Way back in 1984, I read a ridiculous commentary about Heavy Metal music in Michael Moore's alternative newspaper, the "Michigan Voice." The author, one Bill Brown, theorized a silliness about a need in young men to control women, worship the devil, and express angst about work and the world in general. Pompous me, I couldn't help myself but write a letter to the editor. Stating my defense of the musical genre, I even made claim that some metal could be regarded as "melodic."
OK, I was young and impassioned.
Moore took that one line to heart, it seems, because then after, he sarcastically referred to heavy metal as "melodic," mentioning it a couple times on his radio show, "Radio Free Flint."
Oh well, that is one instance where he and I definitely disagree. So then, today, I dug up both the article that raised my ire, and the letter I wrote. Yes, the good old days when writing a letter to a newspaper seemed to mean something!
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I got to see an "old" movie from 1987, the other night, called "Broadcast News." I remembered it as a goodie -- a classic starring fave actors William Hurt and Holly Hunter. It was the 80s, you know. Sure, it had all the cheesy-ness of the 80s, a bit of gloss, a bit of dumbed-down interactivity inherent in commercial films, but there was indeed something more, here. The dialog was sometimes clever. What wasn't said was just as important as what was. And the movie played slow, really slow, compared to today's big box office busters. No violence, not much sex (with just a glimpse of William Hurt's backside). Why would anyone want to watch this thing?
I watched it because there was a story. Yes, unrequited love (nothing new in Hollywood), a thin expose on phony newscasters, but nothing quite like the sledge-hammer, in-your-face "story"-telling of the recent Avengers film. "Broadcast News" is a far cry from being the best move ever made, don't get me wrong. But I couldn't help notice that movies told a story, they were more like books, instead of headlines. Substance mattered, even if it was only a cute romantic comedy drama fairy tale. Viewers had time to think, too, when scenes didn't race by, from one ridiculous flashy, jittery scene to the next. I think we were treated with respect, as if we had an attention span, like we could be interested, provided the right circumstances.
I saw the new Batman film today. I was looking forward to it, but I just couldn't bring myself to rush to the theater on Friday, after what happened in Colorado. So, I saw an early Sunday matinee. Even with all the action and explosions, the flashy scenes, the cool costumes, people couldn't focus on the big screen in front of them. No, all over the theater, was the glow of smaller-screened cell phones. Throughout the entire film. Thank god there was a good story, or I might have been driven mad with their distraction.
Having been to more than a few concerts in my life, I've gotten to a point where the experience is more important than the who or what. I've seen Collective Soul half a dozen times now, so standing in the heat for hours, waiting for a chance for a decent photo, fighting with people in line, well, it ain't all that fun, when you don't have to.
To avoid most of that, the VIP Experience is worth all the money, and then some. So, I got us tickets for the June 1 show at the House of Blues. We were treated right, from the get-go. We, and about 25 others, were given laminated VIP passes, our tickets, and let into the air-conditioned venue way ahead of everyone else. Why, well, because we also got to meet the band and get autographs, and our place at the stage. They gave us a signed lithograph, as well, which is very nice, indeed.
Lisa in the House.
Speaking of posters, the HOB restaurant had a custom poster advertising the concert in their restroom. All I know is that somehow that very same poster ended up signed by the whole band and will be soon proudly displayed in my home. Said bassist Will Turpin, "That'll look real nice, framed." Indeed, it will, Will.
The show was special because they played the entire "Dosage" album, in order, and then a set of their hits. A very cool experience, and I hope they do it again. Frontman Ed Roland saw my shirt for their "Youth" album, and expressed his delight that I was wearing it. When I explained that the album is my personal favorite, he remarked, "Maybe we should do that one next." Please do, Ed. Please, do.
Hey, look, it's us!
Will's pick.
Part of Ed's setlist.
The music was fantastic. All those songs, how could it not be? And the sound was perfect, from our vantage point, front and center. That's how it should be. An easy, fun night, with great music by a favorite band, that you just happen to know a little bit better.
