Inte Bulle

Whitney Houston

2012-02-12T13:29:00.001+01:00

Death is the great equalizer, making his job rather uncomplicated. He takes his harvest without regard to social status, color or religion. To Death, there is no distinction, yet to the living, there are some departures that give us pause as we all hurtle towards the inevitable last chapter.

Whitney Houston died yesterday, under cloudy circumstances. We may never know the exact cause and, really, what difference does it make. She is dead.

Whitney Houston was groomed to sing, and her family was there to do the grooming. Cissy Houston, her mother, was a gospel singer and back-up singer who worked with the likes of Otis Redding, Wilson Pickett and Dusty Springfield. Aretha Franklin was the youngster's godmother. Dionne Warwick and Dee Dee Warwick were her cousins.

Signed to Arista, Clive Davis' vision was that Whitney would be the diva that would be his biggest star, and help take his label to the big time. Houston would eventually become Arista's biggest selling recording artist, with sales of 55 million units in the U.S. alone—according to the Recording Industry Association of America. One look at the cover of Houston's first release will give you Clive's vision.

However, it was the release of her second album, where she shed the gowns and big production, to become the darling of the MTV era by showing the loose and exuberant side of her personality.

With a cover girl looks, million watt smile and a voice that would make even the mundane American National Anthem a signature song for her, Houston had arrived.

Houston's public persona then veered into something darker and volatile. Her relationship with Bobby Brown was seen as the point where she had to acknowledge that she was into drugs, and her appearance and the drug's impact on her voice was like rubbernecking at a train wreck. It became fodder for the tabloids and entertainment shows for years. "I am not always in a sequined gown. I am nobody's angel," she once told Rolling Stone. "I can get down and dirty. I can get raunchy."

Houston divorced Brown in 2007, winning custody of their daughter, Bobbi Kristina Brown. At the court session in Orange County, Houston testified that her daughter could not depend on her father.

Bobbi Kristina will have to now.

Whitney Houston (August 9, 1963 – February 11, 2012)

The Only One

2011-10-06T12:51:00.000+02:00

At the height of the 1960's, there was a spirit that prevailed through our generation that we could do anything we wanted to do.

Bolstered by the secure middle class upbringing by our parents, charged by our changing the world of fashion, music and the arts and buoyed by the belief that we were changing the world for the better, it was easy to believe that we would live in a world unfettered with the mundane.

Currently, in this age of darkness, it's hard to believe that we were that naive, but it is true. We thought that we would be able to have work that would be satisfying and lucrative, that we would marry beautiful people and create healthy and happy children who would live in an unbiased and peaceful world.

Seriously, for a few years, we really thought that way.

Add a few assassinations, Altamont, music heroes dying from substance abuse, Vietnam, Watergate, Middle East and, voila! Here we are, broke, beaten and downhearted in the 21st Century. What happened to those dreams?

Somebody once said that, "It was impossible to connect the dots [of your life] looking forward… But it was very, very clear looking backwards… you can only connect them looking backwards."

In other words, when you look back at your life and all the decisions you made, you come to the obvious conclusion you are exactly at the point of your life you are supposed to be.

Those words were spoken by Steve Jobs, the heart and soul of the Apple phenomenon.

Steve Jobs passed away last night from the great equalizer of our lives, cancer. Steve Jobs was a very young 56 years old.

The AP lede today was, "Steve Jobs saw the future and led the world to it. He moved technology from garages to pockets, took entertainment from discs to bytes and turned gadgets into extensions of the people who use them."

What struck me when "I heard the news today, oh boy!" was this: Steve Jobs really was the guy we thought we could all become. Seemingly, he was the only one.

Steve Jobs was a visionary, an artist and an entrepreneur. He believed that machines should be functional and that they should work for us and not the other way around. It may be hard to believe, but before Steve and Woz (Steve Wozniak, Apple co-founder) built the Mac, we were entering code to make our computer work. It was Jobs who saw the potential that, just by pointing, clicking and dragging, it would open the door to the ubiquitous use of the computer.

Steve lived the life that all of us wanted our lives to be centered on. His work was satisfying, lucrative and made the world a better place. Apple products were functional, people friendly and stylish. To use the phrase from that bygone era, Apple products were and are, cool. Hopefully, Steve's soul has been infused into Apple and the products they produce in the future still will be. We owe that to him.

If not for Steve Jobs, I would not be writing these words and putting them on the internet. If I had been forced to learn commands to get this job done, it wouldn't have been done.

"A lot of times, people don't know what they want until you show it to them." Steve Jobs knew what it took to get millions like me into this computer thing. He changed the way we look at computers, "the bicycles of the mind" he called them, and thus he changed the world. One guy with one idea.

Steve Jobs was the guy we all thought we would be in 1968. Fortunately, for us, he was. Unfortunately, for us, he seems to be the only one.

Remembering 9/11-The Real Tragedy

2011-09-11T12:47:00.000+02:00

As the media coverage of the 10th anniversary of the 9/11 tragedy has been all over the news this past week, I'm forced to believe that Americans, as horrible as it was and as horrible as it is to say so, would rather think about the terrorist attacks of 2001 than all that has happened since that day.

When put into context of the decade that it started, the tragic day of September 11, 2001, is, if anything, the least unpleasant event that has captured the United States as a whole.

Think about it. The Iraq War is still ongoing. The "other" war in Afghanistan was started and still continues. 6,200 US troops have been killed in those two Middle Eastern actions with no foreseeable end. The worldwide financial collapse. The, now nonexistent, housing market. 14 million Americans are out of work. America's declining household income. The arrival of China as a global superpower. The United States' debt burden. Hurricane Katrina. The Gulf oil spill. The unchecked change in climate and the denial of its importance. The political partisan bickering that puts winning elections over the public good. Nuclear proliferation.

I don't want to trivialize the pain and suffering that those misguided individuals caused when they flew those jetliners into the heart of America's psyche. People died, and parents lost children, siblings lost brothers and sisters, children grew up with a parent who is but a picture in a frame.

Because of that shared tragedy, the nation came together, at least for a few days. Americans seemed to bond together in shared sorrow and determination. For a few days, there were no hyphenated Americans, no Irish, Italian, Native, Afro, Asian or Latin before the term American. People seemed to care for each other.

Now, Americans have less freedom, less mobility, less security, less faith in their institutions and way of life. Once secure in their belief in the American persona, the American Dream has become a nightmare of fear and uncertainty.

Remembering 9/11 as some kind of Day That The Music Died is the tragedy because what Americans are actually longing for is a return to those "better days" of that shared national agony in September 2001, when everybody truly believed things couldn't get any worse.

I Could Rule the World...

2011-09-02T13:07:00.000+02:00

...if I had the rhythm section of Charlie Watts, Bill Wyman and Mick Taylor.

So Long, Clarence...Thanks

2011-06-19T13:45:00.002+02:00

June 7, 2009 was a cool night. Chilly enough to need a jacket but it was clear and that would mean daylight would last awhile. It was only a few weeks before the spring equinox. It was also a holiday weekend, and Springsteen was in town with the E Street Band. It was the second night of a two night gig, and the stay in Stockholm had been interrupted by a soccer match between Sweden and Denmark between the two shows.

The site was in the stadium that was built for the Stockholm-hosted Olympic games back in the early 1900's. Europe is like that, saving its buildings and using them over and over. The stadium was made of red brick, like the famous Stockholm City Hall where they host the Nobel Prize dinner. It was my first time inside the place and while it was dated, with bench seats made of wood, it was clean and had a classic feel, much like Boston's Fenway or Chicago's Wrigley have.

The crowd was friendly and ready for a good time. Springsteen is well received in Sweden and Bruce has visited this country on every European tour. The common man themes of Bruce's songs translate well here in a country that believes in working for the common good.

The stands were about 3/4 filled, but the field was packed. The crowd sang along when Nils opened the set with a traditional Swedish song on the accordion. It was a new E Street band for me, as Danny had been replaced and Mighty Max was on the DL list due to heart complications. Max's son, Jay was the drummer tonight and, pardon the pun, the band never missed a beat. In fact, that night was the night I decided that the E Street Band was the best band in rock.

Like I said, the light was hanging around for a long time. As the set moved along the skies were taking that cobalt and damask hue that signals sunny skies the next day as well as the on coming night. The band was playing "Jungleland" and the Big Man was beginning his signature solo, a solo that took 16 hours to hone during the Born to Run sessions.

I had remarked to Eva when the Band came onstage how weak the Big Man looked. He had a noticeable limp and he was obviously in pain. His tone was clear, however, and the saxophone was resonating off the century old brick facade. For the "Jungleland" solo it was a mournful sound, perfect for the tragic outcome of the Magic Rat and the Barefoot Girl. As I sat there listening to the Big Man's solo, one that I heard a hundred times before, familiar enough to know every note yet each one a little different,I wondered how many of those he had left in him? How many more tours could his body stand? The solo tonight was plaintive beyond its scripted necessity. Tonight, the saxophone player of the E Street Band was also playing as if this might be one of the last times.

That was the last time I saw Clarence Clemons in person. Today, Father's Day, I woke up to find that Clarence had passed away from complications of a stroke he suffered a week ago.

Music is an amazing potion to the human animal. It allows us to travel through time. We can listen to it in the present and it can whisk us to moments in our past and portend the possibilities of the future, remarkably, all at the same time. It allows youngsters to act beyond their years and the more mature to act like kids. It can make the lame dance and allow the lamest kid in school to be cool.

Clarence Clemons was the final piece in the Kid from Freehold's dream. The sounds that had been absorbed from his pre-teens were now ready to percolate into the sound that became "Born to Run". No longer would there be another effort where Springsteen would "sound like" a Dylan or any other artist. In fact, from this point on, artists would be accused of sounding like or ripping off him.

Clemons was the not just the completion of a sound, he was the foil that Springsteen could work off. Remember, at this time, Springsteen and the band were skinny white kids from the suburbs of NYC, the Jersey Shore, known more for its summer vacations on the boardwalk than any mean streets. Clemons was the big, black guy that not only gave the band "street cred" but was the perfect opposite to Springsteen. While Bruce wore tattered jeans and leather jackets, Clemons would be resplendent in pimp white, head to toe.

In fact, Clemons was as dominant a figure in the stage show as Bruce. Their give and take pantomimes and stage dances were intrinsic parts of every E Street show. The entire history of the Clemons/Springsteen shtick is summed up in the iconic photo of the "Born to Run" album cover. (above)

In fact, in the song "Tenth Avenue Freeze Out", the lyric "When the change was made uptown and the Big Man joined the band..." is exactly what happened. The story of the storm, the gust of wind, the door blowing off the hinges when Clemons first meets Springsteen is certainly embellished. Like any good legend, facts have been added and colored and no rendition of "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" is complete without that story. I will say that growing up in a beach town in the Asbury Park area, I know that the wind can gust that hard. I've got broken storm windows stories of my own to tell.

Clemons is the second E Street member to pass on. Danny Federici succumbed to melanoma in 2008. Federici was replaced by Charlie Giordano, making the easy transition from the Sessions Band to the E Street fold.

Federici had the nickname "The Phantom", earned for his escape from a police bust. The moniker could also be because of his low key stage presence. However, the Big Man is such a large part of the stage shows over the last 40 years, you have to wonder how the band will replace him?

Springsteen always surprises with these moves, none more than Nils Lofgren stepping in as second guitar when Steve Van Zandt took a leave. But the "Master of the Universe" will be difficult, not just for the sax playing, but the persona.

My feeling is that the E Street Band is like the Yankees, the players' names change but the pinstripes continue on. Like a Ruth, Gerhig, Dimaggio or Mantle, Clarence Clemons will be always a part of the E Street team, but his position will be taken by someone else.

As a empathetic person, I can justify the loss of Clemons as he is now free of the pain that has wracked his body for the last decade. As a fan, I feel the great loss of knowing the Big Man will no longer be on tour. As a fan, I can listen to his sax playing on the many recorded songs of the Band that I possess. I can even re-live the stage shows on the DVD's. Clarence Clemons will always be remembered by Springsteen fans.

The mischievous side of me wishes that when St. Peter opens the Pearly Gates to have the Big Man take his place next to his hero, King Curtis, in that Heavenly Band, a stormy gust of wind comes up and rips a gate off the hinges. It would only be fitting.

Rest in Peace, Clarence, you have earned that. It's going to be tough, but we'll try to carry on without you.

A Dad's Confession on His Son's Birthday

2011-04-03T11:20:00.001+02:00

≈In 1976, the year the Horse Brass Pub in Portland, Oregon opened, I was living in the city and working for the Music Millennium on Burnside. I met Don Younger, the pub's owner, through the crew at the Millennium and all of us were some of Don's first customers.

My then wife and I were regulars. We had season tickets to the Timbers and the Horse Brass was a pre - and post-game stop. The Horse Brass was just beginning, but the seeds of the traditional "local" were already sown. We all helped turn it into the place where "everybody knew your name" long before that TV bar.

The reason I write this remembrance is that today is my second son's 33rd birthday. On April 2nd, the day he was born in 1978, the Horse Brass played a central role in my being just seconds late to witness his birth.

I had a part time job at KINK-FM as the weekend evening host. On Sundays, I hosted the Music Millennium sponsored, "Other Worlds of Music" and on Saturday nights I hosted the regular KINK soft rock and jazz programming from 7 pm to midnight. It was April Fools night, a Saturday, and the shift was humming along, playing good music while I made an amateur's stab at being the next Bob Marx.

KINK used automation during those days and part of the gig was taping messages that would run through the next day. It meant that during your shift, while the music played, you would load a big freakin' tape machine with industrial size 8 track cassettes full of promos and weather reports.

At around 11:15 pm or so, the phone rang. It was the station's private line, so I knew it was someone to answer. Saying hello, I was told by our next door neighbor that my wife had gone into labor with our second child. She was on the way to the hospital with my wife and I should get there ASAP.

Like I said, this was my second child, and based on my experience with the first, I guessed I had a few hours before the imminent arrival. My first son, Devin, was a late arrival. He was two weeks overdue and took a long time entering the world the day he arrived. So I thought I could finish the board shift, throw a few tapes in the machine and get on my way to welcome #2 into the world. Which is just what I did; I left the studio, got in my car and headed for the delivery room.

I appreciate you staying with me, because you have reached the point in this ramble where the Horse Brass comes into play. To get to the hospital, I had to drive east on Belmont, which took me right past the Horse Brass. As it was after midnight on an early Sunday morning, there was a space right in front to park, so I pulled right in for a quick pint of Guinness. Remember, I thought I had plenty of time before show time at the delivery room, so I walked in and ordered one of Arthur's finest.

Now my remembrances are hazy, and anyone in their teens and twenties living in Portland in the mid 70's knows why memories would be, but I wouldn't be surprised if Don himself didn't draw that pint. We probably bantered about the upcoming event and who was in the bar that past night. As I promised myself, I had the one and headed for the hospital.

As you probably have guessed, but wouldn't you know it, the little guy was in a hurry to get on with his life. As I was just about to open the swinging doors to the maternity ward, I saw my wife being wheeled out of the delivery room through the door's window. Matthew had arrived without my being there. He was named after my wife's brother AND the late Mike O'Brien from the Millennium. Because of those two guys, we realized we had never met a guy named Matt that my wife and I didn't like.

It still holds true. Matt has grown up to be a fine man, a good friend and a wonderful son who has made his Dad proud.

I write this to the Horse Brass, not to blame them for my tardiness to my son's birth. No, that's all on me. I just wanted you to know that once a year, at least, for the last 33 years, I think of the bar and the birthday story and the other good times that I had there. I am happy to know that, like Matt and Devin (who was born the year the pub was), The Horse Brass is still going strong.

Papa's Got a Brand New Bag!

2011-03-04T22:25:00.003+01:00

Last spring, I decided I needed a new carry bag: one that could carry it all: computer, papers, files, cords, pens, markers, well...you get the picture. The bag had to be able to travel, as well. When I do travel, I hate the hassle of removing your computer from the bag to go through the scanner in the airport security.

