The Death Of Music, Part 5

I'm a member of a fitness place that I try to attend a few times a week. You never know what you're gonna get when it comes to the music that's played over the stereo speakers, which is why I usually take my iPod. On this day, however, I was stuck listening to some "modern rock" station that plays mostly crap. I heard a song that almost made me throw up in my mouth. The song was "Addicted" by a band called Saving Abel. First of all, the name of the band is completely puerile. I can see the douche bags now, preening and posing for their next press photo. Secondly, the music was about as bland as boiled celery. But it was the lyrics of the song that literally made me stop my workout and stare at the speakers. Here's the chorus, in all its perspicacious glory:

I'm so addicted to
All the things you do
When your going down on me
In between the sheets
All the sounds you make
With every breath you take
Its unlike anything
when you're loving me

That's poetry my friends. Somewhere out there in a New Orleans studio, Bob Dylan is gushing with pride at the prominent legacy he's left upon the music gods of today. Let us rejoice.

The Police

Having missed out on last year’s Police reunion tour, I had hoped and expected that they would release a live DVD or CD. My prayers were answered with the release of their new live DVD/CD at Best Buy (the only place you can buy it) called Certifiable. What an outstanding set. They played and sounded as good as ever and tinkered just enough with their arrangements and keys to make it interesting without destroying the songs (although I can’t for the life of me figure out why they decided to pull the insipid “Walking In Your Footsteps” out of the song catalog).

After my Kiss obsession during 1st & 2nd grade, The Police were one of the first bands that I could claim as my own discovery. Up until then, I’d mainly been exposed to artists that I had heard from my parents or from friends. It all started with the hits off of the Zenyatta Mondatta album (“Don’t Stand So Close To Me” and “De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da”). I was fascinated by the rhythms, the melodies and the vocals themselves, which I came to find out later were just the extremely tight harmonies of one man’s voice (Sting) layered on top of each other. But it was the release of Ghost In The Machine and the album’s subsequent videos that really hooked me. Here was a band that was making hip, fresh music and I had no idea what they looked like - until the videos for “Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic” and “Spirits In The Material Word”. I thought they were the coolest dudes I’d ever seen, especially Stewart Copeland in his Izod shirt and sunglasses. I immediately bought the rest of their catalog, including Outlandos d’Amour, Regatta de Blanc (as well as the aforementioned Zenyatta Mondatta) and immersed myself into the world of The Police, sitting in my dad’s study for hours with headphones on, listening to each record intently.

When Synchronicity was released, I almost peed my pants in anticipation. The band didn’t disappoint. I spent so much time listening to this album that I literally wore out the grooves on the record. At the time I didn’t know what the hell Sting was singing about (“There’s a skeleton choking on a crust of bread?”) but I didn’t care. It was a brilliantly written and beautifully performed masterpiece (except for “Footsteps” and “Mother” of course). On top of that, I got to see them live at their peak on the Synchronicity Tour in '83. Although I was initially skeptical of the reunion tour, I’m glad they did it, if only for my re-discovery of one of the greatest rock bands of our generation.

Yes Sir, Coach!

Skip to around 2:30. Where's a brick wall when you need one?

TT's All-time Favorite Athletes

I don't normally watch commercials, but the new Dr. Pepper ad with Dr. J is hilarious. It took me of the good ole days of the NBA, just after the merger with the ABA. It also reminded me of my very short list of favorite all-time athletes. I'm going to stick with the three major sports here - baseball, basketball and football. Here tis, in no particular order:


Baseball - Hank Aaron
As a lifelong Braves fan, I endured many years of suffering during my childhood. The one bright spot was Hank Aaron. From the time I could walk, I sported a #44 Braves jersey (as well as a crimson #12 but we’ll get to that later). The record-breaking home run #715 was the defining sports moment during my childhood. By the time I was old enough to read, I was at the school library, checking out every book I could find about Hank. It was especially satisfying to know that he was born and raised here in Alabama. Years later, I did something that I had never done before or since – I wrote a letter to a famous athlete. The letter was to Hank Aaron and on the 25th anniversary of #715 and it was in appreciation for his accomplishments on and off the field. There has never been anyone better.


Basketball – Julius “Dr. J” Errrrrrrrrrrving
He was simply known as The Dr. Before Jordan, there was #6, and he was every bit as talented. With his fro and his swagger, Erving dazzled millions of fans with his moves and his mojo. He even tried his hand at acting as Moses Guthrie in the forgotten yet classic flick, The Fish That Saved Pittsburgh. Although he did win one championship with the Sixers, he very well could have won more had he been surrounded with more talent for a longer period of time.


