

The end of an economic system that puts profit ahead of people is valid. "The end of oppression is a good principle. "Idealistically all the points were valid," Kramer affirms.

Now living in Hollywood, California, the 51-year-old graying revolutionary finds himself rather consumed with the legacy of his former band, the experimental and raucous Anglo-metal outfit that included the late vocalist Rob Tyner and guitarist Fred "Sonic" Smith (the latter was married to punk priestess Patti Smith both men suffered fatal heart attacks in the early Nineties), bassist Michael Davis, and drummer Dennis Thompson. "There's no question that we were phenomenally naive," recalls MC5 guitarist Wayne Kramer. And for one shining moment, it even toyed with redefining one's civic duty (all carefully specified in the Panthers' ten-point platform) as joining together for a "total assault on the culture by any means necessary, including rock and roll, dope, and fucking in the streets." It gave the newly founded White Panther Party something to do. It briefly galvanized the Motor City's working-class-flavor counterculture. The recording of Crawford's introduction and the fabled show that followed became an instant slice of history that Elektra records immediately packaged as the MC5's debut, Kick Out the Jams. it's time to testify and I want to know: Are you ready to testify? Are you ready? I give you a testimonial! The MC5!" "I wanna see a sea of hands out there! Lemme see a sea of hands! I want everyone to kick up some noise! I want to hear some revolution out there, brothers! I wanna hear a little revolution! Brothers and sisters, the time has come for each and every one of you to decide whether you are gonna be the problem or whether you are gonna be the solution! You must choose, brothers! You must choose! It takes five seconds! Five seconds of decision! Five seconds to realize your purpose here on the planet! It takes five seconds to realize that it's time to move! It's time to get down with it! Brothers. "Brothers and sisters!" Crawford extolled, his invocation already set to a fevered pitch.

Crawford, it was a legendary 1968 Halloween night call to arms at Detroit's Grande Ballroom that launched both his and one particular garage band's meteoric rise to cult stardom.