Surfing the web, I stumbled upon a messenger bag designed and sold by a company in San Francisco called Timbuk2. They designed a messenger bag that they claimed the TSE approves. In other words, you can zip out the computer sleeve, lay the bag flat on the conveyor, and it passes the through the x-ray machine without you needing to remove the laptop.

I took a flyer, ordered the bag and when it arrived, I put it to work. It was comfortable on my shoulder and it seems bottomless, no matter how much I stuff into it. Best of all, yes, the TSA approved sleeve works in the three or four countries I've visited since April, including the stringent US of A.

Another feature is a waterproof protector on the bottom of the bag. It let's you put the bag down anywhere without fear of getting the cargo inside wet. Unfortunately, a few months after getting the bag, I noticed the waterproofing was worn away in spots. I figured it had to be a defect since I don't drag the bag along on the ground.

I loved this bag. I mean L-O-V-E-D the bag. I hated to think that the company would hype such a great bag, and then deliver an inferior product. I took a few pictures on the iPhone and sent an e-mail to the Timbuk2 Customer Service desk and asked if this might be an irregularity.

Timbuk2 got right back to me. They admitted to the defect and went ahead and told me why it happened. They would send out a new and improved replacement and told me that I did not have to send the defective bag back. I thought this was really neat, as it not only saved me the time and expense of sending the bag back, but it also saved a lot of environmental impact. Another added benefit was that I could continue to enjoy using the bag until the replacement arrived. Very cool.

On a very nice fall day here in Stockholm, the doorbell rang and there was a UPS driver with a package in his hand. It was my replacement bag. Before I could sign for the delivery, the driver politely informed me that there was a 328 SEK (about $50) delivery fee. The Timbuk2's warranty page is set up for domestic USA deliveries. The bag was not marked as replacement.

I live in a country that adds a duty fee on every product brought into the country. In this case, the bag had a fee that was about 50% of its retail value. Having already paid that fee once, I wouldn't have to pay on a warranty item. I refused the delivery and headed for the phone to solve the confusion. The UPS customer service lady was professional and helpful. She understood the situation and said she would fix the problem and send out the bag for delivery next day.

Which she did. The UPS delivery guy arrived once again with my bag... and the collection notice. So I go back to the phone with UPS, another helpful and professional customer service woman who understood the problem and would send out the bag again. In addition, I e-mailed the Timbuk2 customer service department and told them of the situation. In a few hours, a nice e-mail from Tim at Timbuk2 said that he would contact their UPS reps and would pick up the charge. Wow, that was unexpected and very nice. I sat back and looked forward to the arrival of my replacement messenger bag. Which arrived the next day with...you guessed it...a 328 SEK customs fee.

I won't go into the grisly details about the back and forth between myself, UPS and Timbuk2. But you knowing that every Monday, I would call UPS for a status update can sum it up. UPS would say that they see that the shipper agreed to pay the charge, but they have no record of payment. Timbuk2 became as frustrated as I. They contacted UPS again and, if that didn’t work, offered to resend another bag as a gift and forget about the stuck in customs bag. Timbuk2 even got to the point where Tim wrote, “It would be faster if I got on a plane and flew over and delivered the bag myself.”

What frustrated me was I couldn't understand how UPS called themselves a global company when a UPS in California couldn't communicate with a UPS in Sweden. I had no problem contacting San Francisco, why couldn't UPS? I had politely refused the offer of the second bag. It just seemed to be a huge waste of resources to send another bag from California, especially since the original bag was in a depot only 20 minutes away.

These Monday phone calls went on for more than a few weeks. Every time the polite people of UPS, some of them who remembered me from other phone calls, couldn't understand what the problem was. Somewhere the connection between customer service, bookkeeping and delivery was not firing on all its synapses. I talked to agents and supervisors and nothing would budge that bag out of its warehouse hiding area, and it seemed that no one would take the initiative to see the folly of the hang-up and authorize the hostage bag's release.

Finally, with a three-week trip out of the country looming, I went back to the 20th Century dynamic of writing a letter. But before I could, I had to do a little modern investigative work, I Googled to find the local chief of UPS and wrote him a letter telling my sad tale and added copies of every correspondence between UPS, Timbuk2 and myself. I also added up the cost of three deliveries, his customer service time, as well as Timbuk2's and mine, handling and storage and anything else I could think of to show that the cost of trying to deliver the bag and collect the fee had far exceeded the original charge.

Two days later, I received a phone call from a very nice woman who introduced herself as Anki Jahncke calling for Mr. Michael Düster, the Local Chief in charge of UPS in Stockholm. He was the man I had sent my letter to. She apologized for his not calling directly, but he had asked her to call in his stead.

Anki told me she had found my bag (was it lost?) and she would deliver it as soon as possible. Unfortunately, she admitted, she couldn't deliver in the next few days because she had located the bag in Germany (!!!), in the warehouse where unclaimed freight goes, to get auctioned, I guess.

That was fine, I replied. I had already waited 84 days for the bag. What would a few more days change? However, there was one drawback. Remember my three-week trip? I would be gone when the bag would be delivered. Anki said she would bring the bag back to Stockholm and when I got back home to call her.

Which I did and the next day, February 18, 2011, exactly 113 days after the initial delivery, I now have a new Timbuk2 messenger bag.

Both companies, Timbuk2 and UPS, provided the service they promote and in some ways exceeded expectations. Timbuk2, as you might expect from a company based in San Francisco, instantly took responsibility for the problem and was quick to react. They have earned a loyal customer and if you're looking for a good messenger bag, go to their website.

And hats off to UPS. They tried very hard to get my bag delivered. For a global company, that moves literally thousands of tons of packages all around the world each and every day, they always knew where my little black bag was. They could have told me numerous times that there was nothing they could do. They never said that. There was something they could do and they did it. They delivered my bag.

I guess the moral of this tale is perseverance will win the day. But I looked at it as an exercise in my learning that customer service is what you make it. If you don't press the issue, and ask for what your due, you're not going to get it.

A Promise Kept

2010-11-23T19:36:00.000+01:00

Earlier this month, Bruce Springsteen released a box set of a re-mastered edition of Darkness On The Edge Of Town. This is the album that established Springsteen as a grown-up and a serious artist. Also included in the box is a two CD set called ‘The Promise’, which contains "outtakes" from the Darkness recording sessions. The Promise provides enough great music that, if released before hand, might have cemented his commercial appeal. However, at the time of the recording of Darkness, commercial appeal was something that Springsteen wanted nothing of. He was wary of fame because of things like the Newsweek and Time simultaneous covers, the incredible full court press of the Columbia Records PR machine, being known as "The Boss" and the god-like adulation of the audience ("Bruuuce!!"). Springsteen had always wanted to be a success, yet now that it was within in his grasp, he began to question the changes that were happening around him and to him personally.

Darkness became a collection of songs that Springsteen decided would define him as an artist. He was a guy in a dark place. The lawsuit with his former manager was not only preventing a follow up to the springboard of Born to Run, it could have prevented Springsteen from controlling his professional life in the future. All that he had ever dreamed of could be over before it really got going. He was not going to release any composition that would be construed as pop. He was going to make his stand. People were going to accept him on his terms…or not.

In the end of the documentary DVD of the recording of the Darkness album, Steve Van Zandt, his running buddy from the Shore, delivers the film’s most startling line. “It’s a bit tragic, in a way,” he muses in hindsight, referring to Springsteen’s decision to make concept-album art like Darkness on the Edge of Town at the expense of hits, "Cause he would have been one of the great pop songwriters of all time.”

In the box set are also DVD's of live performances of the E-Street Band performing the album in various venues, another is the 1978 Darkness Tour stop in Houston and the third of those performances is the band performing the album in a rehearsal of Darkness in the empty and historic Paramount Theatre in Asbury Park, N.J.

Growing up on the Shore, the Paramount Theater/Convention Hall sat halfway between the Old Garden in New York and the Convention Hall in Atlantic City. It was as close to big time concert going as we could hope for. I saw the Dave Clark Five and the Rolling Stones perform there. I was even on that stage myself, once, as my high school basketball team competed in a Christmas Classic. Now, thirty years later, a kid from the Shore was big enough and famous enough to rent out the Hall to practice.

I have yet to see the video. But I have heard the soundtrack. I believe that the Darkness recorded there is not only one of Springsteen's best records, but that this live version may be Springsteen's best album ever.

One wonders what Mozart would do, if he would have been able to revisit his Clarinet Concerto in A Major thirty years after he wrote it? In modern music, the jazz musician continually evolves his music, depending on what he is experiencing in his personal life.

In Rock, however, we continually search for the next thing. Artists who revisit their work are considered lazy or, worse, without anything to say, musically. By going that route, they are considered passé or sellouts. Playing “Darkness” on the Paramount disc in chronological order, Springsteen rips into these 10 songs again like its 32 years ago, with the verve of a younger man but nuanced with the worldliness of a 60 year old. Is there any wonder why we revere artists like Neil Young and Springsteen? It is their refusal to stray off course, remaining true to their audience and their art. Unlike some stars that now use TV show panels to stay relevant, Springsteen uses his catalog to experiment with different musical idioms.

He grabs this chance to revisit the music that defined his entry into adulthood. The maturity of another thirty years of life's ups and downs, as well as the power and musicianship of he and his band, after thirty years of playing together, Springsteen now expands these songs with authority. Like Springsteen himself, he no longer is the skinny kid from the Shore talking about adulthood as he observed it. He is now the adult he hoped he might be, singing the songs he now fully owns.

To hear the band in their element is to reveal a secret Springsteen might have never wanted to give away: the Paramount performance I heard is the Darkness album he was struggling to make in 1978.

Carlos Santana Ain't Done Yet

2010-10-29T01:44:00.002+02:00

When I saw that Santana was coming to Stockholm, I didn't pay too much attention. The wife got tickets to join some friends of ours, so I would be attending the show, after all.

I hadn't paid too much attention to Santana for the last couple of decades. Beside the Woodstock movie, I saw Santana during the "Abraxis" tour in Munich. We were both pretty ripped that night.

Since that night, I became less and less enamored with the recorded output. I understood the technical expertise, but I basically left him after "Lotus". And certainly, I wrote him off with the "resurrection" by Clive Davis when, after the hit "Smooth," Carlos looked like he was going to take the Sinatra train home by doing "duets" with anyone who was hot with the kids. He had that sound, that sustain that was his signature. At least we had Munich, Carlos.

He did "Smooth" last night, and "Oya comma va", "Black Magic Woman" and "Soul "Sacrifice." But it wasn't a nostalgia trip he gave us. All those songs, plus covers of AC/DC, The Doors, Cream, even Tommy James & The Shondells were delivered with a fresh approach and new slants, like "Back in Black" with a hip-hop vocal.

Tonight's performance was more a homage to Santana's influences and the songs he has dug throughout his life. He was adding quotes during his solos, like doing a few bars of "96 Tears" during the guitar solo of "Jingo" or "Ghost Riders in the Sky" during "Riders of the Storm."

His Latin roots were covered as well, with a segment that was like a party in the barrio. Songs like "Maria, Maria," "Guajira," and "Oya comma va" were played in front of a video of a Mexican neighborhood in sepia tones, giving the impression this was a remembrance of the young Carlos' roots back in the neighborhood as the effects of colored lights and pinwheels were thrown around the concert hall.

In the mid-70's, Santana got very intense into the mystic spirits of the universe. His music changed into that sphere as well, with the Coletranes (John and Alice), Hendrix and Miles becoming his muses. That showed last night with his constant use of Hendrix rifts for color, some Miles like trumpet fills and the cover of Coletrane's "A Love Supreme." During the song. Carlos took time to preach the virtues of light, love and happiness. It was difficult to argue with the message he was bringing, that the media creates fear and distrust in a "collective illusion" You can change yourself, he said, and he was an example.

The show came to a close with "Sunshine of Your Love" and "Soul Sacrifice" was, of course, the finale. The screen showed the famous Woodstock segment of the Santana Band doing their signature four decades previously, along with shots of Santana throughout the years.

Tonight's show was an excellent performance by an experienced showman, He gave the crowd exactly what they wanted, with just enough difference to make it interesting for he and his band to play. It also highlighted the difference between the studio artist and the live performer. While the recorded work is entirely based on the material, the live performance is a combination of what the artist gives and what the audience gives back. This synergy and the surprises that occur are what makes live shows the art form of music, and have been since our ancestors banged two sticks together.

It also explains the apparent ennui that comes out of the speakers when veteran artists like Elton John and Leon Russell. or any Clapton record for the last quarter century. Even the mighty E-Street Band doesn't deliver on the CD spinner. But put Bruce, Carlos and, say, Tower of Power (my next live venture) in front of an appreciative and giving audience and it's a whole other beast.

Santana surprised me last night, pleasantly so. He seems determined to connect his past with today's sound. On a raw Tuesday night in Stockholm, Carlos Santana stoked an inner mounting flame that apparently has never burned out.

It's a Long Way from A/V in High School

2010-10-14T17:45:00.001+02:00

About 18 months ago, I had an opportunity to visit Prague in the Czech Republic. It is a beautiful city that seems to look like the 18th Century, but is as hip and forward thinking as anywhere on the planet. The background music of the city seems to be jazz, and you hear it everywhere, including the elevators.

One of the highlights of the trip was to see the city's landmark, The Astronomical Clock, located in the Old Town of the city. The central portion was completed in 1410. The four figures are set in motion at the hour, with Death (represented by a skeleton) striking the time. On the hour there is a presentation of statues of the Apostles at the doorways above the clock, with all twelve presented at noon. In 1870 a calendar display was added below the clock.You can look up the display on YouTube.

At around noon,by chance, we saw a gathering of a crowd in front of the clock, and about three minutes later, one of the most unforgettable displays of wooden mechanical intricacies was shown to me and my companions. It was one of the most wonderful things I had ever seen.

Until this…take Four months of work, 5000x1200 resolution, 2x Christie 18K HD projectors and Macula gave us this amazing display of video mapping to celebrate the 600th Anniversary of the Astronomical Clock of Prague.

The 600 Years from the macula on Vimeo.

Happy Birthday, Maurice!

2010-10-06T19:31:00.004+02:00

The Space Cowboy, Maurice, The Joker and The Gangster of Love (h/t to Johnny "Guitar" Watson"), Steve Miller is celebrating his 67th Anniversary on Planet Blues & Rock.

One of my all time favorites from the get-go, his bands included players like Boz Scaggs, Ben Sidran, Norton Buffalo, Tim Davis, Lonnie Taylor and Curly Cooke. A very early edition of the band backed Chuck Berry in 1967 at a Fillmore date later released as a live album.

His first five records on Capitol, "Children of the Future", "Sailor", "Brave New World", "Your Saving Grace", and "5", still hold up today. And say what you will, a few billion people seemed to like "The Joker" and "Fly Like an Eagle", as well.

Seemingly retired to Oregon for over three decades, Miller has returned to form with his latest release, "Bingo".

Here's a clip of Miller doing "Space Cowboy" in England, circa 1972.

And to finish off our little birthday tribute, Steve in Chicago, "Just got back from Texas" with string bender, Joe Satriani.

Happy Birthday, Professor Miller.

One Reason Why I Always Liked Tony Curtis

2010-10-01T14:13:00.000+02:00

That and his impeccable diction, rivaled only by Olivier.

Curtis is famous for an apocryphal line, rendered as "Yonda stands da castle of my fodda" or similar. This chestnut used to be quoted in Radio Times whenever the film, "The Black Shield of Falworth", was on BBC television, and found its way into a 2007 study of Tony Curtis's work by Clive James. It clearly derives from American snobbery about Curtis's origins, and has crossed the Atlantic unchecked by film writers.

Curtis has denied ever saying that line, but he did actually say a similar line in the movie, "Son of Ali Baba", released in 1952, that reads, "This is the palace of my father, and yonder lies the Valley of the Sun", and he did deliver it in a markedly New York accent.

He never forgot his roots as Bernard Schwartz from the Bronx, New York.

