CHUCK BERRY / RON WOOD - The Ritz, June 25, 1986

The Ritz’s sixth anniversary show had both the feeling of an Event and a sense of rock and roll history.

The second set, particularly, had an MTV-New Year’s Party air to it, with an audience loaded with industry types and occasional celebrities (among them, Charlie Watts, the Del Fuegos, Paul Schaeffer and Anita Pallenberg.)

The history, of course, came from Chuck Berry. From the very start of his staggeringly erratic career, Berry has defined rock and roll. Many performers like to think of themselves as living legends, but Berry really has a right to the title. He is rock music incarnate, deserving of a Hall of Fame all to himself. His guitar style has inspired thousands of artists, from Keith Richards to Hendrix to George Thorogood. This concert proved that and reinforced that there is no built in retirement age in rock and roll. Berry, pushing 60, can still get up there and crank it out in classic style.

With New York’s constantly changing club scene, six years qualifies the Ritz for classic status as well. Its one of the oldest surviving venues in town (but CBGBs remains the all-time champion.) It is ironic that this gig occurred in the same month as the closings of The World, Danceteria, Irving Place and the Dive. Rest in peace, y’all.

The first show this evening was more or less a rehearsal for the second. The latter began began with the TV screens flashing an impressive roll call of artists who have played the Ritz – among those who have gone on the arena-land were Culture Club, Tina Turner, Duran Duran, and Joan Jett. Those who haven’t, but who represent the best music has to offer these days were too numerous to mention.

The set opened with the Uptown Horns warming up the crowd with a few numbers, including a hot rendition of the Peter Gunn theme (recently revised by The Art of Noise with Duane Eddy on guitar). The Uptown Horns have their Stax/Volt style of instrumentals down pat, consummately tight and professional. They sounded as good here as in their recent gigs with Johnny Thunders; for once a perfect back up band for Berry (who often plays unrehearsed with any local band a promoter can rustle up, sometimes with terrible results.)

Ron Wood, no slouch in the classic rocker department himself, joined the horns for some uplifting material from his career, including “I Can Feel The Fire” from I’ve Got My Own Album To Do, and the Faces' gem, “I Wish I Knew What I Know Now.”

“We gotta get Chuck on, his car runs out of petrol at 12:35,” Wood announced. Berry promptly sauntered on stage – as always, sporting red pants and loud flowered shirt with his classic red Gibson ES-335 in hand – and launched into an effortless rendition of his “Roll Over Beethoven,” one of many Berry songs which have been covered by almost every group known to humankind, but always sounds best in the original version.

Chuck Berry has the aura of a survivor; his three-decade career has weathered all possible obstacles, including being imprisoned twice: one in the late 1950’s for illegal transportation of a female minor across state lines, and more recently in the 1970’s for income tax evasion. Many other performers would have packed it in long ago, but Berry has soldiered on, without apology, retaining his lecherous persona, his orneriness (like many great artists, he is difficult to work with), and his tremendous talent. His music has a life of its own, carrying Berry with it like an accomplice to a crime.
Berry took a turn on the piano for “School Days,” another rock and roll anthem like much of his compositions; an enthusiastic crowd sang along with the choruses without prompting, in contrast to the forced audience participation (“PLEASE sing!”) many bands now think is required.

“It Hurts Me Too” was a slower tune, a cool bluesy number evocative of Berry’s beginnings in the Blues/R&B circuit in Chicago. Of all the Chess Records performers in the genre – such as Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf, B.B. King, Elmore James  – Berry was the first, and pretty much only one to really cross over, expanding his music’s themes so the white teenage audience could relate, and by just writing plain old excellent material. Bob Dylan once called Berry his favorite American poet. During this concert Berry gave a nod to these roots by covering B.B. King’s classic “Every Day I Have The Blues.”

Wood and Berry seemed to have a good time playing together, trading off guitar licks and kidding around. The set had a loose, playful quality, with an abundance of good spirits, and an easy brilliance in style; the kind that only comes from doing something exceptionally well for a very long time.

