Welcome to the Deep Dive, your shortcut to being
well -informed. Today, we're looking at a career
that's just incredibly versatile, almost surprisingly
so. Yeah, it really challenges your expectations.
We're diving into the sources on American Rock
Drummer. Hunt Sales. And our mission really is
to trace this journey. You've got a musician
whose work touches some, well, truly pivotal
moments in rock, different genres, different
eras. From prog to proto -punk, it's quite a
range. Exactly. We're looking at, you know, longevity,
adaptability, and what makes a session player
like him so valuable over decades, that foundational
skill. Okay, let's start with the fact that it
always gets people. The aha moment. Hunt Sales.
Yeah. For 1954. He's the son of TV comedy legend
Soupy Sales. Right. It creates this fantastic
contrast, doesn't it? You have this icon of slapstick
TV comedy. Pies in the face, yeah. Exactly. And
his son is laying down the beat for Iggy Pop
and then later anchoring a band with David Bowie.
It's fascinating. It really is. It tells you
right away, this isn't going to be a standard
career path. The sources make it super clear
that his professional life, almost from the start,
was tied to his brother, Tony Sales, the bassist.
You almost never see one without the other in
those early years. That brotherly bond seems
absolutely crucial. It's the bedrock. Absolutely.
Their first big thing together was Tony and the
Tigers. And this wasn't, you know, some garage
band nobody heard of. They got immediate exposure.
Big time. Oh, yeah. 1966, they were on Hullabaloo,
which was national. And also Swingin' Time with
Robin Seymour, a local Detroit show. Basically
teen idols learning their craft on live TV. Wow.
So thrown right in. That early experience must
have set them up for, well, arguably one of their
most demanding phases next, working with Todd
Rundgren in the early 70s. Oh, definitely. If
you want to see how a young drummer develops
serious chops, you look here. This is where Hunt
really shows his command of, you know, tricky
time signatures, complex arrangements. The Sales
Brothers played on Rundgren's really important
early solo stuff. Like Rund. Yep. Runt in 70,
then Runt, The Ballad of Todd Rundgren in 71.
And they also contributed to the big one, Something
Anything in 72. Okay, so that's demanding music.
Lots of precision needed, right? Shifting meters,
dynamics, not just straight rock beats. Not at
all. Far from it. Which, you know, makes that
whole Utopia story even more interesting. Yes,
Utopia Mark I, 1973. Hunt and Tony Sales, Todd
Rundgren. Sounds like a prog rock supergroup
in the making. It did. But it was incredibly
short -lived, the whole tour. Just two weeks,
then canceled. Two weeks? Why? What happened?
Well, the sources kind of politely say technological
issues. Sounds like code for something else,
maybe. Creative differences. Implosion. Could
be. I mean... Prague back then, complex music,
sometimes complex personalities too, right? Maybe
the pressure cooker environment was just too
much too soon. Yeah, maybe. But the interesting
thing is that quick end to utopia seems to have
kind of freed them up, allowed them to pivot
towards something maybe simpler, harder hitting.
Okay, so leaving the Prague complexity behind.
For a bit, yeah. And that leads pretty directly
into their next phase, exploring more straightforward
hard rock. Which brings us to 1976. And this
short -lived band called Paris, a power trio,
and I mean power, some serious names involved.
Absolutely serious. You had Bob Welch on guitar,
you know, formerly of Fleetwood Mac. And Glenn
Cornick on bass, ex -Jethro Tull. So Hunt Sales
is going from Rundgren's intricate stuff to this
much heavier, bluesier rock sound. He's playing
drums, sang backing vocals on their second album,
Big Town 2061. Okay, so he's mastered complex
prog. He can hang with these hard rock veterans.
And now here it comes. This is the gear shift,
I think, that really cements his legacy for a
whole generation. Moving from Bal Walsh to Iggy
Pop in 1977, that's a huge jump start. Oh, it's
the pivotal moment, definitely. And it required
a completely different drumming approach. How
so? Well, Iggy demanded, you know, raw energy,
aggression, primal power, and the Sales Brothers
became the rhythm section for Lust for Life.
The album Lust for Life, just a cornerstone.
I mean, listen to that title track. That drum
beat is relentless, driving, simple but perfect.
What made Hunt the right guy for that specific
kind of, let's say, controlled chaos? I think
it's that combination. He had the discipline
from working with Rundgren, right? But he could
apply it with this necessary looseness, this
raw force that proto -punk needed. Right. Powerful
drumming, yeah, but it's also incredibly tight,
never feels sloppy, never drags, just pushes.
And that mix of power and precision, very rare,
especially when you remember who else was deeply
involved in those sessions. David Bowie. Exactly.
David Bowie. And that connection is just crucial,
isn't it? The sources are really clear on this.
