24 Hours in Detroit - Troy Toma and The Lousy Lovers (Jett Plastic Recordings)
So, my good friends, I hesitate to even commit my thoughts to paper very often nowadays cause I'm just so curmudgeonly and grouchy and pessimistic, I've totally turned into one of those ruined, scarred, and bitter men muttering to himself about the MC5, and wishing all these new kids in their expensive hats would get off my fucking lawn.
I got the oldness; walk with a cane, been having some scary health issues, with gratitude for some narrow escapes, my old friends are dropping like flies, and many of those remaining suddenly look like Uncle Jessie from "Dukes" Of Hazzard".
I've not been around Troy Toma in 25 years, but in my head, he's the sweet, normal, boyishly cute one, the nicest guy in rock ‘n’ roll, and a stellar percussionist. Maybe it's 'cause he was on the cans the first time I saw 'em, but a bunch of different people served in Detroit's underground glamour punk institution, The Trash Brats, over the years. Craig Cashew, f'rinstance, was a dynamite entertainer, he was like all five guys from Twisted Sister in an old "Creem" magazine, half-shirt and stripper short shorts, but for me TT is, was, and always will be, a legendary, Trash Brat.
He also brought his normal guy next door, Bun E. Carlos appeal, if ever so brieflly, to the Naked Flames. He was Detroit Rock City's dangerous provocateur, shiny black leather clad, hard drinkin' Generation X-meets-Lords Of The New Church outlaw politico Goth gang that never was.
So here we are, decades later, and I feel like Rip Van Winkle again, 'like I passed out under a tree, which I've been known to do from time to time, and when I awoke, everybody was scrolling on those fucking iPhones and speaking an entirely foreign language, and Trash Brat Troy, it turns out, has become a very soulful, stand-up songwriter like Jeff Tweedy or Dave Pirner. He plays heartfelt songs from the heartland, like Bob Seger, Junk Monkeys, Gin Blossoms or Wilco, and he ain’t wearing no fishnet stockings or Divine makeup. He ain’t even teasing his hair like Johnny Thunders.
Apparently, during my nap, the brother and his family relocated to Iowa, or Idaho (wait, that's my drag name) or somewhere, very calm and quiet, and that's provided him with the psychic space to pen melodic and reflective, understated songs that have little to nothing to do with devil's night, clown acts, smut, or cocaine. I knew the brother was an impressive drummer, 'cause way back when I was trying to put my own act together up in Car City, my buddy Bootsey X, a charismatic local legend who moved at the speed of Evil Knievel, repeatedly kept nagging me to let him play drums in our band, and I'd see the guitarist and the girls kinda exchanging these telling glances, and not being from there, I never understood what was up. I never heard Bootsey pound the skins, but that brother fuckin rocks, right?!
Ahh yeah, but see, I came from a real slapdash, ramshackle, spontaneous garageland where it never mattered at all who could play, cause who the fuck can play? This ain’t jazz, you were just so thrilled when you met somebody with a Cramps t-shirt, you could teach 'em how to play, a Cramps t-shirt was a big commitment when I was a kid, in Ohio, you got your ASS KICKED for wearing a Cramps t shirt, and blue eyeshadow and liquid eyeliner and black lipstick on boys? That shit would get you chased down the street by entire high school sports teams, and known arsonists would stalk your house.
People have joked that I seemingly went outta my way to find the most self-destructive, chaotic, street crazies in the world to form bands with, and none of 'em ever got off the ground, and okay, most all those guys are dead and gone, now. Sometimes, a band can carry one player who is not technically proficient, like Manic Street Preachers did with Richie James Edwards, but apparently, five fulltime fuckups ain’t likely to get a record deal in these modern times.
When I heard Troy play drums on that Naked Flames unfinished album, I was startled by his talent and taste, and high level of professionalism. Now, I have heard him write, sing, play other instruments, I'm totally in awe of his many abilities and gifts, and from all accounts, he remains the nicest guy in rock ‘n’ roll. Ya see pictures of him with his family, and you're like, "Wow! That looks like a FUN DAD!" Troy's tune, "Stumble" is the same kinda Gun Club torch-and-twang Americana I aspire to write,
it's just really good country music from the heart. I genuinely love this kinda stuff when it's invested with so much authentic emotion. Very reminiscent of his Trash Brats bandmate, Brian McCarty's songwriting, which is high praise coming from me, 'cause I think Brian's an extraordinary songwriter.
