A Picture Says A Thousand... Actually One Word: Loser

I happened to glance outside after opening my garage door this morning and did a double take when I saw this truck parked across the way. Did this guy really affix that in his back window? You mean to tell me that he actually drives around with that on his vehicle?

90125 - A Forgotten Classic

Yes's 1983 album, 90125, has been on steady play lately on my iPod as I have come to appreciate it more and more over the years. And yet, the album almost never happened. By 1982, Yes had all but faded into oblivion with poor sales and squabbling band members. When relative newcomer and musical genius Trevor Rabin joined forces with Yes bassist Chris Squire to form a new band, they decided to call themselves Cinema. Soon after, Yes vocalist Jon Anderson as well as former members Tony Kaye and Alan White joined the fray to become what was ultimately a new Yes album. At that time, I had recently discovered the band, and especially enjoyed their classics, Fragile and The Yes Album.

Despite the massive success of its singles, "Owner Of A Lonely Heart" and "Leave It" (thanks to the song's "groundbreaking" upside-down video), the strength of this disc lies in the rest of the album tracks. "Hold On" and "It Can Happen" anchor side one before giving way to the powerful yet disjointed time signature of "Changes". Side Two was effective as well, turning 90125 into a different sounding yet timely rock classic. Often brushed aside as utter crap by Yes fans and prog rock purists, 90125 was instantly accessible upon its release. Were the videos cheesy? Yes. Were the outfits and the hairdos tacky? Sure. Was the tour pompous and overblown? Of course. But 90125 stands the test of time and rocks as much if not more than any album from the 80's.

Mother's Milk

When I was a freshman in college 20 years ago, I had a buddy, Murff, whose liquor of choice was scotch. Being green at the time in the ways of sipping quality liquor, I had never tried it. One night I decided to have nip to see what the fuss was all about and to see if I had a taste for this particular libation. I didn't. I decided that scotch whiskey was no friend of mine and that I would stick with the Kentucky bourbon/Tennessee whiskey families of brown liquor.

That all changed this past weekend when I attended the aforementioned Murff's wedding in Memphis. There was a scotch tasting table set up at the reception and decided it would be a fine time to re-visit this liquid delicacy to see if perhaps my palette, if not my attitude, had changed over time. Boy had it ever. I tried two different brands and decided that Glenmorangie was to my liking. Before I knew what was happening, I had turned into Frank The Tank ("It's so good...Once it hit's your lips, It's so good!"). I ended up drinking two glasses on the rocks and another glass of a different brand (only because they had run out of Glenmorangie). And so, lo and behold, I'm now officially a Scotch Man at 39 years-young. Next thing you know, I'll be smoking a pipe while wearing a velvet dinner jacket.

I Love Everybody

During this trying week, I've become extremely nostalgic and appreciative of the friends that I have, yet disappointed in myself for having lost touch with so many. I've basically been in "I Love You, Man" mode and I think it's starting to drive folks crazy (including myself). Losing a friend, especially one who was as young and had as much to live for as Kathryn, is tough. But it's made me realize a few things. For one, it made me think of Dale Murphy.

Dale Murphy was an all-star for the Atlanta Braves in the late 70's into the 80's. He was a shining star on a horrible team during an era of futility for the franchise. Not only did he put up Hall of Fame numbers (yet he's still inexplicably not in Hall); he had more character and class than any of his peers. The team was a perennial cellar dweller with the exception of one hopeful season. In 1982, The Braves did the unthinkable - they won their division and made the playoffs. Years later, I heard a story from the late Braves broadcaster, Skip Caray, that I have never forgotten and that speaks volumes about the kind of person Murphy was/is. The team clinched the division on a west coast road trip and had a long flight back to Atlanta. During the flight, Murphy got out of his seat and went to the back of the plane. He then proceeded to approach each and every one of his teammates and remind them of a play that they had made that season which had gotten them where they were.

"Hey Raffy, remember that diving catch you made against the Cardinals in June that stopped a big inning? We wouldn't be here if it wasn't for that."

"Hey Gene, remember striking out the side in the ninth against the Dodgers last month that won the game for us? We wouldn't be here if it wasn't for that."

"Hey Chris, remember the game winning home run you had against Houston? We wouldn't be here if it wasn't for that."

Dale Murphy was a selfless leader who cared more about the team than himself, and he wanted everyone on that plane to realize the contribution they had made to his own, as well as the team's, success.

