Sugar Tradition, in an unbiased and scrupulous opinion, is the best band in Michigan—a raucous trio that oozes Detroit rock n’ rollism. Made up of Antonio Keka on guitar, Arlo Betley on bass, and Kevin Irwin on drums, they help make up the current scene along with bands like the charming yet dangerous Toeheads, and the ticking time bomb in which is 208. There is something about Sugar Tradition that just sock it harder than any other band. Then… the journey.
A sense of impending and imminent feelings rushed over my body as I got pulled out onto Michigan Ave by my foot and car. In front of me is the road. Beside me, my older brother. A companion similar to the way Woody might have Buzz or the Tigers have a losing season. For legal reasons and a desired name change, my brother is named The Captain. The Captain is a 6 '5 unit, elderly compared to most teenagers, he is the only reason our mother lets us venture into the heart of the Motor City to watch the best band in Michigan play.
The radio, while not cranked, was quiet enough to hear The Captain’s voice while still making casual words struggle to be seen. As we pass Walmart and start to leave the realms of the hornet nation’s comfortability, a new sense of yearning comes through me. As we made our way onto the highway, the rising speed almost mirrored my feelings of excitement. While I have previously seen this band multiple times, every time I see them it is different but the same. They bring an energy that just inspires you to pick up your instruments and play. While you can hear the influence of artists such as Chuck Berry through the amps, it’s the influence of the band as a whole. They have their sound in which they bless whomever’s ear is within the gunshot of their amps.
Before I get too ahead of myself, I must tell you the agenda for the night. The Captain and I would make our way into the city to eat at The Green Dot Stables. Secondly, we would make our way over to El Club in Mexicantown to watch Sugar T. But it didn’t end with that. I had recorded a cassette tape to give to Antonio. Although it was also a tape that was fuzzed out with EQ levels that sounded like it was dragged through the mud, it was a gift of appreciation, a 90-minute tape of rock n’ roll that I hoped would intrigue or impress him.
Although I venture into the heart of Detroit on many occasions, I still get the same feelings every time I pass by the usual landmarks: the big tire on the side of 96; the Detroit City Limits sign; when 96 switches to 55 mph, even though the other drives still drive as if it were a Nascar race. As we took the exit to the Bridge to Canada and found our exit we pulled up to the Green Dot stables on Lafayette.
The Green Dot Stables is a one-storied building and goes to show what White Castle could be with a sort of refinement. You sit down and are handed a menu with more than a dozen options of sliders. In preparation for the night, we bulked up on food and fries and left for the concert. We made our way under the Ambassador Bridge and closer and closer until we found ourselves in Mexican Town.
We see El Club, we park in the backstreet behind, and walk to the door. With an ill-timed arrival, the doors didn’t open till 7, and it was 6:53. We stood there, The Captain and me, in a two-man line looking out at the passing cars. To our surprise, a cowboy walks up the sidewalk and gets in line right next to us. He was rocking a cowboy hat, bolo tie, embroidered shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots—all the familiar symptoms of a Buffalo Bill type. We strike up a casual conversation with the cowboy and hear familiar voices. I look over… it's the band.
Thee Sugar Tradition standing on the curb waiting to get in. While I have talked to them before, I panicked. What can I say, I was nervous. I started a little conversation and made one simple request.
“Play Baby What's Wrong?”
That song, I think, perfectly captures the essence of Sugar T. It gets to the point, and is a swift throat punch of rock n’ roll. Personifies the Detroit style of drive. THE DRIVE in which The MC5 perfected 50 years ago.
walked in as a security guard came out. I choked, the cassette still in my pocket. But the security guard was a different story. He could make The Captain small in comparison. Standing in the shadow of that dinosaur of a man, he started to pat me down. It wasn’t any pat-down like I’ve experienced at the TSA check at the airport. He went up and down the legs. Woah, that was a close one!
I showed our tickets and walked right in. My mind was blown. It was like listening to “Back in Our Minds'' by Funkadelic for the first time. There was the bar and the merch stand and the stage and the lights. It wasn’t like going to a concert at a basketball stadium for example. There was no emotional disconnect. It was all there, and it was invigorating. More and more people filed through the door, and we got our spot.
By now it was filling at a higher rate than before. I bellied up to the bar and the bartender lady asked me what I wanted. For a split second, I contemplated using that one James Bond line but forced the one word out of my mouth, water. Well, I sipped that water in anticipation—and then—it was time. The lights were set, the crowd was ready, and they strutted on the stage. Amps went on, and the show began.
Holy cow, they rock it, sock it, rip it, and roll it. The sound flows all together through these 3 guys. Antonio moves and shakes like he’s possessed, Kevin grooves effortlessly on the kit, and Arlo stands there with head down thumping away like a rock.
When you are at one of these gigs, you can’t help but just groove along with the music. I found myself singing the words and bobbing my head. After about 20 minutes, they entered into Baby What’s Wrong? I, having listened to it many times before, anticipated the tempo change with almost as much anticipation as the whole show. 1 second, 10 seconds, 30 seconds, a minute goes by. Then at around 1:30, IT happens.
“SOCK IT, SOCK IT, SOCK IT! YEAH”
Hit me like a big Mack truck. And as if that was the best, they went off the stage, just to come back again to play an encore. THIS is the American dream. This is what the founding fathers meant by the right to the pursuit of happiness.
Phase 1 was done, now it was time to deliver the cassette. While Anotonio was nowhere to be seen, I did see Arlo and I zoomed in. I dapped him up and started talking to him and it was so rad! He is the nicest dude and like the last time I saw them play, I got a chance to cut it up with him. Most people don’t get to meet their favorite musicians or heroes in general for that matter. But I was talking to them! After a while, he was snagged to go do something and I saw Antonio head for the door. While feeling like Steve McQueen, I meandered over like Bambi on ice. However, I was able to give him the fuzzy cassette and felt so stoked. Phase 2 was over, my plan was done. As I turn around to go snag The Captain, a lady flagged me down.
This lady was at the end of the bar, had notebooks and papers sprawled out all over. While looking very diligent, she opened her mouth.
“Go get you and the rest of the band, I need to pay you guys.”
“Me?” I responded
“Yes, you” she paused, “I need to give you the money!”
Oh my goodness, she thought I was in the band. As much as I wanted to go along with it, I couldn’t. I admitted that I wasn’t in the band and that I am simply just a fangirl. She looked at me with a most puzzling expression but handed me this information to give to Antonio. I grabbed the words and sprung into action. I went to exit the building but, the security guard emerged.
“Once you go out, you can’t get back in.”
What was this nonsense I thought? d back in like a fool. Luckily, Antonio walked in and I was able to deliver the message. I breathed in the El Club air one more time and The Captain and I made out great escape back into the known world. With The MC5 blaring from the speakers, we made our way out of the concrete jungle of beautiful industrial breakdown, minds, and ears ringing from our adventures. In my green machine, I drove back into the heart of Hornet country. The Captain and I jammed for a bit, with cranked amps and a guitar drowned fuzz pedal and pounding drums, we spent an hour trying to recreate the sound we just heard.
The American Dream; on that night it was somewhat achieved in a certain reality or dimension. All thanks to Sugar Tradition and the power which music holds in one’s life. Oh well, now that the night was over I can just sit back now and wait for the next gig to come around; another gig, another journey into the heart of the MotorCity.
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