Welcome back to the Deep Dive. Today, we are
strapping ourselves into maybe the fastest, certainly
the noisiest hot rod Detroit ever produced. We're
speeding back to the late 60s. Yeah, back to
examine a band whose existence was just so explosive,
they basically burned themselves out in what,
three short years? Exactly. But their sound,
I mean, it still echoes, right? Distorted and
loud in pretty much every garage and punk riff
you hear today. Absolutely. We are talking, of
course, about The Motor City Five. The MC5. That's
right. And when you asked us to unpack the history
of the MC5, you weren't just asking about, you
know, a band. No, not at all. It's like asking
for the origin story of protest rock, of hard
rock, even punk itself. It's all there, wrapped
up in one really volatile package. They're pretty
much unanimously cited as pioneers. Proto -punk,
garage rock. And that blend, that incredible
blend of radical leftist politics with just the
most unbelievably urgent explosive sound. Yeah,
it's quite the mix. So the goal of our deep dive
today is really to untangle this paradox, isn't
it? We need to trace their journey. Right from
the start in Lincoln Park, Michigan, through
that controversial kind of anarchic peak, their
almost immediate commercial collapse. Which is
spectacular. It really was. And then the long,
really fascinating legacy that was dominated,
I think it's fair to say, by the spiritual and
musical engine of the band, Wayne Kramer. Definitely
Kramer. And that legacy, well, it only reached
its absolute final, really heart -wrenching chapter
just this year, 2024. It's a compelling story,
but also... Also, yeah, tragic. We're focusing
on that classic lineup. Rob Tyner on vocals.
Undistakable voice. The revolutionary dual guitar
attack, you have to call it that, of Wayne Kramer
and Fred Sonic Smith. Sonic, yeah, what a pair.
Michael Davis holding down that frantic bottom
end on bass and Dennis Thompson just pounding
away on the drums. The classic five. Motor City
Five. So here's the tension, the thing that grabs
you right away. How does a band that was so universally
praised. I mean they landed on the cover of Rolling
Stone in January 69 before their debut album
even dropped. Which is unheard of then. Usually
reserved for like established megastars. Dylan.
The Beatles. Right. So how does that band implode
so spectacularly. Dropped by two labels disbanded
completely by 72. It just seems. Well, I think
it speaks to the sheer incompatibility, doesn't
it? Their radical politics, their completely
uncompromising musical vision. Yeah. It just
didn't mesh with the commercial music industry
of the time. Not even close. It was oil and water.
Pretty much. As Tom Morello famously said, they
basically invented punk rock. Parade listed them
as one of the best rock bands ever. VH1 called
them one of the greatest hard rock artists. By
praise. And yet. Yeah. As one writer put it,
they were like a catastrophic force of nature.
But, you know, forces of nature aren't usually
great at filing quarterly reports. Oh, good point.
So to understand that force, we have to dig into
the foundations, the roots. Absolutely. Let's
go back to Detroit. OK, let's unpack those earliest
roots. Our first major stop. The formation, those
Motor City origins, and some genuinely surprising
musical influences that shaped them between,
say, 63 and 67. It really starts with a teenage
friendship, like so many bands. Two guitarists,
Wayne Kramer, born Wayne Stanley Combase, but
he adopted Kramer to sort of forge his own identity,
you know? Right. Separate from the family name.
Yeah. And Fred Smith. They were just kids completely
bonded by speed and energy. And what were they
listening to? What was fueling that energy? Well,
initially it was pure Americana, really. R &B,
classic blues, definitely Chuck Berry, the driving
instrumentals of Dick Dale, The Ventures. Just
rock stuff. Yeah, that energy. And the sheer
rebellion of garage rock. It was all about music
that moved fast, prioritized raw attack over,
you know, polish. They started in different bands,
right? Kramer had the Bounty Hunters. Smith had
the Vibratoins. Little local garage bands. But
eventually the most serious players kind of merged
under the Bounty Hunters name. And they were
good. Oh, yeah. They were tight. Good enough
and popular enough locally around Detroit that
they actually managed to quit their day jobs,
which was a huge deal for teenagers in the mid
-60s. Definitely. So when does the classic lineup
really come together? This is where it solidifies.
