WAYNE KRAMER/MOTHER SUPERIOR
Gypsy Tea Room, Dallas
July 20, 2002
When I spoke to Wayne Kramer for the first time about four years ago, he said that every time he played Dallas, the crowds got smaller, so he wasn't sure he was going to be able to continue to visit. Thankfully, he made it here on his current swing through the States in support of his new album "Adult World" (which I still haven't heard - the merch man told me he'd sold out the night before - but Wayne assured us is available in stores; hopefully his high confidence in MuscleTone's distributor will be justified).
Unfortunately, the turnout was an embarrassment to the Rock Action fans of Big D - only about 40 people showed up, in a room that could hold 400. (Wayne was playing the "tea room," really just a typical small - although nicely appointed - rock room; there was a private party in the "ballroom," which can hold 1500). Of those, most incredibly remained seated on the couches and divans along the walls throughout the show. Bro. Wayne took it all in stride, though, and delivered a show that no one who witnessed it will soon forget.
Support was by Mother Superior, who had a run on the L.A. club scene and a couple of independently-released CDs before Henry Rollins picked them up as his backing band after producing their 1998 album "Deep." Their new album, "Sin," was just released on Muscle Tone. Have to give these guys props for playing such an energetic and hard-hitting set to such a tiny and apathetic audience. On the last two or three tunes, they seemed to really find their groove and took off into the stratosphere.
The video I'd seen of these guys with Rollins had me expecting Blue Cheer amphetamine sludge, but their set was surprisingly diverse, ranging from Grand Funk-like heavy rifferama to Southern boogie to an insane rave-up on a Yardbirds level on their set-closer. Guitarist Jim Wilson looked like a vampire biker Stevie Ray Vaughan, careening around the stage with his Strat slung so low he had to bend almost double to play a la Korn. Drummer Jason McEnroth slammed the skins with abandon, but the Most Valuable Player award has to go to bassist Marcus Blake, whose thunderous attack was the glue that held it all together, kind of like Mel Schacher in Grand Funk.
Wilson did double duty that night, trading in his Strat for a gold top Les Paul and Korg keyboard to back Wayne while drummer Eric Gardner swapped out pieces of drumkit. When virtuoso bassist Doug Lunn (of Deviants fame) took the stage, I was surprised to see him plug into the second pedalboard (which I'd assumed was Wayne's). Then Wayne, looking fit and carrying a cup of tea, plugged his sunburst Strat (replacing the Firebird he's been playing for the last couple of years) straight into a small Fender Deville amp. No devices. ("They had one in the studio while we were doing the album," he explained later, "and I liked the way it sounded, so I asked my friends at Fender if I could get one that was just a little bigger.") This was going to be interesting.
Doug Lunn started to build a groove with some tricky right-hand hammering, then they were into the first number, a new song I didn't recognize but which I THINK was "I Got A Great Big Amp" from "Adult World." (Kinda ironic in light of Wayne's choice of ampage.) The sound mix was immaculate, Wayne's vocals strong, his "clean" guitar tone beefy and stinging, the rhythm section grooving, Jim Wilson providing the racket on second guitar in the same way as the young guys on "The Hard Stuff." Performing yeoman service on both guitar and keys, Wilson's a better foil for Wayne than either Frank Meyer (with the Streetwalkin' Cheetahs) or Brian James (with Mad For the Racket) on other occasions I've observed.
The "Adult World" songs are the focus of the set, and they sound like Wayne's integrating his Waitsian spoken word and literary THANGS into a grooving, modern-sounding rock context even better than on "Citizen Wayne" (which you might not have dug but I sure did). Maybe the audience's lack of animation is forgivable, because Wayne's new music needs to be LISTENED TO. "What About Laura" (which features a guest vocal from Syd Straw in its studio incarnation) sounds like the closest thing to an ACCESSIBLE RADIO SONG we've heard from Bro. Wayne yet. He switches to keyboards for "Nelson Algren Stopped By," and gives props to the Hellacopters before launching into "Talking Outta School" (they accompany him on the "Adult World" version).
That's not to say there was no old stuff, either. "Back When Dogs Could Talk" came early in the set and Wayne's blessing on "all the people that work by the sweat of their brows" brought a tear to the eye. "Kick Out the Jams" came as a kind of reward in the middle of the set, not as the customary finale, and it segued directly into "Rama Lama Fa Fa Fa," followed by "Looking At You" with Wayne playing the signature solo from the "Back In the U.S.A." version, even throwing in the rotating-thumb motion from the oft-bootlegged TV clip (the one where Fred Smith had wobbly knees) that must have made him a hit with all the ladies back in the day.
While lots of Epitaph-era faves were omitted, "The Hard Stuff" was well represented by a storming "Pillar of Fire" (where Doug Lunn kicked on an octave pedal and played a blinding solo while Eric Gardner pulled out all of his best Elvin Jones polyrhythmic tricks) and a set-closing "Sharkskin Suits." Wayne opened the set with an observation that June had been a lousy month for bassplayers, paying tribute to Dee Dee Ramone, John Entwistle, and Ray Brown, and he dedicated the set to "all the bassplayers of the world - past, present, and future." He also introduced a slight, grey-haired fella standing to the side of the stage as Pat Burrows, the original bassplayer from the MC5 and a Dallas resident for the past 15 years. As for Doug Lunn, enough can't be said about his contribution; he's a player of monstrous groove, chops, and musicality, who provides the support Wayne needs no matter where he wants to go.
"Wild America" was the closer, in a new, slower arrangement. As much as I dig the version on "Dangerous Madness," the song's never sounded better. On the way home, it occurred to me that although I'd heard loads of live tapes, and seen him a couple of times, tonight was the first time I'd ever experienced the full force of the free-rock Wayne. This was the real deal. At 54, Wayne Kramer is continuing to reinvent himself, refusing to stand still or rest on past laurels, producing music of infinite purity, sincerity, power and soul. Long may he run. - Ken Shimamoto
