Jon Is Lord (1941-2012)

Born into a family who enjoyed makin’ a migh-tee racket, Jonathan Douglas Lord (June 9, 1941), sprung from the Leicester well that flowed forth with his saxophone player father and musical siblings. The harnesser of the hellish Hammond—who rocked the same encrusted C3 since ’73—and living godhead of Heavy Metal Thunder birthed a inimitable sound of power and nuance with the Purp, amidst some of the most beastly rock’n'roll ever put to tape, with classical flourishes serving as an underpinning but never being overplayed—separating himself from some of the more high-falutin’ exponents of progressive rock. His ever-present organ first bubbled to the surface in ace R&B/Blues/Soul combo the Artwoods, who cut many fine records and served as backing for touring Americans such as Bo Diddley and Little Walter. So impressed with their skills, Bo hisself planned to have the boys record and tour as his band in the States, but unfortunately no American band availed themselves for the exchange program which was in place at the time. I’ve long thought they were one of the more legit Brit interpretations of American R&B and apparently I’m not alone in that thought, so sez Little Walter: “I thought white boys couldn’t play the blues, but they were playing the hell out of the music. Them boys was as pure in the blues as many a negro back home, in fact there’s many a player in the States couldn’t keep up with them.”

Sadly, earlier this month we lost the Lord in a London Clinic from the combination of pulmonary embolism and his battle with pancreatic cancer. Below Doug Sheppard spins his personal tale of decades-long Purp pleasure and Lord worship. Following that Hush for a minute and partake in some of the inspired madness in the YouTube playlist selected by Doug and myself. (jeremy nobody, esq.)

When a favorite musician dies, it’s sad from a standpoint of losing their talents and the potential to ever enjoy those talents again—but it’s not like losing a family member. You listened to their music and maybe even went to their shows, but you didn’t share in any life experiences with them.

Some, however, transcend the anonymity of the average fan-musician relationship when their music ends up shaping your life in a significant way. Jon Lord, who passed away at age 71 on July 16, was such a musician to me. Had it not been for Jon Lord—or should I say Deep Purple—I probably would not even be writing this.

Deep Purple came into my life at age 10 (going on 11) in the summer of 1980, when the only music that meant anything to me was the Beatles. Just about everything I’d heard on FM radio—no need to recount how awful AOR, disco and that year’s Top 40 were—left me cold. (Tellingly, I’d discovered the Beatles via reruns of their cartoons.) Until one June day when “the riff” came on…

Hearing “Smoke on the Water” was like seeing a new Ferrari drive out of a junkyard. Played to perfection by perfectionist Ritchie Blackmore on a Stratocaster, the riff was powerful, catchy and monolithic—a collusion of metallic megawatt ecstasy and an R&B base that no AOR ever had. With Ian Paice’s hi-hat punctuating every verse and memorable chorus, Roger Glover’s bass moving like a stealthy snake, Ian Gillan’s restrained yet melodic vocals and Lord’s brilliant Hammond C3, it was flawlessness all around.

From that moment forward, I was hooked. More importantly, I knew I had to dig deeper than the Top 40 to hear good music. Deep Purple may have sold millions in the early ‘70s, but by 1980, they were out of fashion. These were the days when major labels and their lame-ass radio accomplices were hyping new music as Something You Must Own simply because it was new; old music was out because it was old. So you barely heard “old music” like Deep Purple on the radio and were considered unhip if you liked it.

Or so I was told by a few of my fifth grade classmates in suburban Pittsburgh. But I didn’t care. With Deep Purple seemingly always at the forefront of the “never heard of them” whine I’ve heard many times since, I began reading rock encyclopedias and accumulating records as best I could with my limited pre-teen funds—with my fanaticism ultimately leading to the music writing I’ve done for the past 22 years.

But Deep Purple wasn’t just at the forefront because they happened to be on the right radio at the right time. They were a great band—as great as anyone during their initial 1968-1976 run and even in some of the post-reunion days of 1984 to the present. As veterans of Johnny Kidd & the Pirates, the Outlaws, Screaming Lord Sutch & the Savages, Joe Meek sessions and the Artwoods, they began as a hard-hitting take on Vanilla Fudge with classical overtones in Mark I, turned in to a pulverizing powerhouse with a tinge of Little Richard in Mark II, got more soulful in Mark III and went into funk with both feet in Mark IV—every lineup recording at least one classic album.

The only constants through all four Marks were Paice and Lord. Lord was the leader of the band in the early days and, while that would change in subsequent lineups, always a key player in their distinct sound. Lord brandished the Hammond C3 not as an instrument to fade into the background, but as much a primary element of the sound as the guitar. His tasteful, restrained side is what made the band’s version of Donovan’s “Lalena” (also featuring a brilliant Rod Evans vocal) and the classic intros to “Child in Time” and “Lazy” memorable. His solos on “Hush,” “Fireball,” “Highway Star,” “Burn,” “ ‘A’ 200” and many others are pure magic—using flamboyance and virtuosity to push the heavy rock envelope while stopping just short of overindulgence. He could even lay back—as in way back—for the mystical intro to “This Time Around,” a highlight of 1975’s underrated Come Taste the Band.