Rob Derminer initially auditions as a bassist,
believe it or not. Really? Not vocals? Not initially.
Yeah. But they quickly recognized his immense
natural talent was as a frontman. He just had
this commanding, almost shamanistic stage presence
and this booming baritone voice that showed his
deep love for American soul and gospel. Wow.
And it's Derminer who becomes Rob Tyner, right?
Exactly. He becomes kind of the architect of
the band's intellectual identity. He rechristens
himself Rob Tyner, taking the surname not from
some rock star, but from John Coltrane's legendary
pianist, McCoy Tyner. That's a statement in itself,
isn't it? Choosing a jazz name? It really is.
And it was Tyner who coined the famous moniker,
MC5, short for Motor City 5, explicitly rooting
them in that Detroit identity. Okay, so Tyner's
in on vocals, Kramer and Smith on guitars, then
Davis and Thompson. Yeah, Michael Davis joins
on bass, Dennis Thompson comes in on drums around
65. That completes the explosive rhythm section.
The classic lineup was set. But what makes their
sound so distinctive? What moves them beyond
just, you know, standard good garage rock? It's
exactly that influence Piner signaled with his
name change. The unexpected chaotic fire of free
jazz. Okay, this is the crucial twist, I think,
because you're talking Detroit. Epicenter Motown,
heavy blues, muscle car culture. Right. But Smith
and Kramer, they weren't just listening to the
radio hits. They were obsessively soaking up
these avant -garde free jazz giants. Albert Ehler.
Archie Shep, Sun Ra. Sun Ra, the orchestra guy.
Very same. And the late ecstatic period of John
Coltrane. So what did they take from that? It
seems so far removed from rock and roll. They
admired the sheer noise, the chaotic abandon
of that scene. You know, the ecstatic high -pitched
squealing of Ehlers' saxophone. The way it just
rejected traditional melody for pure primal expression.
They recognized that feeling, that sort of imminent
collapse in the music. And they basically asked...
Why can't we do that on electric guitars? So
they literally tried to imitate squealing saxophones
and dissonant horns on guitars. Pretty much.
How do you achieve that technically? Well, it
resulted in their incredibly unique interlocking
dual guitar style. Okay, how did that work? They
used feedback, heavy distortion, extended techniques,
stuff that was almost unheard of in rock music
at the time. Kramer's lead playing became known
for this irregular... really heavy vibrato, unique
scales, often just pushing into tier noise. And
Smith. Fred Sonic Smith wasn't just strumming
chords, though. No way. His role was just as
vital. He wasn't just rhythm. His part provided
this explosive, often dissonant textural energy,
apparently inspired by Sonny Sherrick. Ah, another
jazz connection. One of the few electric guitarists
really in that free jazz world. Exactly. So together,
they built this wall of sound that was somehow
both R &B -tight and avant -garde chaotic. It's
a hell of a combination. You can really hear
that fusion on Starship, right? Oh, absolutely.
The core of that song is just pure electric chaos.
But it was so directly influenced by the spiritual
cosmic vibe of Sun Ra. That they credited him.
They gave him a co -credit. Yeah. Because the
lyrics were actually cribbed from one of Ra's
cosmic poems. Think about that. Yeah. A rock
band giving songwriting credit to a jazz mystic.
That shows you how deep that influence ran. Wow.
So that cocktail high -speed R &B foundation,
overlaid with the improvisational chaotic urgency
of free jazz, it didn't just create a new sound.
It created a reputation. A massive one. How so?
Well, they played almost nightly around Detroit.
Yeah. And they developed this utterly blistering
live reputation. They weren't just playing music.
