THE ANSWER TO THE FERMI PARADOX
AND THE SINGULAR TALENT OF MONTE MONTGOMERY

Monte Montgomery Live @White’s Bar
3/20/05

It all started with an unassuming email from Dan Straley aka Darko, the erstwhile agent for Mid-Michigan’s greatest-ever band Maybe August. He says there’s a chance that Monte Montgomery could play White’s and he begins riffin’ about “national recording artist”, “Austin City Limits”, and featured articles with any number of guitar slinger rags, and that Monte’s a big fan of the Buckingham/Nicks pop era of Fleetwood Mac. Hmm, I despise that lineup. Instead, give me that outta control guitar-god triumvirate of Peter Green, Jeremy Spencer, and Danny Kirwin. Yeah, that Mach II version of Fleetwood Mac was truly extraordinary with those dark brooding chords and full bodied style of Green complimented by the tasty slide work of Jeremy Spencer and the melodic tones and unusual vibrato of Danny Kirwin. But Lindsey Buckingham’s whiny ode to Stevie about “going your own way” is something else again, more akin to MOR white boy pop/rock wrapped around a catchy guitar riff. And his gripe about how Stevie’s shake, rattle, and rollin’ them pots and pans with Don Henley and Kenny Loggins is just too much rock-opera for me. But the final straw for poor ol’ Lindsey was when she did the butt-monkey with his buddy Mick Fleetwood, one of the namesakes for Peter Green’s Fleetwood Mac. Lindsey was mortified, not so much because she screwed Fleetwood but because he was gravedigger ugly, and more so because he was one of the worst drummers in rock ‘n’ roll history. At least she could have done the wet nasty with Buddy “fucking” Miles. Hmm. But I admit that after seeing the Fleetwood Mac tour in August 2003, I gained a new appreciation for Lindsey Buckingham. He was energized, even inspired, and he sure did slap that guitar around. But the old warhorses Mac and Fleetwood, well they were about half-dead bored and uninspired, playin’ like they had their hands stretched for another round of payola. And Nicks…hmm, looked pretty good in her faded glory, jus’ a little thicker and embarrassed by her size and girth, and singin’ just as flat as she always did. I loved it. But I sure did miss Christine Perfect.

But let me get to the point of all this. I don’t know anything about Monte Montgomery. In fact, I’ve never heard about him. How can he be any good if I’ve never heard of him? But then again, I don’t really have a clue, except I know where to look for missing pieces. And I’ve been around the piss-pot a few times lookin’ for the handle and though I’ve never quite found it, I believe know, really know, about most forms mediocrity from the astonishing obtuseness of local politicians to the wretched maw of American Idol. And it seems to me that if we never experience mediocrity, how can we recognize greatness? I always wonder when an artist is fast rising to the big time; he may have compromised a few principles along the way, like when Shel Talmy told Ray Davies “write another You Really Got Me”. And if Monte is on the cusp of stardom, like everyone’s tellin’ me, what’s he done wrong? Hmm. So I was thinking about all this and that as I prepared for the show and I wondered if Monte was really as good as the hype. I was getting a heavy vibe from enthusiastic fans calling me from Traverse City, Grand Rapids, and even Toledo, Ohio (about a four hour drive). Maybe there’s something goin’ on here.

Before the show, I’m chattin’ with Monte’s drummer Phil Bass. He’s a cool, laid back kinda guy, friendly as a full autumn moon and seemin’ real genuine. He says this is their first trip to Michigan and White’s Bar feels like home, all that wood on the walls, friendly people…even reminds him of his favorite club in Austin. Sure put me in a good mood - though I’m grousin’ just a bit too much about our cultural malaise and freakin’ a little heavy on the popularity of Karaoke and how it signals the end of civilization. But Bass just smiles, pats my head, and gives me an M&M and sends me on my way. Now I can’t wait for the show to begin.