Now am I comparing myself to Dale Murphy? Hell no. That man has more character and class in his toenails that I'll ever have. I'll be the first to admit that I have issues and character flaws. But I will say this - I love my friends. And it's because of them that I have at least some amount of good in me. Even the ones that I haven't seen or spoken to in a long time, I still think about and miss dearly. People give me shit about having a thousand Facebook friends (which I certainly deserve). But, like Dale Murphy, I can point to each one of them, Facebook or otherwise, and tell you how that person has affected me as well as influenced or shaped my life in a positive way. If you're reading this and you're a friend of mine, you should already know that. I am and always will be fiercely loyal to my friends, albeit sometimes to a fault. If that's considered a flaw, I can live with that and continue to work on the other obvious ones.

Ok, after two downer posts I promise now to get back to our regularly scheduled programming of things that are weird. hilarious or just piss me off in general. Thanks for indulging me.

Kathryn

Last Thursday I lost a dear old friend of mine, Kathryn Hayes Calhoun. Kathryn and I used to be camp counselors together, and I had not seen her in many years. But we had re-connected on Facebook in recent months, and I was happy to see that she had a lovely family with three young children. I spent nine summers at the aforementioned camp, with some of those having an underlying misery despite all the good times and good friends. This was due to the strain of my parents’ divorce during my teen years. The summers of ’85-’89 were the tough ones for me. Although I stayed home from camp during the summer of ’89 to be with my girlfriend (who, naturally, subsequently dumped me that June), there was tragedy at camp that summer as three four kids that I knew very well were in a serious car accident - two of whom were killed. I was also arrested for (brilliantly) possessing a fake ID while on the way to visit camp the very next week. Good times indeed.

Which brings us to the summer of 1990. I was back at camp as a senior counselor, along with a terrific group of guys and girls, including Kathryn, who bonded very effectively. I already knew Kathryn fairly well, although we had never worked together at the same time. But we became really good friends that summer, and spent many hours laughing together. In fact, she was always laughing or smiling. She had sass as well as a beautiful spirit. I’ve racked my brains over the past few days trying to remember a single time when she was ever pissed off and I just can’t (although I’m certain she had her moments). She was one of the most kind and thoughtful people I’ve ever known. That summer of 1990 was, and is to this day, the best summer of my life. I miss all those guys very much - Susan, Harriet, Barrett, Noel, David, Mary Ellen, Bert, Mary Virginia, Ross and many others - they’ll never know how much they meant and still mean to me. Losing Kathryn has reminded me of that. I wish so much that I could call Kat right now – I still vividly remember the tone of her voice and, of course, her laugh. We kept in touch for awhile and I even went to see her while she was at UGA. But we lost touch eventually. I’m going to regret for a long time having lost touch with her over those years. From now on, I’m going to do a better job of keeping up with the others from that summer.

I went to Kathryn’s funeral yesterday and, like two hundred other people, had to stand outside the church during the service – it was a full house. That’s only a small hint of the effect she had on those of us who were so lucky and privileged to have known her. The sight of Kathryn’s three children following their mother’s casket into the church yesterday is a haunting image that I’ll never get out of my head. At one point, her youngest daughter looked up from the shoulder of the woman who was carrying her and I saw Kathryn’s face in her – she looked so much like her. I’ll miss Kathryn dearly.

Call Me Un-American...

...but count me as apparently the only American who has never liked the song, Sweet Caroline, by Neil Diamond. In fact, I hate it - everything about it. The lyrics, the melody, the "bam bam bam" in the chorus, the "So Good, So Good, So Good" repetition, the mindless way people dance and sing along to it anytime it is played, whether at a bar or a sports arena. And speaking of sports arenas, what is the origin of this song being a staple at Red Sox games? And why in the hell has it carried over to other sports venues (specifically to Coleman Coliseum, where I was forced to tolerate it yesterday)? While others smile with giddiness whenever it's played over a PA system, I have pangs of vomit inducing nausea. And anytime I tell anyone how much I abhor this song, they look at me as if I've just called their mother a whore. Don't get me wrong. I love me some Neil - just not this tune. Is there anyone else out there who has the same sense of revulsion that I do for this repetitious ditty?

Become A Judge, Get A TV Show

Is it just me or are there now a dozen court TV shows? One day I go to sleep and there's The People's Court. The next day I wake up and there's Judge Judy, Judge Mathis, Judge Alex, Judge Joe Brown, Judge Karen, Judge Mils Lane, Judge Maria Lopez, Judge Hatchett, and now even a gay judge - Judge David Young. If you own a black robe, you get to mediate a televised binding arbitration hearing. And don't get me started on the dickweed plaintiffs and defendants, who are apparently castoffs from The Jerry Springer Show. I miss the good ole days of the aforementioned People's Court with Judge Wapner. Judge Wapner was not a goofball like the others - Joseph Wapner was a badass and didn't take crap from anyone in his courtroom. Wapner rules.

