Diamonds in the Pebbles

A few weeks ago, I wrote a blog entry about bad songs on otherwise great albums. This week, I'd like to turn the tables. Even now and then, you'll hear an album that is putrid, utterly disposable, and deserves to be quickly forgotten... except for one track. Without much need for further explanation, what do you do when great songs happen to bad albums?


"The Only Place," The Only Place, Best Coast. Arguably the most disappointing new release of 2012 was Best Coast's sophomore effort, a disc that was part rehash of Crazy for You, part mismatch of band and producer, and overall a lo-fi snoozefest. The charm of Bethany Cosentino's lyrics somehow turned from quirky and dreamy to trite and inconsequential, and the sunny power-pop grows weary as the album goes on. The title track --also the leadoff track and first single-- is not a harbinger of things to come, a catchy single that holds it own against their previous work.

"Monarchy of Roses," I'm With You, Red Hot Chili Peppers. RHCP has a tendency to go four or five years without releasing new material, and the long wait after the commercially successful, somewhat bloated Stadium Arcadium magnified the flaws of their tenth album. Released in mid-2011, I'm With You was their first album with Josh Klinghoffer on guitar, and though he makes a valiant effort he's not John Frusciante. The album lacks a center, and most of the songs --including the #1 hit "The Adventures of Rain Dance Maggie"-- feel recycled. The one genuinely original track is "Roses," which leads off with a thick Afro-Pop beat by Chad Smith and never looks back.

"Ava Adore," Adore, Smashing Pumpkins. Fifteen years on, do you remember anything about the Pumpkins' follow-up to Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness besides this mesmerizing track? Yeah, neither do I.

"Aeroplane," One Hot Minute, Red Hot Chili Peppers. Yes, they made the list again. Once again suffering from the lack of Frusciate, not to mention battling drugs and egos, One Hot Minute symbolized the wilderness RHCP found themselves in for much of the '90s. I almost didn't put this on the list, but "My Friends" doesn't really do anything for me.

"Creep," Pablo Honey, Radiohead. Twenty years on, there's little disputing Radiohead's first album depicts a band not yet fully formed. Even though the brilliant The Bends was just two years away, many fans wish that was Thom Yorke and the boys' debut, not the underripe Honey. Regardless, the disc's angsty leadoff single was their introduction to the world, a left-field hit that meshed well with grunge-happy alternative radio.

"Blue Jean," Tonight, David Bowie. For the casual Bowie fan, it's easy to assume this 1984 hit was on his previous disc Let's Dance. In a just world it would've been written and recorded a year earlier, but this track the end of the line for Bowie's remarkable winning streak dating back to the late '60s. Tonight is mostly a rushed effort where Bowie played no instruments and relied on awkwardly chosen covers like "God Only Knows" and "I Keep Forgettin'." "Blue Jean," on the other hand was a Bowie original and deserved the success it found both on radio and MTV.

Your thoughts? I was hard-pressed to think of '60s/'70s examples.

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Random Notes, February 2013

+ I might have been one of the few people that were not shocked by the Pope's decision to resign this week. When he succeeded John Paul II not quite eight years ago, the former Cardinal Ratzinger and the college both knew he was a short-term solution. For his hard-line conservative reputation, Benedict XVI's decision to step down is actually somewhat progressive; the Euro-centric notion that any title is yours to keep until you die is horribly antiquated. Queen Beatrix of the Netherlands made a similar move several weeks ago, and there is speculation Queen Elizabeth II might do the same. It's hard to fathom someone in their 80s or 90s "leading" a country or sovereignty  Pope Benedict's reign was short but concise, seldom straying from the traditionalist platform of the church's upper body. His legacy won't compare to the John Paul's 27 years on the throne, but I suppose he did a capable job of keeping the boat steady.

+ The GOP didn't like President Obama's State of the Union address? Wow, what a shocker. The Party of "No" just keeps doing their thing. It's one thing to be obstructive, and another to be obstructive and bring very few concrete ideas to the table. The President knows he bit off more than he could chew in his first term, he's working goal by goal and keeping expectations modest, and the Republicans still won't give him an inch.

+ Speaking of the State of the Union, I think that awkward Marco Rubio/water gaffe was thrown a little bit out of proportion. It was amusing for sure, though it distracted from Pollyanna-ish substance of the Republican response.

+ Finally, if anyone's looking for more proof that the people that regulate our banks are buffoons, look no further.