Music is so powerful in my life that I can barely remember a moment without it. As children, my mom would pile my brothers and sister and me in the back of the family car, and we'd go for a ride to the outskirts of town. It was valuable, because that's when I learned to reflect, to think, to absorb the sights around me, but almost always turning thoughts into wonder about why the world is the way it is. And always, just as valuable, was the ever-present sound of radio, pouring out of the speakers, right into my ears, and casting an image in my brain. I learned much about melody and harmony and wondered even more about lyrics that for years to come would still not quite make sense to me.
One of the songs etching itself into my psyche was Simon and Garfunkel's "Cecilia." My God, those harmonies, that incessant rhythm, so different, so catchy, so uplifting, so indelible. The joy of music, so embedded in me, from the trips we took, when I was young, and lucky enough to have speakers that spoke to me. All I had to do was listen and feel.
Filmmaker and author Micheal Moore made the only Texas stop on his book tour right here in Houston, Friday, November 4. I hadn't talked him to him since he was on Larry King's radio show in 1990. Much has happened in the world since, not to mention that he's now a mega star. So, yeah, I just had to be there.
I got to Brazos Bookstore at 5:15. Passes for autographs were issued beginning at 5, and all the seats were already taken. I purchased a copy of the new "Here Comes Trouble," and slid into standing-room-only, waiting for his 7:30 arrival. I met a few folks, and chatted with them about politics in general, and Mr. Moore, specifically. I was wearing my "Radio Free Flint" shirt that momma got me last Christmas. Some lady across the store saw it, and turned her camera at me. More on her, later.
Most folks were old folks like me, or even older. I did meet a 23 year-old young man, who is part of a socialist organization. Other than that, not much young activism going on, there. Maybe the youngsters were all down at Occupy Houston.
The general manager of the bookstore told me that Moore had contacted him for the appearance, and of course they obliged. It wasn't the store who contacted Moore. I remarked that that was clearly a statement about his store. Indeed it was. The place had about 200 people jam packed into a tiny space. Aside from this one indy bookstore making some money, Moore donates his proceeds to local libraries on all of his book tour stops.
The clock finally struck 7:30, and in marched Micheal, along with his two body guards (needed ever since the Farenheit film), and a small entourage. The gathered crowd stood and cheered, and held up their camera phones like some discount amateur paparazzi.
Turning the tables, Micheal proceeded to interview the general manager, and then of course, make fun of him. Mocking Houston, Michael said, "I got news on my way here that all copies of the book have been sold out! Of course, they didn't order enough copies! 'Uh, yeah, just order a dozen of 'em. It's in Houston, and nobody will be there. And they can't read, anyway!' "
Micheal later Tweeted that, because there were not enough books, he had to sign arms and napkins. I made my way through the line, and talked with a nice lady standing next to me. We decided that we would both take photos of each other with Mr. Moore, once we got up there. That was a good idea, if I may say so, myself.
When I reached the signing table, I muttered, "Hi, Mike. You won't remember, but in the early 80s, I used to work in a certain Pizza Hut on Dort Highway."
"I know the place well!" he said. "By Atherton Road, right?"
"Yes," I answered. "You used to come to the drive-through on Saturdays, and we'd talk about what was going on." He looked straight at me, as if conjuring up those old days. He smiled, seeming to remember, or, at least, I think he remembered, and he shook my hand, and said, "Wow! Where'd you get that shirt?" He pointed it out to his wife, who was sitting off to the side of the store. She'd already seen it, she said. I realized it was her who was taking a picture of me, earlier.
I told him I got it from my mom last Christmas. "Where?", he still wanted to know, but I suggested that it was probably online. (Thanks for the shirt, mom!)
I said, "Thanks for everything you've done over the last 30 years or so."
He shouted back with "Hey, thanks for the pizza!"
Said the nice lady who took the photo of me, as were were walking out: "I'm gonna have to tell this story, you know. I stood in line next to the guy who made pizza for Michael Moore."