The doors open at 7pm and there’s a line out back. I’m encouraged by the strong turn out. The place fills-up in a matter of minutes. There’s a buzz in the air. I’m drinkin’ a tasty purified bottle water, Deja Blue…mmm, about half dozen of ‘em. But it proves to be too much of that tasty purified water for my fragile system, and I have to go, really go…bad, but I hold it for the next four hours – I think it’s a personal record - but despite my considerable stamina I’m acting a little strange ‘cos I’m all shaky and I’m holding myself and hoping on one foot and then the other, throwing myself forward then arching my back like I’m doin’ the limbo, and makin’ Rodney Dangerfield bug-eyed faces throughout the entire show. Everyone thought I was just doin’ the boogaloo…I wish.

Maybe August opened the show, actually its Mike and Scott Robertson and Rosco Selley, “Maybe August Unplugged” sans bassist Keith Carolyn and drummer Todd McMahon. And what an opening it was. They played some of their classic tunes such as Big Sky, Say Something, and Restless Waters but they also dug out some incredible covers, Zeppelin’s “Going to California” was simply breathtaking. Scott Robertson showed why many of us think he’s got one of the best voices in rock and Michael Robertson’s writing is just straight-out world class. He has few equals.

Now the time of reckoning….Monte starts strummin’ slowly and as he gains momentum, the band joins-in, reaching a fever pitch and they proceed to blast the crowd into a whole other dimension. I look around and everyone, and I mean everyone, is drop-jawed in astonishment, gradually rising up, clapping and screaming in a wild orgasmic counterpoint to the music. I’ve never witnessed anything quite like it. Perhaps the closest experience for me was seeing the Who in Essen Germany in 1972. The fans got so worked up that Pete Townsend jumped down from the stage into the crowd, stirring-up all kinds of mixed energies and emotions that unleashed some pent-up fury that totally freaked me out. Ich lieb dich, anyone?

It was immediately apparent that Monte Montgomery was something special indeed. He’s not just a great guitarist, but an insanely great guitarist; to which ½ of 1% of all guitarists aspire. Monte’s genius seems tempered by a particular vision and point of view. Perhaps it’s in Monte’s focus on composition, harmonics, and vocal arrangements. But then again, he’s just a flat out great finger-picker whose speed, unusual aural effects and tonal purity is unmatched by anyone I’ve ever heard. The musicians in the audience were paying’ close attention, even took photos of his effects board! Montgomery has a finger pickin’ style that isn’t altogether unusual. He just does it better than most. His fingers move every string and his sound is full and fat, thanks in some part to open chord droning, and his ability to get a good response from every string he touches. He uses all five fingers on both hands but he also picks some too. And the songs are top notch and thoughtful with strong arrangements. Montgomery has an eclectic style that transcends genres. He may infuse a hard country rock tune such as Splitsville with a punk ethos. I swear I could hear a little Green Day in them breakneck, speeded up power chords, and like a slug to the chest, I could feel the music resonate in my body. Bassist extraordinaire, Dave Piggot, even jerked and twitched like an ersatz Billie Joe Armstrong. Shock, a hard-drivin’, high energy funk-rocker, with its lightning quick stops and starts, has the hallmark of a great band with the sledgehammer perfect timing of air-tight rhythm section. Older tunes like Wishing Well, 1st & Repair, and Come a Long Way show Montgomery’s facility to write in a variety of formats from straight out rock to ballads, funk and soul, and rock-jazz fusion. Cover songs are used sparingly but effectively. Hall and Oates’ Sara Smile showcases his vocal range and his exceptional control of difficult falsetto vocal lines. Fleetwood Mac’s World Turning is a powerful statement that allows the band to stretch out a bit. And his version of Little Wing was spectacular, from his beginning solo fretwork to a full band explosive crescendo of sound and fury.

After the show, even days after, I heard from many new converts to the growing legions of the Monte converts. It first showed up on the night of the show, the bathroom graffiti, in the words of the prophets proclaimed the night “the most important musical event in Saginaw…EVER”! Others echoed the sentiment, “best band I’ve ever heard”, “incredible guitar genius”, “one of five best shows ever”, “proof positive there is extraterrestrial intelligence”. I agree with one and all and I’m convinced the when ET phoned home, Monte answered the call….it’s that glowing finger that gave it away.

And so the “great silence” is broken, the Fermi Paradox is solved, and an other-worldly talent is getting’ his due.

Peace,
Bo White
3/27/05