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When the Ink Dries

I'm an autograph hound. It's something that piqued my interest in middle school, and the thrill of the hunt still riles me up. My style is frugal and somewhat scrappy; I've never coughed up more than $30 at a signing, and whenever I'm at a baseball game I'm the first behind the dugout and the last to leave. My strategy is a blend of advice that I've picked up from the Beckett magazines and tips from fellow hounds. Sixteen years on, my collection is a disparate mix of Hall of Famers and has-beens, superstars and benchwarmers. A lot of athletes treat autograph requests as an unwanted nuisance (and for more popular players, I sympathize) but for every sullen old coot like Hank Bauer, there's a Jerry Terrell that's just happy to be remembered.*

Sometime around Christmas, a buddy of mine asked for a favor. He runs a sports card chop in Naperville, IL (two towns over from Downers), and he needed extra help for an event he was holding on January 28th. Dean hosts autograph signings at his shop every now and then, generally a mix of current Chicago notables past and present, but this next event was going to be especially daring. Instead of just one guest or two --keep in mind, this is a little mom n' pop shop-- Dean was going to hold four signings at once. With so many ex-jocks signing, he needed additional assistance. Suffice to say, I jumped at the opportunity.

The four Chicago-based athletes signing that night represented four of the five major local sports teams. (I assume there was a lack of space or not enough money to bring in an ex-Blackhawk.) Four tables, single file, with a retired athlete and their assigned handler sitting in metal folding chairs. On the far end was Mike Hartenstine, a former All-American defensive end that played for the '85 Bears. To his left was Gary "Sarge" Matthews, a former Rookie of the Year and one-time All Star that played with the Cubs in the mid-1980s. To Sarge's left was Ron Kittle, another former ROY and a much-feared (albeit one-dimensional) power hitter for the Pale Hose. The last table belonged to Bob "Butterbean" Love, a three-time All-Star with the Bulls in the late '60s and '70s. I was assigned to Butterbean.

The event was supposed to start at 6, but the handlers were supposed to arrive by 5:30. I explained to Dean that I would be ten minutes late because of my temp job. Luckily for me, Love was stuck in traffic and showed up around 5:55. I had only met two other NBA players in my lifetime (Evan Eschmeyer and Ron Artest) so I gawked a little when Love's 6'8" frame crouched under the doorway and entered the card shop. Love was jovial but aloof, and I soon realized that he was almost completely deaf. When he sat down, Love told me that he left his hearing aid at home; I was afraid to ask why, but I assumed it was something he was self-conscious about. For those of you that know his life story, this wasn't the first time Love kept a secret from the public. People would walk past Love, ask him questions, and he would just stare and nod politely. In an attempt to bond with him, I told him that I would be his "ears" for the evening; he chuckled and said thank you, but I was reluctant to let people on to his disability.

The tone of the evening was eclectic, to put it succiently. Kittle has an older dog that had leg surgery that day; he didn't have time to drop the dog off at his house from the vet, so Ron brought the weary animal with him. Kittle was also the most loquacious of the four stars, sharing anecdotes and bantering with the autograph seekers. The pooch laid under the table, struggling to adjust himself with his bum front leg, never leaving Ron's side. Sarge was almost as talkative but decidedly grumpy; he was battling some kind of knee problem, and on the rare occasion that Matthews stood up he walked around with an uncomfortable limp. Matthews and Kittle were seemingly well-acquainted, so between autographs Ron would turn to Sarge to banter and keep the mood light. In contrast Hartenstine was relatively quiet, reserved and polite. His reputation as a workmanlike, stoic football player translated into his personality.

The signing went on until 7:30. The crowds had died down at least fifteen minutes earlier, which allowed the guests and handlers to nab some free pizza. Mr. Love had a prior engagement that evening, so his handler picked him up at half past seven on the dot. Before we walked out, Dean gave Butterbean a half-dozen or so photos from his heyday. Apparently, Love's wife took all his memorabilia in a recent divorce, and he had nothing basketball-related to his name. Butterbean turned out to be a modest and graceful man, if not aloof and a little incoherent. Sarge hobbled out about ten minutes later, followed shortly by Kittle and his dog. Hartenstine nonchalantly left last, but not before I shook his hand. I went home with two autographed 8x10 photos and two signed trading cards, my pay for a hard night's work.

I try to avoid idolizing professional athletes. I respect that beyond their tremendous physical abilities, they're Working Joes like you and me. Where the average person can hone their craft for fifty years, an athlete taps out at twenty (if that). They can be kind and humble or selfish and vainglorious. Respect is earned, not innate. The four former professional athletes I met that night couldn't have been more disparate. One was a nurturer, where another was nurtured. One smiled as another scowled. One embraced the spotlight while another stayed unperturbed. (The "one" was Kittle, obviously.) For ninety incomparable minutes I caught in a polytheistic cult of personality, one that I'm not sure I can duplicate or compare to again.

*I apologize for naming names, but if you ever run into either of these guys, now you know.

