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| Review: Riot In Progress & The Machine Shop |
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 Mitch caved-in to his suburban guilt and made the 47 mile drive to Flint to see Riot In Progress open for national artists The Buzzhorn and Injected at The Machine Shop. Well, he nearly missed RIP, ignored the major-label artists and instead got drunk with Jesus and joined him in drooling over the barmaids in this mother of Hard Rock bars. Oh, and he has a theory about saving Flint from it's financial woes too. (Click the pic above for a larger image.) Flint Guilt
I don't really like to go to Flint. To me, the city conjures up images of decaying brownfields, empty factories and the pallor of human desperation. It's too depressing to think about. Michael Moore's probably more to blame for that perception than anyone, but when GM decimated it's auto factories back in the eighties, most living-wage jobs in the area went with it. By the nineties, the once solid working-class center of automotive production began to fray at the edges and unravel. Attempts to re-invigorate the city with auto museums and other attractions fell flat and now they're so far in debt the State of Michigan is attempting a financial take-over. Flint's now a shadow of it's former glory - and a dark shadow at that.
But seven-string shredder John Thibert from Riot In Progress dropped us an e-mail the day before to ask if we could cover their opening spot for national acts Buzzhorn & Injected at The Machine Shop, a hard-rock bar on Dort Highway in Flint. I'm not a fan of hardcore music and, initially, had no intention of going. But guilt crept in: I've been spending too much time with "nice" bands from affluent suburbs and not enough time in the belly of the beast; where sex, drugs and heavy-fucking-metal are taken together in massive doses to assuage the stress of living in a dangerous and unreliable world. I have a heavy-metal past I've been trying to distance myself from for twenty years, but maybe I was overdue a visit.
While driving toward the relative safety of Royal Oak to see a band I've spent too much time with in the last year, on impulse, I turned around and made the 47 mile drive to Flint. Webmaster Rick played cell-phone navigator for me since I hadn't downloaded a map from the calendar and was unfamiliar with the area. What would I do without him?
Bar's Abuzz
As I pulled into The Machine Shop, I noticed an orderly row of customized motorcycles lined up ass-to-brick along the south wall by the entrance. On the east side, just off the crowded parking lot was a massive, champagne-colored tour bus - no doubt leased by Island Records recording artists, Injected who would be headlining later that night. On the west side of the bar was a fenced-in patio teeming with youngsters (18 and over) who stood around chatting, drinking and smoking. Outside the fence, parked next to the road, was the promotions van from Banana 101.5 (perhaps a phallic homage to it's predisposition for cock-rock and dick jokes?), the radio station that sponsored the event.
Riot (already in progress)
Inside, I felt both too old and too soft to be here. Riot In Progress were already pummeling the air with their brand of hard 'groove-metal' and a dozen or more young fans shook their fists and banged their heads front stage center. The testosterone level in the room was palpable from both the men and the women.
I left the main floor and found an empty riser where I could shelve my stuff and snap some pics without pissing anybody off. The performance was loud, furious, hard and pumped with adrenaline. It's not my bag musically, but I couldn't deny the effect R.I.P. had on their hardcore fans; if they called on them to destroy the bar, I wouldn't be surprised to see it fall.
Over the last few years, Riot In Progress have become a staple of the Detroit hardcore scene. In addition to popping up all over the metro area, the band has opened for such nationals as Sponge, Suicidal Tendencies, Marky Ramone, Deicide and now The Buzzhorn and Injected. In 1995, the band was signed by Work Ethic Productions, L.L.C." Owner Nolan Mendenhall described Riot In Progress' music as, ' High-stakes, in your face groove-metal...a monster....Ground zero at Nagasaki..." Now, ground zero found a comfortable home in Flint.
