued; after all, I have a brother-thing goin’ too. They did a powerful version of Ray’s anti-religion ode to spirituality, Big Sky, another stone masterpiece; the poignant anti-union hymn Get Back In the Line; and the Train Kept a Rollin’ rip off, Last of the Steam Powered Trains
Before the night was over they did a great version of Louie Louie (with the original “clean” lyrics) – Ray prefaced the song by saying it was the greatest rock ‘n roll song ever written! – and perfunctory versions of Till the End of the Day and You Really Got Me.

Bill and I walked out to his car quietly. Neither one of us could quite find the words to describe our reactions. The show was so terrible in so many ways, even offensive, in the Kinks total disregard for quality and effort. Was it simply a matter of poor musicianship? But my gut told me there is something more to a musical performance than virtuosity, something like soul or thoughtfulness and humor. The Kinks had all that and more. Davies had a knack good natured satire and self-effacing humility and just a touch of vulnerability

Ray Davies genius is in his ability to transform human foibles into something kinder. He can look unflinchingly at the other side of life and find something pure and substantive. But this was only temporary as Ray Davies’ most creative impulses became co-opted by the “Americanization” of the Kinks just a few years later. And Davies’ humble genius, the spark that created such masterpieces as Days, Waterloo Sunset and The Village Green Preservation Society, now produced such hook laden arena rock as Low Budget and Superman. By 1980, The Kinks sure sounded better or more professional, but I can’t quite explain it, the "why" is so elusive, how the bigger sound seemed so empty. But way back in December of 1970 I soaked in all their boozy, unpretentious good humor, and I’ll never forget it.

Bo White

The Who Live @ The Grugahalle, Essen Germany 1972

Never imagined that I would fly off to Germany with my parents and little sister in tow. I had already been emncipated (somewhat) by two years at Michigan State University, where I studied hard, grew my hair out and dumped the double-knits and white walls, smoked a little dope, dropped a little acid, and got turned on to plenty of great music from Les McCann to John Hammond and the early Eagles. I witnessed the ascendance of the Who from wimp R&B wannabees to full fledged rockers with a unique vision and powerful original music.

And when I won a copy of Who's Next from WSAM in 1971, I was hooked..."won't be fooled again", you bet. It was an anthem that spoke to an entire generation, mainstream kids as well as counter culture types. I felt like I was either inbetween or altogether outside of either group - still feel that way, just never fit neatly with anyone. But that didn't stop me from diggin' the music. I did chance upon the Who in Detroit in '71...and I was outta my mind lovin' it. It was an astonshing show that was at once artistically satisfying and carefully staged. But that's another story. My brother was attending Central Michigan University on a football scholarship. Let me tell ya, he was an excellent football player. Strong and fast. It is a little known fact that Bill was the fastest runner (in the 100 yard dash) on the 1968 AHHS Varsity football team. I know 'cos I was also on that team and I saw him beat everybody, including me. Bill was a fullback and linebacker. I was a halfback and nose guard on defense. We were both injured during the Homecoming game that year - Bill's knee got torn up and I suffered a concussion. The injuries were not deemed severe yet they served to limit both our careers to high school. Alas, Bill's knees would not hold up to the demands of college sports, so he cashed in his scholarship and looked for another way. Me too. But in 1972, both of us were having "girlfriend problems" and were soon to end long term relationships...forever.

It wasn't long after Bill enlisted in the Army that he and his gal broke up. I was there at the time, he proposed, she said "no". Bill was shocked. I was devastated, never thought it would happen...never. So I left for Germany under this cloud of uncertainty and I sensed that things would never be the same again.

