Better Late Than Never

As most of you know, music is what moves me, what drives me, what guides me. The array of different styles and artists in my collection is quite confounding, even to me. Many have accused me of outright snobbery, which is an onus that I stubbornly pride myself in. And I’ve dutifully carried the torch of my favorite underappreciated songwriters (at least in terms of mass adulation) such as Paul Westerberg, Aimee Mann, Neil Finn, Todd Rundgren, Steve Earle and others. And while I still admire many major artists, one such songwriter has slipped under my radar: Bob Dylan. Yes, I’ve always respected his talent and contribution to music. He’s written some of the greatest songs of all time. The problem is that I’ve mostly enjoyed other artists’ versions of his songs more than his - everything from Hendrix’s masterful performance of “All Along The Watchtower" to Rod Stewarts poppy interpretation of “Forever Young”. Also, the sound and delivery of one’s voice is important to the final product, and Dylan’s nasally delivery and harmonica drone have usually been a turnoff to me.

But recently I’ve gained a new perspective and appreciation for his music, particularly his early work. And much of this is due to the brilliant Scorsese documentary, No Direction Home, which I watched over the past several days. I’ve been immersing myself in Dylan’s recorded material of the 60’s and 70’s and have gained immense insight that I had never paid attention to. For one thing, his style of songwriting is different than what I’ve become accustomed to. Being so heavily influenced by folk and blues music, his songs tend to be structured linearly with no clear beginning, middle or end. Many of his songs are straight verses (with the occasional chorus) that can seem to go on for 10 minutes. That’s because few of his songs have the “middle 8” section that most listeners of popular music are so acclimated (albeit often unconsciously) to hearing. In fact, out of all the albums I’ve been listening to lately, I finally heard my first Dylan middle 8 on “Going Going Gone” off 1974’s Planet Waves album. Traditionally, I’ve always been more into the sound and melody of a song rather than the lyrical content. That’s not to say that lyrics aren’t important to me – it’s just that my ear picks out things differently than most people. Hell, I couldn’t tell you what most of my favorite songs are even about. After all, my favorite band is R.E.M., and most of the time I don’t know what the fuck Michael Stipe is writing/singing about.

So I’m 38 years-old and I’ve just now “discovered” Bob Dylan. How freaking weird that makes me feel. But, as the title says, better late than never. Like my immersion into jazz, I’ve had to re-train myself how to listen to a particular style of music, which is probably why it sounds so fresh to my ears. Since I can’t stand the sound of most “new” music based on current production techniques, I’m enjoying my re-discovery of older styles and artists. Unfortunately for my wallet and my time, that’s the way I’ve always been – constantly seeking new and different types of music to invade my soul. I have a lot of friends who still listen to the same stuff they listened to in high school and college, never buying or listening to anything different or new. While I’ll always sweep the dust off the old favorites, I can’t go that route. Hence the now 101 GB of music on my hard drive. No Direction Home indeed.

Bear Redux

As mentioned in my previous post, here is the infamous photo and graph of the fateful meeting of Coach Bryant. This was taken from the March, 1981 issue of the Alabama Alumni Bulletin. According to the article, the banquet was on December 5th, 1980, a year after we beat Arkansas in the Sugar Bowl to win our 11th National Championship. Incidentally (and I remember this vividly), I predicted the score would be 24-10, Bama; the actual final score was 24-9. How clairvoyant I was at that age. Hell, with glasses that appalling, I had to be at least somewhat astute.

Bear

This weekend marks the 25th anniversary of Bear Bryant's death. It's difficult to explain to younger folks just what it was like to grow up during the dominance of Bear and the Tide in the 70's. In the five seasons from 1975-1979, Alabama lost 6 games. Let me type that again - Alabama lost 6 times in five years. To put that in perspective, Bama has lost at least 6 games each of the last two seasons. Needless to say, it was a BIG deal when Alabama lost a single game back then. Bear Bryant had an aura about him that was incalculable.