They were causing an event. Like dangerous. Kind
of, yeah. They regularly drew sold -out crowds,
like 1 ,000 people or more. And this was years
before they were nationally famous at all. The
contemporary descriptions of their shows are
pretty wild. I read one where Robert Bixby called
their sound a catastrophic force of nature the
band was barely able to control. That phrase,
catastrophic force of nature, it really sums
it up. The risk, the energy, the feeling, it
could all fall apart at any second. And didn't
Don McLeese say something about the aftermath?
Yeah, he noted that fans would compare the feeling
after an MC5 show to the delirious exhaustion
after, quote, a street rumble or an orgy. Yeah.
They were physically draining the audience. Even
Iggy Pop, who was, you know, a rival but also
kind of studying them. Right, from the Stooges.
He noted that before they fully developed their
own stuff, they were just a world -class cover
band doing The Who, Hendrix, The Stones with
incredible intensity. But the moment they introduced
that free jazz overlay, those really hard rock
values, they transcended. They became something
totally new, totally unique to Detroit. But,
you know, a catastrophic force of nature. It
needs some kind of organizational force behind
it, right? Or at least someone trying to channel
it. Which brings us squarely into the political
whirlwind that really defined their short initial
career. Yeah. Enter John Sinclair. Exactly. Section
three. Radical politics, the infamous live debut,
and the controversy that got them booted off
Elektra Records. So the band's tearing up Detroit
musically, but they need someone to handle the,
well, the chaos, business -wise. And that leads
them to John Sinclair. How did that connection
happen? Kramer was looking for a manager. Rob
Tyner knew Sinclair. He was a radical left -wing
writer, a bit older, already deep in the Detroit
counterculture scene. Sinclair becomes their
manager, calling his enterprise, Trans Love Energies.
And Trans Love Energies wasn't just like a management
company, was it? Oh, no. It was way more than
that. It was a collective, a commune and a management
firm all rolled into one. So Sinclair demanded
commitment. Total commitment to the politics,
the counterculture, the communal lifestyle, just
as much as the music. He became the spiritual
and political mentor, especially to Kramer. Introducing
him to more free jazz beat generation poetry
in this deep sense of progressive political awareness.
heavily influenced by the Marxism of the Black
Panther Party, people like Fred Hampton. Okay,
so this is where they really become revolutionaries,
not just musicians. Definitely. And because of
their association with the Black Panthers, founder
Huey P. Newton essentially prompted Sinclair
to establish the White Panther Party. Right,
the WPP. What was their deal? It was envisioned
as a militant leftist organization made up of
white people, whose mission was explicitly to
assist the Black Panthers in the revolution.
They were serious. Did they have like a manifesto?
Oh, yeah. A 10 point program. Yeah. Included
things like total release of all political prisoners
and free dope as a tool for cultural change.
Wow. OK. And the band's association with Sinclair
and the WPP was incredibly costly in the long
run. It ultimately led to Sinclair's infamous
jail sentence, 10 years for two joints. Which
became a massive counterculture cause, the free
John Sinclair movement. Exactly. But the band
didn't just talk the talk. They walked the walk,
integrating this politics right into their live
shows, making them intentionally provocative.
And yeah, frankly, dangerous. How so? What did
they do on stage? The early stage show was pure
radical theater. Members would actually appear
on stage carrying unloaded rifles. Seriously?
Rifles? Yeah. The implication was clear. The
revolution is here, or it's coming. And at the
climax of some shows, an unseen sniper would
fire a blank round and Tyner would dramatically
collapse on stage. That's intense political theater,
especially in the late 60s. Super intense, amplified
by the fact that band members were all using
heavy psychedelics, apparently. Oh. Magnifying
the intensity, blurring that line between performance
and, well, reality. And that political fervor,
that theatricality, it really came to a head
in 68, didn't it? At the Democratic National
Convention protests in Chicago. The DNC, which
devolves into what many people rightly called
a police riot. The MC5's appearance there is
absolutely foundational to their whole myth.
