An Appreciation of Grand Funk Railroad

In this, the age of “populism” (quotation marks intended), I thought it'd be a good time to expound on Grand Funk Railroad, a Cream-inspired power trio that broke out of Flint, Michigan in 1969.

Recipients of some of the most-brutal record reviews any band ever received, Grand Funk nevertheless became a concert ticket and record-selling behemoth, boosted by the unwavering allegiance of their fans.

But I never cottoned to them. At least not at first.

Just as the Jefferson Airplane and the Allman Brothers Band spawned dozens of uninspired jam-band clones, legions of bands attempted to replicate Cream's power trio approach, which was capable of bludgeoning even the stoutest listener into submission with sheer force.

Grand Funk could only approximate Cream's strengths, appropriating the most-obvious elements and repeating them ad infinitum. It was pretty dull listening.

But one thing stood out. That was Mark Farner's stentorian voice. And when “I'm Your Captain (Closer to Home)” somehow made it to my ears in 1970 (which was odd considering I didn't own a radio capable of pulling in an FM signal), I heard something different. Melody. Strings. Tempo changes. Oh my God—is that a flute???

This was not my father's Grand Funk Railroad.

After more albums of mostly forgettable—but profitable—hard rock, Grand Funk had another epiphany. Towards expanding their sonic palate, they enlisted the talents of keyboardist Craig Frost.

The results were found on Phoenix.

By then immersed in the sounds of War and Sly & the Family Stone and Stevie Wonder (featured regularly on the era's demographic-free FM radio), “Rock 'N Roll Soul” appealed immediately.

A tidy little ditty lasting three minutes and forty seconds, it exposed yet another facet of the Flint, Michigan quartet. It put the funk in Grand Funk Railroad. Edgar Winter? Humble Pie? Eat your hearts out. 

(I should add that I'm an all-day sucker for a throaty Hammond B-3.)

An appearance on ABC's In Concert the following January cinched it. I was a fan.

This sweet spot continued through the We're an American Band LP, released in July of 1973. An invigorating mixture of hard rock and hard Top 40 fare, it had me thinking of Grand Funk in the same manner I did Led Zeppelin and Deep Purple.

(Of course, it didn't hurt than less than a year later I saw Claudia Lennear in Thunderbolt and Lightfoot, which brought to life the carnal delights alluded to in “Black Licorice”.)

And yes, I still have the gold vinyl LP—with stickers.

Alas, it was not to last. Grand Funk made a purposeful move to embrace the hit single aesthetic. Even a fine re-make of the Soul Brothers Six's “Some Kind of Wonderful” couldn't halt the slide.

While they at last had the broad-based radio play they'd always coveted, it came at the expense of many of the core fans who had embraced them sans airplay and critical kudos.

Fortunately, Caught in the Act (a 1975 live LP), captured what had by then evolved into a very tight and very energetic live unit. It melded the old and new Grand Funk into one package that everyone could enjoy.

Citing burnout and internal tensions, the group disbanded shortly thereafter. But not before issuing the Frank Zappa-produced curiosity Good Singin' Good Playin'. Despite possessing one of the most-arch personalities on the planet, the producer claimed to be a fan.

It doesn't get more populist than that.

Putting L.A. in the Rearview

I hate the Los Angeles Lakers.

They’re the popular kid everyone seeks validation from. They’re the fortunate kid who effortlessly succeeds at everything. They’re the smirking kid who never gets caught. And needless to say, never suffers.

Yeah, I hate them.

So imagine my delight when one of this summer’s most-coveted free-agents publicly turned them down. With apologies to Stevie Wonder, for once in my life there was a player who didn’t lust over the prospect of wearing purple and yellow and playing in the lurid land of glam.

Wait. Is this really happening? Did the quarterback-slash-prom king just get snubbed?

This is OMG rare. Rare like an issue of Cosmopolitan without the word 'sex' on the cover. Or congress enacting legislation. Or middle-class wages rising.

It just doesn’t happen.

But there it was in yesterday’s sports section: ‘Dwight Howard headed to Houston’.

Predictably, the popular kid didn’t react well.

Even Shaquille O’Neal, who left the Lakers in a huff following an unsuccessful showdown with Kobe Bryant, re-discovered his loyalty and chided Howard’s decision, saying Howard couldn’t handle the pressure of playing on a stage as prominent as L.A.’s.

