The family affair band Greta Van Fleet was born in Frankenmuth, Michigan in 2012. The frontline genetics are the twins Jake Kiszka and Josh Kiszka, and their younger brother Sam Kiszka.
These days original drummer Kyle Hauck is replaced by Danny Wagner. Detroit Michigan is the US home of great raw Rock. Frankenmuth is the home of Frankenstein Spunk Rock. Van Fleet’s name almost seems like an anagram. Great Van Halen or, Greta Thunderburger?
At tonight’s Spark show the intro music on the PA rumbled with quad zillion watt indigestion with Aborigines on acid swimming around in the speaker cones. The music then started rising to the heavens with an eloquent strings’ arrangement.
After the super long suspense build, the band ran across the stage and up onto the back riser. Posing in divine admiration in front of a giant backdrop of an Excalibur stabbing into a desert hilltop.
The magic powers of classic Rock imagery.
Good evening screeched Josh with the sound of a cat after someone steps on its foot. The boys urgently run down the stairs and off they go.
The Spark Arena, like any huge room, has the potential to suck the life out of musical dynamics. The first few songs seemed flatlined by this, but the world class front guy, after forever on the road with the band, pulls it together.
Kicking off with Falling Sky it’s obvious Josh can sing. Great tenor singers are rare, and he has the chops to sing beyond most in first gear. Technically adept, night after night without noticeable vocal strain.
Van Fleet have faced the accusation of being a Led Zeppelin copy band. Artists steal from the best. My mum always told me professionals steal, amateurs borrow.
Listening to Josh, you can hear he has a deep grab bag from which he has formed his own style.
At times he sounds like Bon Scott, and during Black Smoke Rising, he seemed in Geddy Lee mode. On stage he dons an Afro mohawk and glam Mott the Hoople clothing. Clearly his own montage.
Tonight, the band seemed casual, though they spiced it up with the right poses. You could feel the same energy in the audience. Understandable after a long stretch on the road.
Sometimes you just want to go back to the 5-star hotel and watch a trash movie. I liked the way Josh unpretentiously interacted with the audience tonight, as if he is talking with you while watching Terminator 24.
He seems like a nice bloke. He politely asked someone in the front row if he could borrow their silver Elton lenses to wear. He did some nice, squashed harp playing as well.
The first time I could clearly hear the music in the room was during Jake Kiszka’s acoustic guitar solo. During the sparse ambient parts of the gig their talents are audibly on display. His acoustic spotlight was Jimmy Page modal. I thought I even heard a snatch of Norwegian Wood.
His electric solo later in the set was also Pagey, highlighted literally and with poses and drum prods. The audience loved it. He gets a nice tone out of his SG, sometimes pointing at Acca Dacca.
I was most impressed by his smarts to face his cranked amps away from him. A very old school approach. Saves the ears and helps the guy at the mixing desk. Possibly why old Fender amps had the controls installed in the back position.
Daniel Wagner is a choice drummer. Fit and fighting, he held it up and down all night. He did some extended banging during his drum solo which seemed to be taken from the template of Bonzo’s Moby Dick solo at Madison Square Garden.
Almost note for note in places, right down to the dragster chug. The drums sounded great singled out. Lovely Big Bonzo Kick. The only thing that usurps a drum solo yawn is… when drums stop, BASS SOOOOLOOOOOOOW.
Anyway, nice demonstration. He is a young guy. Over the years he still has the potential to twist Buddy Rich, as did Bonham, Bruford, and Peter Criss.
During the biggie Highway Song Josh, (where Cheap Trick’s Rick Nielsen used to spray a million picks), hands out white flowers to hotties up front.
The Weight of Dreams is a mega home straight jam. Definitely a Swan Song.
Some of the band are now strutting their sinews. Busting them out with shirts off. They remember Bon Scott once screamed at the crowd LOVIN THOSE T—IES! Phones wave instead of lighters.
The dynamics segue into Light My Love (Is that Lick My Love Pump?) in F minor, the saddest of all keys. Brother Sam puts down his bass and puts on his John Paul Jones hat at the piano. He has a nice touch. The sparseness again reveals the dynamic tone of the instrument.
Josh suggests the night is young and we should catch up and hit the town later. We should, he seems like good company.
The support was Nashville band The Velveteers. My main question is, why was there not a local band on the support roster?
Demi Demetrio up front with a black Mosrite healthily crosses musical boundaries. A mix of metal with vocal touches of Kate Bush and Pat Benatar accompanied by two tribal drummers on fire.
While they suffered the mix murk of a support band and the size of the Arena, they delivered a nice theatrical performance spiced by the drummers throwing toms around the stage.
Greta Van Fleet are carrying the torch and passing it.
While Gen Z were still capturing moments on their devices tonight, beyond that they were enthralled and dancing. The group holding them beyond their mobiles.
They may still be on the road to finding their definitive personal artistic voice, but with great skills Van Fleet are showing the fundamental importance of playing real music with real instruments and feel.
Something that takes work. There is an artistic renaissance going on, and while the band gets heckled for musical similarities, they are part of the map moving forward to new artistic ideas and greatness.
They are young. I’m sure Greta Van Fleet’s best stuff is ahead of them.
One thing for sure. The Song Remains the Same.
John Kempt
Photography by Leonie Moreland
Greta van Fleet