Most of the songs here, “Sweet Little Sixteen,” “Maybelline” and “Rock n’ Roll Music” among them, were were both exuberant and lighthearted. “Memphis” was about the darker side of Berry’s life, a touching song about the loss of his daughter to “a mommy who did not agree” and “tore apart our happy home…” As with much of Berry’s material, this song is best known by its cover versions (by the Faces and Johnny Rivers). Ditto for "Around and Around,” widely attributed to the Rolling Stones. The entire performance was an eye-opening reminder of the extent of Berry’s influence, like “Oh yeah, he wrote that one too.”

Berry and Wood’s high energy set was wound to a close with “Carol,” segueing into the classic-of-classics, “Johnny B. Goode.” Berry can still pull off his famous “duck walk” and retains his theatrical stage moves – yet another aspect of his performance that has been copied by generations of musicians. “Reeling and Rocking, still raunchy, sexual and generally terrific after all these years closed the gig. In celebration, balloons descended from the ceiling and bounced merrily on everyone’s heads.

Several audience members took a cue from punk / metal shows and jumped up on stage – and one rather straight woman who refused to leave had to be dragged off, providing an appropriately loony, chaotic ending to the extravaganza.

Berry inserted some new lyrics into “Reeling and Rocking” for the occasion. and exited signing “that’s the show, we gotta go, we gotta go.” There was, of course, no encore. Rumor has it that Berry is contractually obligated to play only 45 minutes. and that’s exactly what he does – but he’s entitled, as he’s entitled to all his quirks, and general grumpiness. Forty five minutes of Chuck Berry is worth more than hours of any lesser performer.

Abby Weissman, 1986

THE CRAMPS / SCREAMING BLUE MESSIAHS: Joyfully, Uncompromisingly, Totally Sleazy (Ah, Greatness!). The Ritz, August 1, 1986

The Cramps are the ultimate garage band, armed with certifiable insanity, tons of chutzpah, and the understanding that great rock n’ roll is frequently more attitude than chops. They are as American as rotten apple pie.

For those not too attached to idealism and illusions, the Cramps are a reflection of the REAL America; the land of Russ Meyer, Batman, Times Square Peep Shows, white trash, Las Vegas, and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. But rather than view the world with a voyeur’s morbid fascination or report on its human tragedies, the Cramps love it.

They completely unapologetically still possess the emotional maturity of a 12-year old boy with his first copy of Playboy, frozen at the stage where dirty jokes and dirty pictures are the best part of life.They lend credence to all the 1950’s myths about the damaging effects of listening to rock n’ roll: the corruption of youth, and the inevitable decent into a life of sin and degradation. They are out there. Rock n’ roll has ruined them. But what a great band they are.

The Cramps are currently making a comeback of sorts after a lengthy period of difficulties with their former record label, I.R.S. Their new album is on a British indie, Big Beat. It, like their Ritz concert, was well worth the wait.

On the new release, A Date With Elvis (which most-likely references the debauched, fat, drugged out Elvis amid his gun-toting entourage and unspeakably tacky Graceland decor,  rather than the jubilant Jail House Rock-circa Elvis) the Cramps leave their earlier 50’s monster movie obsession behind, and concentrate on Sex. Their new songs – like “Hot Pearl Snatch,” “What’s Inside A Girl” (which includes the line “Mama told me that girls are hollow”), and “Cornfed Dames” (with lyrics like “Shake that thing, I’ll buy you a diamond ring”) succeed where many other bands fail: in being joyfully, uncompromisingly, totally sleazy. They are a tacky monument to pure American trash.
This quality comes across best live; the Cramps must be seen in person if one is to fully appreciate their psycho-billy rock n' roll.

This show was no exception. Stealing Elvis Presley’s bombastic Las Vegas intro (the theme from “2001” no less), every member made a star entrance. Drummer Nick Knox (in all black, down to his Mafia hitman shades) started, and slinky new bass play (sporting a cocktail dress straight out of Tina Turner’s 1960s closet) came out next, as they launched into The Cramps' trademark Jungle Bo Diddley-esque beat bottom. Next, “Poison” Ivy Rorshach vamped onstage like The Bride of Franskenstein meets Gypsy Rose Lee, in a shimmery harem/stripper number, complete with tiara,  adding a loud fuzz-laden, reverb-heavy rockabilly riff into the mix. Vocalist Lux Interior came out last like the demented Elvis clone he always was, decked out in an all gold lame fringed jacket and boots. Also wearing a tiara, he launched into a deliciously sleazy rendition of “Heartbreak Hotel.”

