Welcome to another edition of From My Collection. A couple weeks ago, a friend and I were hanging in my metal dungeon (AKA basement), discussing the roots of our beloved music. I boldly said that one band who doesn’t get mentioned enough in this conversation is Grand Funk Railroad. We hear about Sabbath, Purple, Blue Cheer, and Pentagram ad nauseam, rightfully so. And if your first response to this is, “Grand Funk? The “Loco-Motion” guys from classic rock radio that my dad listens to?”, it’s all the more reason why this essay was written with a sense of urgency. Join me, if you will, in our heavy metal time machine, as we go back 55 years to the summer of ’69 and explore Grand Funk’s self titled sophomore album, AKA “The Red Album”. Are you red-dy?
To say Grand Funk Railroad were a band who came together fast would be an understatement. Formed out of the ashes of Michigan garage rockers Terry Knight and the Pack, the power trio assembled in early 1969. Knight himself tagged along for the ride as well, assuming a managerial position. It was a move that initially worked, because by the summer of that same year, GFR found themselves signed to Capitol for a multi-album deal and opening for fellow burgeoning hard rockers, Led Zeppelin. Their debut album, On Time, proved to be a hit out of the gate, fusing hard-nosed bluesy riffing with pure American soul. Little did rock fans know what was to come…
Eager to build upon the success of On Time, Grand Funk quickly retreated back to the studio. Amidst an increasingly busy touring schedule, the band carved out 11 days in mid October, 1969, to record what many, myself included, consider to be their defining statement: Grand Funk. Released on December 29, 1969, the album just squeaked into the ’60s, bookending the decade both musically and literally speaking. The ’70s were on the horizon, and these young bucks from Flint, Michigan were ready to claim the decade as their own.
As much as I love On Time, jam packed with impeccable songwriting and musicianship to die for, when put next to Grand Funk, it feels like a warm-up by comparison. I don’t say that lightly, as most hard rock bands over half a century later are still chasing the glory of On Time, whether they consciously know it or not. Yet when one drops the needle upon Grand Funk, they’re greeted to an absolute monolith of its era and metal-dom as a whole. It’s the mediator between Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath: Heavier and more thunderous than the Jimmy Page led supergroup, but not as grim and foreboding as the Birmingham godfathers who emerged on Friday, February 13, 1970.
When we drop the needle on Grand Funk, the first thing we hear is the gut-churning sludge bass of Mel Schacher to open the aptly titled “Got This Thing on the Move”. His grooving basslines and untouchable tone are a cornerstone of this release from start to finish, and one of the many aspects that helped propel both this album and Grand Funk to the next level. Matching the intensity of Schacher’s low end is Mark Farner’s equally fuzzed out guitar and soaring vocals, as well as Don Brewer’s thunderous drumming, slamming cymbals and all. Heck, the jam during the second half sounds straight out of a Kyuss or Monster Magnet song. Couple these tropes with a truly raw, stripped down production, and you’ve got the groundwork for a monster of an album.
The aggression of “Move” is toned down just enough for the painfully underrated, “Please Don’t Worry”. Maybe it’s just me, but I’ve always thought this song had a jazzy feel to it, especially in the way Farner’s riffing interacts with Brewer’s drumming throughout. The non-rock influences don’t end there. Farner’s vocal delivery and melodies bear a distinct semblance to the Motown vocal groups of the early ’60s. Admittedly, even by the late ’60s, the R&B stables were hopping on the far-out psychedelia bandwagon, with Berry Gordy signing the crucially influential Rare Earth, a band we’ll perhaps touch on in a future entry.
The bluesy boogie shuffle of “High Falootin’ Woman” sound straight off of On Time, albeit with a dirtier, heavier delivery. It’s simple and straightforward, guaranteed to get kids out of their seats and dancing in the aisles, as they should to this music. If the presence of a boogie woogie piano doesn’t cement this, I don’t know what does. The rocking continues with one of the defining cuts of the GFR canon, “Mr. Limousine Driver”. Similar to the opening “Got This Thing in the Move”, it’s a pummeling heavy rocker that showcases Mark, Don, and Mel firing on all cylinders. The grooves are powerful, the solos are face-melting, and the hooks are just accessible enough to rear their freaked out head onto mainstream radio amidst The Archies’ “Sugar, Sugar” and Oliver’s “Good Morning Starshine”. Yes, you read that correctly.
Closing out side A is one of the most ambitious and unsung cuts in the GFR catalog, “In Need”. What starts as a simple heavy soul jam, complete with Farner’s untouchable high register and down home grooving, shifts gears into a nearly 8 minute jam, complete with a harmonica solo, rumbling bassline, and razor sharp guitar solo. The playing becomes more intense as the song progresses, its lengthy framework serving as a perfect opportunity for GFR to expand the song even more so in a live setting, which is where the band truly earned their bones.
As we flip over to side B, we’re treated to not one, not two, but three crushing offerings of GFR at their fiercest, building upon the jammy tendencies of “In Need”. It all starts with “Winter and My Soul”, which is a bit of an outlier by GFR standards. Lying somewhere between pastoral blues and rumbling heavy psych, it taps into the short lived “rural rock” niche of the era, best exemplified by obscurities like Noah and Bush (no, not the ’90s grunge band). I’m sure you can learn more about this micro-genre from The Day After the Sabbath, but I digress.
This is followed by what is hands down the heaviest moment on Grand Funk, “Paranoid”. Not to be confused with the Black Sabbath song of the same name that would release a year later, GFR’s “Paranoid” is a devastating skull crusher of colossal proportions. It doesn’t just serve as a key example of early metal, but an early example of doom metal with its plodding, droning lead riff that establishes the framework for the rest of the song. Equally as intense is its claustrophobic atmosphere and freaked out lyricism, the latter courtesy of Farner. I’m not sure I’d want to listen to this one while tripping, but give it to me everyday as part of a proto-doom mix!
Rounding it all out is the coup de grace, “Inside Looking Out”. Originally performed by British Invasion heroes The Animals, GFR took this humble rocker and transformed it into an absolute beast, assaulting us with a nearly 10 minute jam metal odyssey. All of the qualities that make this album excellent, the rhythms, the melodies, the soloing, the musicianship, the unrelenting attitude; It all comes together for a final show of force, one that still rattles brains and pulverizes eardrums to this day. On a personal note, it was all of maybe a month ago that while en route to work, my father and I blasted this one, still in awe of Schacher’s rib-rattling bass and Farner’s six string blitzkrieg.
As 1969 turned into 1970, Grand Funk reaped the rewards of their self titled strike. The album, like On Time before it, went gold immediately, and propelled from GFR from an opener and midlevel festival act to an arena headliner overnight. Grand Funk mania was here to stay, and is still running wild in the hearts and souls of those who recognize their role in the evolution of this music that brings us all together, heavy metal. Prehistoric metal? Perhaps, but metal never the less. So the next time your oblivious friend refers to GFR as merely “Homer Simpson’s favorite band”, sit them down, roll ’em a joint, and drop Grand Funk on the turntable. They’ll thank you later.
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