A Diamond with a Flaw is Better Than a Pebble Without

With my monthly musical journey all but over (I will revisit and revamp some lists later this year) I thought touch upon some of the quirks and foibles of my four years' worth of great listens. This will be the first of such inventories:

Not every song on an album has to be great to make it a strong album overall. The 1995-96 Chicago Bulls had their Jack Haley, the 1927 Yankees their Julie Wera. Sometimes the brilliance of the whole allows you to ignore one weak track that either breezes by or fits only in the context of the album's peripheral. You take away that one song and it somehow completes your listening experience. Without being too nitpicky or beating around the bush, what happens when bad songs appear on great albums?

For the sake of not being too wonky, I will use the top of Rolling Stone's list of the 500 Greatest Albums of All Time, plus a couple personal favorites. Keep in mind, this is their list and not mine I apologize for any inadvertent plagiarism on my part.


1. Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, The Beatles. This is a tough call. If you think erstaz children's sing-alongs sung by Ringo are cloying, "A Little Help From My Friends" might be your pick. "She's Leaving Home" has probably the least memorable melody, but it's a fine, tragic story-song. "Sgt. Pepper's (Reprise)" is a truncated encore of the title track and barely a song in its own right, but it segues into the brilliant "A Day in the Life." It's the buffer between the full-length masterpiece you just heard and the individual achievement you're about to hear. In the end, I went with the droning Within You, Without You.
2. Pet Sounds, The Beach Boys. In the context of the album, the title track is fine. Out of context, it feels like intermission music in an old-time movie theater. If you want to nitpick, this is an instrumental credited to the Beach Boys, yet only one member (Brian Wilson) plays on the track; the small army of session players that populate and color this album merely cater to Wilson's whims. It's not filler per se, but the album's namesake feels like a tag-along.
3. Revolver, The Beatles. Another tough pick. "Yellow Submarine" has always been ammo for the Ringo haters, and while it has some annoying qualities, it's hard to not sing along. Of the three druggiest songs on the album, "I'm Only Sleeping" pales next to "She Said She Said" and "Tomorrow Never Knows," but only barely. There's too much I love here. No Pick.
4. Highway 61 Revisited, Bob Dylan. I would choose "Rainy Day Women #12 & 35," but that was on Blonde on Blonde. I would choose the icky "Ballad in Plain D," but that was on Another Side of Bob Dylan. The nine tracks on this album are miniature masterstrokes joined together as one breathtaking suite. Again, No Pick.
5. Rubber Soul, The Beatles. I don't want to keep hating on Fab Four, but this is Rolling Stone's top five after all. Sure, "The Word" is kinda sappy, but Wait is a well-written song hindered by a rushed production.

Also, some personal favorites:

Odelay!, Beck. Whenever I listen to this album, I'm naturally inclined to skip over High Five (Rock the Catskills). Even though it maintains the surrealist party-rock aesthetic, "High Five" veers into generic "Jock Jams" territory.
Purple, Stone Temple Pilots. If I didn't hear Interstate Love Song at all for the next six months, I would not miss it. Now that grunge and '90s is seeping its way into classic rock playlists, I hear this song now on twice as many radio stations. For a nearly 20-year-old song, it needs a rest.
#1 Record, Big Star. Remember The India Song? The song with the flutes and allusions to Rudyard Kipling? Yeah, that one.
Purple Rain, Prince. I often wonder if Foo Fighters covered Darling Nikki just to be ironic.
British Steel, Judas Priest. United is quite possibly the greatest soccer --er, football-- anthem nobody wanted. The song's Wikipedia is embarassingly threadbare, which tells you how much Priest fans appreciate this song.

I'm sure I'll think of more, but I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Random Notes, January 2013

It's been much too long since I've commented on current events:

+ If you follow what's going on down in Springfield, chances are you won't hear much about anything besides measures to legalize gay marriage. Even though same-sex civil unions have been legal in Illinois for about 18 months ago, full marital rights are now at stake. We're far from being the first state to debate the topic, but we might be first where there is support from Democrats and Republicans.  The armchair conservatives that densely populate the Chicago suburbs are warming up to the idea, and GOP support in central IL and downstate has been more indifferent than opposed. Strangely, only a smattering of religious conservatives are voicing their dissent.

The Illinois GOP is still in relative disarray since George Ryan's ignoble term as governor ended ten years ago, but at least they're (almost) on the same page about something, and for a decidedly "liberal" cause, no less. The core of the state Republican Party is relatively moderate; outside of one-term wonder Joe Walsh, the Tea Party hasn't found much footing in the Land of Lincoln. On the other hand, this is the same Illinois GOP that couldn't beat Rod Blagojevich for the governor's seat... twice. It's a weird mix of kowtowing, populist fervor, and just being sensible.