My father was ecstatic about the trip. White's Bar was in it's last heyday - it would end in the early eighties as Reagan and fundamentalism and the neo-prohibitionists took over and the country became increasingly intolerant and insular - a mean hyper-masculine spirit wiped out our gains in civil liberties and the promise of sixties was lost in the shuffle. Anyway, in '72 White's was was doing quite well. Dad paved the old gravel parking lot and got an outdoor service permit, one of the first in the city of Saginaw. He was active in the Masons and with the Shriners and he had made some profitable business connections through these semi-ancient fraternal organizations. He had plenty of friends and it was a time when you could open your doors and people would come in. No happy hours. No false images. We are what we is, nothing more - nothing less. Customers were loyal except if you raised prices, even nickel...even a penny. But Dad could do all that and more (many quiet charitable contributions) and afford to take his family to Germany. TIMES WAS GOOD...wish I could say the same in 2005. We flew out to New York and spent the day in touristy pursuits - oogling the Statue of Liberty and diggin' the Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall or visa versa. We had a big dinner at an Italian restaurant that ended badly when the waiter screamed at my father for not tipping enough. I was taken by surprised by the waiter's outburst and was equally surprised when my Dad camly apologised and gave him a wad of money. Hmmm, I think I learned something valuable that day.

We flew into Frankfurt where Bill met us and helped dad get a rental car. We drove back to his base in Fulda and made plans for the next seven days. We attended the '72 Olympics the day before terrorists besieged the Olympic village in Munich and took an Israeli team hostage, followed by a deadly Israeli response. We saw a perfunctory performance by the USA basketball team as they beat the almost talent-less Australians. We toured the ancient walled-in city of Rothenberg, and doncha know I just had to climb the wall. My parents insisted that we take the Rhine River Cruise and the somewhat muted experience was lifted by a group of young Englishmen on holiday who loved the Kinks...well, I love the Kinks, so we had a nice chat, indeed! I bought a shit-load of German albums in Frankfurt, Fulda, and Munich on base and off base as well. Don't have one of 'em anymore but they were sure unique and cool at the time, especially the Golden Hour of Rory Gallagher, a great Irish bluesman my brother told me about. I particularly loved Messin' with the Kid and Better Get Used To Being (My Used to Be). We even saw Kubrick's iconoclastic movie A Clockwork Orange in Frankfurt. It recieved an angry response from the mostly German audience. The hostility level was so high that I feared something might happen...we just shuffled out wordlessly and distanced ourselves from the mob. This was all cool, all part of an overall experience, but the coup 'd etat was when my brother got us tickets to see the Who. I couldn't contain my excitement, now this was gonna be fun, not like all the stodgy tourist crap...Rhine River ripoff, overblown Olympic hyperbole, and that crumbly walled-in city, no, this was gonna be cool, real cool

The Grugahalle seemed more like a gymnasium with standing room only on the main floor, surrounded above by bleacher seating. We got there early and positioned ourselves close to the stage. PERFECT. The opening act was the pre-Radar Love Golden Earring, an excellent hard rockin' Dutch band led by the soulful Lennonseque vocalist, Barry Hay and completed by a tight rhythm section and some dandy harmonies by the inventive and energetic lead guitarist, George Kooymans. I loved one of their originals, I'm Gonna Send My Pigeons To The Sky - good harmonies and a driving beat reminiscent of the Honeycombs' Have I the Right. Great start. But I wanted the Who and it seemed to take forever for the stage crew to take off and load on, plug-in and test levels. But I didn't care, I was so close to the stage I could almost touch it, that is, until about 15 minutes before the Who took the stage when a group of young Bavarian toughs pushed their way to the front, slapped me and pushed me aside and began to jostle my sister. Well...Bill and I didn't like that at all, but being as though we are outnumbered, and since we are - essentially - righteous, if not cowardly, men, we decided NOT to protect our OR our sisters' honor and to take it on the chin without complaint...or even a whisper. So we grabbed Sandy, and made our way up to the bleachers, stage left. We drew a sigh of relief. We were out of the maelstrom of idiot, random violence - and our seats weren't half bad...