I had the incredible chance to meet him when I was a kid. I was around 9-10 years old and my father had obtained tickets for the Senior Football Banquet at the Civic Center here in the 'ham. He took me and my brother Michael, who would have been about 6-7. However, that memory is bittersweet. We saw all of our favorite players and amazingly had the good fortune to meet Coach Bryant and get his autograph. In fact, there was a reporter there who took a picture of the coach flanked by me and my brother on either side of him. Unfortunately, my mother insisted that Michael and I wore the matching rainbow-striped sweaters that my aunt had knitted for us that Christmas, thus ensuring that what should have been a proud highlight for each of her boys is actually now a cringe-inducing moment upon recollection. For one night, my father was a god in our eyes for granting us the opportunity to meet a living legend. My mother, on the other hand, turned out to be the incarnation of evil. I've got a copy of that photo somewhere at home that I'll post if I can successfully dig it out.

Big

SocGen reels from record $7 billion rogue trader fraud

PARIS (Reuters) - A "massive fraud" by a junior rogue trader has punched a $7 billion hole in the finances of French bank Societe Generale (SOGN.PA), leaving its credibility in tatters and forcing it to get emergency cash.

France's central bank and government scrambled to shore up confidence in the banking system after Societe Generale, France's second-biggest bank, said on Thursday it had been the victim of massive and "exceptional" fraud resulting in losses of 4.9 billion euros...


All I can say is "wow". How in the hell do you let $7 billion slip out the door? SocGen may want to re-think its accounting and hiring practices. And how many more ways can you describe this oversight? After all, they used the words "massive" and "exceptional" in the article to explain the magnitude of the fraud. Let us count the adjectives using the trusty ol' Roget's Thesaurus:

huge
enormous
gigantic
immense
colossal
substantial
considerable
humongous
great
vast
mammoth
giant

But wait, there's more:

titanic
monstrous
gargantuan
oversize
large
extremely large
planetary
mighty
mountainous
behemothic
bulky
stupendous
jumbo
tremendous

And I swear to you this came up:

big mother

Indeed.

Heath Ledger

I know we've all been inundated with comments and tributes over the past 24 hours regarding the death of Heath Ledger, but I'd like to weigh in on this tragedy. As some of you may have read here two years ago, I was deeply touched (no pun intended) after seeing Brokeback Mountain, especially by Ledger's Ennis Delmar character. I still maintain that he should have won the Oscar that year. It ranks as one of the greatest performances I've ever seen by an actor in a motion picture. It was on cable one night last month when I was flipping channels and I watched the second half. There's nothing more sad and compelling than watching a tortured soul in the flesh, and he captured that rather brilliantly. It just makes you wonder, if the reports of suicide ring true, how tortured his own soul must have been. R.I.P.

Whatever Happened To.... David Naughton?

David first came on the scene in the "Be A Pepper" Ad campaign for Dr. Pepper in the mid-70's. He followed that up with the dance classic "Makin' It", which was featured in the film Meatballs. After that, he starred in An American Werewolf In London and Hot Dog The Movie. After a stint on the sitcom My Sister Sam and a guest spot as Elaine's alcoholic boyfriend on Seinfeld, he seemingly dropped off the face of the earth (which is the pre-requisite for this category of posts, in case you haven't figured it out).

F**kin 'A' Diane!

I love this. The FCC is reportedly freaking out over Diane Keaton's F-bomb on Good Morning America.

Last year's court decision that threw out the FCC's policy on "fleeting references" complicates any action the commission might want to take against the stations or the network, chairman Kevin Martin told reporters. When asked whether the FCC would take action, Martin appeared "flummoxed" by the court's decision and the most recent incident of celebrity potty mouth.

"Obviously the commission's pending litigation has impacted a whole host of issues, but I don't know enough about the details of this to see how it would be impacted," he said.

Gooooooooooose!!

One of my favorite baseball players of all time, Rich "Goose" Gossage, was elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame today after eight years on the ballot. With his nasty scowl and his fu manchu mustache, Goose was one of the most intimidating relief pitchers in the game during his time with the Yankees in the late 70's. I used to imitate his glare and his wind-up in my back yard when I was a kid and I'd holler "Goooooose" whenever I saw him on TV. Congrats to Goose - it was a long time coming.

Whatever Happened To.... Benny Mardones?

Oh come on. You remember Benny, don't you? Maybe this will help:

Sheeee's just sixteen years old
Leave her alone, they say

Still don't remember?

