When word of an MC5 reunion came down earlier this year, a gasp of disbelief rose up from the punk subculture — at least here in America. Europeans go apeshit for these graying get-togethers. Euro radio actually plays classic American punk, so cats like the MC5, Stooges, and Ramones are big-deal stars over there, even if they never sold loads of records. Also, those wacky foreigners tend to believe old rockers might actually still like playing music, rather than instantly assuming that they’re doing it for the cash.
But this particular reunion must strain even their credulity, as the MC5’s singer Rob Tyner and lead guitarist Fred “Sonic” Smith are long deceased. And since much of the band’s legacy is built on the concepts of ’60s radicalism and punk-rock integrity, this reunion notion seems sacrilegious. So like the wide-eyed boy beseeching Shoeless Joe, we approached guitarist Wayne Kramer with a “Say it ain’t so.” And luckily, it ain’t.
“To say it’s a reunion would be wrong — an insult to the memory of Rob and Fred, and an insult to the fans, as if we were selling this as the MC5,” Kramer is quick to point out. “But we can celebrate the music and pay tribute to Rob and Fred by performing this music live with musicians who have a connection with it.” The whole idea is appropriately rechristened as DTK/MC5. (That’s “D” for bassist Michael Davis, “T” for drummer Dennis Thompson, and “K” for Kramer — the surviving three-fifths of the band.)
Fittingly, this all began at the instigation of a European promoter who floated the idea of reuniting the three remaining original members — along with some special guests such as Nicke Royale (Hellacopters), Dave Vanian (the Damned), and Lemmy (Motörhead) — for a one-time event last March in London. The concert was a big success, with fans coming from as far as Japan. “It was amazing,” Kramer says. “I never realized other people had a connection to this music as strong as mine. To see everyone in the house singing along word for word just blew me away. I’ve never experienced that before, certainly not back in the MC5’s day. So it was sounding good, and we thought we’d do a couple more shows. But when we told our agent, the thing turned into a world tour almost overnight. It’ll go until September.”
Assuming that it would be a one-timer, Kramer filmed the show for posterity, which resulted in the DVD Sonic Revolution: A Celebration of the MC5, to be released July 7. It will also feature rare archival footage, including US government tape of the band taken at the 1968 Democratic National Convention. “It’s another part of my ongoing effort to carry the message of the MC5 to a new generation,” he says. “I’ve been telling this story my whole life. The idea of the MC5 is the idea of possibility, that you can create something out of nothing. We never planned to do this. But an opportunity presented itself, and you have to take them. There are two parts to a gift — one is the giving, the other is the receiving.”
A heavy dose of twelve-step-speak flavors Kramer’s conversation, and for good reason. His frequent attempts at self-promotion can be interpreted as either crass opportunism or the hard work of a man searching for meaning in an oft-troubled life. After the usual awful record contracts, the violent end of the ’60s, and drug addiction decimated the MC5 in 1971, Kramer drifted before eventually landing in prison on drug charges. He was still adrift psychologically when he got out of the joint in the late ’70s. It took a while for him to figure things out.
“Hey, all bands break up, all record deals go into the toilet,” he says. “It’s the natural order of things — the center never holds. And the reason people in bands don’t talk about this stuff is because it’s so painful. They’ve suffered a great loss. Some write it off as a fun time, a rite of passage, and then they go get a life. But some don’t. Some obsess on it and become very bitter. I became very angry and bitter, because I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I was blessed to get a lot of help with this. So when Rob and Fred died, around the early ’90s at this point, I had to accept that that time of my life was over and make peace with the MC5. But I don’t live in my yesterdays. My life is today. Tomorrow ain’t here, and yesterday’s gone.”
But the past has a way of coming back to break that peace. Take A True Testimonial, the other MC5 documentary leaking into art houses around the country. Two aspiring filmmakers began the project in 1997, with full approval from the surviving members. Things were fairly rosy — even up to a showing of a bracing trailer for the film at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame back in 1999. Then the cozy relationship between Kramer and the filmmakers went sour. “They asked me to help them make their movie. I agreed, under the condition that I would have rights to the soundtrack and that I’d be the music producer of the film,” he claims. “They agreed, so I helped them make a pretty good movie. I secured some interviews and introduced them to everybody we know in the business. Then in the end, they said they never agreed to anything. Their attempt to force me to give them a license by taking me to court failed. The judge said they were trying to use the court to get a movie deal. They continue to show the film, but they’ll have a hard time getting it to DVD. They’re stealing the music and images of the MC5. I remain a reasonable man, but they made me an adversary.”
Aside from that skirmish, “life couldn’t be better,” Kramer says. He currently resides in sunny Los Angeles, where he runs his own label, Muscletone, and works as a music producer in indie films and television. “I wrote the theme for a Fox Sports show called 5-4-3-2-1, and that began a good relationship with Fox.” So does Fox know he was in the MC5 and the White Panther Party? “No, one has nothing to do with the other.” Well, actually, it does. And there must be some queasy feelings in that old revolutionary’s gut when he lines up to work with the Man. Then again, maybe heroin addictions, prison, rehab, and the resignation of age put those contradictions to rest. We never got a chance to ask: Kramer had a plane to catch.