It's a pivotal moment in American counterculture
history, really. Absolutely. And the MC5 was
the only major musical band to initially show
up and play during the protests organized by
the Yippies, the Youth International Party. What
about other bands? Weren't people like Neil Young
supposed to be there? Yeah, Neil Young apparently
arrived but refused to play because of the chaos,
the escalating violence. But the MC5, they stayed.
What's the atmosphere like? Toxic. Tear gas,
police lines, just widespread brutality. And
the MC5 essentially became the sonic soundtrack
to the riot. Wayne Kramer confirmed they played
for over eight hours straight. Eight hours. In
that environment. Imagine the pressure cooker.
They knew they were basically the last beacon
of organized counterculture sound in that park.
They just kept playing, trying to maintain the
energy, fuel the protesters, even as the police
were attacking people. Anyone else play? Apparently
only Bruce Barthol from Country Joe and the Fish
and maybe folk singer Phil Ox showed any willingness
to perform besides the MC5. That marathon, totally
anarchic performance, just cemented their reputation.
These guys were the real deal. Authentic revolutionaries,
not just rock stars playing at it. And that authenticity,
that raw energy, is what got them their record
deal, right? Directly. Elektra Records executive
Jock Holzman and producer Bruce Botnick saw them
live and realized their true power came from
that interaction with the audience. That dangerous,
chaotic energy was the show. So instead of a
studio album first. They decided to record their
debut. Kick out the jams, live, at Detroit's
Grand Day Ballroom, Halloween night and the night
before, October 30th and 31st, 1968. And it's
arguably the most powerful, energetic live album
ever made. Just pure lightning in a bottle. It
captured them at their absolute raw, revolutionary
peak. Totally. The album's packed with proto
-punk classics. The title track, obviously, Rocket
Reducer 062, Ramalama Fafa. So title. The extended
jam -based Sun Ra tribute, Starship. Plus, that
incredible extended cover of John Lee Hooker's
Motor City is burning. Where Tyner explicitly
praises the Black Panthers' role during the 67
Detroit riots. Yeah, making their political alignment
absolutely undeniable. Right there on the record.
But the real controversy wasn't just the politics,
was it? It was the language. Exactly. That rallying
cry in the title track, which was essential to
their identity, you know, urging the audience
to break through cultural boundaries, was famously,
kick out the jams, motherfuckers. Which probably
didn't go over well in 1969. Not with the establishment,
no. That, combined with Sinclair's fiercely inflammatory
liner notes, it caused an immediate massive headache
for Elektra Records. So the label tried to clean
it up? They attempted damage control. They put
out a censored single version for radio play
that replaced the offending word with brothers
and sisters. How did the band feel about that?
Well, Rob Tyner later said that edited version
was released without any group consensus. It
basically undermined their whole anti -establishment
stance, didn't it? Yeah, kind of defeats the
purpose. But the album itself actually sold pretty
well for a debut. Over 100 ,000 copies peaked
at number 30 on the Billboard chart in May 69.
The problem wasn't sales initially. It was the
morality war being waged against them. And the
real breaking point came back home in Detroit
with the Hudson's department store chain. Right.
Hudson's refused to stock kick out the jams because
of the profanity. Standard censorship move. But
the MC5's response? Pure, unadulterated provocation.
Zero compromise. This is where that clash between
radical idealism and terrible business sense
really comes into play. Totally. They took out
a full page ad in the Detroit Underground paper
Fifth Estate. The ad proclaimed, stick alive
with the MC5 and fuck Hudson's. Oh, wow. And
crucially, they also slapped Elektra Records
logo prominently on that ad. Ouch. So they basically
forced their record label to take a side in this
revolutionary dispute with a major retailer.
Exactly. Faced with a massive retail boycott.
Hudson's retaliated by pulling all Elektra records
from their stores, not just MC5. Jack Holtzman,
the head of Elektra, felt he had no choice. He
dropped the MC5. They were just too hot, too
controversial a handle. So that whole debut era
cover of Rolling Stone, top 30 album, it all
collapsed in just a matter of months. Gone. Poof.