If I could fly, I'd pick you up
I'd take you into the night and show you a love
Like you've never seen, ever seen

Ah yes, that song. That voice. Those creepy lyrics. I remember buying a K-Tel album when I was a kid (it was called "Soundwaves" and I don't know why I remember that) and hearing Into The Night by Benny Mardones for the first time. I actually liked it. It was a Top 20 hit in 1980 and then, like the aforementioned Leo and Robbie, he dropped off the face of the earth. That is, until 1989, when Benny re-recorded and re-released this gem of a song. Lo and behold, it became a Top 20 hit AGAIN! As if the song didn't creep people out enough the first time, he wanted to make sure it reached the maximum number of innocent ears. What balls this man must have. And where is he now? According to Wikipedia,

"Mardones currently resides in Southern California. He has one son, Michael, who was born in 1985. Mardones has been diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease."

Boy, don't I feel like a schmuck now.

Top Ten Addendum

Due to a clerical error, I left an important item off of this year's list of my Top 10 Albums of 2008 (see below). That album is the soundtrack from the movie, Once. Mostly performed by the two main actors of the film, Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová, the music and movie are astonishing. Hansard and the film's director, John Carney, are both members of the Irish band, The Frames. Hansard and Irglová's voices meld together seemlessly to create a lush landscape of sound. Highly recommended.

What Were They Thinking?

I've never been one to brag about being the wisest human in the world but I feel that I must question the motives of the Groen family this past weekend. In case you missed it, this is the family who went missing during a snowmobile trip in near the 10,222-foot Cumbres Pass in Colorado last weekend, where they've had four feet of snow since Friday. Fortunately, they've been found alive and safe. Now, the few people I know who live in Colorado have always told me that predicting the weather there is a complete waste of time. Powerful winter storms can creep up at any moment in the Rockies. So why take a Rocky Mountain family expedition in the middle of nowhere during the month of January? What was the mindset of these folks prior to setting out on this near-suicide mission? This inquiring mind wants to know.

Whatever Happened To.... Robbie Dupree?

Another hit-meister from the late 70's who put out such classics as "Steal Away" and "Hot Rod Hearts", which had some of the cheesiest lyrics ever -

Ten miles east of the highway
Hot sparks burnin' the night away
Two lips touchin' together
Cheek to cheek, sweatshirt to sweater

Then, like many of his one or two hit wonder brethren, he fell off the face of the earth into nothingness. I Googled him and he is actually still out there performing, albeit on the daycruise and bingo circuit I'm quite certain.

Bowled Over

The current college football bowl system sucks and I've had enough of it. I'm not even talking about a playoff or any other method of determining a national champion. Or the fact that there are too many goddamn games. I'm talking about the boredom of the traditional New Year's Day bowl games. There was a time before the whole BCS nonsense that there were certain bowls played at certain times on New Years Day. The Gator and Citrus (UT) Bowls kicked things off in the AM; The Cotton Bowl was played mid-day; The Rose and Fiesta Bowls started around 4:00; finally, the Orange and Sugar Bowls were played in the evening. That way, if any one game was shitty you could change the channel to another bowl. The way it is now, not only is there only one game on at a time on New Year's Day, but the rest of the goddamn games are spread out over the course of a week - one game a night. And so far this week, almost every contest has been a (yawn) blowout. The best interests fans have been flushed down the shitter in favor of corporations and suits who think "giving him the business" means kissing a clients ass. Alas, the good old days are gone. Serenity now!

Whatever Happened To.... Leo Sayer?

This lovable teddy bear of a man had a small string of hits in the late 70's. With his high-pitched voice and Richard Simmons kitsch, he made us feel like dancing. Where is he now? Who the hell knows. But it's amazing how, when I was a kid, his gayness went flying over my head like a pre-game fighter jet.

I'm Chris Hansen

If you've seen this guy on TV, you understand my addiction to his show on Dateline NBC. If you've seen him approaching you in person with a clipboard saying, "Why don't you take a seat right there?", you're fucked. Surely, most of you have seen or at least heard about his show, To Catch A Predator, which busts older men trying to pick up teenage girls online for sex. It's very disturbing and uncomfortable to watch, yet I can't take my eyes off the screen whenever it comes on. These internet sex predators are creepy and make me want to vomit. But the way that every one of these guys react is borderline comical. "I've never done this before", "I wasn't going to do anything", and "I had a feeling this was going to happen" are just a few of my favorite lines from these guys once they've been tagged. The only thing wrong with the scenario is the fact that most of these scumbags get minimal jailtime with a year or two of probation. Go get 'em, Chris!