Once I'd taken a few bad pics (the fog machine was killing me), I sat at the end of the riser to jot down some notes. I ordered a 7 & 7, lit a smoke and crouched over my note-pad. I looked up momentarily to watch my drink vibrate two feet across the riser - it was that loud. Then it stopped. It was over. Shit. I missed nearly the entire set, save for a couple of songs. The crowd roared with respect for Riot In Progress. The band thanked the audience then wasted no time in breaking down their equipment to make room for Atlantic's Milwaukee metal boys, "The Buzzhorn."
Jesus on Holiday
Just then, an aging hippie approached and asked me, "Are you with the radio station?"
"No. Sorry."
He looked like The White Jesus; light brown hair with streaks of grey worn in no particular style, thick beard and piercing blue eyes - piercing when they were open, that is; I think Jesus was having a tough time focusing.
I explained my purpose for Michiganbands.com and he seemed genuinely interested and even wrote down the URL on a crumpled napkin.
"Me, I like the blues," said Jesus. "But they don't play the blues here." He paused and scanned the room for babes. "That's o.k. I like this too." He smiled at a group of pretty nubiles standing along the far wall.
I suggested a few blues bands he should see and he proceeded to tell me his life story from the fuzzy present to the distant past:
Jesus worked 2nd shift at an auto factory in Pontiac. He'd been at it for fourteen years, so he didn't often get out to the bar. "I never get to see this," he said repeatedly while gawking at every fresh, young chick who crossed his path. "I love it." He was playing hookie from his job, treating himself to some much needed wine, women and song. Even Jesus needs a night out.
He'd been divorced for nine years and couldn't imagine getting married again. Before marriage, he did 14 month stint in Viet Nam as a cook. "That was the only reason I survived," Jesus figured. Now he's 53, lives alone, has money saved for retirement, and really wanted some young action. Luckily, thirst took over first.
Barmaid Heaven
"Can I buy you a beer," Jesus asked.
"Why not," I replied. It's not everyday Jesus buys you a drink.
"My name's Rob. People call me The Wolfman, Wolfy, Willie Nelson, Dwane Allman and some of them at work even call me Jesus."
No kidding?
I introduced myself and we moved toward the back of the room where the other over-thirtys seemed to congregate - away from the ear-splitting volume of the P.A. and closer to the alcohol.
Rob and I saddled up to the bar and ordered a round. A gorgeous barmaid in a black baby-doll "T", leather hot-pants with matching, black leather chaps answered the call. She looked like Sandra Bullock's long lost biker-twin. Yow. When she turned to get our drinks, exposing the tender skin where her hot-pants ended and her chaps began, Rob howled with delight. "Owwooooooo! Man I love this place!"
A svelte shot girl in a turquoise bikini top, hip-huggers and sunglasses emerged behind the bar to pour multi-colored concoctions into plastic test-tubes right in front of us. Rob wasted no time in accosting her. "Are you a Taurus?" he asked with a wink and a smile.
"No," she said without missing a beat. "I'm killer pussy."
Whoa.
I was so impressed with her reply I bought us two rounds of test-tubes - she was good.
"What's your friend writing?" she asked Rob.
"Uh, he's with a newspaper and he wants to take your picture," he managed to slur. Neither was true but he walked me right into it and I played along.
"Great," she struck a sexy pose in front of me and asked, "What newspaper?"
"Whoever will pay me," I lied through my teeth and snapped a pic. My viewfinder wandered down to her tattooed midriff. She was in excellent shape. "Nice stomach," I flirted.
"I'm a personal trainer, " she said with pride, then noticed I was glaring at the thick, tribal tattoo just below her navel. "It used to say, 'Big Ken' but I had it covered up. Ex-boyfriend and all."
Soon, Rob had another barmaid lined-up to pose for the 'Newspaper Man'. I took her picture too and then left to make a much needed trip to the john.
The men's room at The Machine Shop didn't disappoint the hard-rock ethic. Every inch of wall space was filled with plexi-glassed pin-ups and topless center-folds from Easy Rider Magazine. Not even here were the themes of motorcycles, sex and rock & roll left behind.