But the band, still kind of riding high on their
reputation, they quickly signed with Atlantic
Records, which moves us into their short -lived
studio era. Right. That transition leads us into
section four. The Studio Years and Disintegration,
covering 1970 to 72. And the story of their two
Atlantic albums is really, it's a story of diminishing
returns, commercially, but also this fascinating
conflict over artistic control. Yeah, their second
album, back in the USA, released in 1970, was
a massive, like, radical change in direction.
Atlantic paired them with producer John Landau.
John Landau, who would later become famous working
with Bruce Springsteen, right? The same guy.
And Landau had a very specific vision. He was
determined to strip away the sprawling, chaotic
sludge of the live show. He saw potential for
a much tighter, stripped -down rock sound. Less
jam, more punch. Exactly. Landau aimed for perfection
precision. Back in the USA, his short, fast,
intensely hard -edged, angry guitar rack. It's
a deliberate prototype for the punk rock that
would emerge just a few years later. The tracks
average, like, barely three minutes long. But
the band, they weren't entirely happy with that,
were they? No. They felt Landau was overbearing,
heavy -handed. They felt he was trying to shape
the group entirely to his liking, compressing
the sound so much that, apart from Tyner's unique
vocals, some members felt they were barely recognizable
as the same band. So a deep conflict between
the revolutionary chaos they embodied and the
studio discipline Landau was demanding. Absolutely.
And the result? Mixed reviews, commercially mediocre
sales. The album only peaked at number 137 on
the US chart, lasted just seven weeks. The public
seemed kind of confused by the abrupt shift from
the raw live album to this super compressed studio
sound. Meanwhile, the internal pressure must
have been immense. Heavy touring. Escalating
drug use. And their relationship with their mentor,
John Sinclair, was unraveling too. Yeah, that
political alienation was becoming really clear.
Sinclair was in jail, right? And despite being
so deeply connected to his cause, when the big
John Sinclair Freedom Rally was organized in
December 71, huge event, John Lennon played.
Right, to protest that insane 10 -year sentence
for two joints. The MC5 were conspicuously not
allowed to play. Wait, the White Panther Party
band, the guys who went to Chicago? Yeah. They
weren't allowed at the rally for their own guy.
Apparently not. The organizing committee kept
them off the stage. It suggests their radicalism,
which was once their calling card, had maybe
become too controversial, even for the counterculture
they helped inspire. Or maybe there were other
internal politics at play. Wow. So they tried
to correct course with their final original record,
High Time, in 71. Yeah, they broke with Landau,
brought in Jeffrey Haslam, and they regained
much more creative control over the production
this time. And ironically, this became the best
reviewed of their original records, didn't it?
It did. The critics liked it. And the band seemed
satisfied because they were finally allowed to
stretch out musically again to experiment more.
You can hear that musical expansion on tracks
like Future Now, which is like 10 minutes long.
And Skunk, sonically speaking, which has that
Sunray influence bubbling up again. They were
trying to synthesize their early chaos with some
of that newfound studio discipline, maybe. But
critical acclaim doesn't always pay the bills,
does it? Unfortunately not. Sales were worse
than ever. Partly because Atlantic Records apparently
failed to promote the album adequately. It only
peaked at number 191. And that financial reality
was the final straw for Atlantic. Yep. Both studio
albums had lost money for the label. Atlantic
dropped them. And the internal disintegration
followed almost immediately. Who was the first
casualty? Michael Davis, the bassist. He was
forced out in February 72, largely due to his
increasing heroin use, which was making him unreliable.
That's tough. The remaining trio, Kramer, Smith,
Thompson, plus some touring musicians, they did
manage one final recording session in London.
for a film soundtrack called Gold. Right, they
track three songs, Gold, Train Music, and Inside
Out. But that was truly their last gasp as a
recording unit. And the end came quickly, and
pretty tragically. The remaining group, basically
just a touring shell, briefly reunited for one
final show. New Year's Eve, December 31st, 1972,
back at the Grand Ballroom. The same place where,
just a few years earlier, thousands of screaming
fans had packed in to record Kick Out the Jam.
