Only the Loney

Once a Flamin' Groovie, then a Phantom Mover and a fixture behind the counter at Jack's Record Cellar, Roy Loney is the least-known famous musician in town.

By John O'Neill

JACK'S RECORD CELLAR is a nondescript storefront wedged snugly into a row of buildings at the corner of Scott and Fell Streets. There are no new-release glossies in the window, no bright neon sign announcing, "This is the place." In fact, if you didn't already know, chances are pretty good you wouldn't even realize the joint was open for business. It's better that way; Jack's isn't the kind of place you'd drop by to suss out the newest Euro trance releases, to grab the new one by some prefab titty princess, or to find anything that might have been released on compact disc. Collector trolls come to Jack's for vintage vinyl, especially 78 rpm recordings.

The pull of the soul bin to the left of the entrance was almost overwhelming, but our mission was even more personal than our lust for Arthur Alexander's back catalog. After years of arguing about, splitting hairs over, getting way too drunk to, and ultimately becoming a true believer in the divine grace, unmitigated power, and unquestionable greatness of the Flamin' Groovies, we were about to come face-to-face with one-time Groovie singer Roy Loney. To most San Franciscans, he's the guy behind the counter at a record store. To new arrivals like us, he's much more.

"People from all over the world come in here and ask to take pictures or do interviews," Loney says of his common-guy status. "I see kids looking out of the corner of their eye wondering if I'm 'him.' It's funny because I'm kind of like the comfortable uncle here in town. I've lived here all of my life, and I'm pretty accessible. Then I get out on the road, and suddenly I'm 'dangerous!' You're never a hero in your own hometown."

Destiny calls

The common thread tying Loney's career together is that he's always been underrated on his own turf – starting with his stint in the legendary-everywhere-but-here Flamin' Groovies. He was, once upon a time, a member of a folk trio called the Kingsmen, when – like thousands of suburban kids – he ran into the British Invasion. In 1965, Loney enlisted Kingsmen guitarist Tim Lynch, bassist George Alexander (a high school pal), and rookie guitarist Cyril Jordan and set out in a new direction. In 1966, when drummer Danny Mihm came on board, the Flamin' Groovies were open for business.

From day one they were out of phase with contemporaries like Jefferson Airplane, the Grateful Dead, and Quicksilver Messenger Service, who were busy scoring the tepid improv soundtrack to what would become the Summer of Love. The Groovies openly and unabashedly embraced the then-unhip credo of good-time rock and roll music. And, sweet Jesus, what a racket they made! While their Bay Area brothers and sisters were attempting to explore uncharted territory, Loney and the boys embodied the rebellious spirit that powered rock's first wave. Their mix of rockabilly, '50s rock and roll, '60s Brit pop, jug band music, and quasi psychedelia separated them from the local pack. The result was music that had far more in common with what would eventually be called punk than with the so-called San Francisco sound. They prefigured the DIY movement by releasing Sneakers, their first album, on their own, a decade before it became common practice.

"With the British Invasion, music got good again," Loney says, explaining the Groovies' humble beginnings. "San Francisco exploded. There were clubs cropping up everywhere – basements, backyards, all over the city there was music. You didn't have to be any good, and you could go out there and plug in! We were all into different things: Elvis was the starting point for me; Tim was into folk; Cyril, who was younger, was into the Beach Boys and Beatles. We weren't very technically proficient, but we put out Sneakers on our own. [Then] Epic signed us, which really shocked me. Everyone was looking [to sign] a San Fran band. I didn't think we were ready, because we were just learning how to play."

Supersnazz, the band's first proper album, was released in 1968 and fell on completely deaf ears. Unfocused but spirited, the no-frills album was still a relatively manic affair compared with most FM-radio fodder. The Groovies were subsequently dropped by Epic, but they were well on their way to defining their sound. And though no one saw it coming, the Groovies' sails were set toward their date with destiny. They were to become perhaps the most criminally ignored group in recorded history: the ultimate cult band.

Disappearing act

Despite the poor showing of Supersnazz, the band began gigging relentlessly, translating best in gritty power bases like Detroit, Cleveland, and New York. They also snagged the lease on the original Fillmore Auditorium and booked early area gigs for Detroit's Stooges, MC5, and Alice Cooper, as well as Hot Tuna.

They inked a deal in 1970 with Kama Sutra Records (a subsidiary of Buddha and home to '60s hit makers the Lovin' Spoonful) that allowed them to explore the basic elements of rock and roll. Flamingo, released in 1970, was a giant step forward, retaining the fluid yet raw interplay between guitarists Jordan and Lynch and showcasing Loney's tongue-in-cheek lyrics. The influence of the Detroit bands that leaks from the album's seams was still there a year later when the Groovies recorded their masterstroke, Teenage Head.