+ The majority of gun owners in America are not loners, lunatics or sociopaths. Sadly, it's that lunatic and sociopath minority that continue to gobble up headlines and alter the course of gun control in the United States. We can't overlook the hubris and lack of preventative measures by lobbies like the National Rifle Association that keep dragging out the second amendment debate what seems like every three months or so. You can make the argument that gun control doesn't work, but at the time there has to be some type of regulation. Governor Cuomo's new legislation in New York state is strict and well-meaning, but could backfire easily. In short, in the wake of Aurora and Newtown, the gun debate is just as complicated and irresolute as ever.

+ Finally, as happy as I am that the NHL is back in action, it's too little too late. The league and the players' union have been at loggerheads for so long that neither party came out of the lockout a winner. Simply put, the players are overpaid and the owners are greedy, and both share a virulent streak of narcissism. I fear that the damage now is irreversible, that one more labor dispute will just kill the sport in North American altogether, that no PR spin can sustain any further damage. Just shut up and play.

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My Last, Last Blog of 2012

Without further ado, a list of my favorite TV shows in 2012:

BEST SHOWS
1. Parks & Recreation, NBC. With "Community" little more than a cult favorite and "30 Rock" and "The Office" riding into the sunset, the Pawnee P&R crew are now the torchbearers of NBC's comedy block, if not comedy on network television. Continuing its evolution from political satire in miniature to understated yet zany workplace comedy to hybrid of both, "Parks" is a program that continues to surprise and delight, bolstered by the tightest ensemble in TV, clever writing, and big dollop of heart. Memorable Episodes: "Operation Ann," "The Debate," "Ms. Knope Goes to Washington"
2. Girls, HBO. It was not obvious at first what Lena Dunham was doing. The first two episodes played out like a young female version of "Curb Your Enthusiasm," crossed with a self-serving indie flick. Episode three, however was when Dunham's vision blossomed (at least, from my POV) and her agenda fully realized. This is an unflinching look at immature, entitled, privileged white girls coming to terms with the realities they've created for themselves. "Girls" is empathic, poignant, and squeamish all at the same time. Memorable Episodes: "All Adventurous Women Do," "Welcome to Bushwick (a/k/a The Crackcident)," "She Did"
3. Mad Men, AMC. And than there was color. Saturated hues of red, orange, green, and blue said more about SDCP's emotional undercurrents than any performance could. This past season generated maybe the greatest winning streak of the show's run, a string five or six episodes that rank among the series' best. While not as strong overall as Season 4 --blame the anti-climatic season finale, blame too much Megan, whatever-- few dramas are as consistently compelling. Memorable Episodes: "Signal 30," "Far Away Places," "The Other Woman"
4. Community, NBC. The fourth season is still in limbo, but even before that agonizingly long hiatus 12 marvelous episodes aired in this calendar year. The long-term potential is limited, and the post-Dan Harmon era has yet to be scrutinized by fans and critics alike, but I'd rather accentuate the positive. Few things on TV can compare to that aggressively weird, frequently brilliant third season. Memorable Episodes: "Pillows and Blankets," "Virtual Systems Analysis," "Basic Lupine Urology"
5. Bob's Burgers, Fox. With much nonchalance, a very unlikely young cartoon has become the tentpole of the rapidly aging "Animation Domination" lineup. "Oddball delight" does not do justice to a show that blends its unusual viewpoint with affability, quirky laughs, and emotional heft. The mere thought of the show just makes me smile. Memorable Episodes: "The Belchies," "Burgerboss," "Ear-sy Rider"

Honorable Mention: 30 Rock, NBC ("Leap Day," "Murphy Brown Lied to Us," "Mazel Tov, Dummies!")

Worst Show of 2012: Animal Practice, NBC. The show with the monkey vet and Justin Kirk as an unlikable horndog. Not much to elaborate upon here.

In Memoriam (and I hope I didn't forget anybody): Mike Enriquez, Etta James, Joe Paterno, Don Cornelius, Mike Wallace, Whitney Houston, Moose Skowron, Dick Clark, George Lindsay, Tom Davis, Gore Vidal, Judith Crist, Marvin Hamlisch, Helen Gurley Brown, Richard Dawson, Ron Palillo, Robert Hegyes, Tony Scott, Phyllis Diller, Jerry Nelson, Neil Armstrong, Hal David, Michael Clarke Duncan, Andy Williams, Andy Griffith, Steve Sabol, Alex Karras, Sen. Arlen Specter, Sylvia Kristel, Sen. George McGovern, Elliott Carter, Sen. Warren Rudman, Art "Mr. Food" Ginsburg, Hector Camacho, Zig Ziglar, Dave Brubeck, Larry Hagman, Ravi Shankar, Sen. Daniel Inouye, Jack Klugman, Charles Durning, Gen. Norman Schwarzkopf, Fontella Bass, and Nick Wieme.

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