beta be fucking in the streets

the dMkCt53 come out in their cleanest, brightest whites. how white? panther white. i'm not sure what's more bizarre: the fact that i have to see these three now clean-cut elders harken far back into their durty-ass hippie past to rekindle an embittered ember thirty years dormant and kick out the non-hit jams for us, or that there is the sound of phantom horns when the trumpet and sax aren't being played, or the fact that "shaking street" and "teenage lust" actually have a low-end to them. having spent a good many years gleaning their manifestos off the wax, to learn all the tremors and trebly jitters of Back in the USA, all high-end, no low, like some sorta decapitated head breezing freely through the melee of the times, blood sprayed in the summer of love, these songs are almost unrecognizable when Michael Davis starts to thump out the basslines. time is in flux though, which could explain the wear and tear of the times. Gilbey Clarke, who was originally in the GN'R 8 (or 14), announced mid-afternoon that "Tonight" goes back a long time. at least to last night. and the second karaoke-singer, Lisa Kekaula, clarifies further, making sure we're all "having a good time tonight, or this afternoon, whatever, as long as you're here to have a good time."
timing is a bit off, chaindrives slipping ever so slightly as the band exhumes these lost rhythms, be it tire burning slow-chug ("Motor City is Burning") or fuck-rock funeral dirge ("Sister Anne"). Jon Pareles of course sees the blues and soul roots of the band. downshifting from chaos back into chord changes, the band gets lost in the noise, their timing belts just a bit off.
so does lost time persist, much like the lost spirits present. yes, there is Sonny Blount, and Fred 'Sonic' Smith and Rob Tyner get invoked, as Kramer talks all Faulkner-esque about the past not even being passed, raging against the war machine thirty years ago, how it loops itself, gets misty-eyed in the deja vu, which is French for over and over. no wonder portions of the group drooped deeper into the dope portion of the white panther manifesto. who would pick waking nightmare over the dream nod?
whether or not they are on their third go-round of the reunion circuit, it's still surreal to have Handsome Dick Animal come out and relive his high school days with the band. or to relive my high school days reading about how important the MC5 were, or rather are. it seems like a dream to have the Arkestra come out to crank up the "Spaceship" with the dMkCt53. Handsome Dick's sparkly intergalactic blue blouse gets lost among the other costumes crowding the stage and the "Spaaaaaaaaaaaceship" that Mark Arm keeps mewling for has all sorts of foam and gap filler problems, but such disintegration soundtracks my exit. the rockets reducing as i make my way back to earth. the fiery horn cries, the feedback, all dissolves in the evening air as i walk past a hypnotic, trance-inducing drum circle twelve-strong outside, which in turn fades into a jazz trio politely playing at an intersection of the sidewalk, which is replaced on the other side of Central Park West by some hesitantly strummed folk ditties near Strawberry Fields. it sounds like some real mix culture.