Bowie remembered how good the Sales Brothers
were on Lust for Life. Their dynamic, their professionalism,
that power. And that's why he called them like
over a decade later to join Tin Machine in the
late 80s. It's fascinating, isn't it? Bowie's
a decade on. He's done the whole massive 80s
pop star thing. And dance, yeah. Right. And he
needs a reset. He needs a specific kind of energy
to shed that glossy image. He wants something
raw. So when Bowie decides, okay, I need to make
raw, guitar -heavy, kind of confrontational music
again, who does he think of? The rhythm section
that gave Iggy Pop that unforgettable groove,
it makes perfect sense. Yeah, it does. The Sales
Brothers brought that unvarnished primal energy
that Bowie needed to sound, well, dangerous again.
And Tin Machine became Hunt's main gig for several
years then. Yep. You've got the first Tin Machine
album in 89, then Tin Machine II in 91, and that
live album Oy Ve Baby in 92. It really shows
his adaptability again, moving from Iggy's raw
feel to Bowie's more angular art rock kind of
structures. Totally different to bands, but he
handled both. And while all this Tin Machine
stuff is happening, the sources show something
else important about his career. He wasn't just
the drummer, he was diversifying, using his full
musical skill set. Yeah, this is key for understanding
how someone builds a long career, isn't it? He
wasn't just sitting behind the kit. He started
popping up in movies and TV, sometimes as an
actor, sometimes behind the scenes. Like, he
was actually in the movie The Linguini Incident
in 91. Yeah, playing a drummer. And it starred
Bowie and Iman, so that connection continued.
He was also in an episode of Tales from the Crypt
back in 1990. Okay, so he's comfortable on camera.
But you mentioned behind the scenes, too. Right.
And this really shows his depth. He was writing
and producing music for soundtracks, not just
playing on them. Oh, interesting. Like what?
Well, for instance, he wrote a song called Stateside
for that horror movie Dr. Giggles in 92. Dr.
Giggles. OK. Yeah. And he wrote Now That You're
Gone for tape heads in 88 and even produced a
track called Tell About Mary. for, get this,
American Ninja 2, the confrontation in 1987.
American Ninja 2. Wow. Okay, that's unexpected.
It really demonstrates that his musical knowledge
was broad. He understood composition, arranging,
production, the whole package. It let him move
between being the engine in a rock band and,
you know, crafting music for film. That diversification
must be why his career kept going strong. It
ensures resilience. Opens up different ways to
work? Absolutely. And that versatility kind of
explains the next chapter, too. After Tin Machine
and all this session and production work, the
sources point to a big move in the 2000s. Where'd
he go? He relocated to Austin, Texas, which,
you know, is a real hub for musicians doing production
and session work across all sorts of genres.
Ah, Austin. Makes sense. A different kind of
music scene. More community focused, maybe. Yeah,
very collaborative. And a great example of that
Austin period is his work with Lost Super 7.
Oh, that musical collective. He was part of Charlie
Sexton's band on their 2005 album, Heard It on
the X. It just shows, you know, even after playing
with these global icons, he's still grounded
in making music within a community. It connects
back to that foundational skill idea, doesn't
it? You can go from the huge stage with Bowie
back to the respected Austin session scene and
your value, your musicality is still totally
recognized. It's the proof, really. And this
all kind of leads up to him finally stepping
into the spotlight himself, right? Yeah, much
later in his career. That would be his 2019 solo
album, Get Your Shit Together. He released it
under the name Hunt Sales Memorial. Get Your
Shit Together. Great title. Isn't it? And it
feels like a fitting way to sort of... cap off
this journey we've been tracing finally showcasing
his own voice after decades powering these incredible
but very different visions of others so let's
try and wrap this up what's the big picture here
yeah we followed this guy from being you know
soupy sales son and a 60s teen idol uh -huh through
mastering 70s prog with todd run grin then defining
that raw energy for iggy pop which was absolutely
crucial his impact on an album like lust for
life you can't overstate it then a decade later
Bowie specifically picks him and his brother
to anchor Tin Machine's artistic reset. It boils
down to that foundational skill set, I think.
That ability to be incredibly disciplined when
needed, but also dynamic and explosive. Tight,
yet powerful. That allowed him to just slide
between genres that, on paper, look totally incompatible.
It really raises a fascinating point, especially
for musicians listening today. You mentioned
Bowie calling the Sales Brothers based on sessions
from a decade earlier. Yeah, the Lust for Life
sessions. Right. So think about this. How does
the high quality work you do now, maybe even
on a session gig that feels short term, create
opportunities that might not even show up for
years? Maybe even a decade down the line. That
decade gap is the ultimate proof of professional
reputation, isn't it? The skills you hone today,
the impression you make in the studio. That's
what someone like Bowie remembers when they need
a specific, reliable, foundational talent years
later. It really underlines the lasting value
of genuine skill and adaptability way beyond
just chasing the latest trend. Definitely something
for you to think about, perhaps while you go
track down some of Hunt's sales' incredibly eclectic
work.