litterbox

From the flames
By John O'Neill

THE RUMOR CIRCULATING around town these past couple months is that Cyril Jordan is making a comeback. He's holed up in some local studio working on a new project called the Magic Christians – which may or may not someday develop into a living, breathing, touring entity – and is supposedly turning out the best songs he's penned since the heyday of his old outfit, the Flamin' Groovies. One guy involved in the scheme swears that the tunes are better than "Shake Some Action," the universally acknowledged Jordan masterstroke, which is a pretty bold assertion to make in front of me, a guy so in awe of the band that I make excuses why I can't meet them for fear of crapping myself.

I hold the Groovies in the regard reserved for bands like the Beach Boys, the Stones, or the Kinks – I'm part of the school that asserts they are perhaps the most overlooked band ever (ever). They were always out of step and were a lightning rod for shit luck on top of that. Long story short: Jordan is a thoroughbred, an all-time champ – the single best thing to come from the Bay Area. Meanwhile, the Editor, as open-minded a '60s relic as one could ask for, flashes the kind of patient smile you'd reserve for the tall tales of a six-year-old whenever I broach the topic of Cyril and his boys. Turns out that, back in the day, the Editor use to clean up after the band when they ran the Fillmore – he knows the truth cuz he was there. I imagine he figures my devotion is sweet, in a misguided way, while I'm figuring it's tough to critique a band when your primary memory is eating drugs you found on the floor while cleaning up.

These days, the Editor is on a kick about the recent Rolling Stones reissues. Which is good. Everyone should own copies of Aftermath and 12x5, if only to help wash away the stink of the World's Greatest Rock and Roll Band's last 25 years. Then, out of the blue, what should appear in the mail but a copy of the Flamin' Groovies Slow Death (Norton). Even I am flipped out.

Slow Death captures that up-till-now mysterious point in the band's history between the departure of founding vocalist Roy Loney and their reemergence a couple years later as classic power poppers. The recording catches the Groovies at a peak, their sound showing the effects of touring with the MC5 and the Stooges and their impending new direction toward Byrds-dom; the result is nothing short of world-shattering. It's tough and melodic – what would become the future of underground rock and roll is etched in the grooves – and spotty sound quality aside, it's really the most compelling proof that these guys were monsters. By the time its "Shake Some Action" comes bruising along to forever bury the "original," you just have to shudder.

If Cyril Jordan is really out there recording new songs, if those songs have even half the power found here, and if he really makes it back all the way, the books are gonna need to be rewritten. And editors are gonna have to eat their grins.

E-mail John O'Neill at litterbox@sfbg.com.