MOTOWN SIDE
Detroit in the Sixties: inner city integration, a fist of steel in a satin glove. What a string of hit songs from Tamla Motown. Detroit earned a state of grace and made its mark on the music scene. For a while, the Motor City became a magic place, riding in a classy chassis powered by V8 engines.
ANN ARBOR CONNECTION
But times change, and like changing weather, when the music’s appeal started to fade, new blood took over. The desperate youth reflected the dark side of Detroit, and the music was an echo of their despair. The suburbs became a hotbed of the underground rock scene, and out of Ann Arbor’s avant-garde jazz cafes, the MC5 emerged as the true torchbearers of Rock and Roll freedom. Many fled to the suburban rock circuit to break away from Motown, blues, and folk—bands like The Stooges and Mitch Ryder & The Detroit Wheels did exactly that.
They started playing in backroom bars, recorded a single in 1966, “I Can Only Give You Everything”, backed with “One of the Guys”. A few months later, they met John Sinclair at one of Russ Gibb’s ballroom gigs. Sinclair was impressed with their energy, their physical approach to music, and the impact they had on audiences.
John Sinclair was a well-known critic for avant-garde jazz magazine Down Beat. At that time, avant-garde jazz meant “Free Jazz”, a psychedelic mix of revolutionary movements: Martin Luther King’s pacifism and Malcolm X’s Black Panthers combat approach. All of this combined with writers like Leroi Jones and musicians like Albert Ayler, Pharoah Sanders, Charlie Haden, and Sun Ra.
The MC5’s style fit right into this context. With their energy, John Sinclair had the raw material to sculpt his vision for radical and free music. But it was totally different from what a closed-door Motown executive would have imagined. The political impact of 1968’s student riots was a real thing, and the MC5 became Sinclair’s living proof that things were really happening.
Their music was radical, fast, loud, and they wanted it raw. They signed a contract with Elektra and recorded “Kick Out the Jams”, an album that was recorded live on October 30 and 31, 1968. This was the real deal—no overdubs, no gimmicks, just pure fire.
Upon the album’s June 1969 release in France, critic Philippe Paringaux had the clairvoyance to write:
“Nothing could mute the impact of MC5. The record is an explosion of energy, anger, and rebellion, a declaration of war against boredom and banality.”
CROSS OVER TO ATLANTIC
In 1969, John Sinclair was arrested and jailed for possession of marijuana. At the same time, Elektra’s PR manager needed a rock group to show a radical political, pacifist, and revolutionary image. Elektra ended up dropping the MC5 for refusing to soften their image.
John Landau arrived on the scene and signed them to Atlantic. Their first album with the label, “Back in the USA” (1970), was meant to clean up their sound. It was possible to record a 10-track album in less than 30 minutes, but the production completely cut off the MC5’s wild and untamed energy.
The result? A poppy rock album that confused many fans. In the USA, the album only sold 100,000 copies.
“Back in the USA” was not a success. The MC5 decided to move back to the underground. At Mick Farren’s request, they went to England, where they played at the Phun City Festival in July 1970. The experience was intense: some audiences rejected them, while others fully embraced their powerful sound.
Their final album, “High Time”, was produced by Geoffrey Haslam and the MC5 themselves. This was their dream album—their true vision—but, unfortunately, it was too late. The band was already falling apart.
The album featured “Sister Anne”, “Over and Over”, and “Future/Now”, where Wayne Kramer’s fuzz-drenched guitars roared with the power of free jazz and chaos. But it never reached the masses.
The MC5 returned to Europe for a tour in February 1972, playing the Gibus Club in Paris and other cities. But they were out of place—too wild for young rock executives, too intense for mainstream audiences. They ended up sharing bills with acts like Bo Diddley and Jerry Lee Lewis.
Meanwhile, Atlantic suggested they record in London, but the results were disastrous. The band was falling apart. The dream was over.
On November 29, 1972, they were back in Paris to record “Thunder Express”, but by this time, the band was done. Dennis Thompson left first, and Rob Tyner soon followed. The remaining members tried to keep things going, but the MC5 had officially crashed and burned.
By the time the MC5 made their final concert appearance, the spirit of revolution had faded, and they were nothing but ghosts of their former selves.
Exit the MC5. Or what was left of them.
EPILOGUE
After the breakup, Wayne Kramer briefly reformed the MC5 for a few months, but it was never the same. The MC5 were victims of their time—too ahead of the curve, too raw for commercial success, and too politically dangerous for the mainstream.
But they left behind a legacy.
Decades later, bands like The Clash, The Sex Pistols, and even Metallica would cite them as a primary influence. The MC5 were the spark that ignited punk.
“Kick out the jams, motherf*ers!”