My Top 10 Albums of 2007

Okay, it's actually 11 but I couldn't narrow it down. So sue me bitches!

1. Nick Lowe - At My Age
An instant classic. The most infectous album I heard all year. This album was musically, lyrically and stylistically beyond anything else. And as I've said before, Nick is The Man.

2. Crowded House - Time On Earth
Neil Finn and Nick Seymour re-united after 10 years to record a brilliant collection of new songs. And I finally got to see them live (in Atlanta), even if it was without the departed Paul Hester. Great album.

3. Vulture Whale - Vulture Whale
My buddies Wes, Les, Jake and Keelan recorded a R&R classic this year complete with attitude and balls. I can't wait for the next one.

4. Steve Earle - Washington Square Serenade
Speaking of attitude and balls - as a longtime fan since his first album, Guitar Town, I was pleasantly surprised to hear Steve record his best album since 1997's El Corazon.

5. The Dexateens - Hardwire Healing
More buddies of mine from T-town who released their best album this year. "Neil Armstrong" is the song of the year. And Elliott, Sweet Dog and the boys sure can rock!

6. Tommy Womack - There, I Said It!
Longtime Nashville musician and writer Tommy Womack put together a fantastic batch of tunes reflecting on his life and times. His tome, The Cheese Chronicles, is to books what Spinal Tap is to movies.

7. Ryan Adams - Easy Tiger
His childishness notwithstanding, Ryan Adams still put out one of the best albums of the year and the best of his recordings with The Cardinals. "Halloweenhead" is another top song of '07.

8. Bruce Springsteen - Magic
Although sonically, the production is bland and overcompressed, one can't deny that The Boss can still write some damn fine songs.

9. Mark Knopfler - Kill To Get Crimson
This is Mark Knopfler's best solo album. Subtle yet blissful, Kill To Get Crimson is a tasty treat indeed.

10. Anat Cohen w/ The Anzic Orchestra - Noir
This was one that caught me offguard. Anat Cohen is a talented saxophonist and clarinetist originally from Israel. Her music is what I would describe best as orchestral jazz. This is a sublime album of textural beauty that resonates long after you hear it for the first time.

11. Mitch Easter - Dynamico
Out of the 'Where Are They Now' file and back into the mainstream, the legendary producer and songwriter came out of the woodwork to record a damn good album with an edge.

I Wish I Had Thought Of This Line

"When I'm walking I hate drivers, and when I'm driving I hate pedestrians"

-Hollywood Elsewhere poster

Whoops

This morning some employees requested that we play Christmas music over the PA system here at work, so I hooked up my iPod to the intercom to play my Christmas music playlist on shuffle mode. Only one thing wrong with that - I forgot that one of the songs on that playlist is "FUCK CHRISTMAS" by a classic punk band from back in the day called Fear. And yes, it's exactly what you think it is - the lead singer (Lee Ving) screaming "FUCK CHRISTMAS" over three chords for a minute and a half. Whoopsie daisies. Fortunately, no one has come forward to complain. After polling several people, the general consensus is that the song was too raw and aggressive to understand what the hell they were singing anyway. Merry Fucking Christmas everyone!

Postal Workers Are F**ing Geniuses

Why do we even have a postal service anymore? This latest episode that happened at work today shouldn't have surprised me, but I'm dumbfounded nonetheless. In addition to the 100 holiday gift boxes we ship to our customers every year, we also send out a couple hundred desk calendars. Two days ago I took one of these calendars, already stuffed in its envelope, to the Homewood post office to see exactly what the postage amount would be. We have a postage meter and scale here at the office but because of the unusual size and shape of the calendars, I didn't want to assume anything. The postage bitch weighed and measured the piece and told me it would be 97 cents. I said thank you and was on my way. I printed 200 meter tapes with 97 cents postage and someone apply them to all 200 mail pieces (why do it yourself when you can delegate?).

Well guess what? I just got a call from a guy at the post office saying that the postage was wrong on our calendars. I kindly informed him that it was one of his fellow postal workers who weighed the piece and told me the postage. She was wrong, he said. They're considered parcel and are supposed to be $1.30 per piece. So now I've got to print 200 more meter tapes at 33 cents apiece, take them to the goddamn post office, and stick them on myself. I'm about to go postal on the post office. Merry Christmas!