"Lustin Dustin", the bass-player from Riot In Progress stumbled into the men's room and, finding the single stall occupied, paced nervously. He was pale, shaking and clutching his stomach with both arms. "Oh man, I'm sick as a dog. Hurry up," he mumbled to the shuffling feet beneath the stall. I felt bad for him; I know what it's like to be sick at a gig. (Remember kids, 'Don't eat the brown acid.')
When I returned, Rob was trying to cozy up to the shot-girl, who was now on our side of the bar. Apparently, he'd taken her 'killer pussy' remark as an invitation to harass her instead of a clever use of reverse psychology and an effective sales pitch. But she wasn't having any of it; when he tried to touch her blue-ribbon belly in the middle of a sale, she smacked his hand away and leered at him without disturbing the delicate balance of the shot tray in her right hand. 'The Wolfman' licked his wounds and suggested we go to a titty-bar instead. But I wanted to soak-in the heavy-metal atmosphere of The Machine Shop one last time before diving deeper into the sordid shadows of Flint; I've encapsulated my impressions of the bar for you in the next paragraph.
Bikers, Bongers, Freaks and Geeks
The Machine Shop is where the pissed-off youth of ex-factory workers congregate to shake-off some energy in a pit of pure heavy-metal fury. It's the epitome of a working-class Rock Bar; where liberally tattooed and pierced barmaids in tight clothing and bare midriffs serve ass-numbing drinks with cleavage and a smile; where skin-heads and hair-bags raise their beers together to cheer the triumphant conclusion of whatever's blasting from the P.A. at 106 decibels; where 18-20 year-olds get stupid on paint fumes, bad smoke or cheap wine before entering the bar; where bikers, bongers, dykes, freaks and geeks come to celebrate the human carnival unrestrained. In a well-worn but deserving rock cliche', The Machine Shop "kicks-ass".
And it gave me an idea about the future of Flint.
True, the loss of high-paying auto industry jobs have left the City of Flint emasculated in the grand scheme of world commerce and property values. But while the city searches for a new reason to exist, it may be overlooking an important resource it already has; Heavy Metal.
I can't think of a better capitol for Heavy Metal and it's various sub-genres than the City of Flint. It's hard-luck history has created a fiercely loyal populace that doesn't suffer cowards, wimps or fools gladly. The anger, angst, frustration and stress necessary to create sincere, world-class hardcore is built-in. Flint could reinvent itself as the Metal Mecca of The Midwest.
Think of it; Hard rock refugees from every major city could make a yearly pilgrimage to Flint and re-invigorate the economy. Guitar schools, music stores, hair salons, head-shops, tatoo & piercing parlors, Harley Dealers and hard-rock clubs can replace the empty factories and storefronts with paying customers from the world over. Best of all, Flint could raise a metaphorical middle-finger and say once and for all, "Thanks for nothing, Roger." Call it my rock & roll fantasy.
Thanks to Riot In Progress and The Machine Shop, I'll return to Flint in the future when I have a hardcore itch I can't scratch in the burbs. Sometimes you just gotta throw caution to the wind and fuckin' RAWWWWWWK!!!!
- Mitch
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Re: Review: Riot In Progress & The Machine Shop (Score: 1)
by ChrisZilla on Saturday, September 14, 2002 @ 14:26:43 EDT
(User Info | Send a Message) | Great article Mitch, the Jesus lines made me laugh, I think I remember that guy from my last visit there. THE MACHINE SHOP really is one of the BEST local bars around, not to mention the most METAL since the loss of the RITZ......too bad the ROCK ROOM has YET to live up to it's potential here in Mount Clemens.
Anyhoo- thanks for the read!
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Re: Review: Riot In Progress & The Machine Shop (Score: 1)
by misscommunicate on Sunday, September 15, 2002 @ 20:43:14 EDT
(User Info | Send a Message) http://www.thegrins.com | | That was a really good read. Ever hear the song "Drinkin' with Jesus" by Mojo Nixon and Jello Biafra? |
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Average Score: 3.75
Votes: 4
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