Good thing Ronnie Van Zant rushed producer Al Kooper in his Bentley to flee/lose a few blocks- this tick tock, Mama’s look into life bluesy rock … didn’t end in plea to (sea) cruise a dock. RVZ just tore out his soul putting out Mater’s guiding, long-as-I-can-see-the-light. No little American pimpled ‘shaver can do better … than be … this simple saver of time … a man.
Pre-video note- GO GO GO to see Howling Diablos tonight- “Quake on the Lake” at Pontiac Lake- www.quakeonthelake.org (too late- it’s over!)
OK, here’s your Motown marching orders- get down to this so joyous, jazzy, jambalaya-spicy, rock ‘n’ roll feisty jam down in the D, at the venerable (& oft rock and roll-rampaged) St. Andrews, hard by Greektown.
DO NOT- SIT like a LOSER at your PC or stare at your I-phone, getting assaulted by this crazed group of Funky D juke joint jammin’ bunch of musical masters- aided and abetted by a buncha hip hop breakin, delirious dancin’ disciples- doing their thang down on Congress, at St. A.
DO- GET DOWN & SHAKE a TAIL FEATHER, Brothers and Sisters!
The only true “Funky Daddy” in The D, Tino Gross and his unrelentlessly, blues rockin’, sweatin’, fall down funkifying Howling Diablos are Detroit musical legends– yeah, that’s right I said it. Anyone with a rock ‘n’ roll brain outside of their big behind knows it around these parts. Don’t like it- then get outta the “D” musical monster mash up, for good- ya loser.
Sixties-soulled, rock ‘n’ rolled & approx. that age- but baited for that big beat bear at all times- tirelessly music-makin’, managin’, producin’, masterin’, layin’ it all down back home again … and pickin’ it up once more, Tino has shepherded the all-star(s) HDs for a couple decades, in and around the D.
Listen, don’t wanna do whole life of musical crawling up, learning, earning, discerning days- no space and HD web site does that. Suffice to say he’s played with all in the D of naturally-nuanced note.
He and HDs have Detroit Music Awards, and Tino on Funky D records helps guide artists to the limber, loping, rail-rocking train on way to playing on that reelin’, rock ‘n’ roll station- on and on and on- everything you’d expect from such a veteran, well-versed, respected fella.
Cribbed from his web site- yes, everybody seems to know Tino, and he knows everybody- and I will humbly add- everybody loves the guy because he’s all real in the D, and everywhere to all- no rock ‘n’ roll ego AT ALL.
And aspiring music makers- that is exactly WHY Tino just plain makes such great music- drop dead honest- he gets in the trenches, and never is above the fray- it’s just his natural way.
(Side pair ‘o ‘graphs)- thus not surprised, besides HDs like searing sax man Johnny Evans, big booming bassist Mo Hollis and grinding, note gashing guitarist Erik Gustafson– Tino also enlisted in the HD mission plan, the man (legend in all our minds), “Devil in a Blue Dress” with Mitch Ryder and Rockets propulsion-pumping drummer- the in-time, trapper of time, Johnny (Bee) Badanjek.
So at mid 1980s Graham Parker St. A. Hall gig, I met two rockers- J. Bee in leather and bandana (as today), a salt of the earth, gentleman to babbling, 20-something fan. And one security slappy-shaded, over-salted ass, B.S. in blue suede coat- yes, that “Rock ‘n’ Roll Never (but he did- where he came from) Forgets” rock superstar. Full then o’ BS in my book. B.S. used side bar entrance for quick drinks- but not to be bugged with brief, “I love your music”- from a guy with first albums, “Night Moves”, and “Live Bullet”.
OK, back to T.– he don’t need name drops- just sayin’ T. did road time with “The Hook” (ol’ John Lee)- and one “be-Geiling” J.(aunty), D-adored singing superstar, bluesologist is a very tight, old funky friend and musical mate. And no one in Mich. needs reminder about up-and-coming Robert Ritchie (Kid R.) gettin’ tight with the HDs (see video)– so the boys could get their rocks off. That “let’s hip hop this funky rock into rapture” robust revelation- back in ’90s at Berkley’s Bear’s Den.
Latest album “Ultra Sonic Gas Can,” “the most Detroit record we’ve ever done” … in Tino’s wise, world sure words … is da D(etroit) bomb y’all- better believe it, buy it, try it and fly it- let it explode in your ears and send flares up your bust-a-move booty. I can wax on and on about the wild trax on wax they laid down- but screw it, you NEED to own it- and DON’T loan it.
You just try to keep up with the breakneck pacin’
Tino and the Howling Diablos–
If you found my “Fog Song” video verbiage too much, you better check out now, weak one- my very new friend, and music idol, Ian “The (NOT) Terrible” is only going to get lionized stronger and stronger in my pen and heart- held in and spoken loud … from here on out.
This early 30ish musical mountain of a man, raised in the calm hamlet of Lake Orion, MI … has unleashed a brutal, unrelentingly and deeply honest aural assault on us all. Am not going to detail what I’ve learned anew about his physical and personal torments, except to say life hasn’t dealt him a tough hand- it’s taken his personal deck of cards and shredded them to ribbons … dreams, hopes, plans, pursuit of happiness unimpeded by happenstance- all that and more.
OK, let me relax for a sec- bottom line is he ain’t going away, retreating, walling himself off from life- I would tell him that at my own very real peril. He’s doing what he knows- putting his life, both external events and internal repents- in both unreal and real, heartfelt words … out there on this record- for all of our benefit … and I really pray for gain of his heart, soul and brain.
So let’s talk about some songs (about time, right?). Crushingly, driving into the record- the doomed, gloom phrased, “I got the Detroit blues” based (so appropo now), “Death Rattle Blues (From the Cass Corridor)”.
