Frank Gutch Jr: Music On Film— Documentaries For The Music Fanatic, Plus Notes…..

Before I dive into this, I have to take a moment to point you towards one of the best “up” songs I have heard in some time:  No Small Children‘s Might Get Up Slow.  If radio had the impact that it did even 20 years ago, this would be blasting out of stereo and car speakers everywhere.  iThings too, if they had them (my brain is so numb, I couldn’t come close to a year those damn things took over our lives— I can hardly remember a kid without one).  The more I hear these ladies, the more I want to hear more.  Turn it up!  Like they said in the old days— Recorded loud to be played LOUD!  Listen to this!!!

Now, back to our regular programming.

I write music history.  More accurately, I write about specific bands or artists or music “scenes” seen mainly through their (and my) eyes.  I don’t write indiscriminately.  I pick subjects carefully.  The first extended piece I wrote was about a little-known band out of Tulsa, Oklahoma calling themselves Rubbery Cargoe which would find its way to Memphis, change its name to Cargoe and take a place in that city’s music history alongside Big Star and Ardent Records.  I slaved over that piece, wanting to make sure I got everything right.  What I found was that no matter how meticulous you are, you can never get everything right.  Realities are personal and, as such, different.  Everyone I talked with had a different slant.  When I interviewed band bassist Max Wisely and guitarist/keyboard player Bill Phillips, they argued over certain things right there over the phone— things they had seen at exactly the same time.  All my life, my father had hinted that truth was a matter of perception.  I began to see what he meant.

I still write about the music of the past.  I have a story about Cowboy waiting in the wings, and a look at Seattle’s Seafair Bolo Records, a very small but major player in the Pac NW’s sixties rock and R&B’s scene.  I am waiting to write the saga of Notary Sojac— waiting for the time and the feel to be just right because those guys were to me what The Allman Brothers Band were to the people in the South and of all that I write, this is the one I don’t want to screw up.  And, of course, Fort Worth’s Jim Colegrove— the “Coolgroove”— I am absorbing what he has chronicled and am feeling the need to set things right.  I am even working on a look at go-go girls through the eyes and experiences of Elaine McAfee Bender, who actually worked as one during the music explosion of mid- to late-sixties’ Fort Worth, Texas.

There are lots of us out here scrambling to get the information before the information is gone.  A small portion of us are digging for the gold one finds only by uncovering that which has remained somehow miraculously uncovered.  Jaimie Vernon has taken the biggest bite, putting together what has to be called an encyclopedia, its scope so large that I quake in its shadow— The Canadian Pop Music Encyclopedia.  It comes in two volumes and is mind-boggling in its scope.  Pop culture’s Mike Marino is mowing his way through the sixties and seventies with his posts on Facebook (and elsewhere) about rock music in Detroit and San Francisco, his view so skewed he makes me laugh every other paragraph (but without that view, I would understand so much less).  Seattle’s Peter Blecha is really digging deep, writing about not just rock or R&B, but about the true history of music around the Seattle area.  If there is a unique barbershop quartet or accordion orchestra or miner’s choir attached in any way to his city, he is on a mission to find it.  I dig his pieces on Pac NW rock.  I love his pieces which go way beyond.

Writers aren’t the only ones, though, and that is the crux of this column.  Music lovers come in all shapes and sizes and filmmakers love music too.  And the public is finding their films.  I read somewhere that music documentaries are now the big thing on the arts circuit.  Go figure.  And they said all of those college level rock history classes were wasteful.

I think of all the rockumentaries released in the past ten years, the biggest will be Big Star: Nothing Can Hurt Me.  I personally am amazed that Big Star has become as huge as they have— legendary beyond legendary.  I remember grabbing #1 Record out of the racks when it was released and taking it home and thinking these guys are damn good, but I had already found Cargoe, a band on the same label (Ardent) with much the same artwork on the cover.  I mean, I dug Big Star but I loved Cargoe.  The future generations, though, chose Big Star and now they are bigger than life.  I used Big Star in a piece I wrote about warped realities and how they change history (click here).  I had hoped that films such as Nothing Can Hurt Me would help set the record straight, at least as far as music history was concerned.  Now, I’m not so sure.  Watching the trailer, I can only imagine what younger generations will see or think or feel.  They have no conception of the record business back then and are so invested in the legend, they might misperceive.  But better they misperceive Big Star and Ardent than superstars who have received way more than their share of attention.  In a too-little-too-late kind of way, it is the little guys’ turn.