And this time? Poorly attended. Maybe a few dozen
people. Kramer, apparently distraught, struggling
with his own addiction issues, just left the
stage after a few songs. Oh, man. And the band
disbanded immediately after that. Done. It's
the ultimate tragic footnote, isn't it? The band
that define live energy, ending their career
playing to an almost empty room. Yeah, it's rough.
And that tragedy leads us directly into Section
5, post -breakup lives, incarceration, and redemption,
covering roughly 73 through 91. The band scattered,
and their paths couldn't have been more different,
especially Wayne Kramer's. Yeah, let's start
with the others first, maybe. Fred Sonic Smith,
he formed a new band called Ascension, briefly
included Thompson on drums and even Davis on
piano, oddly enough. Then he formed Sonic's Rendezvous
Band, right? Which became kind of legendary in
Detroit. Totally legendary. Mostly for only releasing
one initial single, The Amazing City Slang. but
maintaining this ferocious live reputation for
years, hugely influential locally. And more famously,
perhaps, Smith married singer Patti Smith. Right.
He became a crucial collaborator for her, co
-writing all the songs on her 1988 album, Dream
of Life, including that powerhouse anthem, People
Have the Power. Then he kind of retired from
music. Yeah, basically retired to raise their
family. Yeah. And then, sadly, died of heart
failure in 1994. Way too young. What about Rob
Tyner? Tyner also had a significant post -MC5
career. Performed solo, briefly fronted something
called the new MC5. He became a successful producer,
manager, promoter in the Detroit scene. Released
a well -regarded album, Blood Brothers, in 1990.
And then he also... He also died tragically young.
Heart attack in 1991, age 46. Just devastating
losses. And Michael Davis. The bassist who was
forced out. He eventually joined another Detroit
band, Destroy All Monsters, featuring members
of the Stooges and other scene debts. stayed
active in the local scene for years. Okay, but
the most dramatic story, the one with the biggest
ups and downs, really belongs to Wayne Kramer.
Without a doubt. Having lost his band, his identity,
his whole political mission, he just spiraled
downwards. He admits quite openly he became basically
nothing more than a small -time Detroit criminal.
And that decline culminated in... 1975, he was
caught selling drugs to undercover federal agents.
Convicted. Sentenced to four years in federal
prison at FMC Lexington, Kentucky. Wow. That
sounds like the absolute bottom. The revolutionary
jailed by the very system he despised. It does.
But prison, specifically FMC Lexington, became
maybe the single most important setting... For
his musical and personal redemption, it's an
incredible turnaround. How? What happened there?
The irony is just profound, isn't it? The self
-proclaimed white revolutionary who fought alongside
Black Panther ideals finds his musical structure,
his salvation, studying bebop with a jazz veteran
while locked away by the system he hated. Who
is the jazz veteran? While he was incarcerated,
Kramer befriended Red Rodney. Red Rodney, the
trumpeter. Played with Charlie Parker. The legendary
Red Rodney, yeah. Former member of the iconic
Charlie Parker Quintet. Rodney became Kramer's
mentor. Kramer called him his musical father.
They spent their prison time studying theory,
composition, playing together in the prison band,
which was called Street Sounds. That's amazing.
A bebop legend teaching guitar to the proto -punk
pioneer in prison. It's unbelievable. And that
mentorship was foundational. When Kramer got
out in 1979, he immediately returned to music,
toured solo, played with Johnny Thunders and
the kind of ill -fated band Gang War. Yeah, that
must have been volatile. You'd imagine. And notably,
he joined Was, not Was, as their first studio
and touring guitarist, played on their album,
and that hit single Wheel Me Out. But he still
struggled with addiction for a while. Oh, yeah.