With hits like "We Got The Beat," and "Our Lips Are Sealed" from 30 years ago, the Go Go's are back this summer for their reunion tour. The girl group -- Belinda Carlisle, Charlotte Caffey, Gina Schock, Jane Wiedlin and Kathy Valentine -- visted Houston's House of Blues last night, for an awesome trip down memory lane.
Lisa and I got in line in the heat early, just so we could get an up-close view of the legends in the flesh. Kathy and Jane were just inches from us, the whole night, and I have to say, they are the fun-sters in the group. Oh, sure, Belinda ain't bad to look at (even now), but Jane, with her wacky wit, dead-panning quips like "That was the Rolling Stones..." after a classic cover of "Mother's Little Helpers," made me laugh out loud. Duh! (And how could we not note the appropriateness of Belinda singing the words to that song?)
It was also evident standing nearly on the stage, that the gurls are really friends. Many smiles and jokes were shared by the band, who seem to be getting along just nicely, in their grown-up days. Kathy Valentine even brought on her daughter during one of the encores, calling her a "future Go Go."
We had a great time, naturally, with all the hits and then some, and lots of guitar-heavy pop. Belinda's solo hits made the set, too. Yup, we were Head Over Heels.
This is the house we used to live in
This is a place in our green town
This is the house we used to live in
One look before they tear it down
The Smithereens, "House We Used To Live In"
I lived in this old house for 15 years, and the county flood control folks said it was no longer in their best interest to continue rebuilding after floods. I was most certainly in agreement, and took them up on their offer to buy me out. It took about two years to make it all happen, but I am thankfully ensconced in a nice new home. The above photo was taken the day I moved out. Below is what's left of the old home, now.
I tell ya, I sure am a lucky guy. The lovely Lisa gave me this very nice birthday gift! It plays CDs, cassette tapes and records. It also has a radio, and I can even plug my Ipod into it. While it's true that I already had a fancy-schmancy, thunderous audio system in the living room, this one is a great addition to my media room. (Oh, the convenience of a man cave... I mean, ...library.)
OK, so here's the new house! Aside from the landscaping which I had nothing to do with, there is just one decoration. His name is George. And if you don't know why, well, you probably don't know me very well.
Some musician guy named George Harrison had them around his house (which just happened to be a little bit nicer than mine, being a castle, and all.)
I'm kinda settled in, and I'll keep you posted on what's inside, soon enough. The old house is still standing, as of the last time I checked. We'll visit there, too, just to track it's progress. All things must pass, indeed.
I bought one of these "bookcases" at IKEA, today. It measures aprroximately 6 ft. x 6 ft. It's called the "Expedit."
Why? Well, take a look at another picture, below.
I've got some work to do, firstly, putting it together. I also picked up some nice bookshelves (for actual books!),too. Gotta get the media room in order. I'll keep you posted! (Give me a few days!)
If you've ever been to Five Guys Burgers and Fries, you know how good they are. The regular burgers are actually two big patties, and you can choose from so many good, fresh toppings. Then, a serving of fries is about 2 lbs. worth of potatoes. I have never been able to eat one serving by myself. Yesterday, we had a particularly fresh serving of both burgers and fries. (They ONLY do burgers and fries, and they do it very well.)
A couple of months ago, I went with some of my kids, and one of the Five Guys slogans became my new catch phrase.
I may be just gettin' old, but I just saw one of the best concert dvds ever, from legendary singer-songwriters Carole King and James Taylor. Great old classics are performed. The video trailer here doesn't do the concert justice, but it's a good sampling. Go buy it, and watch it on a nice video/audio system.
This is about as close to a spiritual connection as I can know. I know it, but I couldn't possibly describe how profound it is. It is no accident to me that I discovered this thing called the music of the Beatles. From that earliest of ages, almost as far back as my memory goes, it was in my life. What seems so trivial to most, defines a way of life, and understanding of life, to me. When I look at the pictures of the Beatles from 1960-62, I see something that absolutely runs parallel to my own life. No, not fame, or rock stardom. Nothing of the kind. Gaze at this picture of scruffs, from a club in Hamburg, Germany. At least one of the members of this fledgling band knew he could follow his dream, and make it work. Long before it ever happened. Look closely. The attitude is there.