RIP, Tony.

Tony Curtis - 1925-2010

Missing the Beat

2010-08-13T11:07:00.010+02:00

My brother and I can be polar opposites sometimes. One of the few things we have in common is our liking the band, Little Feat. In fact, my brother thinks that the double live LP, "Waiting for Columbus", may be one of the great albums of all time. At least, I think he does.

I came to Little Feat late, "Feats Don't Fail Me" was the LP that first grabbed me. Once it did, there was no turning back. Little Feat's unique combination of rock, blues, swamp boogie and funk was unique in the rock sound of the 70's. Loved by critics and their fans and, most especially, by other musicians, they could set down a groove unlike any other.

After a hiatus upon the death of founder and front man, Lowell George, the band reformed. While never re-capturing the public's attention and being dropped by their label, Little Feat continues to tour on the rabid fan base that supports their shows and their self produced and promoted music products.

To me, the one player in Little Feat that I always admired was the one who set the groove, drove the engine and kept the beat for the band - the drummer - Richie Hayward.

We fans always talk about the signature sounds of the lead players. For me, Richie Hayward was as a unique sounding drummer as anyone. To the uneducated ears on my head, he seemingly had four arms and hands. Yet, when seeing him live, his playing was visually effortless.

Little Feat co-founder Richie Hayward has died after a long battle with liver disease. He was 64.

Hayward played drums in the seminal band throughout its entire career. In the late 1960s, he played with original Little Feat frontman Lowell George in the band’s precursor The Factory. George and Hayward co-founded Little Feat in 1969 along with Bill Payne and Roy Estrada. They established a distinctive style of improvisational southern rock that mixed elements of blues, rock boogie and funk.

Little Feat went on hiatus in 1978 and officially parted ways a year later after George died of an accidental overdose. Hayward helped reform the band in 1987 and continued to play with the group until last year when health concerns prevented him touring.

Hayward was also an accomplished sideman and played on recordings by such diverse artists as Eric Clapton, Warren Zevon, Travis Tritt, Robert Palmer, Tom Waits, Taj Mahal, Barbra Streisand, John Cale, Buddy Guy, Arlo Guthrie, Carly Simon, Bob Seger and many others. Hayward and Little Feat also collaborated with a new generation of jambands in the ’90s and ’00s, including Jimmy Herring, Bela Fleck, String Cheese Incident, Leftover Salmon and Warren Haynes. The band’s association with Phil Lesh & Friends and cover of Phish’s “Sample in a Jar” also brought an element of improvisation back into the group’s live sound.

His last public performance was a sit in with Little Feat at the Vancouver Island MusicFest on July 11, 2010.

I got to see him in July of 2009 at the Stockholm Jazz Festival. I was taken by his gaunt appearance, yet his drumming was as energetic as I had ever seen him. Here's his playing the night before in Malmo, Sweden.

Modern Drummer Magazine writer, Bob Girouard, said this about Hayward. "A hallmark of Richie Hayward’s style is his feel. The New Orleans influence is all over his playing, especially in the way he approaches shuffles and second-line rhythms. Here are a few of the drummer’s Little Feat highlights:

“Time Loves A Hero” The irresistible intro groove on the version from the classic live album Waiting For Columbus is funky as the dickens, with a pocket a mile wide. Also check out the counter time on the bell of Hayward’s ride, and his left-foot hi-hat work.

“Spanish Moon” A fat 2 and 4 on top matched with a killer kick drum punch. The rhythm defines the song.

“All That You Dream” Hayward rocks the song silly. Snare accents off the straight-four pattern with 8th-note bass drum clusters set up glorious tom fills, which lead to perfectly placed cymbal crashes against the vocals. Ferocious from beginning to end.

“Oh Atlanta” Really, can anybody play a blues shuffle the way Richie does?

“Dixie Chicken” Yet another masterwork. A groove so deep-fried that it practically falls off the edge of the barline. Gumbo that sounds as good as it tastes.

“Let It Roll” An energy unto its own. Hayward creates the perfect tension during the choruses with his snare accents and into the solos with his crash cymbals—then mercilessly drives the track into rock ’n’ roll oblivion."

Steve Gorman, drummer for the Black Crowes said, “There’s only one thing on earth that beats Richie Hayward’s drumming on Little Feat albums, and that’s Richie Hayward’s drumming on stage. He has everything: first and foremost the greatest feel imaginable, and then the chops and musical sensibility to match. Richie is one drummer who continually mystifies me. As I grew as a drummer and learned more about what I was trying to do, the bar he set rose continually too. The more I learned about drumming, the better he got. Lots of folks talk about the great drummers in rock history, but ask other musicians. Ask bassists and guitarists: Richie Hayward is in a class all by himself.”

George Recile, who works with Bob Dylan, probably summed up our feelings about Richie best. He said, “Richie’s approach to the music is pretty much like, This is the last song I’m ever going to play, so he kills it. There’s no doubt in my mind that wherever his journey takes him, he will be in that moment with everything he has. To you, my friend, big love.”

You can add mine, as well. The Heavenly All-Star Band just took it up a notch.

Rest in peace, Richie Hayward.

For an excellent interview with Richie on his playing and career, please point yourselves to "Doug Cox's Roots Review - Talkin' Music". It's in two parts and well worth it. Thanks also to Jambands.com for the bio.

From the high water years of the Lowell George Little Feat.

The Ten Commandments

2010-08-11T14:25:00.000+02:00

I am not a musician, but I have witnessed a fair amount of performances by bands of every genre and level of competence. The following listing is not only important for players and band members, but is also a nice check list for we audience members.

Ever wonder why you like some bands and not others or why the playing was excellent but the experience was less than expected? The answer may lie within these commandments unearthed by me from a blog called "Phillyblues.com".

Written in 2009, they are so good, the blog has never written another word...or so it seems.

Here they are:

Ten ways to keep it real...

1.
The Stevie Ray Vaughn Clause.
The blues calendar did not start with the birth of Stevie Ray Vaughn. Everyone appreciates SRV for what he did to help get blues out to a larger audience. You, however, are not SRV. Do not attempt to conjure him in any form, be it clothing, guitar straps, your playing style or your bad lyrics. The man is dead, let us all respect his memory and endeavor not to urinate on his grave by our poor interpretations of him. Playing his songs is one thing, trying to be him is, well...disturbing and never successful.

2.
Ego has it's place and it's not in the band.
Ego - for lack of a better word - is good; It's what gives an artist his/her individuality. And there is nothing wrong with laying claim to your skills when you actually have some. However, in a band setting when you have to work - together - with other people for the explicit purpose of creating a musical landscape, your ego does nothing but ruin the experience for everyone else. If you drive 200 miles to a gig in a van (or your cars) and load and unload your own gear, you should think twice about your greatness.

3.
More volume does not translate into more awesomeness.
"But I can't get the tone I want if it's not loud". Yes, and the audience can't find the door fast enough either. It's ok musicians are deaf, but they need to remember they are not playing in an arena; it's usually a small venue holding a couple hundred folks who value the fact they can still hear. If you are unlucky enough to have to suffer dealing with a soundman - who almost always suck and are, you guessed it...too loud, all that can be said is; "tell them what you want, not what they want" and hopefully, you'll get 10% of what you asked for.

4.
The club is not your garage and they don't care about you.
Yes, the club has hired you to entertain and makes the assumption you will all be professional about it. This means you show up on time, play music that the crowd may actually enjoy and generally try to keep an atmosphere alive that is conducive to drinking and picking up chicks. This makes the bar money and usually assures you a return visit. It's not always easy to do when you are stuck next to a pool table and the t.v. above your head isn't even turned off for the show. Don't get confused and think they actually care about you and don't lose sight of the fact you are being paid to endure this, so suck it up. And one other thing: You've spent years learning your instrument, so why do you embarrass yourself with your ten minute, pre-show, solo warmup? You are masturbating and everyone can see it.

5.
Your clothing won't make you a better musician.
Like it or not, clothing can be an important part of live performance but some basic principles apply: Shorts are out. There is no situation, no matter how hot or steamy that warrants wearing shorts to a gig,,unless you are the drummer. Never confuse being 'cool' with looking 'cool'. Bright suits with padded shoulders and wingtips more often than not means your frontman is an idiot with more ego than talent. Learn your craft, dress reasonably nice for shows and the music will do the rest.

6.
Less is more.
If you are confused by this statement, you need to get in the weeds and listen to some of the guys you keep playing every night. Good music requrires every member of a band to know his/her part and play it sparingly within the context of the overall arrangement - at least until it's 'lead' time and then all bets are off. If there is a general rule that separates the men from the boys, this is the one.

7.
Be original.
Playing the rhythm section of any number of Willie Dixon or Muddy Waters tunes and putting your own, lame lyrics over them is NOT original music. It's not even a good effort. Way too many bands put out music that is an exact duplication of some dead guys songs and call it original. This annoying habit is further promulgated by the industry reviewers that usually don't play insturments themselves and think plaigarism is cool. The blues is a suprisingly flexible style of music and offers the artist a broad pallete to be 'unique'. Please do so.

8.
Dynamics, Pocket and Tension & Release are not scientific theories, they are essential parts of 'good' music.
If you don't know what these terms are, google them. If you still don't know what they are after you've read up on them, you have no business being a musician. Music is a conversation we have with an audience we may or may not know. Think about how you talk, argue, lament and discuss things with real people: how your eyebrows move, your hands gesture and how your voice goes up and down to emphasis a point. If you feel you are incapable of utilizing these practices, it may be time to consider a Jimmy Buffet tribute band.

9.
The ability to play the guitar well does not mean you can also sing.
Some musicians think they can't get famous without naming a band after themselves and judging by the way publications and even blues societies tend to value the soloist over the group, there may be some truth to that. However, the ability to play does not always translate to the ability to sing. Many great arrangements have been descimated by some egotist that can't hold pitch or phrase a lyric to save their life because they named the band after themselves and feel obligated to now ruin your experience for the betterment of their career. The voice is an instrument and is every bit as important as all the other ones in the band. If you are curious why someone would allow their music to suffer because they insist on singing, refer to point #2 .

10.
Practice and listen to those that do it a lot better than you.
The blues greats didn't get that way all by themselves, they listened to other players and musical styles. They practiced their art and then shared it with others. Have respect for your music; take it seriously, pratice, listen to what other cats are doing and have fun. If you do that, the audience will respond and you'll really enjoy yourself. That's keepin' it real.

Even the best musician is likely to violate one of these musical rules on a given night, however if you violate more than three, you are being a troll.

The blues is the greatest music in the world. This has been an effort to make sure it stays that way.

2010-08-05T12:31:00.002+02:00

We talk about songs that we love but would never remember to mention when someone says, "What kind of music do you like?"

Sunny is just such a song.

"Sunny" has been recorded by, among others, Cher, Boney M, Georgie Fame, Johnny Rivers, Stevie Wonder, Frank Sinatra with Duke Ellington, Ella Fitzgerald, the Electric Flag, The Four Seasons, two different versions from Frankie Valli, the Four Tops, James Brown, Wilson Pickett, Les McCann, Wes Montgomery, Dusty Springfield, and Classics IV.

The composer and singer of "Sunny", Bobby Hebb has passed away.

Hebb played with everyone from Roy Acuff to Bo Diddley and shared the bill with The Beatles in 1966.

Bobby Hebb - Sunny

Fred Wesley Throws a House Party

2010-06-12T19:54:00.003+02:00

At the 2010 Stockholm Jazz Festival-June 11, 2010

They say, that behind every dark cloud lies a silver lining.

Saturday was a miserable day. One of those days where you think that the calendar saying June means nothing to Nature. It rained and blew all day, and the idea of going outside to stand at the Stockholm Jazz Festival was not exactly appealing.

Eva, however, had to work the Fasching booth at the show that night. Fasching is the oldest jazz club in Stockholm, and they are a sponsor of the Festival. With Eva going, it would be difficult for me to come up with an excuse good enough to beg out.

In addition to the weather, Stockholm is getting ready for a Royal Wedding. Getting around downtown is not the easiest thing to do. We walk a lot in Stockholm, so we walked a lot tonight.

We arrived at the event, and while Eva went to her post, I gathered my entry pass and met her at the booth a few minutes later.

Eva was talking to a man, who was introduced to me as Nils Landgren. Nils is a Swedish musician, plays the trombone and has been playing in big bands and funk combos all over the globe. I asked him if he was playing tonight, which showed my ignorance of the festival line-up.

Without showing his disdain for me one iota, he said yes, he would be going on before Kool & the Gang with his group, the Funk Unit. I politely said I would be looking forward to seeing him perform. "I'm a sucker for a horn band," I told him. That wasn't a lie. "Yeah," he said, "I'll be playing with Fred Wesley. He's a friend of mine."

Picking my jaw up from the ground, I sputtered, "THE Fred Wesley!!!" OMG, I can't believe it!"

Fred Wesley, if I can take a moment, is a legend in popular music. I'm not sure if there is any one inventor of the musical genre known as funk, but if there is, it probably is Fred Wesley. Some might argue and say it is James Brown, but it was Fred Wesley in the band behind James Brown. Fred Wesley is the guy who James Brown always used as straight man in his spoken parts on record. "Hey! Fred!" he would say. And Fred, at the exact moment, would take the band down to "D…Dirty D."

During the 1960s and 1970s he was a pivotal member of James Brown's bands, playing on many hit recordings including "Say it Loud - I'm Black and I'm Proud", "Mother Popcorn" and co-writing tunes such as "Hot Pants". His slippery riffs and strong, precise solos, complemented those of saxophonist Maceo Parker, gave Brown's R&B, soul, and funk tunes their instrumental punch.In addition to backing Brown, the J.B.'s, which included other former Brown sidemen including Parker and St. Clair Pinckney recorded on their own, sometimes with Brown performing on organ or synthesizer. Their albums were generally a mixture of heavy funk tracks and some jazz cuts. They scored a number of chart hits like "Pass the Peas," "Gimme Some More," and their #1 R&B hit, "Doing It to Death". Credited to "Fred Wesley & the J.B.'s", "Doing It to Death" sold over one million copies. Like most of James Brown's music, the J.B.'s recorded output has been heavily mined for samples by hip hop DJs and record producers.

And here I was, about to see the living legend of funk, Fred Wesley, play with a collection of Swedish funksters led by a another 'bone player, who probably had sucked in every rift that Fred had played through the speakers of his sound system.

The Funk Unit did not disappoint. In fact, to this first time listener, they were a welcome surprise. They started right in, and when you see band members smiling at each other halfway through the first song, you can be pretty sure you're going to be in for a good night. These Swedes, minus Nils, are young enough to be Fred's grandchildren, but old enough to deliver the funk with the chops necessary to make booties get up and move. Having never seen the group before, I had no way of knowing if they were just up for their meeting with Fred, or this is who they are, but whatever the reason, they were tight and they were very good.

Finally, the man was introduced and Fred Wesley walked into the spotlight. Carrying a trombone almost as tall as he, this short, rotund man dressed in a gray suit and pressed white shirt, open at the neck, took a bow, and the lesson began.Fred put the horn to his lips and out came, "House Party."

Fred led the Funk Unit through "House Party," "Pass the Peas," ("Like we used to do," he added.) and "Funky Good Time." In addition he played along side for some of Landgren's compositions. He was the Master, and all eyes of the band members were on him. He cajoled and urged the band, and each member responded in kind. During Funky Good Time, he even took the Funk Unit down to "D…Dirty D."

In the encore, Nils urged the crowd to chant, "FRED-FRED-FRED!" When Fred came out, he asked, "Who's your Daddy?"

There was no need to answer.

Bottom Drops from Isley Brothers

2010-06-09T20:10:00.001+02:00

"Another precious stone has been removed from our legendary musical building block," his friend Bootsy Collins told Rolling Stone. "He's part of the American soul foundation."

Musician Marvin Isley passed away on Sunday. He was 56 years old. The youngest member of the band the Isley Brothers, Marvin joined the group in 1973 and played bass with his siblings before retiring in 1996.