Is this movie worth seeing?  There is no doubt in my mind, especially judging from the trailer (click here).  Will I go see it?  No.  I lived my musical life begging people to listen to music they just didn’t hear, Big Star‘s and Cargoe‘s among it.  I took it personally.  I love that both bands are now getting more attention than they did at the beginning, but I also hate it.  I remember seeing Kurt Cobain refusing to give an autograph to a kid with a nasty “Where were you when we were playing the garages”.  I hate to admit it, but I’m a bit like that.  I want to say “Where were you” regarding Big Star, but how unfair would that be to people who weren’t into music or were not even born yet.  Like I said, I take it personal.  You, however, shouldn’t.  Parts of this movie are no doubt amazing and the fact that they are seeing the light of day at all is a mindblower.  The music?  Hey, it’s Big Star.

If you still aren’t sure, you can read my history of Cargoe (posted here).  Big Star and Cargoe took similar paths.  Maybe this will help you understand.  When you finish reading, go see the movie.

Thanks to Youtube and its ilk, there are lots of films/trailers/clips which round out the picture one might get from just what TV and radio might portray.  Here is a collection of films you might enjoy, if only for the kitsch or even historical value.

Immediate Records 1^st Anniversary Promo Film—

What the hell?  Immediate was a Brit label, wasn’t it?  Sonofagun if they didn’t have a hit right out of the box, though, with American band The McCoys and Hang On Sloopy.  At the time this film was produced, the label was plugging a second hit by Rick Derringer (Zehringer) and band titled You Make Me Feel So Good.  The things you learn, eh?  Like that Mick Jagger was producing Chris Farlowe, who had a #1 hit in the UK with Out of Time.  Those crazy Brits, eh?  It is nice that the successes were included (the label had been around, after all, for only a year), but the film’s main focus was on the next act to clobber the charts— The Twice As Much.  Yeah, right.  If you’ve never heard of them, you’re not the only one.  Still, this is as good a promo film as I have seen from a small UK label in its first year.  Immediate would go on to have major success with Small Faces and Itchykoo Park and Tin Soldier.  Those songs completely dented my head and made Immediate a favorite label, regardless of the lack of success in the US with their other releases.  (Watch the film here)

So that you understand, Immediate Records was the brainchild of Rolling Stones-connected Andrew Loog Oldham.  He utilized the success of the Stones by including Jagger and Keith Richard in a handful of projects.  The label lasted from ’65 to ’70 and released records by Amen Corner, Humble Pie, The Strangeloves, PP Arnold, and The Nice, among others.  You can find the label’s UK discography here.

We Didn’t Get Famous— The Story of the Southern Music Underground, 1978-1990

Don’t run away!  Admittedly, this says “Southern Music” but this isn’t the Southern Music most of us have learned to hate.  You will find no Lynyrd Skynyrd here nor .38 Special.  What you will find is seven musicians who played in bands which comprised a scene which existed more outside the area in which they played than within.

I co-owned a store when the whole punk and new wave thing was coming on and went from there to Peaches in Seattle (around 1978) where punk and new wave was struggling for a foothold.  Working at Peaches gave me an inroad to the music trends, mostly which seemed to revolve around The Bee Gees and Saturday Night Fever.  It wasn’t long, though, before harder-edged and more creative music began to chip away at the whole disco scene until it was dead and not just dying.  Some of that music came out of The South and created (in the minds as much as anywhere) the aura of a “scene”.   Out of that scene would come a number of small record labels and bands which, while not putting the music scene on  its ear, had impact.