No, We Should Say No To Her

I saw a news item the other day that Taylor Swift is going to do a guest spot on one of my favorite shows, CSI. Great. It seems that this little teenage diva is everywhere lately. She's number one on the album charts and has been on every music awards show, regardless of genre (she's supposed to be a country artist), SNL, The Today Show and The Golden Globes, as well as countless others that I'm sure I've missed. I don't know who her agent is, but they've obviously been working overtime to make sure their client wins the Attention Whore award. But Taylor is too young and stupid to see what is inevitably coming (if it hasn't already): backlash. She'd better enjoy it while she can because from what I've seen and heard, she's riding a wave that is definitely NOT being carried by talent. Hopefully, it'll be sooner than later. Get out of my life, Taylor, I've had enough.

The Slow Death of Beer Commercials

Having watched an obscene amount of football over the past couple of weeks, I've taken notice of the latest batch of beer commercials, most notably Bud Light's "Drinkability" campaign. What's happened to this once great institution? When I was a kid, nothing came close to topping the "Tastes Great, Less Filling" Miller Lite commercials that featured such classic pitchmen as John Madden, Billy Martin, Dick Butkus, Bubba Smith and Bob Uecker. They were timely, creative and funny as hell. Nowadays, however, the level of writing and acting talent displayed on beer ads is about as creative and funny as a prison rape. They've been on a steady decline for years but I finally had seen enough with the aforementioned Bud Light ads, which are just stupid. Bring back Madden, dammit!

Slash

When my brother gave me the not really new (it was published in 2007) Slash autobiography for Christmas, I was admittedly a little jealous of my other brother, whom he bought the new autobiography on Roger Moore. Having never been a huge fan of Guns 'N Roses while at the same time idolizing Moore as James Bond while growing up, I thought it was an interesting choice. After finally finishing the Slash book, I can honestly say that I'm glad I got what I got.

What an entertaining piece of work this turned out to be. Like I said, I was never a huge Guns fan. I've got the obvious songs in my iTunes library - Welcome To The Jungle, Paradise City, etc. But Slash has changed all that for me. He speaks quite candidly about his life as a rock star, sparing no person or incident in his brutally honest accounts of his rise to fame. I thought I had seen and heard it all when it comes to that lifestyle but I wasn't even close. Theft, booze, deadly reptiles, heroin, trashed vans and hotel rooms - that's all poppycock to a guy like Slash. This guy has done every drug and chick he could ever get his hands on. And how he lasted 10 minutes, much less 10 years, in a band with Axl Rose is beyond me.

As blurry as his mind must have been during his days as a drunk and a junkie (a "drunkie" if you will), he sure does remember a lot of details. Sketchy? Perhaps. But entertaining as hell. I was disheartened to finally reach the end. I highly recommend this book to anyone curious about the seedy underbelly of the LA rock scene of 80's/90's.

New Orleans Observations

First of all, I want to offer a sincere apology to all Bama fans out there - the loss was completely my fault. I have two shirts that I got this season to wear to games - a white one and a red one. I wore the white one to every game I attended this season and we won all of them (Clemson, Tulane, Ole Miss, Auburn). I bought the red shirt at some point mid-season but decided not to wear it while I was undefeated in the white shirt. Well, I took both to New Orleans but guess which one I decided to wear to the Sugar Bowl? That's right - the red one. So take heed fellow Bama fans, as I will be burning that shirt today. One good thing that came from the game is that I got to meet some of my boyhood heroes: Barry Krauss and Richard Todd as well as Vince and Barbara Dooley. Here are some of my observations from my first trip to the Big Easy in over 10 years:

- Utah fans are total tools. One even approached a friend of mine on New Year's Eve and said "You guys don't know football - we're gonna kick your ass!" Really? Alabama doesn't know football? That's like one of us saying that Utah doesn't know anything about skiing or polygamy. Of course, the way the game turned out, I guess we don't know shit after all.

- The barbecue shrimp at Mr. B's Bistro is to die for. I'd dip dried turds into that sauce and eat them if I had the chance.

- Pat O's Hurricanes will indeed knock you on your ass if you're not careful.

- The Hand Grenades at Tropical Isle are gay and nothing more than liquid candy with alcohol thrown in.