The first time the family group, which had consisted of founding members O'Kelly Isley, Jr., Rudolph Isley and Ronald Isley, included six members instead of the standard three, was in 1973. Featuring younger brothers Ernie and Marvin and brother-in-law Chris Jasper, they became known to fans as 3 + 3 and charted gold and platinum success with albums such as "3 + 3", "The Heat Is On", "Go For Your Guns" and "Between the Sheets", while charting a succession of hit singles such as "That Lady", "Fight the Power", "For the Love of You", "Don't Say Goodnight (It's Time For Love)" and "Between the Sheets", between 1973 and 1983.

While the talk is always about the scorching guitar of his brother, Ernie, it was Marvin who provided the bottom that made the bottoms move in the funk-fueled 70's.

Like "Fight the Power" from the Platinum seller, "3+3", co-written by Marvin.

Marvin no longer fights, but now has joined, a higher power. R.I.P.

R.I.P. , Shooter

2010-05-29T21:50:00.002+02:00

Multi-talented and unconventional actor/director regarded by many as one of the true "enfant terribles" of Hollywood who has led an amazing cinematic career for more than five decades, Dennis Hopper is the man who said, "I am just a middle-class farm boy from Dodge City and my grandparents were wheat farmers. I thought painting, acting, directing and photography was all part of being an artist. I have made my money that way. And I have had some fun. It's not been a bad life." Dennis Hopper, artist, died today after a long fight with cancer.

Hopper, who was as contraversial as he was contradictory, was never pigeon holed in his acting career. He played all the characters of his generation who lived on the fringe of life, love and, sometimes, reality with such honesty that you would swear that he had lived that way himself. In many ways, he had.

Known as a counter culture icon, Hopper once said, "I've been a Republican since Reagan. I voted for Bush and his father. I don't tell a lot of people, because I live in a city where somebody who voted for Bush is really an outcast...I was the first person in my family to have been Republican. For most of my life, I wasn't on the Left."

His friendships were a who's who of artists in film, stage, TV, painting and photography.

Dennis Hopper died today at the age of 74.

Hard Boiled Birthday.

2010-05-27T12:40:00.002+02:00

He gave us Sam Spade, Nick, Nora and Asta and his books, "The Maltese Falcon", "The Thin Man" and "The Dain Curse" created a whole new fiction called the detective novel.

Wikipedia says, "In addition to the significant influence his novels and stories had on film, Hammett 'is now widely regarded as one of the finest mystery writers of all time' and was called, in his obituary in The New York Times, 'the dean of the... 'hard-boiled' school of detective fiction'." And he only wrote five books.

"The Maltese Falcon" went into seven printings in its first year. In the 1941 movie version Humphrey Bogart played a reluctant, yet idealistic detective who epitomized the “hard boiled” hero, now a standard character from "Bullit" to "Rockford".

Happy Birthday to Dashiel Hammett.

2010-05-25T17:06:00.001+02:00

Happy Birthday, Bob!

Has anyone changed facade as much as this man?

Has anyone influenced modern pop music as much as he?

Before Jackie, There was...Lena Horne

2010-05-10T15:17:00.001+02:00

Before Jackie Robinson opened the door for people of color to be grudgingly accepted into America's sports culture, Lena Horne opened America's white movie theaters, night clubs and living rooms to black female entertainers.

A lot of it was based on her "safe" looks, but she could back the looks up with a deep wealth of talent. Sexy, soulful and fiercely intelligent, her contributions to American culture will be long remembered and her presence will be missed.

According to her Kennedy Center bio, "During World War II, when entertaining the troops for the USO, she refused to perform "for segregated audiences or for groups in which German POWs were seated in front of African American servicemen. " If she hadn't been blackballed (pun unnecessary) for her progressive political views and unable to get work in Hollywood, what kind of star could she have been?

She now truly resides in The Cabin In The Sky.

Thanks to Basil Nelson for the video.

Still Raining, Still Dreaming - Still Hip

2010-04-28T10:48:00.003+02:00

"Rainy Day, Dream Away" b/w "Still Raining, Still Dreaming" is my favorite moment on my favorite Jimi Hendrix album. Tucked away in the credits is a guy, Mike Finnigan, playing the B3 on this cut.

Here, Mike and Buddy Miles talk about the session that ended up on Hendrix's third and last studio LP, "Electric Ladyland."

The album, "Finnigan and Woods- Crazed Hipsters" is, coincidentally, also a very favorite album which, in a long career of listening, seems like an extraordinary thing to say. Especially after not hearing a note of it in at least twenty years, and seemingly not being able to find a copy anywhere. I just remember I played it a lot once, but moves and divorce allow things that you once loved to get lost.

So, after some recent research, I found that Mike has, indeed, begun re-selling his catalog at Mike Finnigan. And unlike some things in my life, it is still like I remembered it. Sometimes, you can go back home.

Thanks to "Crooks and Liars" for the clip.

The Real Diplomacy

2010-04-11T17:39:00.003+02:00

...just let 'em rock....

Tuareg musician Bambino from Agadez, Niger performs with his band at the foot of the ancient Grande Mosque

Herb Ellis - Swingin' on the Pearly Gates

2010-04-01T15:30:00.000+02:00

Man, it seems like we're seeing too many obits of musical stalwarts -

Mainstay of the Oscar Peterson Groups and guitar virtuoso, Herb Ellis.

Rest in Peace.

Jim Marshall/ Photographer - R.I.P

2010-03-27T14:41:00.000+01:00

If Jim Marshall had never taken another R&R photograph, then the cover of The Allman Brothers "Live at the Fillmore East" would have made him remembered. He also did the one with Jimi burning his guitar at Monterey, the only picture of Janis and Grace together and, oh yeah, Johnny Cash brandishing the finger at Folsom Prison.

It's always sad when great talent leaves us.

He took this photo 40 years ago on today's date, March 27, 1970.

"My New Favorite Guitar Player"

2010-03-20T15:23:00.002+01:00

So says Samm Bennet on Metafilter.

Have to say, mine, too. This is some original fretwork.

Here's Ronnie of Botswana.

Take my Jokes....please!

2010-03-16T13:29:00.004+01:00

Today is Henny Youngman's 104th birthday.

He was my grandmother's favorite comedian and my mom loved him, as well. When he came on The Ed Sullivan Show, it was always a "sssshh!" moment while he did his bit.

It wasn't until he was waayy past his prime that I grew to appreciate his delivery and timing.

Here is Henny with Milton Berle, two comedy legends re-enacting the classic heckler routine that was commonly used in vaudeville. Younger generations may recognize the Muppets using this.

Used by Scorsese in "Goodfellas" to sum up a night at the Copa, Henny Youngman was a classic. Every comic today pays homage to this comedy genius. Would there be anything called stand-up comedy today if it wasn't for him? He wrote the manual.

Nobody like him before. Nobody like him since.

Happy Birthday, Henny.

Is the Album Format Going to the Dickens?

2010-02-15T11:32:00.005+01:00

In all the chatter about how the music business is going to be in the future, it occurred to me something is being lost in this conversation.

The thought was that the music consumer has turned to cherry picking his music because the music companies continue to release long playing albums with few quality songs and a lot of substandard filler.

It seems, that in today's landscape, the ability for an artist to say enough on any subject to produce an album like Sgt. Pepper's, Tommy or Dark Side of the Moon doesn't seem likely. In just the last decade, society has reduced all its conversation on any subject to soundbites on video or messages of not even 140 words, but 140 characters.

It would be difficult for any artist to try to distill his thoughts and feelings on the topic of how mental illness and the pressure of creating art for the masses, reduced a person into someone different than the person he/she once knew into just three minutes.

Interestingly, that story, outlined over the 43 minutes and 10 songs of Dark Side of the Moon, was such an aural experience, that not only did the album sell well upon it's release, but has continued selling for, literally, decades. Dark Side of the Moon's combination of inspiration, musical talent and production expertise is singular in the history of recorded music. There are others that can be argued the equal DSOTM in importance but none exceeds the standard set by that effort.

Even on a secondary level, the long playing album that achieves extraordinary success in popularity, like Frampton Comes Alive, Thriller, Saturday Night Fever, or once again, Pink Floyd with The Wall, seems to be a format that can not be achieved anymore.

There are other albums, which we can all conger up in our mind's ears, that have not achieved anything near multi-platinum status. Yet, somehow, when played, are thought of by the listener as genius. Those albums also seem to be things of the past. It would seem, given the problems in the music business, that no one is reaching that level of excellence any more.

To say that would be too broad a brush to use on music's future. There will always be artists out there spilling their guts over something that causes them to write enough songs for a cohesive album. Songs that can be looked upon as the equal of any of the above music. If one didn't believe that, then music would not be the artistic outlet it has been for people since they began using musical expression.

The problem, it seems, is that even if there was a new Roger Waters or Woody Guthrie out there, somewhere, writing inspired masterpiece after masterpiece, how are they to be heard? How would the cohesive story of Tommy, the deaf dumb and blind kid, ever be told, listened to and discussed among fans and, importantly, supported, if albums are subjugated to the cannibalism of iTunes, Rhapsody or Spotify?

My big question is how would the album ever becomes the collective unifying source again? How would Dark Side ever become the icon it occupies now in today's fractured delivery models? How would it be heard by enough people?

In other words, how could an album like Dark Side of the Moon or Hotel California go viral?

Could the music listener of today's Twittering society have the patience to sit down and allow the message to be delivered over a forty minute span? And if not, then how will the artist be able to deliver a lifetime of thought and belief in a 140 character message or a three minute song?

Perhaps the answer lies somewhere in between. Charles Dickens is considered to be one of the most popular novelists in the history of the English language. Yet, initially, much of his work was serialized in newspapers. From Wikipedia:

"Much of (Dickens')

work first appeared in periodicals and magazines in serialized form, a popular way of publishing fiction at the time. Other writers would complete entire novels before serial publication commenced, but Dickens often wrote his in parts, in the order they were meant to appear. The practice lent his stories a particular rhythm, punctuated by one "cliffhanger" after another, to keep the public eager for the next installment."

Perhaps the future of the long playing album is in the literary past. With the, apparently, short attention span of the music listener, maybe what today's artist should strive for is creating songs that are released over a period of time. It would be a way to keep in front of the dedicated fan, and allow the new fan to jump into the parade at any juncture, and then, if interested, go back to catch up. Think of the interest that could be generated within the fan base waiting for the next installment.

An old thing becomes new if you detach it from what usually surrounds it. Maybe the "serialized" LP's time has come.

I Can Say No More!

2010-02-07T14:57:00.003+01:00

How much do Eric Clapton and Mark Knopfler owe THIS guy!

Pay attention to how a rock steady drummer can keep it all together.

J.J. Cale, his band and a Tulsa roadhouse...

Same song on Jools Holland's great show....

...and, in my mind, the best cover

We Need a Rock and Soul Revue

2010-01-04T14:17:00.004+01:00

The week between Christmas and New Year's, Swedish TV broadcast the R&R Hall of Fame Concert from Madison Square Garden.

The bad news was it took until the end of the year to see it. The good news was that I did see it, blissfully without commercial interruption. It's a nice little perk that the dirty socialist taxes pay for over here. Yes, Martha, there is a tax on your TV set. However, we're not paying $100 a month for cable, so it's really just semantics, isn't it?

Anyway, back to the show. I came upon the telecast a bit late, and missed everything prior to Bono introducing Bruce Springsteen and Patti Smith doing "Because the Night."

But the segment that brought the smile to my face was the E-Street Band segment. As has been the case for nearly three decades, no one closes a Springsteen show, and the HOF show was no different.

Watching Springsteen lead the E-Street Band while introducing such soul shouters like Sam Moore, Darlene Love, Creedence legend, John Fogerty, and then the meeting across the river with Long Island's Billy Joel, it seemed so natural for him. The core of the band has cut its professional teeth doing covers of R&B and Rock songs up and down the Jersey Shore, and for the 15 or 20 minutes of their segment, they turned The Garden into a beach dive where the band's main purpose is keeping the house dancing to keep the drinks flowing.

Watching Steve Van Zandt handle another Steve's rifts behind Sam Moore's songs showed that, back in the day, wanting to be the Beatles might have got the groove started. However, knowing Booker T & The MG's paid the bills.

Springsteen is on hiatus after nearly a two year long tour. The E-Street Band is at it's zenith as a band, and this writer is convinced that they can handle any music idiom that guitars, keyboards and drums can be utilized.

In the past, Springsteen has left the group and gone to try other sounds, most recently his Americana jaunt with the Sessions Band. I have always hoped that Bruce would re-visit his British Blues era, but the HOF show has changed my mind.

With the band he has, along with his fame and charisma, he should now revive a live musical experience that had reached it's peak in the early 60's but has only popped its head up a few times in the last generation. I think that Springsteen is the only performer that could attract the talent to make it work.

Bruce Springsteen should go out on the road with the "The Bruce Springsteen Rock and Soul Revue featuring the E-Street Band."

Tighter and more structured than the Rolling Thunder Revue, not as tight as the James Brown Show (which is not possible, anyway), this show would be augmented by a revolving cast of performers as it barnstormed across the land. Think about it. Every major city in the US has a line up of legendary musicians and artists. I don't have to list the possibilities that cities like New York, Chicago, Detroit, Los Angeles, Philadelphia or New Orleans could generate. Just stop and think of any possible line up, if you could keep it to one. They could play for a week at a time, instead of one off shows. All being backed up by the E-Street Band in skinny ties, white shirts and luminescent shark skin suits. It would be historic. It would be educational. It would boost careers and cement legends. Above all, it would be a hoot.

It is now time for the "The Bruce Springsteen Rock and Soul Revue featuring the E-Street Band."

I'm Gonna Miss Ya, Soupy

2009-10-26T01:15:00.004+01:00

Soupy Sales
January 8, 1926 – October 22, 2009

I think I may be the last one to write about the passing of Soupy Sales. I had wanted to post my thoughts as soon as I heard the sad news, but you know how things go.

I have read a lot of the comments on Soupy, and I have also learned a lot about the guy I didn't know beforehand. Like he was born in South Carolina, which explains that smooth accent so unlike the one that I grew up on.

Of course, I watched Sonny Fox and his "Wonderama" and, then, "The Soupy Sales Show" on WNEW Channel 5. WNEW never seemed as clear as the the other NY TV channels. 2, 4, 7, even WPIX 11 were all much clearer. Channel 11 because of the Yankees, maybe. But 5, WOR 9 and WNET13 always seemed underpowered.

In 1964, Sales began his run on NY TV and I was 15 years old. The Beatles had changed teenage America, and I was awakening to all things adult in music, movies and humor, especially humor. I could tell when ad libs in comedy sketches happened, and understood what the double entendres were getting at. And Soupy, covering up his wit with silliness, taught me much.

When the knock on the door rapped, he gave you that look of "I wonder who that could be?" Both us knew, in that same look, that it was the set up cue for a bit. Soupy Sales taught me show business, while at the same time he taught me irrelevant hipness. Not that I have any claim to being hip. I can't describe "what is hip?" But, like pornography, I know it when I see it, thanks to the Soupy Sales Show. Would the "Gong Show" happened without the groundwork of Soupy Sales?

I'm sure it's been said, but I haven't read anything about Sales' other career in TV, that of a game show panelist. Sales was a college graduate and it showed on "What's My Line" and "The $25,000 Pyramid". I always liked those shows more when Soupy played, because, like Tony Randall, not only was he a good player, but he always came across as a genuinely nice guy, especially with the contestants. You could see them relax and get into the game with Soupy. It seems silly to be talking about getting "into" game shows, but some celebrities, like Soupy Sales and Randall, did. He never looked like he was there for the paycheck, not that he didn't make sure he collected one.

I can remember looking at the back of the "Runt" LP and seeing the Hunt Brothers playing with Todd Rundgren. I'm not sure what gave Hunt and Tony more credibility, playing with Todd, or having Soupy as their dad.