This film is basically an interview-fest with seven musicians from that era— Mitch Easter (Let’s Active), Bob Hay (The Squalls), Vanessa Hay (Pylon), Tim Lee (The Windbreakers), Sherry Cothren (The Germans), Mark Reynolds (Carnival Season), and Peter Holsapple (The dB’s).  The amazing thing is how Camilla Ann Aikin, the filmographer, edited it.  It is quick and concise, so if you have any kind of attention deficit disorder, wait until you don’t.  Information?  It’s packed with mostly personal observations of the regions and the different music scenes.

An aside:  I worked with Howie Wahlen who loved this whole scene so much that you would have thought he was living it, so imagine my surprise when I found out that Let’s Active was not an international smash.  To listen to him talk, everyone was into them, so I assumed everyone was.  Normally, I would browbeat anyone whose view was so skewed, but in this case, I preferred Howie’s scenario to the one which actually existed— i.e., The Gospel According To Billboard.

Click here.

Louder Than Love— The Grande Ballroom, Detroit—

Mike Marino was the first person to mention to me the grandeur and importance of Detroit’s Grande Ballroom.  While people shout praises for The Fillmore, The Fillmore East, The Avalon, and even Tulsa’s mighty Cain’s Ballroom, one cannot deny the majesty of The Grande.  Anyone who was anyone in rock back in the sixties and early seventies passed through there:  Cream, The Who, The Grateful Dead and Pink Floyd were only a few who played the venue and always to packed out crowds.  MC5, The Tymes and The Stooges put in their time as house bands.  Few cities have venues with as much music history packed into so few years.

Louder Than Love is a movie dedicated to preserving the memories of not only the superstars which passed through Detroit, but the burgeoning local scene which developed at the same time.  Musicians lined up to talk about those days and when you splice in the music clips, you have a film any real lover of rock history has to love.  Sadly, the ballroom fell on hard times and slowly disintegrated and that, too, is chronicled.  While the end is sad to see, it pales before what was.  They called it The Grande for a reason.  (Click here)

Family Band— The Cowsills Story—

Few remember (and others are trying to forget) the days of The Cowsills.  When I talk with the younger set and they mention The Osmonds and The Jackson 5 (it amazes me how often they come up), they never mention The Cowsills.  They don’t know them.  They seemingly don’t care.  Until I explain just how huge they were— on the charts, on TV, in the press.  Inevitably, the question regarding their lack of place in music history comes up and you would think that someone would have an answer somewhere as to their virtual overnight disappearance from the music scene after a meteoric rise to the top, but they don’t.  It just happened.  Sure, there were rifts within the band and a lot of avoiding publicity, but there was a lot more to it than that.  When this film was put together, it answered a lot of the questions which had surrounded the band since their initial split-up.

I shake my head when I think that the members of the band had never really left the scene.  Not really.  They stayed in touch with the music and never stopped writing and even performing, but for decades, for all intents and purposes…..

There was an amazing amount of talent in this band as is proven by various projects involving individual members since those days.  This film tells the story of why they left and where they went.  Here is a short trailer for the movie.  Maybe it will whet your appetite.  If not, you’re missing one of the really gripping stories in rock music.

MC5— A True Testimonial—

Of all the bands I have seen and heard in my lifetime, MC5 were the the only ones certifiably fucking insane.  Actually, I have never seen them, at least not live, and what I’ve heard has pretty much been on vinyl, outside of the handful of clips on the Net.  Still, there is something about the band— something over the edge.  They were downright scary, I guess you could say, and one of the guys in the band admits it.  It was the combination of politics and warped spiritualism (if that was what it was) and this sense of synergy— of taking not only the music but the show to the very limits.  Watching the preview of A True Testimonial brought it all back— the lack of control and the possibility of everything going awry— very awry.

They came around at a very volatile time, did the band, and they threw themselves out front and seldom looked back.  They were loud, raucous and mentally unstable at their most visible and yet not so much out of the lights.  I think they threw themselves into the fray without really knowing what would happen and sometimes, things did happen.  Mostly, not good.