Zep, Key Changes, etc.

The biggest reunion in the history of rock n' roll took place the other night when Led Zeppelin played a show at O2 arena in London. Like The Police reunion earlier this year, I wasn't sure how to feel about it. The surviving three Zepsters performed a couple of times in the 80's with disastrous results, and the Page/Plant tour in the 90's got mixed reviews. But I'll have to admit that the thought of Page, Plant, Jonesy and Jason Bonham got me more than a little psyched. The show went off with a bang and the initial reviews were positive. Then I saw the You Tube clips.

One of my biggest pet peeves when it comes to live shows is the inevitable key changes of songs. As rock vocalists age, their voices lose range, resulting in an alteration in the songs that enable a singer to not make an ass of himself trying to hit notes he can't possibly hit anymore. It totally ruins the song but most people don't notice the difference anyway. However, I do and it pisses me off. Just take a listen to the latest live Elton John or Genesis tracks on iTunes - they're friggin' horrible. And as much as I hate to say it, the posted songs from the Led Zep show the other night are horrible as well. Some songs like "Good Times Bad Times", "Stairway" and "The Song Remains The Same" were at least a whole step down (in musicspeak), making them virtually unrecognizable. So what's the solution? Don't fucking play the songs. Or just don't play period. The fact that Zeppelin hasn't given in and toured in the past 25 years has only added to their mystique.

Bob Lefsetz said it best - "We revere retired baseball players, but we don't want to see them take the field and play nine innings. We don't want our memories fucked with. What would Jesus do? Well, he's NEVER come back. Maybe that's why people still revere him so!"

Everything's Gonna Be....

Evel

We lost a legend the other day in Evel Knievel. For a kid who grew up in the 70's, there was no one cooler than Mr. Knievel. He had the look, the swagger and the balls to be the hero of every male on the planet. I watched every one of his stunts on TV and had every Evel Knievel toy on the market. I was also damn lucky never to have cracked my spine jumping homemade ramps on my bicycle.

And I even got to meet him once...almost. I was seven years old and my old man was able to get us onto the guest list at a Kenny Stabler roast here in B-ham. I met and got photos with Stabler, Irv Cross and several other athletes and celebrities. But I almost pissed my pants when I saw the one and only Evel Knievel sitting by himself at the bar having a drink(s). My dad got someone to walk over and ask for me to meet him and have a photo op. He raised his head, looked over at me and gave a backhanded wave with his right hand as if to say, "Get the fuck away from me - I'm having a Goddamn drink." You'd think that I would've been devastated. While there was certainly a feeling of disappointment, I couldn't help but think that his reaction was, in a way, actually cooler than if he had been like Santa Claus, laughing and lifting me onto his lap. In the same way that Clint Eastwood's son of a bitch attitude enhanced his aura, I gotta think that Evel's actions that night had the same effect. He was simply one badass motherfucker, and I'll miss him.

How Far Do I Have To Go Anyway?

Sorry for being AWOL lately, but I just got back from a Thanksgiving family trip to San Francisco to see my brother. The trip was great until Saturday night. We found a sports bar that was showing the Iron Bowl and sat our happy asses down to watch the inevitable defeat. Every other person was there to watch Missouri-Kansas, which was fine. We picked the one TV that had our game and we were the only ones who gave a shit about it. Then during the third quarter, a couple sat near us and was obviously pulling for Auburn. The girl struck up a conversation with my brother and informed us that she was from Montgomery and went to Auburn. Her boyfriend was from Texas but was pulling for Auburn because he loved her (in other words, he wanted to get laid that night). Then, as the game wore on, another group of tools started cheering for Auburn. I looked at my brother and we had the same thought. "Just how far do we have to fucking go to get away from these fucking rednecks?"

Sure enough, as the game ended and we were walking out in disgust, we overheard this herd of douchebags chanting "SIX IN A ROW!" Wonderful- you can count. I guess I'll just have to go to Beijing next year to watch the fucking game. With my luck, of course, there'll be some Chinese dudes there with orange and blue face paint shouting "Ah yes, Tubaveel will ween again! Go Tygas!"

Oh, And One More Thing

Can anyone explain to me just what the fuck is going on in Pakistan right now?