Maybe.

But at the age of twenty-seven and in his athletic prime, perhaps Howard didn’t see the point of committing to an aging team whose prima dona centerpiece is a year or two (or one unsuccessful rehab) away from retirement.

And I’d be a little more reluctant to call Howard’s decision to play in Houston (where he’ll be compared to the luminous Hakeem Olajuwon) ducking the limelight. Ducking the limelight would be Minnesota. Salt Lake City. Charlotte.

Not the fourth-largest city in the United States.

Dwight Howard spent a season playing basketball at the end of the rainbow, and he didn’t like it. For once the popular kid gets to see what it’s like on our side of the rainbow.

Yay.

Some Motown, Reconsidered

Like all pop music labels of the day, Motown was one predicated on the success of its singles. Albums were an afterthought, especially in the early and mid-sixties. Pick-up a Motown album from that era and you’ll find a featured single or two and lots of covers—usually of songs published by Berry Gordy, Jr.

Gordy was a businessman first and foremost, and he knew the real money in the music biz lay in publishing. It was nice to pick-up some cash from Martha & the Vandellas “Heat Wave”, but it was even nicer when the Supremes and Mary Wells recorded it and put it on their albums, too.

Stevie Wonder and Marvin Gaye eventually ushered Motown into the album age four years after Sgt. Pepper. Gaye’s 1971 classic What’s Going On and Wonder’s 1973 landmark Innervisions aligned Motown with the album-buying preferences of seventies consumers.

But even in the golden age of the hit single, a handful of worthy Motown albums were made. If you’re of a mind to, you will find these well-worth seeking out:

1.) The Temptations – The Temptin’ Temptations (1965) Unlike so many Motown albums of its era, there isn’t a cover—or a weak song—in the bunch. While none of the Temp’s best-remembered chart-toppers are on board, many of their most sublime are. "Since I Lost My Baby" is epic heartbreak. "Girl (Why You Wanna Make Me Blue)" and "I’ll Be in Trouble" are just the sort of song craft Motown tossed-off so effortlessly in its prime. And "Don’t Look Back"'s understated groove sneaks up on you like a Crown Royal buzz. Which come to think of it, pretty much describes the entire album.

2.) The Four Tops – The Four Tops Second Album (1965) Levi Stubbs might have had the most recognizable voice at Motown. When he leaned into a lyric, it didn’t matter what kind of radio you were listening to it on. Everything he sang was instantly rendered into 70mm CinemaScope. Second Album sustained the career momentum begun with "Baby I Need Your Loving", providing the Tops with top five hits in "I Can’t Help Myself (Sugar Pie Honey Bunch)" and "It’s the Same Old Song". Songs like "Something about You" and "Helpless" come off the bench and elevate Second Album to minor classic status.

3.) Martha & the Vandellas – Dance Party (1965) Unlike label-mate Diana Ross, lead Vandella Martha Reeves wasn’t afraid to sweat—at least as much as image-conscious Motown would allow. Dance Party features the anthemic "Dancing in the Street" (check out the clarion call of that brass intro) and perhaps their second-greatest hit, the pulsing "Nowhere to Run". That it also contains the unappreciated proto funk of "Mobile Lil the Dancing Witch" is just a bonus. Not for the caffeine averse.

4.) The Temptations – Wish It Would Rain (1968) Anchored by another masterful Temps hit, Wish It Would Rain mirrors The Temptin’ Temptations in its array of ache and ecstasy. While the Supremes were Berry Gordy’s pet project, judging from the A-list material on Wish It Would Rain, the Temps were everyone else’s. There isn’t a ‘skip track’ in the bunch; just the sound of a band at their zenith, moving from strength to strength. Sadly, this was also beginning of the end. David Ruffin left during its recording after being refused his request to rename the band David Ruffin and the Temptations.

5.) Stevie Wonder – Signed, Sealed & Delivered (1970) Lost in the attention and the grammys awarded his later work was the fact that Stevie Wonder was an uncommonly gifted singer, player and arranger well before he released Talking Book. And here’s the proof. This is stuffed with resonant performances like "Never Had a Dream Come True", "Heaven Help Us All" and "Don’t Wonder Why". And when combined with the bracing strut of "Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I’m Yours)", it becomes a must-have. In more-fashionable words, this is Stevie on the verge of blowing up.