"Seeing the Stooges live blew us apart," Loney explains. "Seeing them and the MC5 heavied us up a bit; it changed our sound. Actually, "Teenage Head" has been accused of being punk – maybe because it's easy to play. Cyril and I wrote it in our hotel room in 10 minutes. We needed some more songs for the album, and I had the lick rolling around in my head for a while. Cyril had been hanging around with Kim Fowley, and teenage head was Kim's favorite thing, and probably still is. That was it."

Flamingo and Teenage Head received considerable critical acclaim, but neither one was able to elevate the band beyond regional cult status.

After the commercial disappointment Loney left the band, and although rumored to be launching a solo career, he became a "whatever happened to" rock trivia question, remaining out of sight for seven years. Rumors flourished and eventually died, giving way to the stuff of rock mythology. The truth, however, is rather simple. "I didn't disappear or leave to pursue a solo career," Loney says with a shrug. "I just left. I was tired of the business. The albums hadn't sold well, and Cyril wanted to go in a different direction with the band. So it was agreed that I would step out."

The Groovies moved to England, reinvented themselves as a beat group complete with period clothing, and got Dave Edmunds to produce them just in time to be part of the emerging power pop-punk scene. They released another clutch of nearly perfect pop albums that were as commercially unsuccessful as their earlier work. As the '70s drew to a close, the band slipped further underground.

Loney, meanwhile, remained in San Francisco and returned to his first love, acting. He did stage work and also took a job with ABC Dunhill Records, trying out the business side of music. He got married, moved to Marin County, and, as he puts it, "tried to be a normal guy. I failed miserably."

The phantom moves

Bored with life in the suburbs and feeling the itch of the music bug, in 1978 Loney recorded an EP, Artistic as Hell, with his old bandmates backing him up. But his official return to music dates back to an evening with Mihm (by then also an ex-Groovie) at San Francisco's punk palace, the Mabuhay Gardens, where he saw his first punk show. The music was spirited and sloppy, but, Loney contends, "It's what really kicked off my solo [career]. It was like, 'Wow, it's lousy, but it sure has some energy.' I already had an offer from Solid Smoke Records to put out a full-length album if I got a band together."

Loney signed a deal with Solid Smoke, put together the Phantom Movers, and released the incendiary Out after Dark. If the Movers' sound was a direct descendant of the original Groovies' raucous formula, then Out after Dark was the true little brother to Teenage Head. Loney's fevered, wild-eyed take on music was never more pronounced or better served. All rockabilly hiccups, big beat wallop, irreverent humor, and unpretentious party stomp, the album is a slab of burning American rock and roll. Loney would stick to the same basic recipe for the next five albums (the cross-genre misstep of 1982's Contents under Pressure was his only career blemish), building a solo career that emphasized taste over trends and an unbending devotion to raw power and rock and roll's roots. Along the way his reputation as an off-the-hinges live performer grew.

"All the best bands gotta hit the stage full throttle," says Loney, who, it should be noted, more closely resembles a wine critic than a rock star. "That's what the wild-man image I have is about. It's just part of the act that comes on when I hit the stage. I just save it up from everyday life and I explode."

Keeping busy

Because no good thing can last forever, especially if it doesn't pay the rent, the Phantom Movers gave up the ghost in 1989. Tired but never disillusioned, Loney returned to Jack's full-time and plotted his next career move. His absence from music lasted nearly five years, though not by plan.

"Sometimes you think things like this are only going to take a couple of weeks, and they end up taking a couple of years. Although I did manage to put out some material during that time [1993's Action Shots (Marilyn), recorded before the Phantom Movers dissolved]."

The itch returned when Squirrels guitarist Joey Kline suggested Loney head up to Seattle to cut some tracks with Kline's band. Young Fresh Fellows honcho Scott McCaughey caught wind of the plan and decided his band was better suited for the job. Kline, Loney, and three-quarters of the YFFs became the Longshots, and the planned handful of songs became 29. Tours of the Pacific Northwest and Spain followed with the release of Full Grown Head (Shake). It was loaded with Loney's trademark spirited rock and marked his fourth decade as a performer. The same enthusiasm can be found on a subsequent Longshots live disc, Kick out the Hammonds, as well as the album – tentatively titled Drunkard in the Think Tank – that he's currently shopping.

Midway through his '50s, Loney is ready to do it all over again – although he's already a busy man. In addition to managing Jack's Record Cellar, he has joined up with old Phantom Movers guitarist Larry Lea and the Original Amateurs, is writing a screenplay, and is working on memoirs of his days as a Flamin' Groovie. And there was also the recent evening when the five original Groovies were in the same room for the first time in nearly 30 years. Within a week, an offer of a three-night reunion engagement in Spain was on the table. In the meantime, Loney still feels the itch to do what he does best: perform.

"Whatever happens with the Groovies, I can't say," he says. "I'm the first guy to sign on. But I'd like to get this new album out and get some touring in so I can get off my rusty dusty and show the crowd I can still do it. I'm a ham; I love being onstage. I feel more comfortable there."

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