Always loyal to their 1950s rockabilly roots, the Cramps also did an eerie version of the Ricky Nelson hit “Lonesome Town.” Lest anyone mistake it for an homage, Lux irreverently introduced the song as “originally recorded by the most beautiful singer in the history of rock n’ roll, myself. Before that, Ricky Nelson, who blew his brains out on cocaine.” The Cramps have always shown the most sublimely bad taste in their choice of covers, and remain true to form by including perhaps the stupidest Elvis song of all time, “The Clam,” from the movie Girl Happy,

The band's new lineup did wonders with the Cramps’ purposely sloppy high energy surf-punk sound. Original member Bryan Gregory unfortunately took all their death rock songs and voodoo mania a bit too seriously, and, after reportedly collecting dirt from local graveyards wherever the Cramps played, left the group to become a Warlock living in California (where else?)
 
Besides their excursions into Elvis-land, the band stuck primarily with material from their current record. Although “People Ain’t No Good” sounded better on vinyl with its chanted "Children Of The Damed" chorus (courtesy of the McMartin Preschool Choir, they claim}, “Aloha From Hell” was an absolute standout live. The song summarizes the Cramps aesthetic: silly (tourists in loud shorts) and nasty (even though the Cramps’ version of Hell undoubtedly features a devil with red plastic horns).

Real-life married couple Ivy Rorshack and Lux Interior each have a striking if entirely different stage presence: Ivy remains forever cool and sultry while Lux is completely off the wall at all times. “I’m really sincere” he kept repeating, looking as insincere as possible with a wild glint in his eyes, and a hand that just won’t stay out of his pants.

Anything can happen at a Cramps gig; with the same sense of spontaneity and danger one associates with the legendary exploits of Iggy Pop and Stiv Bators. During the show’s rousing closing numbers, the insanely glorious “Can Your Pussy Do The Dog,” and their early cover of the Trashmen’s 1964 hit “Surfin’ Bird” (done at Motorhead speed), Ivy remained profoundly calm as usual as she played in front of a portable fan, with her belly dancer drag billowing artfully in the breeze; while Lux trashed his mic stand into little pieces. He then chugged a bottle of red wine, which spilled blood-like all over him, and proceeded to pretend to jerk off using the empty bottle as a phallic symbol. He then tried to sit on the bottle, and missed. He sang a good portion of “Surfin’ Bird” with the mic in his mouth, stripped down to his bikini briefs, and then smashed the bottle with the microphone and walked on the broken glass, before climbing onto the Ritz’s balcony via a large speaker like crazed monkey. Iggy would have been proud.

The Cramps have been doing their thing for over ten years, with an integrity and perseverance rare in the music business. Or maybe they just have to do it. They are driven, like serial killers. The Cramps would consider that a compliment.

The opening band, Screaming Blue Messiahs have to do it too. They also have been slugging it out for a decade with considerable less recognition than the Cramps have received. Well, the Messiahs deserve more. Their no-frills, punk-edged rock n; roll is searing and driven, with a raw streetwise delivery. The Messiahs biggest asset is Bill Carter, whose vocals are as powerful as his electrifying guitar work.

The Screaming Blue Messiahs are all about their music, period. They are not pretty; they spout no cute banter, there are no theatrical stage moves, and no break in their level of intensity. They are the kind of guys who would probably be in jail or an asylum if they weren’t rocking - which in rock music is an incredibly compelling quality that cannot be faked.

The Messiah’s dark, driving electric blues is the perfect soundtrack for images of urban malaise like shoot outs, car crashes and barroom brawls; i.e. the underlying violence of everyday life.  The song titles of their debut album Gun Shy spell it out: ”Killer Born Man,” “Smash The Market Place,” and “Just For Fun.” 

In the song “Someone To Talk To” Carter screams “If I die in a combat zone, box me up and ship me home; If I die on the Russian front, bury me with some Russian cunt.” Pleasant thoughts for the modern age, from a band that is not the least “pleasant,” but consistently very, very good.

Abby Weissman