Though many my age may think of the Firesign Theater's Nick Danger when they think of Sam Spade parodies, I always think of Philo Kvetch. I never learned to be a ventriloquist, but I could do a pretty fair White Fang and Black Tooth.

Yeah, like the old saying, you don't know how much you miss a guy until he's gone. I would have liked to have had the opportunity to have met Soup. I would have told him how much I liked his stuff and how much pleasure he gave me and….

I think he would have stopped me right there and said, "Cool it, Eli!"

The Dogs Were Barking in My Backyard

2009-10-19T22:41:00.011+02:00

It's not often that a father hears from his son that the father has to see someone who has changed the son's life.

When you hear those words, you hope it will be some philosopher or humanitarian that is making the world a better place. When Street Dogs was the name Matt gave when I asked who was this life changing influence, well , I will admit, I was a little deflated.

It's my own fault, I reckon. After all, both my sons were raised on a steady diet of rock 'n' roll. So, like any dutiful father, here I was, about a first down away from the stage, ready to hear the band that, along with fellow Beantowners, The Dropkick Murphys, had changed my son's life.

It's cold and damp this night, a precursor to what Stockholm has in store for itself over the next five months. Because of this kind of weather (and bad TV), Stockholm has a vibrant club scene. In fact, right after this show, this club, the Göta Källare, will kick us out and reopen as a trendy dance club until closing time. Luckily, I live close enough to the club to crawl home, if I have to.

Surprisingly, the club is pretty nice on the inside, for a club with an entrance on one side of the T-bana (subway) entrance. You enter into a dark, narrow hall, which leads into a larger space containing a second bar, lounge area and coat check.

Check your coat (it's free and secure), go down another flight of curving stairs and you'll finally land on the bottom floor. As you turn left, you're in a small lounge area where now, the bands' merch has set up in spaces where two booths would be. Keep moving ahead and you enter the main hall. Long bar on the left, Living room couches haphazardly set up in the area in front of the bar. Good size stage with dance floor. Mandatory disco ball, as remember, they'll be entertaining the beautiful people after sweeping us out.

I look around for a good spot to set up base camp, and pick a spot on a large pedestal that looks like the ones that hold up mannequins in department stores. Good sight lines, I can sit and be out of the way of Sweden's nocturnal wild life. The one drawback is that I am about five steps from the "smoking room". You frequent fliers might recall those glass enclosed rooms in airports. This one, however, is about the size of a closet, and billows of nicotine come wafting out each time the door is opened, which is often.

I can tell there is something special in store for me tonight. As I was entering the venue, the guy next to me was wearing a Social Distortion T-shirt. Matt and Jessica will be seeing Social D in Atlantic City this same night and I tell the guy so. He seems so flabbergasted, either because A) I am at this show , or B) I know who Social D is. Whatever the reason, he becomes my pal for awhile, talking music, Australian Rules football and he insists on buying me a drink. We never do exchange names, and eventually he drifts away to go play with people his own age. I spot him later taking a header off the stage.

Act I

The opening act is a local Stockholm band known as Tysta Mari, which is Swedish for "Quiet Mary" This is the name of a café on the East side of the city, which means it's a sort of a social comment on the trendy class that lives in that area. Swedes would call it a "posh" area. It also is a a pun because the boys are anything but…as well as quiet.

Our band is a five piece (2 gtrs, keyboard, bass and drums) What they lack in diversity of material, (think thump thump, yell yell, strum strum) they make up for in enthusiasm and swagger. A one line review would be something like, "...energetic boys do Punk 101 over and over to a 4/4 beat."

They could have used some guitar breaks, as even the Pistols did that. They can say, however, that they opened for the Street Dogs.

Strains of Nancy Sinatra's "Boots are made..." come amplified out of the PA, which is a signal that Civet is about to begin...

Act II

Nancy fades down and a female voice says, "What's up, Stockholm! - We're Civet from LA, California, and this one's called , "Alibi!" And this self-described "femme fatale punk rock band" begins to play, fast and hard, just the way they like it. The LA Weekly raves, "This fang-baring foursome clearly have no time for indulgent genre-gilding, bearing down instead with a large-caliber brat-a-tat-tat aggression that shreds any musical bull's-eye they draw a bead on."

They play a little longer then the Tysta Mari, but they are light years ahead in ability and song craft. These girls can play in their hard core way. The drummer, Roxie Darling, bangs away with her oversize Bun E. Carlos sticks. Hard core bands like Civet work only when they have drummers that can keep driving the engine- and Roxie Darling can and did-non stop-no miss. For the life of me, though, I have no idea what kept the corset part of her dress up.

Civet loves to play, that's plain to see. There's a sisterly connection, not just because they are all women. The sisters, Ms Liza Graves on vocals and guitar and Suzi Homewrecker on guitar started this band along with bassist Jacqui Valentine. There are smiles and inside jokes and all the grrls are good looking in that LA trashy look that guys might dream about, but if you ever fell for, you'd end up rode hard and discarded. Tonight, for the grrls, it was just self pleasuring satisfaction. They never really connected with the crowd, who for the most part were just observing the band. There was the perfunctory urging the crowd to get going, but when a band doesn't work for it, they're not going to get much more than lip service.

All and all, Civet is very entertaining, perfect for your next company function. They could definitely motivate the sales force. They need to learn to connect with the audience better. Maturity and experience will teach them to bring the "A" game every night. I give them two pretty good thumbs up, and will be interested to see what, if any, coaching that Rancid frontman and Hellcat (their label) founder Tim Armstrong will do for them.

Act III

Audience relationship is something the Street Dogs have no problem with. With the Ramones, "Blitzkrieg Bop" segueing into Irish penny whistles, the Boys from Boston hit the stage. Their impact was immediate and sincere. They throw a party, and landlord be damned. They lead, cajole, order, and play for their audience all night long.

By the end of the night, there was non stop stage diving, crowd surfing, women fainting and pogo dancing. They don't call it a pit any more, it's a circle, The results are the same. Enter at your own risk!

Stage m.c. roles are shared by lead singer Mike McColgan and bassist, Johnny Rioux. Mike can get a little excited, it seems, as he climbed up onto the rigging a couple of times. That's show business, I guess. You know, when the music moves ya... The bottom is ably supplied by Rioux, drummer Paul Rucker and rhythm guitar Tobe Bean III . Lead guitar is handled by Marcus Hollar. His playing is highlighted by the use of feedback that adds an originality to the sound of this working class band. They definitely got the Viking blood stirring this night. Figuratively, luckily.

It's non-stop , controlled anarchy that the band feeds off. They stir it up and back it up then some. Because tonight, once it started, it did not stop. The stage diving looked like the high dive at the municipal pool. There was a woman's division, as well. Scoring was optional. The women's division was divided into the face front or back stroke division. It was all dependent upon the degree of faceless groping the women were willing to tolerate.

Unlike our girls from California, the East Coasters worked the crowd like a politician at a 4th of July picnic. If there were babies, they would have kissed them,,,wait a minute…I just remembered. Mike did kiss a few of the babes that were preparing to launch themselves into waiting hands of the, by now, screaming, singing and delirious circle.

If there was a message that the Street Dogs were sending, it is that we are all getting walked on by the haves of the world, and we gotta recognize it and not take it anymore. We deserve better. But, unlike Howard Beale, the Street Dogs say we can get right on it after the party tonight.

Right on time, with security checking their watches, the Dogs ended their encore with the guitar on looping feedback and Mike crowd surfing back to the T-shirt area to meet and greet. On the way out, I bumped into drummer Paul Rucker. I told him he and the band did a good job and as an anecdote that my son had seen the Dogs last summer at the Asbury Lanes. "Great place," Rucker said. "As a matter of fact," he continued, "I just found a drink token from there in a pocket. Wasted that one," he lamented. My kind of guy.

So, did the Street Dogs change MY life? Uhhh….no. But they did rekindle the ember in me that rock 'n' roll ain't nuthin but a house party. And for that, Matt, thanks for the tip.

The Best Parts of a Person's Life

2009-10-07T01:22:00.011+02:00

In the early 1980's, I was a salesman for CBS Records out of the Seattle Branch. This was during the zenith of the music biz decadence, when expense reports were never scrutinized and sending 50 lbs. of promotional material by FedEx was almost a daily occurrence.

Artists of all kinds came through our offices, but they were mostly breaking artists or the B listers on radio or retail meet and greets. The A listers would never visit the Branch Office. We had to meet them downtown in the hotel or at the venue, if they were agreeable. We, the Branch personnel, always wanted the opportunity to get radio PD's or retail buyers to meet their musical heroes.

The rule of thumb was that the bigger they were, the lesser the chance to have any face to face time. In the early 80's, Journey was one of the biggest. But there was one aspect of the Journey management that set them apart from many of the other multi platinum groups, They went out of their way to be courteous and welcoming to the radio and retail people.

In 1983, the Rolling Stone Record Guide gave each of the band's albums only one star, with Dave Marsh writing that "Journey was a dead end for San Francisco area rock." Marsh later would anoint Escape as one of the worst number-one albums of all time. Escape has sold over nine million units. One might say that this was a rejection of the elitist attitude of RS at this time. Marsh, was at this time, completely in the tank for Springsteen. However, my contention is that a lot of the success of Journey was due to their conscious effort to work the troops in radio and retail. Needed a window display? You got it. Please buy an extra 100 units so I can make my quota. OK, give me the Journey catalog. Journey wants to do a contest with your station, but you need to add the 5th single. Is heavy rotation OK?

Like I said earlier, I have met a lot of musical heroes, and there is no doubt that the memories for me lasted a lot longer then they did for the artist. One of my favorites was the late Peter Bardens. He was on tour with Camel. At some record cocktail party, he was obviously uncomfortable. He accepted my invitation to come back to my house, where he enjoyed a home cooked meal and conversation on a variety of topics. He was a wonderful and erudite guest.

But the reason for this rambling, was a most memorable kindness that an artist did for me. It is one of my favorite memories from what, for the most part, was a callous "what have you done for me lately" business. It had to do with the aforementioned Journey and my kids.

"The little unremembered acts of kindness and love are the best parts of a person's life.
William Wordsworth

At the Branch Office the day of the show, the Tour Manager for Journey, arrived with a fist full of backstage passes and a "is there anything else you need" attitude. Upon his leaving, he invited us to the sound check, where we could meet the group in an informal atmosphere. I decided to go and because it was in the afternoon, brought my boys.

An unusual but commendable aspect of Journey at this time was their Tour Crew. They were thorough and they were tight. There was no sloppiness or panic that I could see. Backstage, everything ran like clockwork.

My boys had been exposed to the music business all of their short lives. Because of their ages (7 and 5), they didn't get to see the shows at night. We arrived at the arena's back doors and were met by Journey's Road Manager. He went right up to both my sons and asked them their names. After their shy responses, he said, "Boy, am I glad to see you two guys. We need some help. Would you like to help us?" After looking to their father to see if this was alright, they agreed. "Good!" the manager replied, "Follow me." He then proceeded to bring them back stage, where he took their photos with a Polaroid and adhered them to a laminated crew ID and hung them around their necks.

Now, "officially" part of the Journey Road Crew, they were introduced to all the crew members as the two "new guys" and were greeted like part of the gang by each person they met. With every handshake or high five they grew a little more comfortable and proud with their new found celebrity. They must have wore those laminates every day for a long while. They may have slept with them on, as well.

I still have those badges. With their grinning little boy faces frozen in time. For the rest of my days, they will always be part of Journey's road crew.

These days it seems that all our heroes have feet of clay. They seem to think the accolades and cheers are their presumed right. They treat the people who give them their privileges as a nuisance.

It's nice to be pleasantly surprised. And this small courtesy, is a father's warm memory still, after 25 years.

Chickens or Eggs?

2009-09-23T14:53:00.009+02:00

I was reading over at hypebot about a response to a Bob Lefsetz column about the "The Death Of Marketing". In the piece, Lefsetz made the premise that hype marketing is so over. Stunts like Kanye West on the MTV VMA Awards Show are just that-stunts. PR business dreamed up to generate public awareness. Lefsetz believes this "old school" marketing is done because the public is tired of hype, and recognize it as such.

Bob wrote, "In order to truly make it today, you’ve got to be honest, you’ve got to have the goods, which have been honed over years. Otherwise, you’re just another scammer trying to make a buck. And the public knows. Major media companies are complaining about the audience, the mistrust involved. Well, if you were manipulated so many times would you still play along?"

In other words. we know we're being bullshitted., and that it doesn't promote your long term career.

As a matter of disclosure, I receive the Lefsetz Newsletter every post. I read all his rants and personal foible disclosures. I have contributed to the discourse on his blog. I will also admit that some things he writes about I am in total agreement with. Other thoughts of his make me think he's a complete a-hole.

The Lefsetz mantra, if there is one, seem to be there are no new acts as good as the ones that the Baby Boomers developed. That's because today's acts have not put in the time to get really good at what they do. And that to hype yourself without having the talent and proficiency to back it up is fruitless. He wrote, "If you want to make it today, focus on marketing last. And know that online, greatness spreads. Could take a while to catch fire, but if you’re great on a sustained basis, you’ll make it. Although making it might mean being known by a coterie, not everybody, and having one house, not three, still…who’s entitled to all that? The days of more, more, more are over. It’s just that those in the media haven’t realized it yet."

It's tough to debate that. The big news right now is that an act that did their last output of original material 39 years ago has sold 2.5 million CD's of that material in a week's time. Why? Because they are a great band that honed their craft, and were so good and so unique they changed societal mores forever. This band generated its marketing on the strength of its musical ability.

However, in the hypebot blog, there was someone who thought that "Lefsetz is Wrong!"

The response was a posted blog from Kate Bradley's blog over at Outlandos Music Kate's resumé is impressive, as she served as the Music Director of The Loft at XM, did stints at WYEP and WNCS and was a music supervisor at Pump Audio. Bradley argued that (the highlight is mine), "Re: The Death of Marketing? Sorry Bob, I respectfully disagree. Yes, being great at whatever it is you do has merit (for it). But quality isn’t nearly enough. You HAVE to huck it, kids. Every second of every day. I don’t care how friggin spectacular you are… if you don’t have anyone to tell, it might as well not be true. It’s a chicken and the egg deal. Almost."

It seems that Bradley believes that having an audience is the main element to success. You won't succeed without loyal and true believers in what you do. "Friends", as she calls them.

She writes on, "Because, you CAN have real, passionate, loyal fans at every stage of your career, from fledgling to Trent (Reznor of Nine Inch Nails, ed.); if I like you, I’ll help you. Period. Think of it like this: the way you make me feel about your product handily trumps the actual product. In a heartbeat.

So… how do you do it? Um, it’s called MARKETING."

Well, it seems that we have two points of view here. A "chicken and the egg deal", as she calls it.

I certainly don't have the creds of either of these two writers, nor their audiences. But I am the person they both talk about. I am a fan, passionate in my "feelings" about music and the artists that create it. And , at the same time, been around the block enough times to know that what I am being told is the next great thing usually turns out to be just the flavor of the month.

Malcom Gladwell wrote a book, Outliers, about who gets to be successful and why. According to Gladwell, anyone who wants to become an expert in their field needs to invest 10,000 hours of time.

The Beatles, in true Malcolm Gladwell fashion, played their you-know-what's off before Brian Epstein found them playing in a Liverpool club. Were the Beatles geniuses? Was it their innate talent that made them so successful? My thought is no, they were not genius, but craftsmen whose hard work and constant playing made creating their body of work seem effortless. They knew what would work, because their hours of playing to audiences taught them what wouldn't work. It taught them how to do what when and where for maximum effect. Thirty nine years later, two generations removed, that craft still resonates with a modern audience.

The publicity that the Beatles generated to fill the Cavern Club didn't come from "MARKETING." It was because they could excite people with their playing. Brian Epstein, in true MARKETING fashion, put them in suits and cut their hair. However, the Beatle suits and the boots didn't sell their music to 2.5 million fans nearly 50 years later. It was the art they crafted.

