Dennis Coffey and the phenomenon of “How did I miss that?”
I love music. I especially love music that’s like a lot of other music that I like, which explains my obsession with Beatles-derived power pop, classic-sounding funk, and pretty much everything that sounds like the bands I already love. I also have a tremendous blind spot sometimes, which often makes me miss out on music that will touch me deeply. Case in point: The Meters.
Back in 1994 or so, two of my brothers, our “brother from another mother” Caleb, and I were goofing around in the basement of our house in Pennsylvania, and were on a funk kick. We created this jam-oriented music that came out sounding like a guitar-heavy version of Parliament meets the Allman Brothers. It was SO MUCH FUN. And we kept getting funkier and funkier over time. Then we moved away, and the regular jams ended. We’d get together over spring break or whenever we could manage to make it happen a few times over the next few years, but it was never really the same.
At one of these “reunion jams”, Caleb asked me if I had ever heard of The Meters. He made me a mix tape of some classic Meters tunes. I couldn’t believe we went almost the entire life of our funk jam group and we never listened to this band, because our music had the same vibe (only with mountains more skill and talent, of course). I became obsessed, but also realized that I had heard one of their most signature tunes, “Cissy Strut” over and over as the bed music for a promo for one of the specialty shows on my college radio station. I always LOVED the music on the promo but never knew what it was.
I somehow MISSED this band…and I have no clue how. It was around me. I was very active at my college radio station. I knew the guy who hosted the specialty show and we got along great, but I never asked him about that music.
This happened AGAIN this week, which brings us to the title of this post. Dennis Coffey was one of the guitarists in the Motown house band – probably most famous for his funky rhythm chording and his early adoption of the wah-wah pedal on many late-60s Motown tracks. He has an incredible song called “Scorpio”, pieces of which were used as the basis for many rap songs I’ve known (including LL Cool J’s “Jingling Baby” (main riff) and Young MC’s “Bust A Move” (percussion breakdown)). Again, I always loved these little bits of music, and heard them a lot, but never knew or sought out the source.
In discovering this song due to the sad passing of legendary Motown Funk Brother Bassist Bob Babbitt (who has a very long solo in “Scorpio”), I started to listen to more of Dennis’ music and realized his guitar style is probably the closest to my own among all of the famous guitarists I’ve heard. His mixture of funky riffs, jazzy chords, and slinky-yet-adventurous pentatonic leads sounds more like what I do when I pick up a guitar than even my guitar heroes. I don’t know if it’s the fact that I grew up in a family that loves classic Motown, but there’s something that’s just “home” about playing guitar that way. The fact that Dennis even plays my favorite type of guitar for that sort of playing because it’s meaty but still has a shimmering top end (he usually uses a Gibson semi-hollowbody) made it even more clear that if I have the chance, I need to see him play live and hopefully meet him. He’s a kindred soul.
It’s interesting to me that I managed to miss Dennis Coffey’s music even though it’s so similar to the music I’d make if I was making instrumental funk. If I were more of a pessimist I’d be sad because in this discovery it’d be the realization that my style wasn’t original, but I’m not a pessimist like that. My style came from all those blues and funk and classic rock and roll influences I absorbed early in my playing, filtered through all the phases of obsession with different genres that followed. The smoothie of influences somehow ended up with me approaching the instrument like Dennis Coffey, even though I never really heard his own music, just his contributions to Motown (that were preceded by and could be confused with the earlier Funk Brothers guitarists, Joe Messina, Robert White, and Eddie Willis). Coffey took soul and funk psychedelic, right around the same time as The Meters made it all New Orleans and sloppily tight.
I’m happy that their music is now a part of my life, and I’ve been happily consuming it ever since I heard of The Meters in the late 90s and Dennis Coffey just last week. But I really wish that I hadn’t missed out on it before. I feel like my life is improved because I’ve heard this music. Isn’t that the goal here, though? Making music that people will hear and consider a pleasant addition to their life? Something that inspires them and makes them feel joy.
On to the “How Did I Miss That?” phenomenon: Like Coffey and The Meters, there are a bunch of artists I missed out on loving the first time that have become my favorites, it makes me wonder what the hell is wrong with me sometimes. It’s really stupid, actually. I remember playing Sloan on my college radio station and liking the songs we played but I didn’t become a massive fan until Caleb played their album “Navy Blues” for me (if you haven’t heard it, you need to). I didn’t discover King’s X until their third album, and they’re up there in my personal “pantheon of greats”.
I have another phenomenon – the “I hate them and then I love them”. Example? I HATED Rush when I first heard them in 1988. HATED. Now they are my favorite band. Same with Led Zeppelin. Just couldn’t stand them…now I adore them. I remember seeing Jellyfish on TV in 1990 and thinking they were weird. I had no idea how much they would mean to me later in life; their two albums are two of my favorite albums ever made.
I don’t know if anyone else has these sorts of issues, but I live with them. The good part is, I eventually come around, usually. I just hate the fact that it takes so long sometimes.
So rock on, check out some Dennis Coffey tunes, some Meters, some King’s X, some Sloan, and Jellyfish. Maybe they won’t connect with you the way they connected with me (when I finally came around), but thanks to friends and second chances, they are now a part of my musical life. I consider myself lucky because I love them all and they bring me joy.
Until next time…
TMS