The Who opened up with muscled-up and energetic romp through I Can't Explain, a great opener and despite it's ancient lineage, dating way back to 1965, this updated version had all the energy and excitement of the original. The Who's heavy metal version of Eddie Cochran's Summertime Blues was punked-up, aggressive and loud.

The crowd went wild and the pandemonium seemed to mirror the Who's well-known stage aggression. A handful of songs from their stone masterpiece Who's Next followed in rapid succession. My Wife, though a little rough and choppy in spots, was nonetheless compelling as Entwistle's incredible bass-as-lead-guitar riffing had the audience throbbing and pulsating along. Baba O'Riley was simply breathtaking and it's beauty seemed to mesmerize the audience and it partnered nicely with the lovely and poignant Behind Blue Eyes

Daltrey was in great voice, his range was spot on and he sang with power and conviction. Hell...he just plain out sang his ass off, not in the wimpy, limp wristed I'm A Boy voice but in his newfound hypermasculine manly-man voice that sounds like he's skiddin' across a parking lot covered in gravel. But it was about at this point something seemed to go wrong, trouble was brewing. At the time, I thought someone had broken a bottle or that maybe those young turks who jostled us earlier were up to their old tricks. Anyway, Pete Townshend started pointing and stalking the stage, looking agitated, suddenly he rushes up to the microphone and says,
"I saw what ya dun, you fookin' baah-stards!"
And he throws down his guitar and jumps into the crowd and begins punchin' up and down on this seemingly hapless troublemaker. Security leads him and a few others away and Townshend gets back up onstage and proceeds to LECTURE the audience on some kinda Townshend version of "Rock 'n Roll Etiquette 101". Well we all looked at one another nodded and then voiced our approval with a standing ovation of cheers and clapping....well, the show must go on, musn't it?

Townshend didn't miss a beat. And Daltrey kept movin as if in perpetual motion, running in place and twirling that mic, up to the rafters. Bargain was followed by Won't Get Fooled Again. The crowd was catapulted into near hysteria by the parallel power of the music and it's message.
And the Who?
Well, they never let up or disappointed the audience, not once. Magic Bus, Relay, and Pinball Wizard set the stage for the majestic, See Me, Feel Me, another highlight in a show filled with highlights. My Generation and Naked Eye were well done but the closer Long Live Rock shook the rafters and left us feeling exhilarated, perfectly consumated and complete.

I walked out of the Grugahalle, silent, almost exhausted. It was a mixture of pleasure and foreboding that filled my thoughts. I didn't say much to my brother and sister as we walked back to our Guesthouse but I wondered about the stupid violence of the youthful Germans. It's origins and what it meant. My brother told me that American GI's were not always welcome in certain "forbotten" areas of the cities and countryside, the areas controlled, and watched over, by loyalist Germans who considered thge American presence to be part of an occupation force that continued to limit them and remind them of THEIR lost promise...and their shame. I didn't know it at the time, and I would never have predicted that the disaffection and despair of those German kids would be mirrored in the faces of our own children. And that freedoms that I took for granted in 1972, would one day be eroded.

And after the concert, when returned to our hotel, I had a fitful night. I tossed and turned, rolled over and got up a few times. I barely remember it, but I had a dream that night. And in that dream I saw Alec from A Clockwork Orange and I was overwhelmed by a strange panic and though I was afraid, I looked deep into his eyes, and he gave that wicked cockney smile of his, as if to say "gotcha" - and then a peculiar thing happened, his eyes seemed to grow bigger and bigger until they merged and I drifted inside its total nothingness like an asteroid sucked into a black hole. Suddenly I saw myself, only I was Alec, and then I knew...we... we were... the same.

I awoke the next day and met my family downstairs for breakfast. I drank a glass of black curant nectar and ate a slice of bauernbrot and coupla spiced sausages. I felt refreshed and took a long walk around the neighborhood, breathing-in the reaasurring apple scent of the yellow Chamomile flowers. Later that morning we made plans to return to Frankfort. I was looking forward to that...

Peace
Bo White
June 24th, 2005