Say what you will about Terry Knight, he's one of the few American producers to come to grips with the notion that American rock bands are generally inferior to their British counterparts. He had Grand Funk Railroad imitating the Anglo-heavies right from the start during his bid for kingpin superstardom, and it just might have worked were it not for the extreme limitations imposed by the band's lack of talent.
lot of fun. Then came the break with Knight, compounded by the breaking up of their power trio, with the addition of keyboardist Craig Frost. And then
Phoenix, probably the worst album ever made. With GFR forsaking the English gods and still drowning in their considerable lack of talent, the future looked dark for the boys from Flint.
Enter Todd Rundgren, he of magnificent albums and multicolored hair. Whose reputation as a producer, John Mendelsohn points out, stems mainly from getting his name on the back of a lotta folks's albums—a few of which (e.g., Badfinger, Fanny) he's managed to ruin with weak, tinny sound. "This project," he said, "will either re-establish Grand Funk as stars or effectively end my career."
You can rest easy, Todd, for while We're an American Band isn't exactly a cosmic masterpiece, it is indeed a highly enjoyable, hard-rockin' funfest. The title tells the story. Grand Funk is finished with the Anglo-imitations and will henceforth concentrate on hard-driving American rock & roll. To hell with the ideal—from here on in Grand Funk is gonna strive for the attainable!
Rundgren's primary contribution has been to give the band a fuller, lusher recorded sound, which works especially well during "(Workin' on) the Railroad." The sonic emphasis has been shifted from guitarist Mark Farner to Frost and the result is a song with a lot more depth and pure feeling than anything the band had heretofore attempted. "Creepin'" and "The Loneliest Rider" also operate in this vein, succeeding almost as well despite being the latest entries in the Farner Social Commentary Sweepstakes. The next entry will definitely be one too many.
"Walk Like a Man" has a tough, ballsy riff that infects the entire song with a gruff, macho feel. Here, as elsewhere, it's obvious that the increased frequency of drummer Don Brewer's lead vocals isn't merely accidental. His voice is much harder and harsher than Farner's and makes for an easily-discernible rise in the levels of tension and authority in Grand Funk's songs. Brewer's vocal really makes "Stop Lookin' Back" into a creditable reaffirmation of the old "pull yourself up by your bootstraps" ethic, despite his jungle drum solo at song's end that doesn't m
You cannot talk about rock in the 1970s without talking about Grand Funk Railroad. And you cannot talk about Grand Funk without talking about the hate: how critics pissed on them from an arrogant height. I saw Grand Funk very early on, playing for flies in Philadelphia in December 1969, and I heard in their panzer-trio brio what the snobs did not. Born in Flint, Michigan, of the same local, white-R&B lineage as Bob Seger and Mitch Ryder, singer-guitarist Mark Farner, drummer Don Brewer and bassist Mel Schacher were not cheap Cream but a no-frills, hippie-era garage band; factory-town peaceniks who rocked like warlords.
Original producer-manager Terry Knight fought the brickbats by hyping Grand Funk's box-office might as underground revolution. But his static obscured the band's true bared-bone mettle. Grand Funk made their reputation on tour, cutting On Time, Grand Funk and Closer to Home on the run, all between August 1969 and March 1970. The flat, hard production, then a matter of time and economy, pulls the simple pow of the music upfront: Farner's high, clear tenor; the iron-treble tone of his guitar; the elephantine fuzz of Schacher's bass; Brewer's brute, John Bonham-like drive. As the main writer, Farner avoided complexity like a pox. But "Heartbreaker" and "Into the Sun," both from On Time, and the cover of the Animals' "Inside Looking Out," on Grand Funk, are pure electric-Michigan animalism, an all-testosterone blueprint for the White Stripes. Live Album and the previously unissued Live: The 1971 Tour are not as punchy; the crowd noise gets in the way. But the 1971 tracks from the band's Shea Stadium shows that year are honest snapshots of Grand Funk mania at its peak.
Survival, E Pluribus Funk and Phoenix, all from 1971-72, creak with growing pains. It took producer Todd Rundgren, on 1973's We're an American Band, to polish the pop and Motown lurking inside the amp stacks. The title hit, the stampede "Black Licorice" (with its pumping keyboards by recent addition Craig Frost) and "Walk Like a Man," a hard-rock twist on the Four Seasons, are perfect bombs of sweat, sugar and steel. The late albums have their moments, like Farner's keening wail in "Bad Time" on 1974's All the Girls in the World Beware!!! Still, every train runs out of track someday.
For most folks, a hits disc will suffice. But the best of these reissues show that, for a time, Grand Funk were the people's choice. And the people were right.
DAVID FRICKE
(From RS 919, April 3, 2003)
