Power Pyramid doesn’t have much patience for nonsense. That appears to be the takeaway from the Oklahoma City quintet’s last 10 months, which brought The God Drums in September, the Insomnia EP in January and its latest, self-titled effort in July.
The world is in the midst of an electronic music renaissance, and you find most of this boon of producers laying claim to the club-friendly, bass-dropping variety, holing up in the the free-flowing world of hip-hop beatmaking or pitching their tent on the out-there, boundary-pushing EDM camp.
Broncho has never been hurting in the hook department. The success of the trio’s 2011 debut, Can’t Get Past the Lips, was predicated mostly on its ability to marry melodies with kinetic guitar riffs and anarchic energy. Yet we’ve heard nothing to the degree of pure pop catchiness on display in “Class Historian,” the new single from Broncho’s upcoming sophomore album, Just Enough Hip to Be Woman.
No one wants to be forgotten; everyone wants some sort of legacy, a mark they leave behind as they exit this life for whatever lies beyond.
And for as long as there has been death, there have been monuments — whether austere or understated, abstract or concrete, prominent or tucked away in private — erected by the ones they loved to assure that remembrance, at least for a time.
Even before (and well after) Larry White moved to Los Angeles in 1974 to
manage the career of The Monkees’ Davy Jones, fun ensued.
There was the time they tipped a golf cart at Joe DiMaggio’s charity tournament.
There were the times they hung out with fellow Monkee Micky Dolenz, Harry Nilsson and Alice Cooper in Los Angeles.
There was the time White’s 1971 Chevy Malibu SS ran out of gas by the San Francisco International Airport, so Jones belted a particularly loud rendition of The Beatles’ “Why Don’t We Do It in the Road?” as the police stopped to help them.
And then there was the time when a fan from Tokyo followed Jones home.
“I’ll never forget, we were at the LAX baggage claim when Davy came up to me and said, ‘Larry, we have a problem,’” White said, recalling two weeklong Monkees tours in the mid-’70s of Japan, a country whose Monkees fans made America’s Beatlemaniacs look apathetic. “There was a 15-year-old girl from Tokyo with a suitcase there. She’d bought a ticket and followed Davy to America.”
White said they secured the fan safe passage home a few days later, after they notified her parents, a feat complicated by the girl’s lack of English. It’s just one of the scores of stories he’s shared with friends, reporters and Jones’ family since the beloved entertainer died Feb. 29 of a heart attack. Jones was 66.
Jones’ last public performance was Feb. 19 at Thackerville’s WinStar World Casino.
“He was my best friend,” said White, who met Jones in 1968. “He had a memory for jokes like anybody. He could’ve been a stand-up comic, and he kind of was.”
In the wake of Jones’ passing, White confirmed what those who’d only listened to Monkees albums or had seen him play Oliver!’s Artful Dodger in a Tony-nominated turn on Broadway could guess.
“[The public’s] image is that he’s a nice, lovable, funny guy and he was,” said White, who lives in Tulsa, where he manages bluegrass duo Desi and Cody. “I miss him a lot.”