Football – Joe Namath
Last but not least, Namath was simply THE coolest athlete to ever roam the planet. During the late 60’s/early 70’s, there wasn’t a heterosexual male in America who didn’t want to be Broadway Joe for just one day. Canon arm? Check. Super Bowl ring? Check. Swarmed by the ladies? Check. This guy was the S.H.I.T. And on top of that, he played at Bama for The Bear. He still visits T-town on occasion and still draws crowds and standing ovations wherever he goes. Quite simply, he is still THE MAN.

CGI OD

I finally got around to watching Indiana Jones and The Kingdom of the Crystal Skull this week. As a huge fan of the original Indy trilogy, I was excited yet apprehensive when I heard that Lucas & Spielberg were shooting a fourth installment. Apprehensive because I was let down by the Star Wars prequel trilogy of the past ten years. Not only was I disappointed by the story and the actors, I felt like George Lucas went overboard with the computer effects. It just didn't have the organic feel of the original trilogy. That's why I loved the Indy movies. This swashbuckling series had PLAUSIBLE old school movie stunts with REAL stuntmen.

Which brings us to the new Indiana Jones film. Not only were the stunts implausible (a guy standing spread eagle between two jeeps speeding side by side through a bumpy jungle? Could TOTALLY happen. Not.), but the movie as a whole was CGI'd to death. The chases felt fake, the creatures felt fake (those stupid giant ants looked like a kid playing high-speed color by numbers on a computer) and the set design felt fake. And our beloved characters surviving not one, not two, but THREE giant water falls? Yeah, that would absolutely happen in real life. Look, I'm not saying that I'm incapable of using my imagination when watching a movie but come on, George and Steve, we're not children. The feel of the first three Indy films was simply not there. Note to Steve, George, Michael Bay and every other filmmaker out there: Just because you have the technology doesn't mean you have to use it ALL the time in EVERY scene.

History

Yesterday's election was certainly historical. But for some reason, I don't feel that way. Don't get me wrong, I understand the significance in the big scheme of things. But for some reason, I don't see it as Barack Obama being elected the first African-American President - I simply see it as Barack Obama being elected President. And to me, that's more historical than anything else.

Voting

I voted today. Barely. Knowing I had to work late today, I got up early this morning in order to hit my voting location at 7:00. As I arrived at 6:55, my jaw dropped - there was a line of people wrapped around the building. Not only was the main lot full, but there were cars parked for a half mile past the building. "Screw this," I said and drove on to work. By 9:15, I figured the lines had died down, so I drove back over there. The line was long but not as bad as before. However, it still took a solid hour wait to get my ballot. I've voted at this same location for 8 years and I've never had to wait more than 25 minutes.

Strangely, each line was huge except for the "L-R" line, which never had more than 5 people. You'd think that they would have crunched the numbers in terms of how many with each last name - I guess that made too much sense. You would also think that they could find volunteers other than retired blue hairs (students perhaps?) to collect signatures and distribute ballots. As sweet as these folks might be, they move with the speed of a Sam's Wholesale employee. And no one knew what the hell they were supposed to do when they entered the building. Do we wait in the main line? Or do we make a run for the "Last Name" line? There was one soft-spoken, little old lady walking around explaining to everyone where to go and what to do. It didn't help. I could barely hear her when she was standing right in front of me. What they needed were large signs and/or a large woman with a train whistle for vocal cords shouting instructions to everyone. I think I'll be advocating and running for a new office - Voting Nazi.

Ding Dong, The Pumpkin's Gone!

This Ought To Be Interesting

This morning I saw an announcement that Oasis and Ryan Adams will be touring together this winter in support of their new albums. I can't think of a more volatile gathering of egos and ill temperament. Some of you may recall my own Ryan Adams experience last year. And I spoke to a friend last week who related a story about a recent Ryan Adams tantrum in the ATL in which he stormed off the stage after 50 minutes because he was apparently upset at the lack of ticket sales. And Oasis? Please. Those guys are notorious for their own outbursts and infighting, most recently making news when a fan barnstormed the stage at Toronto's Virgin Festival. Either way, fans are sure to NOT get their money's worth at whatever show they choose to attend.

Sans Plant

After reuniting last year in London for one show, it seems that there might be a Led Zeppelin tour in the works, albeit without frontman Robert Plant. Plant has been reluctant to go forward with a tour after a year of speculation. Now it seems that Jimmy Page and John Paul Jones are ready to audition singers and proceed without him with Jason Bonham on drums.

