Extraterrestrial Vision
'60s Avant-Garage Genius Michael Yonkers Reappears Thanks to New Reissue
Tools
Michael Yonkers
w/Coachwhips, X27, the Librarians
Stranger Personals
Sun June 1, Sunset, 9 pm, $6.
"I've lived in the Twin Cities my whole life," says musician Michael Yonkers. "They said this area has the most extreme variety of weather in the whole world. That's gotta affect your brain." Well, that's an Earth-bound explanation, but what planet the rest of the sounds on his Microminiature Love album comes from is anyone's guess. The music alone would be enough to stamp this as the great lost weirdo classic of all time, but Yonkers' story adds a heft and hope that propels it past the usual ahead-of-its-time obscurity.
Microminiature Love, by the Michael Yonkers Band, was recorded for Sire Records in 1968, but was shelved and never released until now. One listen will tell why Sire execs were appalled and why Sub Pop has decided its time has come (Destijl Records first released it on vinyl last year--the Sub Pop CD, scheduled for release July 22, will have the original seven tracks, plus six tracks recorded around the same time in Yonkers' parents' basement).
Birthed from the psychedelic flowering of that era, this incredible artifact takes off into a stratosphere few bands have dared venture into since. There's the detuned drone of early Sonic Youth, the primitive pound the Gories purveyed, wavering, nightmare-scarred vocals, and a very lo-fi aesthetic. Some hints of freakout jamming mark its time, but for the most part, this is an absolutely unheard-of clank.
The main cracked gear here is Yonkers' guitar. After dropping it during a concert and enjoying the ensuing accidental sound, he devised some strange tunings. A master of self-taught home electronics, he proceeded to chop up his Fender Telecaster and solder on various tinkered effects pedals (one called the "Fuzz 'n' Bark") and even added light bulbs, which would click on and off, adding further cacophony. What came out was an otherworldly re-re-reverbed wail that could chime and sting simultaneously.
Despite the futuristic invention, Yonkers' beginnings are similar to many a mid-'60s garage band hopeful. "I snuck into a Trashmen show when I was 15, and that really opened me up," he says. "I also got exposed to Eric Stokes, who was doing a lot of electronic stuff," he explains. "Early Paul Butterfield, and especially the Velvet Underground, were very influential to me. But as far as any local contemporaries? No! We were a black duck in a white duck pond. If we even got booked for a show, we never got booked back. Plug's pulled, all of that."
Yonkers' musical ambitions were eventually dealt a much more serious blow than jerky club owners, though. "In 1971, I was working in a warehouse," he says, "and about 2,000 pounds of boxed computers fell down on me." A subsequent myelogram--where the spine is drained and a dye is injected for x-rays--caused an immediate allergic reaction that then spurred a degenerative disease, arachnoiditis, akin to multiple sclerosis, which causes a deterioration of the inside of nerve endings. Yonkers has spent every day since in almost constant pain. His performing days are done, as just standing and playing for more than a few minutes causes severe discomfort. "Yeah," he adds, "even just sitting is hell." And due to his allergic reaction to iodides, he's barred from even the most basic painkillers, like ibuprofen or aspirin.
With the aid of a doctor he's worked with for 30 years, and his home-tooling expertise, Yonkers has devised a system of back braces, some traction devices, and the use of an electric spinal stimulator. Reviving an interest from college, he returned to dance as a therapeutic way to stabilize muscle and bone strength. Yonkers spends four to five hours a day just managing the pain.
Despite such debilitations, his attitude is light-years removed from embittered. He spent the '70s self-releasing four solo folk records, and when he finally found some kindred spirits in the punk/new wave movement of that era, a theater group--which he still belongs to--would throw blowout after-parties for visiting luminaries like the Ramones, Suburbs, and the Chameleons.
Yonkers' hunger for new sounds never waned. He's now a hiphop aficionado, calling it "the most important thing to happen in pop culture ever. Especially the idea of scratching and mixing is, to me, revolutionary." Although when delving into the form himself, Yonkers gives it his own spin: "I took these two gears I got at a thrift store and mounted them on a cheap microphone, connected that to a table of RadioShack speakers, and then scratched the gears over the mic head. It made a pretty amazing sound!"
Although his upcoming performance will be a rare treat, the train trip out here will be a difficult one. "I'm still not sure how I'm going to sit, with the braces and everything," he says. "But I figured since [Sub Pop] is putting out the CD, I kinda owe it to them to give it a shot."
While it would seem wise to follow his doc's advice and move to a warmer climate, Yonkers' rationale for staying in the Twin Cities rings with the kind of resigned humor endemic to steely Midwesterners. "There's this really great wine that's produced around here," he says. "Its slogan is 'Minnesota--where the grapes suffer.' I kinda like that one."
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