That death chain rattling, echoing, car cruising beat … aimed direct into the specter of a city and finding all the downtown downers- all told in Ian’s hollow, hungriest heart, shell of a voice.
“The bar was filled with demons and ghouls, and all other manner of frights. A foxy little witch hopped off her bar stool, and she locked me clear into her sights. She said, ‘Hey hon, you got a dollar? I need to go to the liquor store … and drown the death rattle blues (from the Cass Corridor)”.
You go buy the CD and hear the song itself in its entirety to get the rest of this corrupted, twisted late night of the urban soul lament- grow a couple, will ya.
Continuing the lost soul out on the road trip … here comes “Burning Highway” in all its Johnny Cash, “I Walk the Line”, rickety beat glory- what a tour de force of tragicomic scenes out on that hot, scorching (or even snow-squalled) pavement.
Deal with this, y’all- “There’s a truck broken down in the middle of the road … there’s a man with cracked leather skin walking through the sleet and snow … forest noises follow me, man, everywhere I go … riding down a dusty trail, Detroit to Tupelo”.
And then, “Dead Eyes of the Storm” … perhaps this record’s darkest, very wide-ranging, soul deep sucking out the insides of one’s lessons to survival- some how … some way- but some even then … will fall back to begin again.
After its gentle guitar and violin opening, this mild musical motif yields to Ian painfully expelling out thoughts like- “Seems we’re floating in the ether, of some secret realm … ghostly voices in the AM static … there’s a madman at the helm. Everyone is so quick to anger, when the thoughts and ideals clash … but now we’ve reached that stage of the opera, where the phantom rips off his mask”.
Finally, in all this chaos, Ian looks out for relief, and then must go back within- all of us- “I sent out a text a while ago, I’ve yet to get an answer … psyche flooded with the quakes and visions of some collective, unconscious cancer … in the Dead “Eyeeesss” of the Storm … you see where we’ve been born.”
Few more, veered off-road compositions- “Red Elk, “Hydras”, “Halloween Town” et al … so all eat- em’ up now. Not a dud or sad sack or clunker on this record- no way, no how, no low or banal bow.
Ignore this man and his monumental, wildly wounded and wounding music at your own peril, but I doubt anyone with a healing head, bleeding heart, seething soul … can even try to delude themselves into it.
Find this musically and physically massive, not passive … force of nature at- https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1413200860&fref=ts
(Late add- http://www.chipwilson.net … get with it, y’all)
So after a 1984 World Fair summer trip to NOLA, didn’t get down to that water-bedeviled oasis of such sensually-soaked sounds until April 2007. Actually came down Easter Sunday to find something I guess I’d lost over the years … to resurrect my love affair with moving music- the aural, the lyrical, the internal … and yes, the spiritual.
After a couple joyous nights hearing some youthful players re-inventing great trad. jazz up at Donna’s on Rampart (sadly now gone), or at The Spotted Cat down on Frenchmen St. … I luckily stumbled upon my first real NOLA friend … singer/songwriter/gypsy jazzin’, note ‘nnihilating, solo singeing guitarist Holden “Chip” Wilson.
At the long gone 300 Club in the French Quarter on Decatur, as the rowdy piano-pounder ended about 10, I asked the bartender Nathan where to walk in the FQ for more music … he pointed to Chip, on break from The Kerry Irish Pub across the street. After hearing the common mannish (not boy) CW … umm … “damply dispose” a poor guitar pupil in off-color terms … I knew I would follow him back to The Kerry.
Couldn’t have known that beyond the Motown covers he’s mastered in his own slippery slide guitar, raspy soulful manner … Chip would bring out this colorful canon of his story songs. First, he easily plays it all- Van the Man to Stevie Wonder(ful) to Dylan to NOLA jazz folkin’ standards to those classic (WON’T say “old”) Delta country blues to Americana Civil War era standards … on and on … a list honestly longer than one’s lifetime of lies.
But as the night wore on, hearing him bring out his triumphant “Gloryland” (see video posted) or the quietly reflective “Mostly Blue” … I knew then this was a musician’s musician … a songwriter’s songwriter. No FQ tourist trash troubadour- Chip is undoubtedly in the elite of his craft. This longtime luthier, Connecticut-born and NOLA citizen now for about 20 years … is home where he belongs, in this fabled locale of musical mysteries, narrated nightly. For good measure, he’s also for years played Umbria Jazz Fest in Italy- so he’s an honorary paisan. And other sundry spots with great taste.
Of course, now have seen Chip in Louisiana every April, during the free, NOLA music ONLY French Quarter Fest- in the FQ and down by The Mississippi River- upon his sage advice for my 2008 return, as opposed to the world superstar-studded Jazz Fest. Not to mention a couple extra NOLA trips, and once in The Big Apple.
And bought his various albums, for me and later friends, like his NOLA ’90s debut “Jumpin’ Somethin'” … the Crescent City Chip done up minus horns, but with, oh so much sweet style. “Mostly Blue”, that musical mosaic portrait in time, unto itself. The masterfully minimalist 2008 kiss-off to the fairer sex, “Last Love Song”. The duo album of rich, soundly layered compositions by Chip and his NOLA neighbor and friend Jesse Moore, “Side by Side” in 2010, which almost got a trad. folk Grammy nomination. Up through his recent seminal, sensational storytelling albums of “Constantinople” and “Fond Regards”. If you can hear Chip bring back Stephen Foster’s “Hard Times” on the former, without tempting a tear … you have no heart.
So this is thank you for all that, Chip- thank you for your friendship … thank you for your caring for just another tourist turned your deepest fan … and of course, thank you for spending your life bringin’ it all back home- for me … and all your blessed listeners.
TimMusic- “I don’t fear the words and sounds … just try holding them close to my heart” 