There was this guy at the University of Oregon who got booted out of college because he locked himself in his room and played the beginning of Kick Out the Jams out the dorm windows until the University officials somehow breached the door and arrested him.  Or so the story goes.  I only remember hearing “Kick out the jams, motherfuckers” over and over again for a good half hour to 45 minutes and then silence.  Hell, Viet Nam was happening.  Students were having sit-ins.  It was an anti=war culture.  As far as we knew, he was taken to the basement of a nearby building and tortured.  That is what MC5 did to you.  Messed with your mind.  Made you paranoid.  Made you join fringe political groups.

Did I join any fringe political groups (well, outside of The Resistance)?  No, but I was a wimp.  I played their album at a low volume so as not to bother the guy next door.  But I liked it.  I finally gave the album to a friend who was so disturbed that they had changed “motherfucker” to “brothers and sisters” that he wanted to file a suit citing First Amendment Rights.  That is what the MC5 did to you.

I did a few hours research trying to find out if the movie was available through regular channels and found a lot of conflicting info.  Truth be told, I suck at research so maybe I just couldn’t find the right sites.  What I did find was a preview clip of the movie— fifteen minutes of what looks like a hell of a documentary.  Watch the trailer here…..

Teen A Go-Go— Fort Worth in the Sixties—

I might never have heard of this film had I not gotten involved in writing a story about Space Opera.  I spent close to three years on an off-and-on basis interviewing various people about that band and, of course, the pond from which it spawned.  Space Opera, it turns out, began life as The Mods, one of many so-called garage bands inhabiting Fort Worth at the time.  There were tons of them, at least compared to other cities and towns, and they all for some ungodly reason had records!  There were enough for David Campbell to piece together a three-CD set of just sixties’ Fort Worth bands— The Elite, The Cynics, The Mods and so many more.

How did it happen and why Fort Worth?  This film tries to see if anyone knows and, not oddly, no one really does.  Of course, there were a number of things which allowed a teen scene to form— radio station KFJZ and its top jock Mark E. Baby (Mark Stevens), buildings ready-made for teen dances, teens who were picking up rock ‘n’ roll fever until music became the very core of their existence.

By the time I had completed the story, I was amazed at the depth of what most called a teen scene.  It was more like a teen explosion!  The sixties scene in the Pacific Northwest was big enough but was limited because of distance between cities and towns and the lack of focus of rock radio.  While we lived in a wading pool, they swam in the deep end, diving board and all.

What this film does is get so many interviews from the musician of those bands, most of whom seemed as incredulous as anyone that, in retrospect, it was as big as it was.  I laughed all the way through the film at the dumbfounded look on their faces as they told their stories.  It is a series of what-the-hell moments packed into an all-too-short documentary (one hour, 32-minutes) with a few clips and lots of pictures.

Watch the trailer here.

It’s Everything— And Then It’s Gone— Mid-Seventies Punk in Akron, Ohio—

“Failure doesn’t happen overnight, it drags on.”— Buzz Clic, The Rubber City Rebel

Something is wrong with me.  The whole Akron music scene of the mid-seventies which spring-vaulted Devo to international fame, for me, looked like a huge success.  I guess not so much for the musicians in bands like Tin Huey and The Bizarros and The Rubber City Rebels who saw their dreams crushed beneath what to me has always seemed an uncaring and soulless record business.  I was in San Diego at the time running a record shop which, by default, carried a number of new wave and punk singles.  It was new and few in the city were paying attention, so it seemed something worth pursuing.  The result was a number of singles passing through the store by bands no one knew except a small handful of kids who would drop by once a week or so in search of something new and exciting.

That was how I knew of the Akron scene.  Of course, I had no idea so much of what caught my ear was Akron-spawned.  I just knew I liked the bands.  Bands like Devo, of course, long before they became the MTV darlings and rich kids’ musical mascots.  More important to me were the bands which would not make it but were still part of the core of a New Wave movement revolving around a zine scene which included Bomp Magazine.  Indeed, at that time, Bomp had also become a record distributor, a wholesale clearing house of oddities you could maybe find if you knew the out of the way stores who seemed to give a shit, which is how many punks looked at it.  It was a scramble and a crapshoot, finding fringe music in those days, but Bomp made it less so.

