Nov. 1, 1975: Rodan
Towering talents converge in a band like none other in Buffalo:
Nov. 1, 1975
Rodan – Not Much to Say, But a Lot to Play
RODAN IS A WORD-OF-MOUTH kind of group. The message of them seems to spread
like a rumor that the Japanese movie monster of the same name is gobbling up
the countryside.
First wind of their talents came a couple weeks ago from a
fellow employee, who painted visions of heavy-metal lions at McVan’s on
* * *
SECOND WIND
came from a backyard neighbor, Joe Terrose, who turns out to own McVan’s. He
confirmed the coming of the peaceable kingdom and added that when Rodan was
elsewhere, such as a Gentle Giant concert, Sunday business was terrible.
Third and least likely wind came from booking agent Fred
Saia, who normally lumps far-out groups into the same category as wheat-germ
lasagna.
He’s got them playing Mondays at the Barrelhead in West
Seneca and Wednesdays at He & She’s in
A Sunday night visit to McVan’s reveals that the wind
didn’t lie. Quiet clusters of Rodan fans sit like an archipelago in a sea of
red and white tablecloths and applaud each lengthy tune.
Rodan’s stage-consciousness is more like
self-consciousness. But though they don’t have much to say, they have a lot to
play.
Emerson, Lake & Palmer, Mahavishnu Orchestra, Genesis,
King Crimson.
* * *
DRIFTING WITH
their set of four original compositions produces notes like this:
“All in one … a clang of cymbals, a drone of synthesizers
and a murky boil of guitar … a bit like Mahavishnu …
“Dream song … story message sez you can’t get somthg for
nothg … spooky tropical percussion to an off-beat boogie … sounds like Yes
vocals from Victor … ends ringing of an alarm clock.”
Drummer Ted Reinhardt’s parents are at the next table.
Ted’s father, a drummer once himself, handed his old traps down to Ted when he
was four.
Ted’s mother says her son played records he liked for her
so she’d understand the complex and uncommon music he’s into.
“We play … dinosaur hunting music,” announces Victor
Marwin, who sings and plays violin and flute, in an interview as self-conscious
as Rodan on stage.
Victor’s a publicity man searching for the right word.
Keyboard man Rick McGirr fuzzes details.
Guitarist Bruce Brucato flings platitudes the size of
serving trays. Ted Reinhardt stifles a penchant for blunt, humorous
observation.
And bassist Bill Ludwig, who’s a vegetarian, says nothing
at all.
Around this is the old-fashioned sepia-print tone of the
He is sponsoring Rodan in a 90-minute live concert at
midnight tonight on WBUF-FM.
* * *
A 175-POUND
Great Dane named Dave saunters through. A parakeet chatters somewhere. And in
the next room is Andy’s newest pet – a six-foot boa constrictor.
“There’s dance music and there’s beer-drinking,
hell-raising music,” Victor continues, “but we play dinosaur hunting music.”
“We’re not against dance music,” Ted Reinhardt counsels.
“We just don’t do it.
“When we come into a place, we bring our own crowd. And
it’s a non-violent, non-dancing crowd. We’ve got 200 people that oughta get
gold stars.”
Ultimately it’s revealed that a year ago Victor, a veteran
of Rasputin – a heavy-metal fixture at McVan’s – and Rick, whose career
included a stint with Vic Dana, happened into a band Ted, Bruce and Bill were
forming.
The first number they put together was King Crimson’s
“Lark’s Tongue in Aspic, Part 2.”
“It was what we were all listening to, so we knew most of
it by heart,” says Ted. “We weren’t going to copy anyone at all, but we figured
we’d do King Crimson and Genesis because it’s something people know and it’s
the closest to what we want to do.”
They put on a number they’re thinking of doing from Peter
Hamill’s old group, Van der Graaf Generator, Rodan’s four original members have
taken a lot of time to work up, Victor says. Two to three months each of
practice in Andy’s basement.
“Sometimes because of our music people think we’re snobs,”
Victor explains, “but we’re just a friendly bunch.
* * *
“WITH OUR MUSIC,
you’ve got to have osmosis. You’ve got to let it sink in.
“We try to look in terms of the future and progressing
rather than what’s been done before. Don’t quote me as saying that, that’s what
we all feel.”
The group funnels most of its income into equipment, much
of which is built by their sound engineer, Tim Rinkerman.
They schedule a trip to
All have aspirations to play more instruments and get
wilder effects.
“We improvise quite a bit in our numbers,” Rick says. “This
music makes you want to be better.
“It’s a long ways from three chords, but you always know
there’s other stuff around that makes this sound like ‘Chopsticks.’”
* * * * *
IN THE PHOTO:
From left, keyboard man Rick McGirr, bassist Bill Ludwig, drummer Ted
Reinhardt, singer-flutist Victor Marwin, guitarist Bruce Brucato and, in front,
a Great Dane named Dave.
* * * * *
FOOTNOTE: I
first ran into Rick McGirr back in December 1971 when he was playing keyboards
for a big church-based touring production of “Jesus Christ Superstar.” After
Rodan, he earned a music degree at UB and reconnected with guys in the group to
form a second Rodan, which morphed into that fabulous rock and jazz fusion
group Gamalon in the 1980s. He left Gamalon after a couple years and did a
stint in a touring Top 40 band called 20-20. Mark Dixon, who was one of his bandmates, recruited
him for Party Squad, one of the area’s top cover bands. He left in 1999 to sell
real estate. He’s been inducted into the Buffalo Music Hall of Fame, not once,
but three times – with Gamalon and Party Squad and once by himself.
Ted Reinhardt is a
I’m
not entirely sure about Victor Marwin, but I’m betting he’s the guy who made
furniture for Kittinger’s and became an artisan woodworker at the Niagara Arts
and
Bill
Ludwig lists himself as a freelance bass player on his LinkedIn page. He’s also
worked for more than 30 years as a manager and supervisor for AirSep Corp.,
which makes oxygen and nitrogen concentrators.
Joe
Terrose, the owner of McVan’s at Niagara Street and Hertel Avenue, got to be a bit of a friend. In the late 1970s, his club got to be a haven for alternative and punk rockers and I wound up visiting so often that he reserved a bottle of tequila for me at the
bar. I'd still see him after he sold the club in the early 1980s and it was knocked down to make was for a Wilson Farms convenience store (now a 7-Eleven). He owned a rug cleaning business over in
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