It is something I can understand. With all the determination and defiance in the world, I was bent on taking that world on. Like those Liverpudlian teddy boys, taking a journey to a strange land just to prove themselves, to try to do it their way, I can so completely relate. I had the faith, and the will (and plenty of self-doubt, too), but I knew what I needed to do to try to make a successful life. Though a teacher's work is never done, on my best days, I feel like I've made it.
Again, look at this photo. How did those young boys have so much confidence? That's amazing to me. As proof, there exist enough photos from the time that their friends also knew this band was onto something. Now, I don't have photos from my formative days to offer up, but ask anyone who knew me then, and I have a feeling they'll tell you I had plenty of attitude. Plenty. And, as I know now, a lot of guidance from whatever it is out there that brought me to this place in time.
I could talk forever about the Beatles, and why they are still, to this day so great, and the impact they've had on me. But that thing we share, that drive to "the toppermost of the poppermost," is the most profound.
If you know me at all, you know what a nerd I am. Well, check this, for evidence. While perusing a blog I frequent called Boing Boing, I happened upon a fascinating piece illustrating the wondrous nerdi-ness of the Library of Congress.
"The Library of Congress has nearly 150 million items in its collection, including at least 21 million books, 5 million maps, 12.5 million photos and 100,000 posters. The largest library in the world, it pioneers both preservation of the oldest artifacts and digitization of the most recent--so that all of it remains available to future generations. "
One of the things the LoC preservationists do is to create "a high-resolution digital map of a record's surface without touching it. Recordings on warped and damaged vinyl can be recovered and restored, then played back by a computer program that emulates the movements of a stylus passing over the modeled grooves." Now, just think about what that information does to the mind of a music collector. Rare, damaged, and otherwise lost recordings can be recovered! They do similar things with books, and film.
I've always wished I could go there, because research is one of those nerdy things I like to do. But just taking a virtual tour of one small part of the LoC is to absolutely stretch one's imagination. If you're a nerd, go check it out. Give yourself some time to read, view and watch video, too. Great stuff.
Brilliant songwriters have a way of taking words and music and striking a chord that resonates in all of us. Billy Joel's brilliance is pounded out in his 1982 song, "Allentown," one that still rings in my head, and reminds me of who I am, and from where I came.
No, I've never been to Allentown, Pennsylvania, but, like many others, I came from a place much like it. My Allentown is called Flint, Michigan. Flint wasn't a steel town, but a town of car factories. One day, the folks with all the money, the same folks for whom the town was built, left. They left for new places like Mexico, because a 4.5 billion-dollars-a-year profit was somehow not enough. Free enterprise, ya know. It's the American way.
But tell that to the tens of thousands of Americans in that town left with nothing but unemployment, crime, and hungry children.
That, and Billy Joel's words.
"Well we're living here in Allentown And they're closing all the factories down Out in Bethlehem they're killing time Filling out forms Standing in line"
As a kid, I stood in the unemployment line with my dad, for hours. There were a lot of desperate people there, and it's an awful feeling.
"Well we're waiting here in Allentown For the Pennsylvania we never found For the promises our teachers gave If we worked hard If we behaved"
I remember my eighth grade history teacher constantly reminding us that if we worked hard, if we behaved, if we attended school everyday, we too, could share in the American Dream. A lot of people believed those words. I believed them, and was one of many standing empty handed when it came time to live my American Dream. No one expects to be handed anything, but, what happened to those promises?
"So the graduations hang on the wall But they never really helped us at all No they never taught us what was real Iron and coke, Chromium steel And we're waiting here in Allentown"
When I was working three jobs to pay for college and my step-father was hounding me about getting a real job with good pay, and my college advisers said that if I studied math education I was guaranteed a career, I found a way to get my graduation. But I still had not learned what was real. Like when the only horse in a one-horse town runs off, and leaves you stranded. No jobs for thousands meant no jobs for a shiny, new, wanna-be teacher. Factories, schools, and dreams had all been shut down. I applied to a couple hundred schools. I went to over a hundred interviews. More than ninety of those folks bothered to send me a letter to say "sorry, we don't need you, but thanks for your inquiry." I kept those letters in a stack bounded with rubber bands for years, to remind me where I came from.