Our store had an arrangement with Greg Shaw, head Bomper.  He would send us records and we would sell them, although I am pretty certain that it was Suzy Shaw and not Greg who made quantity decisions.  We never knew what we would get so every shipped box was a Christmas present.  I found my favorite Suicide Commandos 45, Match/Mismatch, in one of those boxes.  I spent the next few weeks walking around spouting “Waiter, my check!” while people backed away from me, afraid to make eye contact.  The Suicide Commandos were not from Akron, of course, but it didn’t matter because beneath that vaunted 45 was a copy of Akron’s The Bizarros‘ I Bizarro and Devo‘s Jocko Homo and even though I had no idea where either band was from, I was hooked.  They weren’t punk and they really weren’t New Wave— at least, not in terms of what I considered New Wave— crunchy power pop of major chord construction.  They were something else.  Exactly what, I didn’t know.

Though it seems tame in terms of today’s music, the music coming out of the Akron bands were a real step in a new direction.  Tin Huey had an amazing creative edge to their music.  The Rubber City Rebels were punkish, but a punk people who didn’t necessarily like punk could listen to.  The Bizarros stretched their sound on occasion but on the whole were straight ahead rockers with a twist.  And Devo?  They were Devo.

This documentary goes into the evolution of a scene which did not really exist except in retrospect, but what a retrospective!  Rare film clips and excellent editing of interviews and pictures of bands and musicians which rarely see light of day make this a treat.  Yup.  They have a short clip of Devo‘s first ever live show.  They key on the Akron of the day.  They talk about The Dead Boys and The Numbers Band and The Pretenders and even Joe Walsh, for chrissakes, because The James Gang was the house band at a bar in Kent, Ohio— ten miles distant— and Joe was the first “local” to really hit it big.

I wish someone would do a documentary on every region for each generation of bands and do it like this one.  This fills a huge black hole in the history of not only Akron rock, but rock, period.

Watch it here (it’s about 55 minutes long, so pop some corn and get comfortable— it will be worth it)…..

You Must Be Weird Or You Wouldn’t Be Here— The Cellar, Fort Worth—

The more I get to know musicians and music people in and around Fort Worth, I am beginning to understand that it was a world all its own.  Aside from the A Go-Gos and the teen scene, there was this place they called The Cellar, a basement dive which opened early evening and closed at 6 AM— or at least, those were the musicians’ hours.  They had waitresses in high heels, panties and bras and some of the musicians were underage, but who cared?  Like I said— a world all it own.

Randy Cates, bass player for Gypsy, was the first person to talk with me about The Cellar.  Other people mentioned it, but Cates talked about it.  It was school for him.  He played with the best the city had to offer and more.  He met musicians he would never have met otherwise.  And he got to play.  That was all he ever wanted, was to play music.

There must have been other after-hours clubs— ones where you could hear music all night, drink until the wee hours and occasionally see touring musicians in the flesh.  Members of Canned Heat passed through.  And others.

Cates:  “The Cellar was kind of a cool, avant-garde coffeehouse/jazz bar that stayed open until like six o’clock in the morning.  In front of the stage, there were cushions that people sat on and behind the cushions there were chairs.  The waitresses wore bras and panties.  It was a beatnik-type place that started out and turned into a legendary rock kind of a place.  There were three of them.  One in Dallas, one in Fort Worth and one in Houston.  The bands would play two weeks at each bar.  Most of the big bands like Led Zeppelin or Johnny Winter, when they would get off, after their shows they would all wind up at The Cellar.  So there was lots of music being played and lots of sitting in with lots of great people.  It was kind of a cult thing.

I became aware of it in 1964.  In 1966 I was still a senior in high school and was playing there every night.  I would play until six o’clock in the morning and then go to school.”

