Detroit: I Couldn't Stay, But I Took You With Me--(Part 1):

"Every Tommy Hearns fight ended one of two ways, he either knocked-out his opponent or he got knocked-out..."

"Ever since Stevie and Aretha there's been at least a half-dozen Stevie or Aretha rip-offs on the U.S. charts at all times..."





So rarely do I think about Detroit anymore. Ann’s really my last connection. Along with Jaco she's the last friend from high-school that’s still with me.

But Detroit’s been on my mind this past week or so. Like last Saturday when I saw Tommy Hearns on HBO's Mayweather/Mosely broadcast; or Monday night as I watched Rasheed Wallace’s big game 2 in Cleveland. I think it was during that game that I got a call from Ann, who laughed with a touch of sadness when I didn’t know Ernie Harwell died.

"Who?"

Oh my God Lodo! And I thought you were a real Detroiter.


Oh man--Detroit Daze! I feel I could write a whole nostalgic blog ‘bout those times right now as the thoughts race thru my head faster than Jaco and me doing 130 mph on the Lodge Freeway. Not the first time I’d done that either as Neil S_____n, formerly of the United States Army can attest. 125 mph round the Davison Avenue exit as I performed a feat of dare-devil recklessness that alone should put me in the Hall of Fame of Teenage, Speed-car drivers.

Oh man Detroit--how did I live to tell the tale! I had guns pulled on me twice in Detroit. Had my dad’s Cadillac stolen from me at knife-point. I was locked in an abandoned house; watched a friend’s skull get smacked with an aluminum baseball bat. And who can forget my man Curtis?--the guy who turned me on to Stanley Clarke’s Schooldays. Poor guy got shot for trying to jack a car stereo. But everyone knew he was a crackhead.

Back in high school, we’d drive deep into Detroit--to Scorpio’s Record Shop. There were maybe (8) records total that hung on the walls, and a counter in back encased in bullet-proof glass.

“Give me six,” you’d say and the black guy behind the counter would drop six micro-dot of acid thru the narrow security window. Eventually that changed to crack and drug-gangs like Young Boys, Inc. and Motor City Cobras or Cash Flow Posse. Until eventually (I assume) Crips and Bloods. But I can’t say for sure, we stopped going to Scorpios by then ‘cause Detroit turned into something that resembled Fallujah.

But I never turned on Detroit--even when I left. It was and still is where I’m from, 0-16 Lions or not.

When I was young my family traveled a lot.

“Where you from?” kids would ask me. Kids I’d never met with New York accents that intimidated me or southern drawls that sounded funny and almost foreign.

“Detroit,” I’d answer and almost always the kids would nod with respect.

“Oh--Motor City. Where they make the cars.”

"Um Hm."

“Motown, eh? Bet you know all that stuff.”

"A lot of it."

“Stevie Wonder, Aretha Franklin.”

"That’s right."

I was ten years old when Stevie Wonder broke out Songs in the Key of Life and a track from that record is probably still playing right now on at least one Detroit radio station. Stevie and Aretha own Detroit like Elvis owned Memphis. Like Springsteen owns Jersey. Like Lebron owns Cleveland. Hell, ever since Stevie and Aretha there’s been at least a half-dozen Stevie or Aretha ripoffs on the U.S. record charts at all times. And still no one’s surpassed them.

When it comes to music--forget it. Detroit kicks everyone else’s ass. Jackie Wilson. David Ruffin. Madonna. Iggy Pop. Berry Gordy. Diana Ross. Alice Cooper. Eminem. Kid Rock. MC5. Smokey Robinson. Anita Baker. J Dilla. Anthony Kiedis of the Chili Peppers.

And lets not forget jazz legends Barry Harris or Ron Carter. Or Betty Carter.

Betty lived just down the road from my house. Towards the end of her life, I got the chance to see her here in New York. She did the tune you see below (Amazon), and afterward, when I mentioned my old cross-streets, I know a put a smile on her face. She died 3 or 4 months later, and when she did I remembered how we'd laughed together at The Blue Note.

I also lived a mile or two from my favorite boxer of all-time. The Motor City Cobra--Tommy “Hitman” Hearns. Every Tommy Hearns fight ended one of two ways--he either knocked out his opponent or he himself got knocked out. That’s all you can ask for from your favorite fighter--to lay it all on the line. And Tommy always did. My man was no sell out. I never cried over sports--not before or since; but when Sugar Ray Leonard knocked Tommy Hearns thru the ropes, I know my eyes welled-up.


Betty Carter: Amazon


J Dilla: Won't Do


Aretha and Stevie (not working particularly hard): Until You Come Back To Me:


* NOTE: Due to the length of this post, I'm going to split it into at least (1) more part. I'll probably need a few days for Part 2. If you made it this far--thanks for reading!