Troy's song, "Tempted" has a poppy vibe upon first listen, but also feels like you just tied up your horse and rambled into an old honky tonk and slammed a gold nugget on the bar before demanding a sarsaparilla. Not what I was expecting, at all, but it's really good, soulful stuff. That might be Willie's sister on piano, and then a Johnny Thunders alley cat guitar comes in at the end.
"Get In Line" will appeal to fans of the Diamond Dogs or Replacements. That hard workin', blue collar, Motown sensibility seems to stick with a fella, even if he somehow escapes that burning junkyard, abandoned hellhole, Detroit. It's good times barroom rock ‘n’ roll, welcoming, down-home.
One of my main impressions of the Car City was that you have to grind so hard to merely exist there, that when it's time to let your hair down, when it's Miller Time and you want that Bud to be for you, make mine a Schlitz, there ain’t none of that arms folded, in crowd, uptight, better than you, star-bellied Sneetches V.I.P. room gentrification bullshit, so commonly seen in other cities. There's an all-inclusive, egalitarian spirit of genuine, do-your-own thing tolerance and solidarity, which was a big part of what the Trash Brats exported to other towns where they brought their enthusiastic audiences, a Gabba Gabba Hey good time, a dabba doo time, life's too short to participate in that highschool asskiss, social hierachy competition bullshit.
"You Can't Be True" is another winner, continues to demonstrate how TT is a Trash Brat, through and through-love the guitar on that one. "I Know I Don't Look Like A Rockstar" is an absolute blast, a hoot, a stone cold, golden hit. Makes me smile. I'm his fan for life.
Me and my old friend and collaborator, Ricky Rat, used to have these very serious, philosophical discussions, usually while shitfaced at six in the morning, three days in a row, about mimes versus clowns. Follow along here, it's easy. Bowie's a mime, Iggy's a clown. You get it. David Lee Roth's a clown. Radiohead are fucking mimes. Right? I came from more of a Goth perspective, you understand. My early idols were solemn and sullen people like Jim Morrison, Ian Astbury, Ronald Koal, and Andrew Eldritch, and summa my early bands had a no smiling onstage policy cause we thought we were gonna cultivate a sensual atmosphere with the thick basslines, theatrical, backlit ambience, and furrowed brows and dry ice, right?
But the Brats were already way beyond all that pompous, arts chool shite. Shit, they were circus people, came to entertain, sellin' smiles and all you can drink, for five bucks at the door. He kinda converted me to some new ways of thinkin', and evaluating music and lookin' at the world, and even somehow tricked me into liking Bob Seger, who I always saw as absolutely buzzkill depressing, divorce music for suicidal old people who don't get laid enough, when I was a Midwestern, tank plant town outcast, growing up new wave, a slow moving target of guys with beards and motorcycles, and having to hear it always playing every third song on F.M. radio with Journey and Pink Floyd. Now, of course, the wife's left me, the kids left me, the dogs died, the trucks got repo-ed and I'm all like, limping around on the last few pain pills and jammin to "Main Street" and "Beautiful Loser"...
Troy is so endearingly self-aware and self-deprecating, I can only hope that deep down, he knows what a badass rock star he undeniably has always been. Rock ‘n’ roll records just aint sellin' much in the Divided States Of Gitmo, this year. "Down The Road" is reminiscent of my big brother and songwriting mentor, Paul K.'s music, I love it. Also, reminds me of the Lazy Cowgirls’ infectious classic, "Somewhere Down The Line". It's heavy emotion, really full of heart. "In With Me" is intimate and vulnerable and power poppy. He's so good.
I'll have this record on regular rotation for a long time to come. I hope I get to see my ace pal here again someday, while I'm still alive on earth. He's good people, very charming, funny, sweet, talented, and a damn good entertainer. If you like the Trash Brats, or good songwriters in general, check him out. This world is so fucked, we need to elevate and amplify the good among us. Peace, ya'all.