"But they've taken all the coal from the ground And the union people crawled away"
Yep, the biggest labor union of all started in Flint. Where are they, now?
"Well I'm living here in Allentown And it's hard to keep a good man down But I won't be getting up today
And it's getting very hard to stay"
Well, I did get up, everyday. One day, I got up and left. I got a job in Texas, and I'm doing the best I can. I've been doing it for 22 years, now, and I still have a lot to do. That's the real American dream.
The thing is, I left my hometown, but it has never left me. Everything I ever learned about life is somehow attached to that experience. I doubt I'll ever forget, but if I do, there's always Billy Joel's song to remind me.
Lisa and I have seen several concerts in the last year, and I was never able to report on them. Well, we saw Everclear last Saturday (1/23), and this time I must at least say something.
This occasion was the first time I'd seen them, and it came long after the band's biggest years. Essentially, Everclear is Art Alexakis, and what amounts to at least the third incarnation of his group.
Alexakis has issues. Boy, does he have issues, and he lays it all out there in his songs. Here's a little clue for ya, via song titles: "Father of Mine," "Heroin Girl," "Everything Is Wonderful," and for cryin' out loud, the band is named "Everclear," after all. Alexakis responded onstage to a fan chiding him to at least smile: "Yeah, I have four ex-wives who all said the same thing!" No doubt.
We sat up on the balcony for this one, not wishing to fight with the general admission crush on the floor. We had good seats, too, and enjoyed it all. We even stood up for a while, taking it all in.
Everclear is supporting a "new" CD, one consisting of remakes and a couple new songs. If Art and his band should come around again, I'll make sure to buy some tix.
Land O'Lakes is donating $1 for every person who clicks on their web site. Go to the website listed below and on the upper right side of the screen there is the green area where it says:
My friend Roger, the school librarian, gave me a cool little article about vinyl records. You know, the long playing platters most cool cats used to listen to. How cool are records, now? Imagine my search for equilibrium when Roger told me the article came from that bastion of hip-ness, AARP Magazine. Yeah, I've finally caught up with the folks who rally to advance the cause of retired persons.
Roger related a chat he and I once had about my "show and tell" with kids to teach them about my passion for music. He read the following passage, and told me later, "it reminded me of you, and it was just like you said." From the article:
Even the nonlistening rituals of record ownership are burned into the memories of everyone who ever had a collection. Need proof? Head down to a music store and buy a record—most larger shops now have at least a small vinyl section. The rest will come naturally: bring the record home (on the way, I guarantee, you'll admire the cover artwork). Now slip your thumbnail into the cellophane sheath, right at the album's business end, and slide it along. Feel that flutter in your stomach as the album opens? You're remembering what it's like to access your music with a single, graceful stroke—instead of peeling, stabbing, cutting, and finally biting your way into a CD jewel case. Now slide out the inner sleeve. There she is: the proud, black thing of beauty, her label winking at you through the sleeve's center hole. As you extract the disk from the sleeve, you'll find you haven't forgotten how to hold it safely: your thumb at the ridge, the label resting on your fingers.
The part the author left out, Roger explained, was that I also related even how the smell of brand new vinyl was part of the experience. Oh, how sensory memories affect us...
It seems that about every month or so, there's another article about records, how we are buying, selling, and wanting more. They never completely went away, kids. Get this: Vinyl record sales soared 89 percent in 2008, according to Neilson Soundscan. New records by old and new artists alike are being released on vinyl. (See the chart.)
Call me grandpa, but my turntable fits in nicely as a component of my surround sound system.
Read this article, and some others, too, at the links below.
A teacher by day, a family guy, rock and roller, hockey player, and caped crusader by night. Thank you for visiting, and if you care to, please post your comments!