The Name's Plissken

The following scenario keeps happening and I don't know why: Everytime I meet a northerner I extend my hand, look them in the eye and say very clearly, "Hi, I'm Tommy. Nice to meet you." Invariably, the first thing out of their mouths is, "Hi Tom." Every single time.

Is something getting lost in translation here? Look, it's not that I'm proud of my name or that I really care all that much whether I'm called Tom or Tommy. What I don't understand is that I look them directly in the eye and say it very clearly and they STILL insist on saying it differently. Is there something inherent that keeps northern-born humans from adding the letter 'Y' to a person's first name? The first time it happened I thought, "Hmm. That's peculiar." Then it happened again and again, until after about the 10th time I just accepted that it was going to occur everytime. And it only happens with people that have northern accents. Maybe it's their way of belittling us, as if to say, "Silly Rednecks and their nicknames." Who knows? It's just baffling to me, that's all. Peace out bitches.

From The Desk of Ernie Souchak

...And the mountain rises higher and yet higher
Thrusting upwards, straining ever upward
burgeoning its power from the very loins of the earth.
Its peak piercing at last the center of the sun
til its golden molten melting life explodes in a...

See What I Mean?

I don't appear to be as sad as I described in the class photo. But I vividly remember getting ragged on incessantly the rest of that day by my classmates.



I'll bet anything that I was in deep thought about how I was going to kill my mother.

My Scarred Childhood

Someone sent me an e-mail that contained this photo and it reminded me of a dark period from my childhood. When I started kindergarten, having an August (late) birthday, I was the youngest kid in the class. Because of this, I always felt intimidated by the other kids (especially the boys). This, combined with the fact that I was my mother’s first child, made it extremely difficult for me. My mom didn’t know what the fuck she was doing with me, specifically when it came to dressing me for school. She’d dress me like I was in the fucking JC Penny catalog, complete with velour shirts and four inch thick belts. It all came to a head on the day of the class picture. She insisted on dressing me in one of those gay-ass one piece outfits with short pants legs and a pair of Buster Brown shoes like the cheerleaders wore. With tears running down my face, I pleaded with her not to make me wear this Godawful outfit. I just knew the other boys would be wearing jeans and t-shirts and would terrorize my ass if they saw me in this goddamn turd of an outfit (it was brown).

Needless to say, she won and I reluctantly went to school that day for pictures. Sure enough, all the other boys were wearing jeans and/or Toughskins. If you look at the picture now, all the boys are standing there looking cool with their thumbs in their belt loops while poor little ol’ me is standing off to the side by myself with a pitiful look on my face. And, like I predicted, I was bullied for the duration of the year. Thankfully, my mom mercifully held me back for an extra year of kindergarten. I still give her shit about it to this day about how it scarred me for life. What does she do? She just laughs and laughs about it now.

By the time my youngest brother Mark came along, she didn’t really give a shit anymore. That is, until the day he came home from school and gave her the class picture that she had no idea had been taken (he was bad about giving her notes from school). I can’t begin to describe the satisfaction I got from watching the look of horror spread across her face as she stared at that picture and saw her youngest son sitting cross-legged in the front, wearing his red and black cowboy outfit with white fringe and brown cowboy boots. Revenge sure can be sweet…

Salute

Well, an era has ended and not just for me. Yesterday, my friend Fred Osuna announced the closing of his store, Laser’s Edge, which has been a mainstay in this area for over 15 years. Except for a tiny used record shop in Southside called Charlemagne, this marks the end of independent CD/Record retail in the Birmingham market.

At the risk of droning on like Bob Lefsetz, I knew this day was inevitable. The record industry has gone though enormous change over the past decade. File-sharing and online stores have caused the record-buying public to totally change their habits relative to music purchasing and listening. As a glorious result, major labels have floundered, mostly due to their own idiocy and lack of foresight. Unfortunately, it has also been at the expense of stores like Laser’s Edge, who rely on these very customers to keep them afloat.