- Any band of old farts who performs with all of their instruments tuned down a half or whole step should not only be fired but shot as well. They're doing nothing more than flaunting a fake performance on an otherwise unaware audience. If you have to sing LOW harmony on a song that is already tuned DOWN, it's time to retire.

- Some guys have to learn that you don't just toss Mardi Gras beads to anyone who yells for them. You've got to make the chicks earn them, as several were more than willing to do.

- If you're a bouncer at a Bourbon St. bar, it's really not necessary to roll up your short sleeves to expose your big biceps. We get it - you're a badass, even if it is only in your own mind.

- Utah fans are total tools.

- Remember how The Booth in Tuscaloosa smelled? That's how all of New Orleans smells.

- There's something strangely disconcerting when walking Bourbon Street at 5am and realizing that the only folks left are hookers and vagrants. That's when you ask yourself just what the f**k you're doing up at 5am. Fat, drunk and stupid might be a fun way to go through college but now when you're on the cusp of the big 4-0.

- The PA announcer at the Superdome has a voice that is almost annoying as the one at Auburn. His voice sounds like he's pinching his nose while gargling semen (sorry - I just call 'em as a see, er, hear 'em).

- The outcome of the game was NOT Andre Smith's fault, as some have alleged. News Flash: Smitty does not play defense.

- If you're going to eat lunch at the Cracker Barrel in Slidell, LA, go ahead and clear your schedule for at least two hours.

- Did I mention that Utah fans are tools?

Freddie

The music world lost a legend yesterday with the passing of Freddie Hubbard at the age of 70. Hubbard was one of the finest jazz trumpeters of all time and was one of my first favorites when I delved into the world of jazz several years ago. He played with a fluidity that was instantly recognizable and could blow with power one minute while playing a beautiful ballad the next. His debut album as a leader, 1960's Open Sesame, as well as 1961's Ready For Freddie, are two of my favorite jazz albums ever. Although his health and his chops had diminished during his later years, he never lost his passion for music. He will be sorely missed.

My Top 10 Albums of 2008

This has not been a particularly strong year for new releases. That being said, my Top 10 is actually once again a Top 11 (sue me). Although there were a number of quality reissues and live albums that were released, I'm sticking with new stuff for this list (although technically #11 was actually recorded live in front of an audience).

1. Aimee Mann - @#%&*! Smilers



Mrs. Penn’s long-awaited follow up to 2005’s The Forgotten Arm was a shot in the collective arm of her audience. Another collection of outstanding songs with only a couple of minor hiccups. Hopefully, her recent trend of an album of new songs every three years won’t continue.

2. R.E.M. – Accelerate



While I love the album, the style seemed a little forced after the disappointment of 2005’s Around The Sun. Critics and fans alike were pumped over the band’s return to its “rockin’” roots. Personally, I wasn’t disappointed with ATS. As long as the songs are good, I don’t give a shit how much an album “rocks” (see Automatic For The People).

3. Sugarland – Love On The Inside



I’m gonna catch hell for this pick but damn if I can’t stop listening to these songs over and over. Though the production and presentation is highly commercial, Jennifer Nettles and Kristian Bush are actually considered to edgy by Nashville standards. And speaking of catching hell…

4. John Oates – 1000 Miles Of Life



Believe it or not, the other half of Hall & Oates is one hell of a songwriter. This album flew under the radar but it has legs.

5. Teddy Thompson – A Piece Of What You Need



Teddy released another splendid album of outstanding pop tunes this year. He’s one of the most consistent songwriters around these days – and he doesn’t throw tantrums!

6. Jenny Lewis - Acid Tongue



Fresh off her last album, Rabbit Fur Coat, Ms. Lewis has put together another outstanding set of songs, albeit a shift back toward her indie sound from the country leanings of last year. The title track is one of my favorite songs of the year.

7. David Byrne & Brian Eno – Everything That Happens Will Happen Today



I always liked the Talking Heads but Byrne’s solo material has never done anything for me. And while Brian Eno has worked wonders producing U2, his own stuff has also been less than appealing. Which made this album a pleasant surprise – a collection of (mostly) straightforward pop songs without the usual Byrne/Eno weirdness.

8. Anat Cohen – Notes From The Village



Quite simply my favorite jazz musician currently out there. Anat likes to mix it up from album to album not only thematically but instrumentally as well, often changing pace from clarinet to tenor sax to soprano sax with consistent ease and beauty.

