About Me
Born of natural ingredients and the God-given right to scrape the ethereal chalkboard, with the audacity to beg a hunk of Velveeta from a starved rat, these guys wrote the book on grifting. It all began when three acquaintances of varying backgrounds and criminal records joined forces in the abandoned stock room of a Toronto merken factory. They were first employed at Wawa’s Blue Moose Lounge in 1964, opening for local legends, The Mynah Birds (feat. Rick James/Neil Young). This monumental three night run would prove to be the birth pang of a career plagued by erratic commercial success and rampant with drug and alcohol addiction. The Grifters honed their live performance in the cornhole of the great Midwest—moonlighting on the fecal streets of Nelsonville, Ohio
Excepting the original drummer, Roger Earl—who was expelled from the band for his ongoing struggle with methamphetamines, The Grifters have maintained their initial roster. Earl would later find success as a founding member of British rock band, Foghat.
Ghengis was a protégé to the late great, “Big Jake†Macon—nephew of the Dixie Dewdrop himself. Gheng bolstered his sensual style of clawhammer banjo scoring old-timey soundtracks for a number of Appalachian themed stag films in the mid-70’s. His love for live performance developed during a three year tour of the Slavic nations with actor/entertainer, Scatman Crothers.
Shooter learned to play the guitar in the crumbling balcony of a South Bronx catholic church—strumming out progressive arrangements of “Ave Maria†on his Rickenbacker 12-String. It was not until a 1968 collaboration with The Electric Prunes, during the historic recording of his brain child, Mass in F Minor, that Shooter discovered LSD.
Spoony Shay cut his teeth in the dishroom of a humble longshore grill-pub. Gradually refining his percussive skills as a means to dry the silverware, Spoony made his stage debut in that very pub when Noel Redding’s drummer was suddenly rushed to the hospital during performance. Early on, Shay set the standard for traditional spooning.
The Grifters perpetuate a tradition that is greater than the sum of their explicit fart jokes, poophouse puns, and phallic obsession. Like a festering sore, The Grifters demand your attention. They pack the vile punch of an Olde English bubble bath: unsettling, yet enjoyable and their dingy prowess has enchanted audiences the world over. The Grifters exude the high brow tact of slick-tooth playboys, softened by the smiling reality of their mild retardation: The Ozark Mountain Daredevils meet a late career Lawrence Welk. Do not be fooled—the subtle incompetence’s in their music are not intentional. This drunken floundering is not the judgment of refined sensibility, but the expression of a musical ineptitude that could only be the product of true amateurs.
Watchdogs of the American social movement and revered underground critics have oft penned The Grifters as the country’s most relevant cultural ambassadors—the people’s voice. One thing is certain: as long as friends will gather in gaiety around a luke-warm fifteen pack, so will be The Grifters. Obnoxious? Overbearing? Offensive? We’d like to think so.*The Grifters’ European releases, Hole Lotta Griftin’ Goin’ On, and, Grift, Mama, Grift!, are currently out of print.