I know what the statistics say- that most of the record (CD) buying public buy from Wal-Mart when shopping for music. But these people have no soul, if I may be so bold to proclaim. Sure, I buy stuff from iTunes and Amazon from time to time. But for the most part, I don’t care how much I save shopping online or at Wal-Mart. Independent stores such as Laser’s Edge provide a safe haven for music lovers like me. It means something to be able to browse and flip through the racks of CD’s and records; to be able to hold them in your hand and read the credits; to smell that “new CD smell” when they peel off the shrink wrap; to listen to the soothing sounds of music in your ears while you saunter through the aisles – not “BUBBA, A CUSTOMER NEEDS ASSISTANCE ON AISLE TWAYLVE!!”

And on top of that, Laser’s Edge has literally made my life better, if only for the music that Fred and his staff have introduced to me over the years. I can name several right off the bat – Hem, Daniel Tashian, The Bees, Lewis Taylor, Nick Lowe. Mock me all you want but my life would have been significantly less fulfilling without these artists and their music. And my newfound obsession with jazz in recent years happened to coincide with my frequent visits to the Edge. Most importantly through all of this, I’ve gained valuable insight and friendship from Fred and Boyce on all matters pertaining to music, politics and everything else. That’s what I’ll miss the most. Cheers to you, Fred and Laser’s Edge. Good luck with your future ventures, whatever they might be.

Happy Halloween!

From Jamie Lee, P.J. and Nancy.

Things I Don't Understand, Part IV

1. Running out of gas. I've seen an unusual number of folks lately who've been pouring gas into their cars on the side of the road. How does one let this happen? I realize gas prices are high but when the light comes on, go to a friggin' gas station.
2. Incense. I've never been able to tolerate the smell of incense. Does one need to be a dopesmoker to appreciate this pungent odor?
3. Bowties. I touched on this briefly once before and it's come to light again in recent days after a couple of females told me they consider this look to be "hot". I just don't get it. I still maintain that this is the single most nerdy look for a man. Maybe I just need for my maker to re-wire my brain. How do I do this? Do I need to kill myself immediately or can God do it while I'm asleep? Somebody please help.
4. The Mohawk. First caught on in the British and then west coast punk scene of the late 70's; went away for awhile; now I see guys shaving these classy shapes into their heads again. Good luck getting any type of job other than tattoo artist or club bouncer.
5. Buffet dawdlers. People, there are others waiting in line behind you to get their fucking food. Don't socialize with the person next to you; don't be picky for five minutes trying to decide what and how much you want. Just spoon the food on your plate and move on.
6. Incessant song requesters. If I say that I don't know the song (i.e. "Take Me Home Tonight" by Eddie Money), chances are I DON'T KNOW IT! Stop singing it to me and your tablemates at the top of your lungs after every song that I play. It ain't gonna happen.

Make Them Go Away

I've about had it with customized cell phone answer tones. You've heard them - when you call someone and instead of a dial tone you're bombarded with some loud cheesy rock song that immediately causes you to pull the phone away from your head. Why do people do this? It's bad enough to have to listen to crappy ring tones but what is the point of the answer tone? Whether it's Silverchair or Sweet Home Alabama, I don't want to hear it. People are getting much too cute and creative with their phones. Just let them ring normally and spare the rest of us please. Peace out my peeps!

I'm Still Giddy

I wish I could talk about something else but I can't seem to be able to move on just quite yet. Ah, the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat.

It's Here

It's Tennessee week, and I'm nervous. Not because I fear the Vols. It's just hard to get used to the "process". The process requires patience, among other things, and I'm just not a patient person. Friday night, we (Jake Brake w/ Sweet Dog on drums) will be rocking Egan's Bar in Tuscaloosa. This is not a show to miss, considering that when we played the same Tennessee Eve show two years ago, I apparently drunkenly taunted a Tennessee fan who resembled Phil Fulmer by proclaiming, "HEY FAT PHIL - GO EAT A DOZEN CUM-GLAZED KRISPY KREME DOUGHNUTS YOU FAT FUCK!" (or something to that effect). TT + Alcohol + Microphone = Countless hours of listening pleasure!

Ryan Throws Another Tantrum

I went to see Ryan Adams last night, not quite knowing what to expect. You see, Ryan is notorious for throwing hissy fits onstage and acting like a fool in general. He's been known to throw objects as well as insults at the audience. He even once had security escort an audience member out of the building for having the audacity to shout out a request for "Summer Of '69", an obvious poke at his name. When I saw him at City Stages (our local music festival, if you want to call it that) two years ago, he played with the stage lights completely off the whole set, kicked his female bass player in the leg and condescendingly thumbed his nose to the crowd by saying, "It's great to be here, wherever I am." Then a few weeks ago in Minneapolis, he had a meltdown and left the stage prematurely due to sound issues.