Spent much of the 80s battling it. Worked straight
jobs. He was a carpenter for a bit, I read. Really
focused on recovery. And by 1998, Kramer successfully
stopped using alcohol and illegal drugs entirely.
A complete transformation. It's essential here,
I think, to pause and just reflect on how powerful
Kramer's influence already was on the global
punk scene, even while he was locked up. Absolutely.
The movement he helped inspire across the Atlantic
and the UK, they paid tribute to him. You're
talking about The Clash. Exactly. The Clash released
the song Jail Guitar Doors as the B -side to
their single Clash City Rockers. It was a direct
explicit homage to Kramer's drug troubles and
his incarceration, immortalizing his struggle
right there in the punk canon. The opening lines
are so specific, aren't they? Let me tell you
about Wayne and his deals of cocaine. Then the
DEA locked him away. Yeah. That tribute didn't
just highlight his struggles, it cemented his
legendary status. A martyr, a pioneer, recognized
by the bands that followed in his footsteps.
And that tribute, that song titled Jail Guitar
Doors, in turn became the defining mission of
Kramer's later life, didn't it? It absolutely
did. Which brings us to Section 6, Reunions,
Legacy, and the Final Chapter, covering roughly
1992 right up to the present day. So were there
reunions of the actual MC5? There were attempts,
yeah. The first public reunion of the surviving
members, Kramer, Smith, Davis, and Thompson,
was actually an unbilled short set, maybe 30
minutes, in 1992 at a tribute concert for Rob
Tyner in Detroit after he passed away. Just a
brief flicker then. Yeah. After Fred Smith died
in 94, the remaining three, Davis, Kramer, and
Thompson, reformed more formally in 2003. They
toured pretty extensively for almost a decade
under the name DKTMC5. DKT Davis, Kramer, Thompson.
Explicitly. Exactly. They toured with this fantastic
rotating cast of guests, which really showed
the reverence people had for the band. Folks
like Handsome Dick Manitoba from the Dictators
on lead vocals. Wow, good fit. And Gilby Clark
from Guns N' Roses playing rhythm guitar, standing
in for Fred Smith. That lineup lasted until Michael
Davis sadly died of liver failure in 2012. He
was 68. Another loss. So Kramer kept the legacy
alive after that. He did. In 2018, he launched
the really ambitious MC50 tour, celebrating the
50th anniversary of Kick Out the Jams. And this
is a true all -star lineup. Rock heavyweights
like Kim Thayil and Matt Cameron from Soundgarden.
And Billy Gold from Faith No More on bass. But
significantly, that massive anniversary tour,
which ran into early 2020, It didn't include
the original drummer, Dennis Thompson. Right.
Which kind of highlights the ongoing logistical,
maybe personal complications of getting the remaining
original members together consistently. But Wayne
Kramer's most enduring legacy, maybe outside
the music itself, the thing that really defines
his second act is that activism, directly inspired
by the Clash song. Jail Guitar Doors. In 2009,
Kramer... along with the British musician Billy
Bragg, and Kramer's wife, Margaret Saadi Kramer,
co -founded Jail Guitar Doors USA. And the mission.
Directly inspired by the Clash's tribute. Provide
musical instruments and music lessons to prison
inmates across the country, keeping people inside
the same kind of outlet and structure that have
helped save him. That's incredibly powerful,
turning his own experience into that. Intensely
personal work. Kramer became incredibly active,
basically touring prisons instead of concert
halls. Visited over 100 facilities across the
U .S., turning his criminal downfall into this
mission for musical rehabilitation. And his later
career also saw him branch out, didn't it? Film
and TV composition. Yeah, using his unique skills
in a totally new context. He scored comedies
like Talladega Nights, which actually featured
his solo track, Edge of the Switchblade. Oh,
yeah. And the documentary Hacking Democracy.