"We want to do it. It's sounding great and we want to get on and get out there," said Jones at a guitar show in Exeter, southwest England.

"It's got to be right. There's no point in just finding another Robert. You could get that out of a tribute band, but we don't want to be our own tribute band," he added.

Um, except that's exactly what it would be if you go forward with this charade, John Paul. But JP and Jimmy aren't stupid. They realize that people (myself not included) will shell out countless dollars to sing along to their own version of live band karaoke. It'll be Field of Dreams ("People will come") all over again. But I'm sorry Jimmy (as well as Neil Schon, Mick Jones and Brian May) - Journey is not Journey without Steve Perry, Foreigner is not Foreigner without Lou Gramm and, for the love of God, Queen is not Queen without Freddie Mercury! No one wants to see David Freaking Coverdale shake his leather-clad ass while butchering "Whole Lotta Love".

So please, JP and Jimmy - continue to live comfortably off your royalties. Let this ludicrous idea die and your legacy remain intact.

Oh, What A Beautiful Morning

¡Música Mariachi Patadas Culo!

Ever since my return from Mexico, I haven't been able to shake the sound of mariachi music out of my head. There's something about traditional Mexican music that gets my blood pumping. So last night I did some research and downloaded an album by Nati Cano’s Mariachi Los Camperos, who skillfully arrange and perform versions of classic mariachi melodies. The recording is excellent and the music is beautiful, both vocally and instrumentally. They combine several styles of traditional music from many regions of Mexico and utilize various instrumentation, from harp to violins, as well as the usual percussion, horns and other stringed instruments. I think I'll just have to have myself a little Mexican fiesta and crank my new music.

* By the way, the translation of this post's title is "Mariachi Music Kicks Ass!"

What The Hell Are We Teaching Our Children ?!?

Any and all conversation that I have with our 22 year-old receptionist is a fascinating one, especially when it comes to the gaping divide that is our knowledge and understanding of pop culture. The other day, I was comparing a fellow employee's laugh to that of Ted Knight's Judge Smails character in Caddyshack (which is a whole other story), and she looked at me incredulously.

"You have seen Caddyshack, right?" I asked curiously.

"No, I haven't. Isn't that one of those stupid comedies? I don't like stupid comedies," she replied.

She then began to giggle as I stared at her with moribund curiosity. It turns out that she also hasn't seen Airplane, Fast Times or The Naked Gun. Now, I understand that we're dealing with a generational thing here. But Jesus, these are classics we're talking about. Almost everyone my age has seen the vintage comedies of our parents' youth - Dr. Strangelove, The Graduate, M.A.S.H., Blazing Saddles, etc. Just what the hell are parents teaching their kids nowadays anyway? Don't we owe it to ourselves and the survival of our species to expose our children to the classic comedic films of our time? They'll have no soul and no chance out there in the real world if we don't educate them. I implore you, dear readers, if you are a parent - don't let your kids grow up unenlightened.

I'm Have Superstition Sickness

Yesterday I went to the doctor and afterward went to the scheduling desk to set up my next appointment. The nurse asked me if January 8th was okay (since I'm diabetic, I go every 3-6 months). I pondered the month and day. January 8th, hmm...I read something recently about that date. Then it hit me - that's the night of the BCS National Championship game in Miami.

"No!" I told her. "If Alabama makes it to the NC, there's a chance that I'll be in Miami for the game."

She started tapping away at her computer when I exclaimed, to no one in particular, "Wait! Go ahead and book it. What was I thinking? If I had changed it, I would've jinxed the team. By making the appointment for January 8th, things will more likely work out for us. And I can always change the appointment."

I peered down at her behind the counter and she was looking at me like I was a nut case, which, let's face it, I am. Nothing stirs up my superstitious side like Alabama football. If I'm watching a game on TV and we're sucking, I'll change positions, chairs, or even rooms in order to change our luck. Hell, I'll even NOT watch if it means that we win. And it truly is a sickness. Just ask the scheduling nurse at Southview Medical Partners. At least my doctor can understand - she is, after all, married to Paul Finebaum.

¡Ay, caramba!