Tellingly, it was Lord’s loud Hammond that signaled the band’s return as the intro to the title track of their 1984 comeback, Perfect Strangers—which for me was a godsend in the musical wasteland of the 1980s. Not only because that one did get airplay (payola’s not all bad I guess)—but because the resulting tour meant I finally got to see Deep Purple. The records were powerful—but nothing compared to seeing them live at the Pittsburgh Civic Arena in February 1985 and again at Richfield Coliseum in May 1987. Yeah, they were arena rock shows with all the requisite pomp and indulgences. But I say that guys who actually cut their teeth in the early to mid-’60s UK rock‘n’roll and R&B scenes—as opposed to merely worshipping it after the fact like their critics—have every right to indulgences. Especially when those indulgences include Lord’s house-shaking Hammond solos, delivered almost like a dirty old man smashing a synthesizer (this was the ‘80s, after all) with a cricket bat: over the top but not overindulgent.

Jon Lord, of course, also had a distinguished pre-Purple history including the Artwoods, the Flowerpot Men and Santa Barbara Machine Head, plus post-Purple solo efforts and stints in bands like Paice, Ashton & Lord and Whitesnake. But you can read plenty about that somewhere else—not to mention the influence of Deep Purple on many bands that followed in their wake. His memorial will be tinted metallic purple figuratively and maybe even literally, and it’s that color that’s moved me the most.

Doug Sheppard

Thomas Mera Gartz 1944-2012

Thomas Mera Gartz blazed a trail through psych/Kraut music for over four decades, displaying a streak of minimalism and brutality, tempered with a natural delicacy; and soldiered through times prosperous and lean as a working musician, while former collaborators shuffled off into the world of 9 to 5′s. He first came to public attention as (primarily) drummer for the Mecki Mark Men, before serving as founder member of the “continuous seminar of music” called Parson Sound, a group formed to perform Terry Riley’s “In C” (Riley had been flown to Sweden to compose an orchestral work for a Stockholm school and work with students). After that initial burst of free-form manna Parson exploded in slippery tentacles down many winding paths, detailed out by humble scribe Erik Bluhm below. Selections by Senor Bluhm and myself give an iceberg-tippin’ look into the world of Gertz with a YouTube playlist which follows this tribute. Of Gartz former bandmate Reine Fiske said: “Thomas’s unique commitment to everything that surrounded him created a strong spiritual force, a vibe that very easily rubbed off on you and something that can be heard…” Make that time to hear the spirit of this man N-O-W. (jeremy nobody, esq.)

This year saw the passing of Swedish musician Thomas Mera Gartz, best known as a founding member of both the Mecki Mark Men and the Pärson Sound/Harvester/Träd, Gräs och Stenar family. Throughout his forty-five-year career, Gartz also contributed his considerable skills to other notable Swedish combos like Arbete och Fritid and the Hot Boys.

It all began in 1967 when Gartz, then one of two drummers for the Mecki Mark Men, became more and more interested in experimentation and musical freedom. Already contributing sitar and flute to the Mecki Mark Men’s sound, Gartz was primed to go further out. On the side he formed the group Pärson Sound with guitarist Bo Anders Persson and bassist Torbjörn Abelli. Envisioned as an informal collective influenced by Minimalism, free jazz, American rock’n’roll, traditional Swedish folk, and various ethno-sounds, the group was not dissimilar in sound and concept to Japan’s Taj Mahal Travelers or Germany’s Amön Düül and Siloah. Though Pärson Sound never released an album (their collected recordings were released posthumously in 2001), the group was a great countercultural influence and forged much new ground in the Swedish rock scene.

(more…)

R.I.P. Richie Teeter

Ritchie Teeter, man of magnificent meter, held down the pound for the mighty Dictators during their most ferocious and fevered period, displaying a dexterity not common in most straight-ahead rock’n’roll. He also saddled the stool as touring member of Twisted Sister for a time, and did a spell with Tom Verlaine (Television), among others. Most prominently, he continually fostered the efforts of many aspiring noise-makers throughout his years, giving them the necessary tools to realize infamy. Luckily, he also contributed to a migh-tee radical catalog that’ll rattle our mortal brains for years to come. Below, Dictators guitarist Scott Kempner delivers a moving tribute to his long-time friend and bandmate. Following the article is a link to another Dictator-penned remembrance by Andy (Adny) Shernoff, info on Ritchie’s memorial fund, and a ‘Ritchie’s Golden Moments’ YouTube playlist as chosen by Scott. (jeremy nobody, esq.)

This morning, April 10th, 2012, Ritchie Teeter passed away from complications stemming from his battle with esophageal cancer. The news came down hard and unforgiving. Ritchie was our drummer from 1975–1978. Four years of tour, record, tour, record, etc. These were the peak years of the original band’s existence. Although Rich’s tenure as a Dictator officially came to an end in 1978, he had come back to do a bunch of “reunion” shows in the ‘80s. It was again a joy to share a stage with him, and relive his own unmistakable approach to the Big Beat. After that, though, we all seemed to lose touch with Rich, although I would occasionally run into him, the last time being at a Del-Lords show in the late ‘80s. Then, it was no contact until about eight months ago, when I learned of his illness, I knew enough was enough, and the long estrangement needed to end. I wrote him a letter at the last email address I had for him, and that began a series of great correspondence, rekindled friendship, and a final acknowledgment of the eternal bond we created by our extraordinary shared experiences. I only wish I had reached out earlier. Now this…

This is a dark and terrible day, the first such hit the Dictators family has taken. Forty years after the creation of our little band the first casualty is recorded. And dear God, it hurts. The cold glass of mortality thrown our way is a stark reminder of the inevitability of our fate and time here on God’s Golf Ball. What follows are some immediate memories and feelings about our fallen brother. Make no mistake, the Dictators are like the Mob, once you’re in, you’re in. Forever. DFFD.

(more…)