"Come on, Detroit, 'cause The Blues is still number one."
On May 26th, 1995, I was introduced to the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion by a fifteen-year-old Iraqi girl, although to be fair she was a dual citizen. She'd been introduced to the group by her big brother. He studied law at Oakland University and was a music snob. His little sister and I aspired to be like him, though we were both well on our way.
It was a Friday night and we were on our way to see Johnny Mnemonic at the Novi Town Center, about forty-five minutes from our houses. We were idling at the intersection of Union Lake Road and Richardson, right where the old drive-in once stood. Last time I was back in town, I believe I saw the old sign still standing. Anyway, we were there. It was about seven in the evening. And she told her cousin, who was behind the wheel, to put *Orange* in.
BAM! BAM! Followed by those taught strings, just hanging there, wavering, then Judah Bauer's leads came in, and then Spencer starts doing his slow-mo, Jerry Lee Lewis on Presley-strength meds. . . And with only the first minute of "Bellbottoms," I knew I'd stepped over and through a threshold. I uttered some foul-mouthed expression of awe and she told me the song wasn't even a quarter over. The hairs on my neck stood on end, my toes went alight, neural synapses started popping off, there was a Chinese wedding going on in my Floyd soaked brainpan. I felt like I'd just crested the first hill of the Mean Streak.
The physiological responses I enjoyed at the introduction of novelty goes a long way in explaining the size of my record collection and my library.
*Orange,* by the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion. It was the first time I'd ever been struck with the sexualized charge rock and roll has been said to carry. And there was so much more to it than that-conventional song structure was pitched to the boars, the (often) indecipherable vocals were a godsend after poring over Dead Can Dance lyrics, the musical non-sequiturs (reel catches, breaking glass, random clapping) that got me laughing to the point of tears, a self-referentiality unbeknownst to any white band before or since, and the wanton profanity! Before hearing "Full Grown," I'd never heard the word "fuck" in a song so many times, and I'd heard the Geto Boys. . . to the point where the entire band was just bellowing it: "FUCK!"
And the tone! The tone of those guitars, along with the marmalade and twang bubbling out of Spencer's crooked mouth. It's *why* the album's called *Orange.*
SEEING music, synesthesia, people!
And the following spring, as the leaves were again filling in the trees, I found the lime of *Extra Width*, with its bursts of noise, and hard traps, and strut and swagger and howl and reverb. Of course, the response wasn't as satisfying, initially, as it had been with the previous JSBX record, there wasn't as much of a rush. But, with each subsequent listen, I'd hear more to return to. It wasn't an album that yielded entirely straightaway.
Much unlike *Now I Got Worry,* the new release for the following fall. As it easy as it was to love that album, it wasn't the rounded, rolling, mess of heroin and fried chicken and halter tops that was *Orange.* It was more like rockabilly remixed on a Tandy.
I can't say I ever outgrew the Blues Explosion, but things definitely hit the ceiling after seeing them live for the first time. I was amazed by the sheer stamina of the band. . . songs would mesh into one another, sometimes there'd be a full stop, and then a rush right into an albumside medley, other times, Simmons would slow it down, and an entire song would stretch out for ten minutes. They were one of the nineties' best jam bands. Their shows, form this period, are captured on *Controversial Negro,* which is my pick for one of the greatest live records ever.
And although I paid less attention to them, as time went on, I always managed to pick up other stuff of theirs, their new releases, the occasional UK single, remix albums-always hoping one of them would hit me just *Orange* had.
More important than slavish devotion, they got me into a whole new world of music. Stuff I'd never have sought out otherwise. Speedball Baby, Coldcut and Ninja Tune, Doo Rag and Bob Log III, Captain Beefheart, GZA and the Wu Tang Clan, Link Wray, Pitzacatto Five, The Beastie Boys, Dub Narcotic Sound System, Bantam Rooster, Dan the Automator, Can, The Delta 88, Morphine, Prince Paul, Guitar Wolf, The White Stripes, Stereolab, Beck, The Velvet Underground, Cibo Matto, Iggy and the Stooges, The Dirtbombs, Frank Zappa, The Lonesome Organist, The Flaming Lips, Andre Williams, The Boredoms. . .
In 2004, I got to see them again. They came all the way to Taiwan, on tour for *Damage*. They played the Ho Hai Yan Rock Festival, on Fu Long beach, on the Pacific Ocean. Sponsored by Taiwan Beer. You had to cross a bridge to get to it, and the stage stood at the far end of the beach, three stories high. The waves just kept rolling in from the east, and as the sun set, they turned pink and orange and silver.
And when that salty water caught the moon, the Blues Explosion took the stage. It wasn't the free-for-all I'd been craving. They'd released *Plastic Fang* a couple of years before, and they were still coming down off of that Jagger Jag that had been marring their work since *Acme.* But considering how they played it safe, it was still a pretty good show. The lights were pink and yellow and green. They were loud. Spencer tried to get his call and response working. No one lost it on stage, though.
Of course, all of us were ten years older, too.
So, in closing: Viva Iraq.
Silver clothes, spaceships, pizza, rooftop battles, The UN, and Kali-The greatest video ever. "Dang."
Jon Spencer demonstrates the use of thetheremin for a group of children. Worth the look.
A bit the Blues Explosion did for a French television audience. Pretty close to what their shows look like when they're in top form. The extended jam on "Talking About the Blues" trounces anything any DJ did with it. They stretch it out to over seven minutes. Damn.