Sorry for being AWOL lately, but I've been taking advantage of a little R&R in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. It was quite an eventful week, starting with my near-drowning experience in the beautiful waters of the Sea of Cortes. The waves were huge and the red flags were waving, but that was of little concern to us as we observed several swimmers having a ball. I took a few steps into the surf only to be greeted by the biggest wave I've ever seen looming towards me (it was at least a 10 foot swell). I braced myself like I've done a thousand times before on the Gulf Coast, only this wasn't your typical gulf wave. The next thing I knew, I was taken down and being pulled out by the most powerful undertow I've ever experienced. And did my survival instincts kick in at that point? Um, no. I felt my swim trunks at my knees, so naturally I was more concerned about shrinkage exposure than I was about dying - we men are complete idiots. I crawled out of the water only to realize that my $200 Maui Jim sunglasses were gone, swallowed by the sheer force of the ocean. I hope the fish are enjoying my shades.

The near-death experience was followed by actual death in the "party pool". Apparently, a 90 year-old man enjoyed his last vacay by diving to the bottom of the pool for his glasses only to float to the surface a dead man. The paramedics arrived (casually of course), covered the body with resort towels (which were probably washed and re-used), and hauled him away. Surely, it was a lovely experience for the kids who witnessed it.


I also got to enjoy the sounds of Sammy Hagar during his annual birthday bash at Cabo Wabo. Unfortunately, my travel companion was back at the room yacking. But Sammy and his band kicked ass, playing a mixture of solo and Van Hagar material. Alas, I missed getting to see Michael Anthony jam with the band the next night, but it was still quite an experience.

And finally, we got to wait out an impending hurricane (Norbert) as our week coasted along to an end. Fortunately, it hit land Saturday about 300 miles north of us. All things considered, it was a relaxing week - good food, good beer, good times.

\ˈnü-klē-ər, ˈnyü-, ÷-kyə-lər\

While watching the VP debate last night, I couldn't help but notice Sarah Palin's mangling of the word "nuclear". Between her and Dubya, why is this word so difficult to pronounce? This isn't necessarily an indictment of any particular party - I just can't figure it out. Ask any Major League pitcher, no matter how good they are, if he has a batter(s) who continually tees off on them, and he'll always be able to rattle off at least one or more who almost always get the best of them. Just like them, I realize every person has a word or phrase that stumps them for no uncertain reason. But I find it ironic that a world leader (or potential one) would butcher that word in particular.

R.I.P. Paul Newman

Quite simply, he was one of the coolest mofos to ever walk the face of the earth.

The Newman Foundation issued this statement:

"Paul Newman's craft was acting. His passion was racing. His love was his family and friends. And his heart and soul were dedicated to helping make the world a better place for all. Paul had an abiding belief in the role that luck plays in one's life, and its randomness. He was quick to acknowledge the good fortune he had in his own life, beginning with being born in America, and was acutely aware of how unlucky so many others were. True to his character, he quietly devoted himself to helping offset this imbalance. An exceptional example is the legacy of Newman's Own. What started as something of a joke in the basement of his home, turned into a highly-respected, multi-million dollar a year food company. And true to form, he shared this good fortune by donating all the profits and royalties he earned to thousands of charities around the world, a total which now exceeds $250 million. While his philanthropic interests and donations were wide-ranging, he was especially committed to the thousands of children with life-threatening conditions served by the Hole in the Wall Camps, which he helped start over 20 years ago. He saw the Camps as places where kids could escape the fear, pain and isolation of their conditions, kick back, and raise a little hell. Today, there are 11 Camps around the world, with additional programs in Africa and Vietnam. Through the Camps, well over 135,000 children have had the chance to experience what childhood was meant to be.

"We will miss our friend Paul Newman, but are lucky ourselves to have known such a remarkable person."

Amen to that.

Shocking News

The recent newsbreak that Clay Aiken is gay is shocking. The Clay-nation is understandably up in arms over this startling revelation. All those women who had crushes on Clay will just have to look elsewhere for dream salvation - perhaps Ricky Martin or Tom Cruise can fulfill this role.

In other news, John McCain is old, Star Jones had gastric bypass surgery, and Terrence Cody is HUGE.

This Is Beautiful

Gator fan hijacks Tennessee's Wikipedia page - hilarity ensues.

This Is Our Country

Lately, there has been a trend of pop/rock artists reinventing themselves as country artists. And it has become rather annoying. It all started a couple of years ago when Jon Bon Jovi released a country album that went nowhere. This year, Jessica Simpson and now Darius Rucker have released country albums, and although the sales have been positive, this "comeback" strategy still reeks of desperation. Not that today's country music stars are worth a shit to begin with. With very few exceptions, the music on today's country music charts would make Eddy Arnold puke. It also doesn't help when you have posers like Kid Rock releasing piece of crap singles to country radio as well. These artists need to stick with what they know, even if it isn't much to begin with.