Wayne Kramer: The other Motor City Madman still drives a muscle car ...just more
Wednesday 26 June @ 10:26:29 |
 by Donny Doane
It’s no secret that Wayne Kramer has a little history behind him. He’s one of three surviving members of Detroit’s legendary MC5, and the most prolific of those. But things haven’t always gone his way. After a veritable roller coaster ride that started with the MC5, then made stops in squalid drug addiction and incarceration, Wayne’s grabbed the old bootstraps, so to speak, with a solo career that began in the mid-Nineties on Epitaph Records. His current run has been far steadier, and easily surpasses his desultory post-5 years. A lot of his tight (or loose) brothers from way-back-when didn’t make it to the present, having made the ultimate sacrifice in not conceding to adulthood—or survival, for that matter. Kramer’s a smart guy, and his latest, Adult World (Muscle Tone), is a smart album by a guy smart enough to realize that it helps to be an adult to survive in an adult world. But that still doesn’t mean you can’t rock...or mouth off from time to time.
Unlike earlier solo releases such as The Hard Stuff (1995) or Dangerous Madness (1997), the latest, as its title implies, finds the music maturing. It is distinguished by the absence of earlier drummer Brock Avery, whose frenetic style wouldn’t quite meet the aims of these particular songs.
“You know how it evolves”, he explains via telephone from Southern California. “I’m trying to do things a little more rhythm driven as opposed to that kind of kinetic, ethereal thing. You know, rather than the Rashid Ali, Sonny Murray approach [to rock drumming]—getting deeper into the beats themselves.”
The album’s opening stab, “I Brought A Knife To The Gunfight,” is a resigned look at feeling outdated, outclassed and out-to-pasture. As Kramer sings “I need a secret weapon/I need a little more”, he’s carrying the torch for those of us who are always one step behind, always hoping for the one break that might change everything. The groove is slightly lower- to mid-tempo, yet throbs with an insistence that makes it stick in the brain. In fact, the catchiness of these tunes, not only rhythmically but also melodically, is what sets them apart from his earlier Epitaph material. Forgoing the take-no-prisoners approach, Wayne simply lets the song be the song.
“It’s like a sculpture”, he explains. “You have a huge piece of stone and you know there’s a sculpture in there, you just have to cut away the parts of stone that aren’t part of the sculpture.”
That sounds simple enough, and with all the prevalent bands hopping on that ethic which often qualifies as “lo-fi”(re: White Stripes, Strokes, etc.), it’s fair to wonder what Wayne thinks of all this and if he consciously employed any of these techniques in the studio.
“No, not really,” he laughs. “Why, does it sound lo-fi?” He continues, “but no, I think I know what you saying, and at the risk of over-simplifying it, I’m just trying to make the most beautiful records I know how to make. There are ways that I can push into new directions sonically, and there are also traditions I honor musically. I’m basically just trying to tell some stories.”
“Talkin’ Out Of School” is a well-punctuated burner with the energy of his former band. Whereas a good deal of Kramer’s vocals assume spoken word and deadpan delivery, the latter finds him shifting out of the hill-climbing lower gears into the rubber-squealing quarter-mile velocity of fourth and fifth. At once savage and soulful, the singing is straight off the line as it recalls the old-time urgency. While it’s not a super-fast number, the plinking of a piano in the back gives it that manic illusion.
Other highlights include the spoken word/free jazz of “Nelson Algren Stopped By”, a nod to one of Kramer’s literary heroes; a duet with Syd Straw on “What About Laura?”; and a humanizing portrait of American-made monster Fidel Castro in “Love, Fidel.” There’s no greasy kid’s stuff here, and that’s fine with Wayne. Although he’d welcome those willing to listen, Kramer isn’t really speaking to those too young to remember.
“I would like to believe,” he says, “that there are a lot of people my age [54] or younger, maybe thirty-five, that grew up with rock and still wanna rock, but there’s no music being offered to them that says anything they’re interested in. I mean, Linkin Park doesn’t talk to people that are thirty-five or forty, and that’s fine. There’s a place for boy bands and pop bands and Britney Spears and hip-hop and rap-rock...It’s just not where I’m at right now. So what I’m trying to do with this record and our label, is make music for grown-ups.”
And Wayne has done just that with Adult World. It comes off as a sonic anthology of sing-along short stories, both street and book smart without ever becoming condescending. It’s the product of a man who’s been there before, and he just wants you to know that, especially if you have, too.
Wayne’s been through enough to be an authority on the “Do’s and Don’t’s” of rock ‘n’ roll. He’s a man with a rep, a history, a storied and gloried past and a spotty track record with more than one confrontation with authority. But he’s also a man with a future, and this affords him the ability to sift through those stories and put them in their own perspective. Wayne could tell us countless stories, both good and bad; both shining example and frightening reminder; tales of exultant rock glory and its often fragmented after word. But at least he’s here to tell it.
Wayne Krame plays Wed., July 3 at the 7th St. Entry with Mother Superior and Howlin' Andy Hound. 8p.m. $8 adv / $10 dr. 21+ 701 1st Ave. N., Mpls. 612-338-8388.
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