Bradley, however, still believes that generating an audience is the key to success. Her thought process is that without an audience, a great product is worthless. She lays out her game plan:

"1. Make friends and fans.
2. Do/make something that’s meaningful to you.
3. Tell your friends and fans about it ASAP… DO NOT polish it to death or worry about it not being perfect (any successful entrepreneur will give you this exact advice). Get it out there as fast as possible. Make it pretty/hone your skills later.
4. Inspire and ask your friends and fans to help you/buy your stuff.
5. Rinse and repeat.

It really is that easy."

Passion is what counts? If you make something, even something terrible, if "it's meaningful to you" and you can convince your friends to buy your sh.....uh, shining effort, "It really is that easy."

As proof, Bradley offers up this bon mot of proof on why her website has become successful.

"Don’t believe it?", she writes. " Here’s something I probably shouldn’t tell you. 21 people work for me for free. Our online views have increased 127% in four months. 6000+ people read our newsletter. And we’re in the black after less than two years. Certainly, I hope it’s because we’re doing great work but for sure, friends and fans made this possible. As in, 65% them. No joke."

This is the part that made me chime in. She's right. That is no joke. To get 21 people to work for you for free so that your operation can be profitable is not funny. It's the kind of capitalism that we all decry. It's right up there with bilking old ladies from their pensions.

That's not making friends. That's using people.

Good Goin'-Good Bye-Good Luck

2009-09-05T02:22:00.004+02:00

First, a big congratulations to a guy who has made his blog like hanging out listening to his selection. Burning Wood has been a virtual recreation of what it must have been like to walk into his former retail store. Visiting his blog, you're guaranteed to find what you like, and as a bonus, find something completely unexpected that his taste and expertise suggests you listen to. For this music lover, being drawn into the world of Sal Nunziato has been my sincere pleasure. Thanks for everything, Sal, especially for letting me be your friend.

Today, as I was doing my usual wander through the US news, on Crooks and Liars, they announced that on Thursday night a recording group was performing for the last time. Reading the group's name, Harvey Danger, I must confess that I had no idea of who they were. Even when their "big" hit, "Flagpole Sitta" was mentioned, I was still was stumped. Only clicking on to the link did I finally realize that I knew who they were, or at least, I had heard the song. They're a good rock band, competent musicians and the lyrics are in that smart irony that was started by Ray Davies with the Kinks.

If you are asking why am I devoting space to a band that is breaking up with nary a register on the cultural radar screen, here's why. I'll let Max Marginal, host of the Late Night Music Club on C & L tell the story.

Harvey Danger are best known for "Flagpole Sitta" (you know it as the "I'm not sick but I'm not well" song, if the title doesn't jump out,) but to many diehards they are this generation's kings of power-pop. They played their final show ever last night at Seattle's Crocodile Cafe, and after "Flagpole Sitta" exclaimed, "I think we up on stage will take five seconds to appreciate the fact that we never, ever have to play that song again."

It was that statement that got me thinking when did artists decide what their audience should like and when they can like it?

Formed as a party band of friends from the Univ. of Washington in 1992, the band had to play trash cans and laundry baskets because they couldn't afford equipment. They eventually caught on in the local Seattle music scene, eventually becoming the house band at the hip night spot, The Crocodile Café, where they held Thursday's farewell show. In 1998, they reached the Top 40 with, you guessed it, Flagpole Sitta. Subsequently, they played that song at every gig for the next eleven years. Thinking that they play 200 nights a year (avg.) over those 11 years, they played Flagpole Sitta a total of around 2200 times.

Flagpole Sitta gave them access to things that they never would have without it. The band travelled the United States and Canada and maybe the world a couple of times. They acquired thousands of fans and listeners who would have never heard or been exposed to their music without the song. Harvey Danger did what few of the thousands and thousands of start up bands dream of, they wrote a hit song.

So, of course for fans who don't live in Seattle, when the band comes to their town once or twice, those fans want to hear the song that attracted them to Harvey Danger in the first place.

Frank Sinatra's rendition of My Way was released in 1969. For the next 29 years, Frank Sinatra sang My Way at nearly every show. Bruce Springsteen recorded Born to Run in 1975. 34 years later, he still sings it at every show.

It's easy to understand why Harvey Danger is breaking up. If you think that the piece of your art that touched people enough to support your endeavors for over a decade is tiresome enough to "never, ever" want to play it again, it is time to find another line of work.

When you play for an audience, you are an entertainer. Your duty to the people who pay money to see you perform is you give the audience what they want the best way you can do it , even if it's a song that you have to play 22 or 2200 times.

Sorry for the delay in posting, but I have been knee deep in the hoopla of launching a new web site about another passion, golf. Called "Swedish Golf Online", my hope is to bring news and information in English, from Sweden, the second largest golfing country in Europe. It's niche in every sense. Drop over to www.swedishgolfonline.com and take a look. I need all the hits I can get.

Wouldn't It Be Nice?

2009-08-14T10:00:00.008+02:00

I am a wanderer on the internet. I can spend, literally, hours surfing the web's high seas wandering wherever whimsy takes me. Of course, such wandering brings much flotsam and jetsam into my consciousness. Most is just read and discarded. Some is stored in the attic of my hard drive, thought to be useful and never used until a spring cleaning will throw them in the trash.

Sometimes, though, I find something that just sends a chill up my spine and it compels me to tell everybody I know what it is. Today, one of those spine chillers happened. I came across a series of YouTube entries that, in their brilliance, relatively few have seen.

In the middle part of the 1960's, the Beach Boys were one of the best selling music groups in the world. They helped define the California sound of sun and surf, and their ability to harmonize vocals was praised by fans and other singers. Even their critics gave begrudging props to the group's singing that became the Beach Boy sound. The other best selling group at the time were four men from England, The Beatles. To say they revolutionized pop culture is now an established fact. But in the mid 60's, though fabulously popular, their claim to be the best band in the world had not been established fully.

Beside the American vs. British rivalry, both these bands were on the same recording label in the United States. Capital Records was actively promoting both bands, and they were raking in the profits as the Beach Boys chief writer and arranger, Brian Wilson, and the Beatles' writing team of John Lennon and Paul McCartney were seemingly plying a one up turf war. For a few years, these two bands were alternating hit singles. After the Beatles recording of the Rubber Soul LP, Wilson went to work and delivered the lush sound and amazing vocal harmonies of Pet Sounds. The Beatles would later counter with Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band and by doing so, capture the imagination of a generation. However, Pet Sounds remains Brian Wilson's masterpiece and The Beach Boys' apex as a group.

In 2008, a then, 18 year old, third year shop fitting apprentice from Brisbane Australia named Scott MacFarlane, took this acknowledged top album of all time and stripped away all the instrumentation. In doing so, he has left only the vocals on the Beach Boy's classic, Pet Sounds. If you thought the sound of the Beach Boys' harmonies were amazing with instrumentation, prepare yourself to be astounded.

Easy Slider

2009-08-08T14:15:00.010+02:00

The Dead Pool continues with the death of Willy DeVille. He would have turned 60 years old on August 27. He would have, if death, in the form of pancreatic cancer, hadn't knocked on his door twenty days sooner.

Willy DeVille will not get the bombastic coverage that another music artist did about a month ago. DeVille never flew very high on the pop music radar screen, due some to his own choice, I'm thinking. I'm sure he rests in peace knowing that there won't be a lot of hoopla about his passing. For the relatively few music fans that knew of his contributions and appreciated his honest and excellent work, his death means there will be one less artist to pass on the legacy of roots music.

Here, from Wikipedia, are some quotes from people who knew and worked with Willy DeVille.

The arranger, producer and songwriter, Jack Nitzsche, said that DeVille was the best singer he had ever worked with.

The music critic, Robert Palmer,in The New York Times, wrote about him in 1980, "Mr. DeVille is a magnetic performer, but his macho stage presence camouflages an acute musical intelligence; his songs and arrangements are rich in ethnic rhythms and blues echoes, the most disparate stylistic references, yet they flow seamlessly and hang together solidly. He embodies (New York's) tangle of cultural contradictions while making music that's both idiomatic, in the broadest sense, and utterly original."

Doc Pomus, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame member with whom he penned several songs, wrote about him, "DeVille knows the truth of a city street and the courage in a ghetto love song. And the harsh reality in his voice and phrasing is yesterday, today, and tomorrow—timeless in the same way that loneliness, no money, and troubles find each other and never quit for a minute."

Critic Mark Keresman wrote in the liner notes for the LP "Coups de Grace" about Willy DeVille, "In some respects, DeVille is the rock & roll counterpart to Sinatra—both can rock, both stared down personal demons, both are capable of rousing memories sweet and sad, and both can navigate the mean streets with panache before winding up on Lonely Avenue at daybreak."

To me, Willy DeVille was the kind of artist that every time I heard a song of his, I reacted to it, always favorably. DeVille, to my mind, epitomized New York City more than his more popular peers like the New York Dolls, Television and Talking Heads. While Lou Reed certainly touched on the oeuvre on the LP "New York", no one, to my mind, had the myriad of influences that NYC has on music so ingrained in his sound. Whether he was the Latin lover in "Spanish Stroll", the outright rocker in "Soul Twist", the sad friend of the "Mixed Up, Shook Up Girl", or the R&B crooner of "When You're Away From Me", DeVille captured exactly the proper nuance to make it sound authentic without being derivative. DeVille could have been as easily accepted on the AM radio as he is on the modern sound system.

Unfortunately, for me and for DeVille, he was never an artist that I had to "own". Like the musical genres he championed, his music was there for the pleasure of listening. I can only hope that his contribution to the movie, "Princess Bride", "Storybook Love", his most successful and popular performance, kept him comfortable.

"You left behind your family and money
All in town know your family's name
Look at me it's plain to see
My pockets are empty
But brighter than gold
in my heart burns a flame.

from "Angels Never Lie" on the LP "Loup Garou"

Which is as good a place as any to start in understanding how versatile and singular a performer this man was. There have been few that could create the almost cinematic landscape in the aural atmospheres he could. I can only hope that in his passing, some new fans will discover Willy DeVille, and he will continue to deliver the goods as he has for the last four decades. As Antoine de Saint-Exupery, the man who gave us "The Little Prince" said, "He who has gone, so we but cherish his memory, abides with us, more potent, nay, more present than the living man."

For Willy, I hope it's true.

The Blind Can Sing and Feats Don't Fail

2009-07-16T13:24:00.012+02:00

Dashing from the tent, I met Eva and we visited some friends in front of one of the food tents. Luckily, it faced the main stage where five elderly and blind men from the deep rural south were connecting with the decendents of Vikings. I mean they were connecting, Pilgrim. By the end of the set, the Five Blind Boys of Alabama had the audience at the Stockholm Jazz Festival talking in tongues.

Having grown up as a Catholic in the deep east of New Jersey, my only experience with singing in church was listening to the amateur choir at Christmas mass. I knew of gospel music as a musical genre, and had seen it on videos and in the movies, but had never had any direct experience with it. Let me tell you, brothers and sisters, that even in the chapel of the Stockholm outdoors, these gentlemen and their absolutely cokking back up band were delivering the word.

Even while engaged in conversation, the power of the Boys' voices and the spirit that the music brings kept me drifting more and more to their performance. It was unlike anything that your writer had ever experienced. It's a hypnotic effect that causes toes to tap, heads to bob and finally, hands to clap. By the end of their set, the crowd was on its feet, and though I saw no signs of rapture or hands shaking in the air, there was no tweeting or phoning by anyone in the audience during the final 30 minutes. Finally, with blessings the Boys thanked Stockholm, clasped the shoulder of the man in front of them, and were led single file to the wings to the sound of a sincere and appreciative ovation. These men are a treasure, and I am grateful that I got to be a witness. Amen.

The long day was coming to a close, and I made my way up to the front of the stage for the Little Feat set. Be forewarned that I am a fan of this band and I have been able to find something enjoyable in all their differing line-ups.

I didn't discover the band until the "Feats Don't Fail Me..." LP, which is probably true for most fans from my era. I don't own all their music, but to me they are a "live" band, anyway, and tonight they did not let down.

There is always a danger that any band that has been on the road for nearly 40 years will mail it in from time to time. But last night it was apparent that Little Feat were in a playing mood, and even playing the favorites, they were stretching themselves while taking new directions to the songs. Every song was recognized by its signatures, but not one song was done like the recorded version.

It would be impossible to highlight any one player tonight, though I will. Paul Barrere was exceptional, as his guitars were strong, confidant and his occasional twist brought little laughs from his band mates. Richie Hayward is one of my favorite drummers, and his timing and cymbal work was impeccable. He is truly the heartbeat of this band. Kenny Gradney was "into" the groove on bass while Sam Clayton and Bill Paxton were content to let the others shine, applying the right amounts of rhythm and texture.

There are always debates on who is an underrated drummer or guitar player. Allow me to place the name Fred Tackett for consideration. Tonight, the friend of Lowell George and Arkansas native seemed inspired, perhaps by his earlier witnessing of Allen Toussaint. Maybe it was the Stockholm surroundings. Whatever it was, it was his energy that got the band started, and continued cooking throughout the night. He is a very, very good musician and his joy in playing with these guys was easily recognized last night.

Little Feat played right up until curfew, when the stage crew was literally ready to pull the plug. Which was unfortunate for this audience, who got to witness a veteran band doing what they do best, playing their asses off. We could have handled a lot more.

I'm Gonna be Funky From Now on

2009-07-15T19:34:00.007+02:00

I was going to delay this post until I had drifted over to see "Captain Fingers", Lee Ritenour play his set on the small stage. Unfortunately, I will not be seeing Lee, but fortunately, from where I sit I can hear every note. Lee is living up to all expectations and the area is jammed with his appreciative fans.

Why the sudden need to put down words instead of watching the famous guitarist? Because if I were to pass on to my great reward , I could say to St. Peter that I saw Allen Toussaint tonight and everything he did was funky. OMG, was it ever.

During the Dr. John set, I found myself sitting next to a fellow aficionado and writer for "THE WORLD'S OLDEST BLUES MAGAZINE", Jefferson, named after Blind Willie and not Thomas-though he might have been a bluesman. Anyway the guy's name was Peter, and it might be his last name is Nyström. We were talking about the Dr. John set and I said I was looking forward to the Toussaint set. Peter remarked that the Swedish critics had not liked the album called, "Bright Mississippi." I answered that even though Toussaint was probably the biggest studio guy in no, that the studio does not do these bands justice. I think my guy, Sal, doesn't travel to the Crescent City to hear the definitive album versions. Bands from NO need the energy of an audience to truly come alive, to stretch their musical muscles and to let the music breathe that funky air.

Toussaint, for the uninitiated, and I feel foolish for even writing this, has a catalog of music he has written that could be a rock and roll/soul hall of fame by itself. He played a medley of hits that included "A Certain Girl", "Mother In-law", "Fortune Teller" and "Working in a Coal Mine". This was after he did a very soulful version of "Slipping Sally Through The Alley". There are many tunesmiths who could have cut the coupons with a catalog like that, especially considering the British bands that filled their LP's with those cuts from Toussant.

But why rest on your laurels when you have a little over an hour to fill? So he gave us a rendition of New Orleans ex-pat Sidney Bechet's "Egyptian Fantasy". He spoke very movingly of the Scots singer, Frankie Miller. Toussaint then performed "With You In Mind", from the Toussaint produced record, "High Life". Miller has never fully recovered from a brain hemorrhage he suffered in 1994.

Throughout the set, Allen was totally at ease, smiling and nodding while moving from song to song. He was generous with his band, allowing each to shine during their solos. Backed by a rhythm section of drums and percussion along with the amazingly talented Roland Geary on bass, this band absolutely cooked. If Dr. John was the roux, then the Toussaint Band brought the ingredients to a full boil. Sal, please catch drummer Jay Bellerose if he is in NO your next trip there. And is there anything as funky in soul and R&B music then a tasty wah-wah pedal? Marc Ribot knows exactly how much is right to make the solo just right.

