Devils & Blue Dresses: My Wild Ride as a Rock and Roll Legend

Nicht Mein Prasident / Berlin
1983
Riva
When You Were Mine / Stand
1983
    Twelve Inch Singles
Label
Title
Year
Seeds and Stems
Rock ‘n’ roll / Soul Kitchen
1979
Personal
Like a Rolling Stone / Can Do
1985
S.O.S.
Good Golly Ask Ollie (plus dance mix)
1987
    Albums
Label
Title
Year
New Voice
Take a Ride
1966
New Voice
Breakout
1966
New Voice
Sock it to Me
1967
New Voice
All Mitch Ryder Hits
1967
Crewe
All The Heavy Hits
1967
Dynovoice
What Now My Love?
1967
(Recorded, not released)
Spirit Feel
1967
New Voice
Mitch Ryder Sings the Hits
1968
Dot
The Detroit-Memphis Experiment
1969
Paramount
Detroit featuring Mitch Ryder
1971
Seeds and Stems
How I Spent My Vacation
1977
Seeds and Stems
Naked But Not Dead
1978
Line
How I Spent My Vacation
1979
Line
Naked But Not Dead
1980
Quality
Look Ma, No Wheels
1980
Line
Live Talkies
1981
Line
Got Change For a Million?
1981
Line
Smarts Ass
1982
Line
Never Kick a Sleeping Dog
1983
Riva
Never Kick a Sleeping Dog
1983
Line
The Legendary Full Moon Concert
1985
Line
In the China Shop
1986
Line
Red Blood, White Mink
1988
Line
The Beautiful Toulang Sunset
1990
Line
La Gash
1992
Line
Live a The Logo Hamburg
1992
Line
Rite Of Passage
1994
Line
Monkey Island
1999
BuschFunk
The Old Man Springs a Boner
2003
BuschFunk
A Dark Caucasian Blue
2004
BuschFunk
The Acquitted Idiot
2005
BuschFunk
Red Scar Eyes (double set)
2006
BuschFunk
You Deserve My Art
2007
Free World Records
Detroit Ain’t Dead Yet
2010

APPENDIX D
AN ESSAY FROM MITCH
    Attaching itself to the vulgar dust in the empty back room of my low rent home, the rank smell of love enters my nose. The stench resurrects my dormant self-destruction. Bitter cold rushes through my broken window, filling my aching cigarette-scorched lungs. Alone, the night-light defiantly challenges the evil that waits, hopefully out of reach, just on the edge of the dark. Another winter has arrived and I sink into another uncontrollable spasm of coughs. When it ends, I pull a handkerchief from my coat pocket and dry my eyes, for my view of the world is sad.
    Outside, beautiful crystal ice has bonded itself to the blackened, frozen lives that slide down the sullen streets. Most people no longer have the will to conjure up hot blood and save themselves from the freeze. Democracy, taunting the errant revolutionary, invites him in for another swim through the cold, raging waters of freedom. The unforgiven liberal jade is no longer for trade. Criminally bent Einsteins, with conservative spines, feverishly work their long awaited revenge. Money, money, money. It is a loveless but powerful place. Only the rich and the pretty, or their brutish progenitor, are secure from the chill.
    It’s a fact that famous people are pitifully and faithfully connected to a marketplace that will eventually betray and destroy them. The less shiny and faded shell-shocked “somebodies” like myself walk on gilded splinters with our one-time servile followers, the nervous bullshit betraying the necessary alliance. It is a downturn. It is a correction. We have finally come home. Values have shifted. Stock has fallen. Morals have cleanly split in two. Things are being shattered everywhere you look. These aren’t very nice times, as they are a submission to what truths remain for any human who has struggled for love in vain. All lies now are suddenly accountable. The apocalypse says we are damned. We only know we are cold and older.
    What began with a visionary’s hope for a life of happiness has become a life hardly worth living. The drug dealing medics, uninvited, are everywhere, clumsily plying their sweet, putrid relief at the sides of the inevitable fallen. It is a pain-free resignation to the defeat of the human spirit.
    It was, in the end, too damned easy to get here. In this space, with myself and other veteran victims of this dishonorable disease, rest the bodies of my abandoned children, those worn-out, beat-down progenies of a faithless broken family. A generation of innocents have been lost to the ages.; children left to raise themselves by whatever means supplied.
    The sadness is the fact that I never seemed to care. There was never enough pain, it never hurt quite enough. It was a hairline call that was most often about me, or fame,or my career. In this gallery of human sacrifice is the final testament to how terrible I am. How indifferent to my own I was, while caught up in myself. The endless excuses for cutting my children adrift and leaving them alone in a lethal sea of