9. AC/DC – Black Ice



The boys still have it. Although the songs aren’t quite as catchy as they used to be, they bring it on every time with crunch and gusto. How Brian Johnson is still able to sound like Brian Johnson is beyond me.

10. Jackson Browne – Time The Conqueror



The first album of new material after two live Solo Acoustic releases, Jackson is still on top of his game both musically and lyrically, touching on today’s social and political topics. And that voice – simply one of the best.

11. Joe Lovano – Symphonica



A beautiful album from the longtime tenor saxophonist, Lovano is constantly stretching the boundaries of jazz – this time orchestrally.

What He Said...

Did He Really Just Say That?

Auburn President Jay Gogue commented about the school's football program in Ray Melick's column in today's Birmingham News:

"Borrowing a line from former Auburn President Harry Philpott (1965-1980), Gogue believes the ideal football season is going 8-3, because it's just enough wins to keep fans happy but not so much that the football program becomes bigger than the university."

Wow.

Phil Rudd Hits A Tom!

I finally made it to a Wal-Mart the other day and picked up the new AC/DC album, Black Ice. I must say that it booms out of the speakers with that familiar crunching pleasure that only AC/DC can provide – the boys definitely still have it. But I noticed something during the first chorus of track #13 (Rock N Roll Dream) that I literally have never heard before – a Phil Rudd tom fill. This is not a knock against Phil or the band. Phil Rudd is one of the most solid rock drummers of all time. But the dude could play every song in the AC/DC catalog with nothing more than a kick, snare, floor, high-hat and crash symbol - that’s all he ever plays (again, not that there’s anything wrong with that). Phil doesn’t give a shit about being on the cover of Modern Drummer with a 48 piece kit in the background. He just pounds away with thunderous fury while he and his band mates make millions of ear drums bleed. And next month I’ll finally be seeing the band live for the first time. Rock on, Phil.

Bowl Intrigue - Catch It!

How happy do you think the Las Vegas Bowl and the Sugar Bowl representatives are right now? While the Sugar folks are surely excited to have the well-traveled Bama faithful descend upon their fair city of New Orleans, they can’t be entirely happy about having the Utah Utes paired with the Tide. Somehow I can’t see Mormons letting it all loose on Bourbon St.

And how about the Las Vegas Bowl matchup of Arizona vs. BYU? Once again, Mormons are not going to be throwing money around the Sin City. Bibles maybe, but not coin. Hell, there are too many damn bowls anyway.

Waiting Rooms And Butt Boils

It’s been an interesting few weeks for me lately. My stepfather has been in the hospital after some post-surgery complications, with 12 of those days in ICU. So I’ve spent more time at the hospital lately than I ever have in my life. During our time in the ICU waiting room area, we encountered many other families with loved ones in ICU. And, in our own way of coping with stress, we were thoroughly entertained by some of these folks.

Among them was a family whose situation I became very familiar with due to the fact that they didn’t care who heard their conversation. A woman’s husband had fallen ill and was lucky to still be alive. According to her story, he had begun feeling dizzy several days earlier and felt extremely weak. Besides vomiting and having other symptoms, she described in great detail a boil that had formed on his butt. And not just any boil, but a large black boil that grew to the size of a saucer. After several days of not knowing what to do, she said that he finally passed out one night while sitting on the toilet, fell to the floor, and began coughing up blood. It was only then that she decided to take action and call 911.

Well, the doctors asked all kinds of questions and were perplexed when they couldn’t determine the cause of his symptoms. Finally they asked her if he had been bitten by anything.

“Oh yeah,” she answered, “he got bit by a spider last week – that’s what caused the boil in the first place.”

It turned out he had been bitten by a Brown Recluse, one of two poisonous spiders native to the U.S. In the meantime, the poor man’s condition had worsened and he almost died before they found out this key bit of information. But the worst part of this story was when the woman and her friends, who were there for support, began trading their own “butt boil” stories, as if this were as common of an occurrence as catching a cold. Personally, I can’t recall ever having a boil, much less on my buttocks. And I certainly never expected to be regaled with multiple anecdotes dealing with such a phenomenon.

The next day a large man who was with the butt boil family asked my mother who she was there for and what his name was. He said he was an evangelist and could add his name to their television prayer list.

“Um, no thanks – I’m good,” she replied.

With that, he stood up and, in the middle of the room, began preaching to everyone within earshot. My mom promptly picked up her belongings and left. Fortunately, my stepdad has been moved into a private room. We won’t have to deal with anymore of that lunacy. But as long as I live, I’ll never forget the “butt boil” family.

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.