Which brings us to last night's show. He and his band, The Cardinals, hit the stage around 8:20 and played a solid hour-long first set. They sounded great, the crowd responded with enthusiasm, and he responded with a workmanlike performance. The band took a 15 minute break and came back out to an audience who had by this time had downed a few cocktails. Now, Ryan is particularly anal about tuning and stops to tune his guitar after every song, resulting in a minute or so of awkward silence. As a result, the audience would grow restless and begin shouting out song requests. About four songs into the second set, you could tell he was starting to get annoyed by it. While the opening chords of "When The Stars Go Blue" started to ring out, he began berating the audience. "Do you guys do this everytime," he asked. "Do you do this at movie theaters? When you go watch Titanic, do you yell 'Don't crash' at the screen?" He stopped playing, changed guitars and launched into a different song, which obviously took his bandmates by surprise. As soon as the song was over, 5 songs and 15 minutes into the second set, he said, "Thanks Birmingham - you guys are wonderful" and walked off the stage with his band. Ten seconds later, the lights came on and a CD blared from the PA. Show over - no encore.

I like his music but this guy needs to ditch the petulant, spoiled brat attitude and grow up. On one hand, it was a bit amusing but on the other, it was incorrigibly childish. It's not like the crowd was yelling "FREE BIRD" or "YOU SUCK!" (although as paying customers, they would have been totally within their right to do so). They were simply yelling out requests for songs that they wanted to hear. On top of that, these were songs that he had written! I'd be flattered if I was him. Instead, he's just a whiny wannabe rock star.

UPDATE- I just talked to a friend of mine who talked to another mutual friend of ours who worked the show last night and he said the Ryan's crew was nervous all day that he might have a meltdown. Here are some tidbits:

1. The reason he came on late was because he was skateboarding outside. When he finally came back in, he handed the skateboard to my friend and said "Thank you for letting me skateboard in your city."

2. His manager reportedly became visibly and vocally nervous when the crowd started yelling out song requests. He told my friend that Ryan has to have a "handler" with him at all times to keep him from getting into situations.

3. I missed this but as soon as he exited the stage, he ripped his shirt off his body and threw it aside.

4. My favorite tidbit- apparently some disgruntled fans threw eggs at his bus with "You suck" written on them in black magic marker (where and how they obtained the eggs, I have no idea). He then sent his manager outside to calm everyone down.

5. Lastly, Ryan has a lifesize cardboard cutout of Big Bird that he takes with him on the road and he supposedly freaks out if he doesn't have it. Well guess what? He left it in his dressing room last night. My friend and his crew tacked it on the wall next to the stage.

WHAT A FUCKING HEADCASE!

Oh God, I've Become One Of Them

I used to smoke like a fiend - a carton a week all through my twenties. And, like Bill Hicks, I thought all non-smokers were pussies. However, after quitting cold turkey about eight years ago, I slowly shifted from tolerating smoking to being slightly annoyed by it. Now, I shamefully admit that I've moved over into the "disgusted by smoking" category. It's not so much the smokey bars that are the problem. I've performed in bars for twenty years and gotten used to it. No, it's smelling it away from bars that has finally pushed me over the edge. I had no idea just how much it reeked until I quit, which has finally led me to the conclusion that it is fucking gross. So smoke away my malodorous brethren. I'll never be "that guy" - the guy who tells you to quit (unless you're my brother).

Krystally Kool

I've been meaning to get this off my chest for awhile but has anyone seen these cheesy (no pun intended) Krystal commercials aimed and starring dorky college kids? For those of you who haven't had the pleasure, each commercial features a group of students who submit their own "Krystal Lover" testimonials that are filmed and shown with an air of faggotry I haven't seen since the infamous Mentos commercials. If this is a true representation of college life these days, then we're in a lot of trouble. The frat daddies and sorostitutes shown in these ads are total tools and for some reason mostly hail from the south. Now I admit that I was once a frat daddy myself, but I would've gotten my ass kicked up and down University Blvd. had I acted this queer. I love a drunken Krystal combo as much as the next person - I just hope I don't act that gay while I'm eating them.