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.