Sound intriguing?  Yeah, to me, too.  This film cycles through a number of people involved with The Cellar in different capacities.  The fact that places like this even existed blows my mind.  Would never have happened in Oregon.  Not like it did in Fort Worth.

Watch here.

Yonge Street:  Toronto Rock & Roll Stories—

You can say all you want to me about Canada— badmouth them, make jokes, diss their medical or political systems— but I won’t listen.  I love Canada.  They’re like the Northern US to me (though they would surely be quick to put the kabosh on that kind of slanderous talk).  I’ll bet most people in the US don’t even realize how crucial Canada has been to the US entertainment industry.  Hell, half of Hollywood is Canadian!

Which makes me anxious to see a documentary titled Yonge Street:  Toronto Rock & Roll Stories.  Stories about one of the most unique areas in the history of music.  Yonge Street to rock is what Nashville is to Country.  If you don’t think so, you have to catch this film.  Rather than regale you with information, which surely must bore you after reading this far, I will let the musicians do that.  Here is a series of stories from the movie.  All are short.  All are complete.  If these don’t make you want to see the film, there is something bad wrong with you.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D-3q0EFCmOQ&list=PLCF5777EC90F4305C&index=7

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y08GsasDZ0s&list=PLCF5777EC90F4305C&index=8

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c23wQin0Zvc&list=PLCF5777EC90F4305C&index=9

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NRIPZLc3OvQ&list=PLCF5777EC90F4305C&index=10

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=skgXocp0BTc&list=PLCF5777EC90F4305C&index=14

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sXbE9VkH3Gw&list=PLCF5777EC90F4305C

Man, I still have a long list— Boys From Nowhere:  The Story of Boston’s Garage Punk Uprising and The Last Pogo and The Last Pogo Jumps Again and so many more that I think I will revisit this topic in a future column.  Truth is, I need to do some research before I can properly do the films justice.  I do have to say that I’m pumped, though.  I am pumped to see music history chronicled, whether it be in writing or on film.  I am pumped to see some of the old-timers once again flying the standard and some of the younger people digging deep to find the good stuff.  Is there hope?  As far as music and culture goes, I think so.  As long as we don’t get lost in the past.  And as long as we don’t limit ourselves to the narrow view of the past.

Notes…..  I’m starting the morning with a video passed along by good friend Gary Heffern, who uncovers some of the best of the buried— at least, as far as the States goes.  Ever hear of Dirtmusic?  Neither had I until Heff started talking about them incessantly.  I have to give it to him.  He’s passionate about what he’s passionate about.  And I picked up a little of that passion.  A very impressive video/song from a group which should be making inroads worldwide.  Click here.  You won’t regret it*****  I’m not saying that Robbie Basho is for everybody, but when I was in college, That Guy was heavily invested in his music.  You know.  The guy who was first with everything groundbreaking and on the fringe with everything else?  That Guy would be saying that it’s about time these days because a few people have finally taken up the gauntlet for Basho and music history.  They are working on a film which will highlight Basho’s life and music.  I listen to Basho maybe once a year, but each time I do, it is as a tribute to his musical vision.  He was not quite like anyone else and had more influence on a handful of musicians than anyone except those musicians will ever know.  Check out the fundraiser here*****  This just in from Paige Anderson & The Fearless Kin— new video of them performing a song titled Stella Jane.  Not only is it a killer song, the last half of the video is an interview with Paige about The Kin and its path.  I love these kids.  Watch here*****

=FGJ=

Frank’s column appears every Tuesday

Contact us at dbawis@rogers.com

“Frank Gutch Jr. looks like Cary Grant, writes like Hemingway and smells like Pepe Le Pew. He has been thrown out of more hotels than Keith Moon, is only slightly less pompous than Garth Brooks and at one time got laid at least once a year (one year in a row). He has written for various publications, all of which have threatened to sue if mentioned in any of his columns, and takes pride in the fact that he has never been quoted. Read at your own peril.”