He found a new creative avenue. And that commitment
to music theory, the stuff he learned from Red
Rodney in prison. It even manifested in a new
musical direction. His 2014 jazz album, Lexington,
which was inspired by a documentary called The
Narcotic Farm about the very prison hospital
he was in. No way. Yeah. He'd reached an hour
six on Billboard's top jazz charts. He was finally
using that bebop training he got inside, full
circle. His commitment to justice went even further,
too. In 2020, he co -founded the KPO Center.
Right, focusing on community arts programming
and outreach, specifically targeting young people
impacted by the justice system in Los Angeles.
Still trying to help. Then, in 2022, Kramer announced
one last big, ambitious project. Yeah, a tour
under the banner We Are All MC5. and plans for
a brand new studio album, Heavy Lifting, produced
by Bob Ezrin. The legendary Bob Ezrin, Pink Floyd,
Alice Cooper. Yeah, big name producer. This was
slated to be the first proper MC5 studio album
in 53 years. Yeah. And original drummer Dennis
Thompson even participated on a couple of tracks.
It seemed like a final powerful statement was
coming. But then the final chapter for the original
band members just unfolded with heartbreaking
speed in 2024. It was brutal. Wayne Kramer, the
pioneer, the activist, the engine. He died on
February 2nd, 2024, age 75, pancreatic cancer.
Just devastating. And then just two months later,
their former manager, the political lightning
rod, John Sinclair, he died in April 2024. Wow.
And then less than a month after that, Dennis
Thompson, the explosive original drummer, the
last surviving original member of the MC5. He
died on May 8th, 2024, also age 75. God, just
bang, bang, bang. An incredible period of loss.
The absolute end of the original Motor City Five.
Yeah, end of an era, truly. But there was recognition
alongside the tragedy, thankfully. Right, the
Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, finally. The NC5
were inducted in the Musical Excellence category
in April 2024. Long, long overdue honor. And
fulfilling Wayne Kramer's final ambition. Heavy
lifting. Their final album, the first in 53 years,
was released posthumously on October 18th, 2024,
completing their studio story even after Wayne
and Dennis were gone. So what does this all mean
for us as we kind of head into our final thoughts
here? Let's just recap that paradox of the MC5.
Okay. We've traced a band. that just burned with
this incredible radical idealism, right? Incorporating
high art influences like free jazz into their
furious garage rock. Pioneering a sound that
became punk. Absolutely. Yet they were ultimately
undone by the sheer intensity of their own political
controversy, the devastating toll of drug use,
and just this fundamental incompatibility with
the commercial music machine. Their legacy is
huge, though, cemented by that powerful duality.
They're proto -punk architects, musical geniuses
on one hand. And on the other, they fostered
this profound social impact through Wayne Kramer's
decades of work with Jail Guitar Doors, turning
his personal tragedy into a resource for redemption
for others. It's incredible. And that leads us
to a final provocative thought for you, the listener.
Something that gets right to the heart of the
conflict that destroyed, yet somehow also defined,
the MC5. When you listen to their work, which
album... really holds their greatest influence.
Where does the core MC5 power lie? Is it in the
raw, revolutionary, totally chaotic energy of
that live debut, Kick Out the Jams, the album
that got censored, got them dropped, but captured
them at their absolute volatile political and
musical peak? That sound of pure, unbridled revolution.
Or is it maybe in the compressed, fast, aggressively
hard -edged studio perfection of Back in the
USA? Produced by John Landau, consciously stripping
away the sprawl to create this streamlined, undeniable
prototype for the punk rock sound that would
follow just a few years later. the sound of structured
fury. Yeah, it's a tough one. How much did the
turbulent politics and the, let's face it, overbearing
outside management, first Sinclair demanding
revolution, then Landau demanding commercial
structure, how much did that actually hinder
their artistic longevity versus just defining
the unique, short, bright blaze they became?
It's that debate, isn't it? Between the sound
of authentic, messy revolution and the sound
of a more structured, perhaps more forward -looking
future. Where do you land? We'll leave that question
with you. Thank you for joining us on this deep
dive into the history and legacy of the Motor
City Five. Kick out the jams.