If it's the first MC5 album one listens to, one must place it in its historical context to appreciate it more. The band had only recently been signed to Elektra Records, and the story goes Elektra thought the "5" were too raw and inexperienced to record a studio album. (But what young band ISN'T raw and inexperienced when they enter a studio to record an album?). In any case, Elektra decided to record the band at their home stomping grounds, the Grande (pronounced GRAND-ee) Ballroom, at the corner of Grand River Avenue and Joy Road in Detroit, on October 30 and 31, 1968. Their debut would be a live album.
Detroit in October '68 was still only a year removed from the rebellion/riots of '67. The city still had gaping physical and psychic wounds that it's still trying to heal in 2024. (On the bright side, the Detroit Tigers baseball team had won its first World Series in 23 years on October 10 of '68, almost exactly three weeks prior to the recording of this album. I'm not sure how many in the crowd or on stage cared about baseball or the World Series. There are pictures of the MC5 playing baseball at Burns Park in Ann Arbor, so it's possible those guys had some interest).
In any case, it was revolution and definitely not Tigers baseball that was in the air at the Grande--well, that and likely plumes of pot smoke--when the MC5 took the stage on October 30. The band was fresh off playing in Chicago's Grant Park during the notorious and catastrophic Democratic National Convention, which took place in August. They were the only band brave (or crazy) enough to play at the convention.*
Perhaps I should backtrack for a moment. The MC5 was managed by John Sinclair, founder of the White Panther Party. The White Panther Party was a vehemently anti-capitalist, anti-racist, pro-marijuana, pro-socialism, pro-"sex, drugs, and fucking in the streets" radical group. The MC5 were, I suppose, the musical extension of the White Panther ethos. So when the emcee, Brother J.C. Crawford opens the album with this revolutionary rap to the young people gathered at the Grande, it's no bullshit:
"Brothers and sisters! I wanna see a sea of hands out there! Lemme see a sea of hands! I want everyone to kick up some noise! I want to hear some revolution out there, brothers! I wanna hear a little revolution! Brothers and sisters, the time has come for each and every one of you to decide whether you are gonna be the problem or whether you are gonna be the solution! You must choose, brothers! You must choose! It takes five seconds! Five seconds of decision! Five seconds to realize your purpose here on the planet! It takes five seconds to realize that it's time to move! It's time to get down with it! Brothers, it's time to testify and I want to know: Are you ready to testify? Are you ready? I give you a testimonial! The MC5!"
It may seem a little histrionic or melodramatic looking back at this in 2024, but this was real. The Vietnam War was at its apex, the Tet Offensive earliet in '68 had made it clear that the United States was not winning the war, yet the war effort escalated and many of the kids in the audience at the Grande were ripe for the draft. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy had both been assassinated within the last six months. The Kick Out the Jams album captures the heightened tension of the time. (And it also captures the sounds of young people who just want to have a fucking great time that night). Turn off the lights and burn some incense and/or weed and you, the listener, might feel you've taken the wayback machine to the Grande.
I recently heard some archive interviews with Wayne Kramer and he said that as soon as he started playing "Ramblin' Rose," the first song on Kick Out the Jams, he broke his E-string of his guitar and was immediately out of tune for the rest of the evening. (These were the days before guitar techs who could have handed him a new guitar or fixed the problem for him). As I wrote in my previous blog post--which was confirmed by Brother Wayne--he was thoroughly unsatisfied with the sound of the record. At the same time, there is an undeniable ENERGY to the album. This is a band that was committed and on fire. In the right mood, Kick Out the Jams is an exhilarating ride, and the title track remains one of the most incendiary, take-no-prisoners slab of high energy rock 'n' roll ever recorded.
So what the hell, ignore my advice in the previous post and go directly to Kick Out the Jams, with the understanding that what you'll hear is a loud and often grainy, out-of-focus snapshot of a gritty but wounded Midwestern industrial city in one of the scariest years in American history. If you are intrigued by that, then advance forward to 1970's Back in the U.S.A. (much tighter and cleaner but still pissed off) and then 1971's High Time (a perfect marriage of Kick Out the Jams and Back in the U.S.A.).
*Ignore the legend that the MC5 played six hours in Grant Park. Wayne Kramer has vehemently denied their set lasted anywhere near that length.
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