MC5

Thrasher Magazine, Oct, 2004 by Wez Lundry

THE MOTOR CITY 5 WAS THE MOST influential band of the late 1960s and early 1970s, without a doubt. Their legacy is alive and well today; the evidence is the vast number of bands who cite them as a chief influence--Lemmy said there would be no Motorhead without the MC5, and Dave Vanian of the Damned said the same thing.

THEY WERE BOTH a product of their time and well ahead of it. Their music reflected the grittiness as the shit hit the fan in late-'60s/early '70s Detroit: the American auto industry, once the backbone of American manufacturing, started to take a shit, and even Motown split. Imagine starting your band in the mid-'60s as the post-war baby boom was happening, when American muscle cars were beginning to shape Detroit's identity, sexual liberation was in full swing, drug experimentation peaked, and rock and roll was producing stars who became full-on cultural icons. Over the next six to eight years, Detroit's economy collapsed as gas prices skyrocketed, Vietnam polarized the nation, and Nixon became president. This was the environment of the MC5.

Nobody rocked as hard as they did, with songs full of pent-up sexual energy, revolution, and liberation. The MC5 was, essentially, four greaser rock and milers with a poet/beatnik singer. Although their message was completely on track with what was going on in contemporary music, their music itself was far too loud for the mellow hippies on the West Coast--the MC5 wanted to drink, fuck, and fight through their revolution, not pick flowers and hold hands. Their debut record, 1969's Kick Out the Jams, was censored after stores refused to carry it: the second track began with the infamous intro, "Right now it's time to ... kick out the jams, motherfuckers!" Recorded live in Detroit in 1968, it showed from the start that the band was different from anything that had been before, blending jazz and blues and acid in a way never before achieved. The record touted the 5's revolutionary leanings, and they are shown shiftless in the sleeve photo with their White Panther badges (they had created the White Panther party with John Sinclair, who provided "guidance," and it espoused all the tenets of the Black Panther party and demanded that all things be free land, food, shelter, clothing, education, etc). Their next record came a year later, after being dropped by Elektra for the pandemonium caused by the first record. Their second record, 1970's Back in the USA, should have established their reputation as the nation's premiere rock band, but they couldn't shake the "revolutionary" label. They covered "Tutti Frutti" and "Back in the USA," and ripped through dine other originals, all but one song three minutes or under, a departure from their first jam-heavy record. The songs here were well-written and poignant in terms of their underlying messages: sex, throwing off the yoke of the older generation, the killing machine that the US had become in Vietnam. Their last LP, High Time, returned to longer songs and expanded in terms of instrumentation with horns and percussion. Revolution was paramount at this point; the draft was in full swing and young Americans were becoming cannon fodder for reasons nobody understood. The MC5 called it quits at this point, too, unable to out-power what Detroit and America had become.

Since their implosion, dozens of recordings have emerged and all their records have been reissued. Singer Rob Tyner died in '91. Guitarist Fred "Sonic" Smith died in '94. The surviving members--guitarist Wayne Kramer, bassist Mike Davis, and drummer Dennis Thompson--launched a tour this year, getting Levi's to sponsor after they inadvertently used MC5 artwork. Mark Arm filled in on vocals, Marshall Crenshaw (a Detroit native) was called in for guitar duties, and Evan Dando was brought in to sing a few songs as well. I got to see the band twice (who out of respect for Smith and Tyner are touring as DKT/MC5). It was amazing both times. In this day and age their songs mean just as much as they did then.

What brought you guys to rock and roll?

Mike Davis: We didn't want to get jobs in the factory?

Wayne Kramer: That's what I was thinking!

Davis: My dad actually set up an interview with the Ford Motor Company. I went out there and started filling out the application, but I didn't go through with it. I left.

Straight to the guitar shop?

Davis: Yep, straight to the guitar shop.

Dennis Thompson: My brother played guitar. He's 10 years older than I am, and he played in an instrumental band. He was 15, I was five, and the drummer would leave his kit set up in the basement. I'd go downstairs and start smacking on them. My mother would kick me off, saying they weren't mine, but eventually they started to tolerate it and let me play more and more. I come from a musical family. My sister played keyboards, my mom sang on the radio, my dad played upright riddle.

You guys were an overtly political band. Do you see politics today mirroring what was going on the '60s? The ideology is different: then it was anti-communism, and today it is anti-fundamentalism or anti-terrorism. Is this some sort of vicious cycle, "meet the new boss, same as the old boss?"