Doing the song "Everything I Do Is Gonna Be Funky" was really an understatement and then Toussaint did something unexpected. As a coda, he ran through a solo piano medley playing snippets from every influence he has culled. From Mozart to Professor Longhair, from Be Bop jazz to Broadway show tunes, the notes just poured out as if the player was telling his audience, these are the lessons that made me funky.

Finally, "New Orleans Man", "Get Out My Life" and,in the tradition of all soul performers, leaving to the strains of "Southern Nights" while "Clap Your hands for Mr. Allen Toussaint!", was chanted over and over. With a smile and a bow, and a final salute to the Crescent City flag colorfully waving in the audience, Allen Toussaint left the stage.

To me, there is no greater compliment then when a fellow entertainer genuinely expresses his pleasure at the set he is watching and listening to. If Fred Tackett of Little Feat dancing and applauding in the stage wings means anything, then I would think he liked the Bright Mississippi Band of Mr. Allen Toussaint.

As for me, I can not only say I saw the legend, but I will rest in peace knowing I have. Gotta go, The Blind Boys of Alabama are making the pot simmer.

Night Tripping in Broad Daylight

2009-07-15T17:29:00.005+02:00

Like any good New Orleans cook will tell you, to start a meal you need to prepare a good roux. The 2009 Stockholm Jazz Festival prepared their staring roux to perfection.

Mac" Rebennack, Jr., Dr. John, started this year's event by walking slowly to his piano and proceeded to lead the audience through a lesson in down home New Orleans soul cooking.

Dressed in a grey suit with black pin striping, snakeskin loafers and a fedora trimmed in a blue scarf, Dr. John was back home on the bayou. To see the Night Tripper in broad daylight sans any back up was disconcerting but apropos to be playing on a stage by the river side. As a solo is probably the best way to experience the man.

In this manufactured Idol star machine of today's music, one can only wonder if there are any artists willing to put in the long hours in cat houses, bars and gambling joints where Max learned his chops. Tipping his musical hat to people like James Booker and Allen Toussaint (who would be following Dr. John), Max grew stronger as the performance went on. Completely turning around his signature "Wrong Place" as well as the classic "Walk On Gilded Splinters," Dr. John gave us all a lesson in what it means to be from New Orleans. Rather than giving us fans the expected gloss of the Night Tripper, Dr. John delivered the gospel of the gris-gris man.

Max told the crowd that his last record was a pissed off record, because of the travesty of the treatment of his city, New Orleans. "What my friends need is a second line," referring to the city's celebration of life during funeral processions. Finishing his musical sermon with "Merci boucous, and all of that shit", Dr John left the stage like he entered, with minimum fuss.

No, Dr John, thank you for laying the message down.

Remembering a Life

2009-07-07T21:19:00.005+02:00

I'm not watching the Michael Jackson Memorial for a few reasons. As much as I appreciated the life's work of Jackson with his brothers and alone, I didn't embrace it enough to do more than what I did already. Gosh, I said, Michael Jackson's dead. That's too bad.

I was surprised, but not shocked.

Another reason is because I'm not big on funerals to begin with. I believe in letting the dead lie in peace. The ability to meet your maker in your own way or lie in everlasting slumber is the destiny of us all. There is nothing special in dying. Memorials are not for the dead, they are for the living.

For entertainers, like Jackson, who we as fans and the people who made their living off his talent, a memorial service is our one last opportunity to suck off his gift.

The entertainers who will now crowd the stage to proclaim to the world, "Look at me, I knew him. Let me tell you how I was special to him." As they crowd the stage at the forum to proclaim their love and respect, and to tell us all how he was a good person, a good son, a good brother, a good father and a great entertainer and, probably, a good god fearing man, the real question to me is where were they when he was crying out for help?

Where were his parents when he needed the love and nurturing that any child needs?

Where were the relatives and neighbors when the parental abuse to he and his siblings was not just a rumor but an outright overt practice?

Where were his handlers when they demanded that he do more, more and then much more to satisfy their personal greed for the money and the success built on his talent and sweat?

Where were his doctors who prescribed the drugs that made him an addict, the doctors who kept quiet when they discovered the abuse, and his siblings who allowed the abuse?

Where were the clerics, who appeared at his death, who should have practiced their calling when he was alive? "In reply Jesus said to them: “Those who are healthy do not need a physician, but those who are ailing do." (Luke, 5:31-32) And if the spiritual advisers say they could have saved him, then why didn't they?

Where were the friends who silently talked about his behavior behind his back while publicly praising his genius? Where were the sycophants who kept telling him how much he was loved to keep their gravy train on the tracks? Where were the bankers who kept loaning him money knowing they were sucking his assets away? Where were the authorities who allowed him to keep his children in a false reality and watched him dangle them as playthings. He may have loved them, but his death now puts them in the caretaker that made him the way he was.

And where were the fans that clamored for more and more, demanding to be entertained either by his talent or by his eccentricities?

Yeah, I know, I sound like a grumpy cynic. It's just that I hate when people gather around a man, who died a long time ago in spirit, to proclaim their love for him now after the body finally gave up. If only they had worked so hard to bring him peace.

From the guy who wrote about every human emotion better than anyone, Bill Shakespeare,

"Now cracks a noble heart. Good-night, sweet prince;
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest."

The rest is all unnecessary.

We Remember Sky

2009-06-26T14:10:00.005+02:00

While the pages of the media and the blogsphere and TV infotainment news shows will be filled with the stories of, about, behind and rumored of Michael Jackson, and the rest filled with the "Oh, yeah, Farrah Fawcett, the Charlie's Angel icon also died," as well, I want to take some time out to remember another music hero passed away on the same day.

Sky Saxon, lead singer and founder of the 1960's band the Seeds and the Sky Saxon Blues Band, who had a Top 40 hit in 1967 with The Seeds' "Pushin' Too Hard," has died after a brief illness.Saxon's publicist said Saxon died Thursday but did not have other details. He was in his 60s, we think, as his birthday is not exactly known and the year was either 1946 or 1947, or maybe it was 1937. It was never really confirmed.

Springing up in California, the Seeds, to many of us, defined the term garage band, with their 60's psychedelic rock sound. Saxon's Mick Jagger-influenced vocals, with a dash of Eddie Cochran and Buddy Holly, dominated their sound and later influenced punk rock bands of the late 70's to the present. After the British Invasion came and before the Woodstock induced music explosion, the radio was dotted with songs that had a sound that was barely professional in its presentation, yet almost primordial in its ability to capture the heartbeat of the teenage America in the 1960's. It was the All American rock result of seeing the Beatles on Ed Sullivan and the Brits on Hullabaloo and Shindig. Bands like the Shadows of Knight, The Standells, The Electric Prunes, The Count Five , The Knickerbockers, The Amboy Dukes, The Castaways and The Seeds took the look of the English Bands, the fuzz tones of the west coast bands and used raw energy and enthusiasm over technical skill and rattled the dashboard speakers of date night cars all over the country.

"Pushin' Too Hard was featured on the LP, Nuggets: Original Artyfacts from the First Psychedelic Era is a compilation album of American garage rock singles released in the mid- to late 1960s. The original LP was released by Elektra in 1972, with liner notes by Lenny Kaye that contained one of the first uses of the term "punk rock". Another hit single of 1967 was "Can't Seem to Make You Mine" and their song "Mr. Farmer" was included in the soundtrack for the movie "Almost Famous." "Pushin Too Hard" remains to this day, for me, a dial twister, one of those songs that when it comes the tune box, you gotta turn it up

Saxon was living in Austin, Texas, where he played with his new band, Shapes Have Fangs. He had been planning to perform this summer with the California '66 Revue, a tour featuring a lineup of California bands from the 1960s.

I just thought that Sky Saxon should be recognized on what has to be one of the more somber days in America's pop culture.

From Shebang, and check out Casey Kasim.

Let Sleeping Dogs Lay

2009-06-23T15:12:00.005+02:00

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks."
Hamlet, Prince of Denmark Act III. Scene II.

In response to on-going criticism about how ticket sales are being handled on the latest Springsteen Tour, John Landau put out a response to, what he feels, is unwarranted bad press. Here's some of what he said:

"Yes, we do hold significant numbers of tickets when we play New Jersey, New York and Los Angeles, as does every arena headliner. These holds are used by Bruce, his band members, and longtime members of his extended organization, their families and close relations; by the record label for their staff, for reviewers, and for radio stations; by charities who are provided with tickets for fund raising purposes, such as special auctions; for service people who help us on a year-round basis; and for other similar purposes."

Anyone who is remotely connected to going to a concert, follows their favorite bands, or is in anyway into popular music, knows about having connections. Does Mr. Landau suppose that no one has ever seen "Goodfellas", when Henry takes Karen to the Copa? Of course, bands hold the best seats for their own people.

What made me laugh was this line:

"Secondly, with regard to seats held in the best sections on either side, we always blend guest seats with fan seats so that there are never any sections consisting entirely of guest seats."

Somehow, that should make fans feel better? Sorry, John, I'd rather see an entire section of "guests" sitting with tee shirts on saying "I'm with the band" then finding out that the guy next to me got in for free because his aunt was the road manager's first grade teacher while I had to pay a couple of hundred to sit next to him and then pay thirty bucks for a tee shirt to boot. (Which, BTW Springsteen Tour, are not very imaginative or stylish.)

Landau concludes with,

"Final thoughts: We have no interest in having an ongoing conflict with Ticketmaster/TicketsNow or anyone else. That has not been part of our history."

Then why would he say this in the previous paragraph,

"It's not we who earned vastly larger sums when fans paid way over the face value of the tickets. It was Ticketmaster/TicketsNow."?

For as long as I can remember this scam with tickets has been going on. Fans are inured to the fact that if you want to go see a big time show, the best way to get in is by knowing someone who is connected, or by stepping up and opening the wallet. To claim there is some other way, or to act shocked at the practice is demeaning to all involved.

I know that Bruce Springsteen, who I admire and have always enjoyed, wants to keep up the image of being a regular guy. And, from what I can discern, for the most part he is. But regular guys don't hob nob with the rich and powerful. Regular guys aren't in the rock Pantheon.

In the past few months, the Springsteen camp has had to come out with explanations about business policies. First there was the Wal-Mart greatest hits album deal. Now it's a ticket controversy. Both times, the explanation has been, Oops! Sorry about that. In the Wal-Mart album deal, the claim was that they were so busy in getting the new album done, it slipped by. In the ticket controversy, the reason given is that it's not us, it's them. Anyone with a basic knowledge of Springsteen's history knows about the protracted litigation with his former manager, and how that incident made him hyper control his musical destiny. After 40 years in this business, we should believe that the Springsteen camp is unaware or slipshod?

That insults his fans more than knowing that Springsteen, Inc. plays the game.

From The Jersey Shore To Stockholm Stadion

2009-06-09T15:32:00.009+02:00

Finally, after two rainy and cold nights, Stockholm's weather showed that it can be sunny, if not so warm, in the first week in June. Stockholms Stadion was sold out for the third straight show, and it seemed that half the audience had crammed itself down in front of the stage. Almost exactly 45 minutes after the scheduled start time, Nils Lofgrin came out playing the Swedish folk song, "Idas Sommarvisa" and after the band filed out, Bruce Springsteen and The E Street Band began the night's action with "No Surrender", and ended with a sloppy, if not heartfelt, "Twist and Shout".

In between was a career spanning three hour set with some surprises ("Fade Away" from "The River" and, according to the bandleader, a rarely done live rendition of "Surprise, Surprise" from "Working On A Dream). Included in the encore set was a world weary take on "Jungleland", that had Clarence Clemons take his stand on the sax solo that has become his signature. Compared to what he was playing in 1975, there was a definite lack of the power he once exuded. However, the horn sound that filled the stadium this night was hauntingly spare, a lonely sound echoing down empty, rain slick, streets in the early morning right before dawn. It emphasized that the story in "Jungleland" has gone from a last ditch desperate attempt gone awry, to become the inevitable outcome of someone who has taken one too many shortcuts.

June 7, 2009 -Stockholm Set List
1. "Idas Sommarvisa" - Swedish Folk Song
2. No Surrender
3. Badlands
4. Night
5. My Lucky Day
6. Outlaw Pete
7. Spirit In The Night
8. Working On A Dream
9. Seeds
10. Johnny 99
11. The River
12. Mony Mony
13. Trapped
14. Fade Away
15. Surprise, Surprise
16. Waitin' On A Sunny Day
17. The Promised Land
18. Working On A Highway
19. Radio Nowhere
20. Lonesome Day
21. The Rising
22. Born To Run
encore
23. Thunder Road
24. Jungleland
25. The American Land
26. Ramrod
27. Dancing In The Dark
28. Twist and Shout

One of the best things about seeing this band once every decade is the impact it makes on you. I cannot emphasize enough how powerful the E Street Band is. I found myself staring in awe at the prowess of their playing and the interaction between members. James Brown was infamous for the control he had on the JB's. I don't know if there are fines handed out for missed cues and wrong notes, but The E Street Band redefines the word tight. And this night they were magic. The E Street Band may be the best rock band assembled ever. They effortlessly support Springsteen in any direction he wants to go. A nod, a smile or a wave of the hand and the band careens off into another orbit. He did it tonight, early in the set, when after "Night", he yelled out "My Lucky Day" and the entire band gave a wry smile. "Here he goes, again" was the silent communication.

After the publicity tsunami and unprecedented public acceptance of "Born in the USA", Springsteen made a purposeful move in disbanding the E Street Band and striking out as a solo artist. The public accepted the solo artist, but rejected the idea of Springsteen playing "Born to Run" with anybody but his Jersey Shore running mates. The band has gone through many permutations, especially over the last couple of years. They now have the children of band members playing in the group. Jay Weinberg sat in for his Dad, Max. He is astonishing. Keyboardist Charlie Giordano, who played with Springsteen in the Seeger Sessions Band in 2006, has taken over for Danny Federici, an original member, who died of cancer in April 2008. Which leads to the question. How long can it go?

It's painful to watch the agonizingly slow walk that Clarence Clemons makes across the stage during the introduction. Will physical problems make this tour his last go round? I mean, it would be hard to adjust to hearing someone else musically respond to "...when the Big Man joined the band..." Yet, watching the sheer joy that this bandleader and his mates seem to share on stage makes it seem that they will go on, "...until the parts breakdown," as Bruce said during his Swedish press conference.

One thing is certain, Bruce Springsteen is a force of nature. He is a sensational rock and roll (if underrated) guitar player. He is a tireless showman who has, over a 40 year career, never mailed it in or taken a night off. He is also a prolific and talented songwriter whose characters and stories not only hold up, but take new dimensions over the years. He is a true rock and roll star who hobnobs with the rich and famous from all the artistic, political and social stratum. I'm not sure if one day we will see him, as we now see the old blues men, sitting in a chair rasping out "The River". It may be that when he can't hold on to the mike stand during "Ramrod", he will hang the Fender up. When ever the end comes, some of us, the ones who grew up on the Jersey boardwalks he describes, will lament that the young man inside of us will be no more.

Photo Credit: Jan Lundahl

Can you say Spotify?

2009-05-25T14:55:00.010+02:00

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been five weeks since my last post. I would like to think that there would be something that would shake my writing muse awake. Indeed at my other post, (Divot Ends) I have been much more active. However, for me, at least, there hasn't been much to excite me in the music world. (image from "The Confessional" by Grant LaFleche, Gary Brown and Thomas White.)

Indeed, there was no motivation to write about some of the news. For instance, there was the item that reported that Brittany Spears takes in about $7 million a year and spends about $6 million. So with all those Doritos and child support, she still clears a million dollars a year! How? Why? I don't know and, to be honest, I just don't care.

