How do you mess up “Louie, Louie”? Butcher The Who’s “I Can’t Explain”? And why does the record sound like it was recorded by a guy in the very back of San Francisco’s Winterland with an eight-dollar tape recorder? And how is it that a band that so often sounds out of tune spends so much time tuning up?
These are just a few of the questions that passed through my mind when I heard the Flamin’ Groovies’ Live 1971, San Francisco. But here’s another question I keep asking myself—if the damn album’s so terrible, how come I keep listening to it?
Come 1971, the Flamin’ Groovies were in peak form. They released their third LP, Teenage Head, in March 1971, and it was so good that none other than Mick Jagger thought it was better than Sticky Fingers. Sticky Fingers! Mick Jagger! So how is it that come July 1971, when the Flamin’ Groovies played one of the shows leading up to the closure of Winterland, they sound (at their worst) like a no-admission-cost Bourbon Street bar band?
No wonder Winterland head honcho Bill Graham hated ‘em! Along with everybody else connected with the famed concert venue!
Well, it doesn’t always help that five of the LP’s ten tracks (or eleven if you count, and you shouldn’t, Bill Graham’s 13-second introduction), are moldy oldies and staples of no-admission-fee Bourbon Street bar bands. The Flamin’ Groovies obviously wanted to put on a “Fuck art, let’s party” old-fashioned rock and roll show, and there are times when their reaching into rock and roll’s past pays off. Why, they even include an original that sounds every bit as hoary as the Golden Oldies.
Robert Christgau once dubbed the Groovies “the thinking man’s Sha Na Na,” but since when has thinking done anyone any good? It’s the reason the FGs mess up “Louie, Louie”!
My initial dislike (as opposed to my subsequent inability to decide whether I like it or not) was sparked by opener “I Can’t Explain.” It’s a ramshackle, seat-of-the-pants muddle—it sounds like the band played it the first time the day before, and they were so wasted the day before they couldn’t remember a single thing about the day before.
Cyril Jordan’s lead guitar is hanging out there doing nothing except sounding out of tune, while lead “voxalist” Roy Loney sounds like somebody the band just pulled out of the audience. And the song just totters along, like a drunk with a walker trying to keep his balance on a cobblestone street.
The Groovies follow it with the 1958 Chuck Berry go-to “Sweet Little Rock and Roller,” and while I’ll take the Rod Stewart version any day, the Flamin’ Groovies give it a real ride, that is, after they spend an inordinate amount of time tuning up. It’s a rough-and-ready take, for sure, but they keep it (barely) together. Loney dishes up a nice scream, after which Jordan plays a serviceable solo to take it out.
Then they hurl themselves into Randy Newman’s surprisingly high-throttle “Have You Seen My Baby.” It’s not as up-tempo as his steamrollin’ “Gone Dead Train” from the Performance soundtrack, but the Flamin’ Groovies take “Have You Seen My Baby” at breakneck speed and keep things admirably together. It’s not as good as their studio version, but it more than gets the job done.
They stretch out the original “Road House” to eleven minutes and change, and that’s not necessarily a good thing. It starts fast; Jordan cranks out gimungous Who riffs while Loney delivers the goods, then things get chaotic good during a (very) long instrumental interlude over which Jordan lays down a frantic and stinging guitar solo. Then they go into this weird drone and descend into noise, and they seem to get lost in the noise, which is not a good thing.
Then, and this is really not a good thing, they slow the tempo, and what you mostly hear are the drums, with Jordan playing a rather pedestrian overlay. Then the drummer plays a solo for real, which is truly not good, and it’s torture time until they finally get back to the song at hand. But they lost me a while back, and Loney’s frantic vocals towards the end aren’t enough to save things.
Original “Doctor Boogie” is an atavistic first-gen R&R throwback and not much to write mom in prison about—a great contribution to the rock canon it ain’t. Jordan plays a Chuck Berry riff, Loney sings about walkin’ the dog, which is funny because they close the album with “Walkin’ the Dog,” and his nonsense syllables late in the song don’t endear me to the guy.
Next up is the original “Slow Death,” which Loney says will be on their next album (but isn’t!). It’s a bluesy number with slide guitar and a real Exile on Main Street feel, and Loney has never sounded so gritty. And the instrumental section is rawbones dirty, a simple vamp that the band works miracles with. More of this, and what you would have on your hands is an indispensable live album.
Instead, you get the old war house “Shakin’ All Over,” which, let’s face it, has only been done right once—by the Cows. Loney spends too much time introducing the damn thing, but you can’t deny the boys inject the song with human growth hormone. I don’t much care for Loney’s vocals—frankly, I think his singing is the band’s weakest point—but the band lays into the song, producing power chords that probably loosened a lot of fillings.
Unfortunately, they kill the momentum and jam, while Loney keeps saying, “Get down” and “Get down with it” (thank God he never says “Right on!” or “Brothers and sisters!) before once again descending into gibberish. It’s not good. He may as well be saying “blah blah blah” and at one point I think he does. Then he really lets loose. First, he sounds like a chimpanzee, next, he sounds like some kind of exotic bird, and finally, he sounds like a man falling off a cliff. Fortunately, by this point, the band is playing really loud, and the chaos is of the good variety.
“Teenage Head” is a bit too shambolic for its own good—the band sounds on the verge of flying off in all directions, the bass player this way, the drummer that. Jordan sounds like he’s auditioning for ZZ Top, or some horrible English blues band like Savoy Brown, but if it’s a ramshackle din-fest you’re looking for, this one’s for you. I’ve got to admit that even I finally get caught up in the pummeling, but by then it’s too late. Stick to the studio version.
The Flamin’ Groovies do the impossible with “Louie, Louie”—they fuck it up. It’s the simplest song in the world! All you have to do is kick into it and keep it going for eighteen hours or so and never, ever deviate from the rhythm and tempo! Never! Ever! How hard is that?
And why is Loney enunciating? That’s No-No Number Two! I can understand every word he says, and none of them are obscene! It’s a disgrace. First, Loney plays a solo, which is never a good idea because the band ends up deviating from the rhythm, and then, and this is truly unforgivable, the boys SLOW THE SONG DOWN FOR A DRUM SOLO! And then things practically stop dead while the band jerks itself off!
It’s the worst version of “Louie, Louie” I’ve ever heard, and The Kingsmen are spinning in their graves, that is, if they’re dead. Personally, I think the Kingsmen are immortal. Then Loney actually SPEAKS a stanza, over dead silence practically, and who cares if they close it right—too late, boys, and you’ve failed The Kingsmen test.
Loney actually sounds good on the closer “Walkin’ the Dog,” and he sounds good singing in synch with Jordan, too, and this is primitivism that works. The band actually sounds tight, Jordan’s solo is raunchy and in your face, and Loney adds his name to the list of stutter rock immortals. They keep it short, they play it straight, and this is the way garage rock should sound—if only the band had played it closer to the bone on some of the others.
I find it odd that an album recorded at the Winterland should sound so shoddily recorded. It diminishes the LP, as do the flawed covers and subpar originals like “Doctor Boogie.” Teenage Head is a great album. The Flamin’ Groovies, if this album is representative, were not a great live band. Docked a half-grade for “Louie, Louie.” Nobody fucks up the unfuckuppable and gets away with it. Not on my watch.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
C+