Here in Stockholm, Pirate Bay, the file sharing site, got whacked with a huge fine and jail time for the operators by a judge who is being questioned about his bias. The Local reported on April 23rd that Tomas Norström, the trail judge, is a member of Svenska föreningen för upphovsrätt ('the Swedish Copyright Association') and sits on the board of Svenska föreningen för industriellt rättsskydd (Swedish Association for the Protection of Industrial Property). These memberships automatically make him a member of the international organisations ALAI and AIPPI. In the words of Captain Renault, "I'm shocked, shocked." I might have cared about this ten years ago, but now it seems to be a tempest in a tea pot. If the labels had figured out that something is better than nothing, then they wouldn't have left all the money they could have earned on the table while they spent big money chasing their customers and the Pirate Bays of the world. It has not stopped file sharing one iota. Now they are facing the fact that, while the labels are still trying to protect CD's, the public is moving beyond file sharing and into "music from the clouds" from services like Spotify.

I had been trying to get on this Spotify thing for quite awhile. I clicked on the web site to try the "free" service (it carries both audio and display ads) but there seems to a waiting list that is dauntingly long. Each time I relinked, they reminded me I was already on the list. I hate standing in line for anything, much less free music. But the other day, I discovered a link that gave me a link..and now Spotify is ensconced on my hard drive.

It is clean and easy to use, I'll give it that. But it's far from perfect.

"Users can access 6 million tracks via searching for artists, albums, titles and genres. Spotify features a large and constantly growing library of music, giving users access to tracks from all major labels as well as numerous independent labels. However, some major bands are either very under-represented or are completely missing from the library, including AC/DC, The Beatles, Metallica, Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd." (Wickipedia)

Of those they do have, Spotify carries extensive catalog choices, but not everything in the artist's catalog and there are a lot of repeated songs from best of and greatest hits packages. There is a proclivity for renditions of the artists songs by other groups. I'm not talking about Patty Smith doing Nirvana, either. How about "Streets of Philadelphia" by Studio 99?

For those of you who love the shuffle aspect on your tune players, it does OK. If I choose Don Covay, it will give me Soloman Burke and Otis and Carla Thomas in something called "Artist Radio". But it will be heavy on the chosen artist. There is also a section called Radio. You can format it by decade and musical genre. I chose 60's / rock, soul, r & b, blues and hard rock. Don't be surprised when Eddie Fischer or a Christmas tune pops on. But it IS convenient and when they get the portability sorted out, having Spotify on the iPhone will be really handy. To have the music called up nearly instantaneously is very convenient and freeing up hard drive space is always a blessing.

In surfing the net, Spotify has some big plans in the future. For now, it's a nice add on to the music pile. Certainly more convenient and a lot faster then the search and download method. But you are tethered to the computer, and they don't have a way to conveniently search the catalog like in iTunes. And for guys like me, who like to cut across genres and eras when listening, it has a looong way to go. But it's a start and a glimpse into the future. But will a person who said this like this system? Shervie thinks not.

Reaching For Nirvana

2009-04-08T17:27:00.004+02:00

It was fun for me, watching the next generation of rock fans grow up in front of me. I’m sure my kids were a little put off by my absorption of the bands of their youth. There is supposed to be a genetic code somewhere that says your parents should never like the music of their kids. Kids want to like things that their parents detest. My mother would always plead with me as I listened to Dylan, “Must you play HIM so loud?”

Of course, I attached myself to Pearl Jam and Stone Temple Pilots and the grunge sound of the early 90’s. Geez, after the Corporate Rock of the 80’s, it was refreshing to hear bands just get up on stage and make noise. But I knew, by their shuffling of feet and their changing of topics, that my sons were a little embarrassed by their father and his rambling about rock and roll minutiae.

My generation had spawned rock and had also lived through tumultuous times. Times that went from seeking love and brotherhood to bloody wars, insurrection and cold blooded savagery done in the name of peace, pride and a higher life.

We had our heroes die from our political and social scenes. We had the cream of our generation die needlessly far from home. Our generation had their music heroes die too young, as well. Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and Gene Vincent at Rock’s beginning. Jimi, Janis and Jim at its zenith and John Lennon closed the book in a doorway in NYC. Death was something that, as much as you didn’t want it to happen, you had become inured to.

I can remember those news reports about those deaths. How I got a little chill thinking about what might have been, what could they have accomplished? The shiver that followed came from the realization of something that had never before been a part of my awareness. There had been death in my life before, of course. But they were old people. They were supposed to die, weren’t they? And if they weren’t old, it was caused by an “accident”, as if the word accidental before the word death made it less tangible. The realization was that I now knew I was going to die someday.

On this day, fifteen years ago, my sons found this realization, because the news that told us Kurt Cobain had died in his home in Seattle. His death resonated because he wasn’t old. It wasn’t an accident. He took his own life with his own hands.

Cobain was a rock star. He had started a rekindling of rock’s flame. Cobain, with his band Nirvana, had united young people across the spectrum to once again want to strap on a guitar and do it…whatever your it was. That was all you needed to be somebody. You could be somebody and get the girls. Rock has always been about that from Buddy to Kurt. The sadness of Cobain’s life and his tragic end comes from his wishing so hard for something that would make him happy and his never being able to find it.

Mean Streets Economics 101

2009-03-15T16:21:00.007+01:00

Bailed out by (us) taxpayers, AIG gives millions in bonus. (The qoutation marks are mine.)

I read an item by the Associated Press that American International Group (AIG) is giving its executives tens of millions of dollars in new bonuses even though it received a taxpayer bailout of more than $170 billion. A white paper prepared by the company says that AIG is “contractually obligated” to pay a total of about $165 million of previously awarded “retention pay” to employees in this unit by today Sunday, March 15. The document says that another $55 million in retention pay has already been distributed to about 400 AIG Financial Products employees. I had to read it twice to insure I could let the nuance of that sink in.

Secretary of the Treasury Timothy Geithner termed the current bonus structure unacceptable in view of the billions of dollars of taxpayer support the company is receiving. However, the Treasury Department determined that the government did not have the “legal authority” to block the current payments by the company. Another distraught hand wringing, "woe is us" response from the government.

AIG and administration sources said Saturday that after going over the insurer’s legal obligations, that the employees might win “punitive damages” if their contracts were broken. An even bigger problem, they added, was that financial products employees who are denied payments “could quit” and that AIG’s losses—the insurer took the deepest bath in red ink in American history last quarter, losing $61.7 billion—could spiral enormously if the only people who understand the company’s convoluted dealings are not around to “unwind” the damage that they caused. Breaking those contracts would have led to greater costs for taxpayers, the official said.

So, let me get this straight. We are using the arsonists who started the conflagaration we are currently in to try to stop the blaze? And rather then putting them all under indictment, we want to give them a bonus not to quit? Is that what the leaders of the American economic system are saying?

I think the correct response that Secretary Geithner should give AIG and those employees, was succinctly put by the noted social commentator, John Stewart, last week.

It seems more and more that the people who ran this scheme for the last 10 years learned their economics not on Wall Street, but on the Mean Streets. Here is a two minute morality play on how we got into this mess. The role of AIG and the other bailed out entities will be played by Johnny Boy. The role of the US Public is played by Mikey. I think you will find it illuminating.

There Once Was A Time...

2009-03-10T16:12:00.004+01:00

Once upon a time, there were places in every town, where you could travel to "... another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind. A journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of imagination."

Alas, those places are just wisps of memory....to be no more!

"With Virgin Megastore closing three of its six remaining outlets in April and May, Circuit City shutting all 567 of its stores, Borders threatening to cut its movie-and-music shelf space by 70 percent, and 30 other music retailers going out of business so far in 2009, the record industry is bracing for the death of the 27-year-old compact disc."

Rolling Stone Magazine

Thanks to Mr. Serling, Mr.Schulz, Burning Wood and I Listen To Everything for the collaboration.

Labels Assault Pirate Bay in Stockholm

2009-02-27T21:47:00.005+01:00

I haven’t posted in a while and this time it is not laziness, which is the usual culprit. I have been busy, and in these times that’s a good thing. Now, if I could only turn that into money…

There has been a lot to write about on the music scene here in Sweden. The anti-piracy trial of the appropriately named file sharing web site, The Pirate Bay, continues here in Stockholm.

The prosecution now is pretty much reduced to name calling. They can’t prove how The Pirate Bay site actually works, if any of the files originated on the Pirate Bay site or where the files on the site actually come from. They invoke the old Napster defense. A site like The Pirate Bay is called, “…the biggest and baddest villain” by a flustered Per Sundin, the head of Universal Music in Sweden. He added that it’s impossible to calculate lost value on a per recording basis and that one must instead rely on sales figures. “And they’ve fallen by 50 percent,” he said. So ergo, it must be file sharing?

Roger Wallis is a composer and emeritus professor of media at the Royal Institute of Technology. As a witness for the defense, he countered that statement by Sundin. He basically told the court that there are doubts to claims by the record industry that there is a clear link between increased file sharing and decreased music sales. “There’s nothing to indicate that people who download music would run out and buy records if file sharing disappeared, that’s ridiculous,” he said.

When Wallis was asked whom he thought stood to lose from file sharing, he answered “Primarily CD manufacturers, just like the piano manufacturers had it tough when the record player came along.” That’s when the industry lawyers wanted to know if Wallis was a real professor or just a pretend one. The record label lawyers challenged the credentials of the defense witness, in that he might be only an adjunct, instead of a full professor. As if that matters.

The prosecution also decided to get the Swedish court's good side by saying that, “Sweden has the worst respect for copyright in the world. Just as the rest of the world thinks of China and Vietnam, so the record companies view Sweden today,” Sundin said during his testimony. “You realize that it’s not The Pirate Bay which handles the musical works, but rather internet users?” pressed the defense. “Yes”, Sundin answered.

And so it goes. The record companies are getting killed, and they blame the “pirates” and “file sharers”. They spend their time trying to protect the old way, while the new technology speeds by them in a cloud of digital dust. Even if they win this trial, which by most accounts is iffy, what will it gain them? Even the copyright law they “defend” for the benefit of the artists is a joke. The lion’s share of these “copy rights” goes to the labels and the licensing agencies that collect the fees. The small artist probably pays more in dues than he actually ever receives in rights fees.

Without going into the shrinking availability of platforms for any artist to get his message out, I would be a lot more sympathetic to the copy right argument if it wasn’t for the fact that these same labels stole millions of dollars in royalties from blues, country, rock and jazz artists in unfair contracts that were deliberately tilted to the labels benefit and the artist’s detriment.

Payback’s a bitch!

How Can A Poor Man Stand Such Times And Tweet

2009-02-16T21:34:00.003+01:00

I come to new ideas on the www late, getting on board kicking and screaming most times. I didn’t start to use a computer until 2004, walking to the local library to use the e-mail. Until that time, I had never even Googled. So you will excuse me the delay in joining the social network platforms. I have arrived late to the party but no less enthusiastic.

I had looked in on My Space because it seemed to be the place where bands went to reach out to fans. Which it does, if you’re interested in the kind of music that is controlled by the labels or you like bands that formerly filled the pages of Tiger Beat. In addition, pictures of young kids being drunk and disorderly have never really interested me, especially when I was drunk and disorderly. You Tube has become a regular stop, but more as an internet TV channel. I have never had the urge or the talent to produce a mash up or home video for some one else’s entertainment. I discovered Plaxo, well I don’t really know how, but used it as a business to business site. Indeed, I became surprised how many of my associates that I met under working conditions were members of Plaxo.

Then, about a month ago, I fell under the double whammy of Twitter and Facebook. These two web sites have filled up my free moments over the last ten days. Hopelessly addicted, I can only hope that these distractions, like the other dalliances in my life, will soon be put on the back shelf.

Until then, these sites have been exactly what they have been promoted to be. Facebook is the digital equivalent to being on the streets of the old neighborhood. I have been able to contact friends and former workmates that I haven’t talked to in decades. The exponential ability of Facebook to put you in touch with one friend and then to find others is pretty amazing. With the addition of photo albums and the conversations between those friends it’s like being back on the stoop on a warm summer night, when the neighborhood promenades in front of you. You can join in, instigate, or just listen to these conversations while checking out the girlfriends and wives, catch up on gossip, stories from work and brag about the kids. Facebook is a virtual neighborhood, except unlike the one at home, it is only inhabited by friends you like.

Twitter, on the other hand, is social in the fact that you communicate with people. The difference it has with Facebook is that your audience, for the most part is, anonymous. Most are people you don’t know, and it is similar to small phone calls, like, “What are you doing?” The Laundry.” “ Oh!” I know a guy (really) who uses Facebook and Twitter in tandem. He posts comments on his pages, telling us the most mundane things about his day, details that we wouldn’t relate to others. They would be called the same old stuff or nothing special. But by telling those details to one and all, they becomes an intimate portrayal of the man’s life. A life filled with things to do. It is, perhaps unintentionally, a peek into modern Swedish life.

Twitter is really a mini blog that keeps the writers thoughts to under a 140 letters. Quick entries that allow writers and readers to relate to each other in the “sound bite” style that is the way we now gather our information. By collecting these mini thoughts we are allowed to flesh out our characters over time. The same way we have done in our lives with real people. Life is now a series of Tweets, with the longer and detailed background stories and events that change our lives put on Facebook.

Now will you excuse me? A friend wants to connect with me.

Somewhere.

“Please all, and you will please none.” *

2009-02-13T22:54:00.013+01:00

* Aesop's Fables-"You Can't Please Everyone"

Am I the only one who is tired of hearing the constant second-guessing of artists on how their career choices relate to sales of CD’s? Springsteen does the Super Bowl because, "Well, No. 1, we have a new album coming out," said Springsteen. "So we have our mercenary reasons besides,” adding ironically, “our deep love for football." He is then lambasted, after a nearly 40 year successful career, for doing the half time gig. Then, he is hammered for not accomplishing a truckload of sales in the wake of the event. The album is, sadly, only #2 in the latest Billboard Top 200 chart.

After their opening number on last week’s Grammy Awards was met with less than enthusiastic praise by the not so faithful, U2 announced they would do 5 straight nights on the David Letterman Show. Not so long ago, they would have been praised for pulling off an unprecedented career move. The Letterman announcement was met with statements from the pundits who said that late night TV doesn't sell albums. U2 would be better off doing Ellen. Or Oprah. I can only imagine what the banshees would have been howling if the Dubs had actually made that announcement.

The hip thing, say the scene makers, would have been to do five nights on some web feed in high def to play to the young and the hip and the downloading generation. But do veteran bands like U2 or the E Street Band even make a blip on the radar screens of listeners who thought it cool that the Jonas Brothers played with that blind guy?

Does every move by any performing artist have to be tied constantly to record sales? I can remember an era when popular artists were performing on TV and never mentioned their plastic product. We tend to forget that an artist with the longevity of the above bands, or any other artist like them, is based on their desire to perform for a live audience. Frank Sinatra, who performed for over 50 years to his adoring fans, nearly stopped recording because of his disgust with the record business. He had his own label and he was disgusted with the business! One could argue that the breakup of The Beatles was not the disagreements in the studio, or Yoko Ono, but that they stopped performing as a band. The one reason they got together in the first place.

Think about it. U2 will be on the free TV airwaves for five straight nights. Even if the day-to-day grind won’t allow you to stay up past 11 pm, there will be You Tubes and web access for days afterward. These critics of the U2 gambit are the same ones screaming about the “new paradigms” of the music business. They assert, “Give away your music content to build up revenues from merchandising and ticket sales.” They promote giving the fans access to help build the “tribe”. So now, one of the biggest bands in the world, certainly one rich enough to give some stuff away for free, does exactly that…and is ripped for not going on Ellen, for god’s sakes, to sell more plastic.

And no sooner do I post this, then I read THIS. Seth says it all so much better!

Time Passages

2009-02-09T01:20:00.006+01:00

Well, I'm not the kind to live in the past
The years run too short and the days too fast
The things you lean on are things that don't last
Well it's just now and then my line gets cast into these

Time passages
There's something back there that you left behind
Time passages
Buy me a ticket on the last train home tonight

"Time Passages" - Al Stewart

I was in my Mom’s kitchen, sitting at the table after dinner. I was sitting there and just, I don’t know, being with her as she went about tidying up. She had the radio on, as always, which is probably why I listen to Sinatra and Bennett still to this day.

I remember that the radio announcer told us that some musical artist had died, one who was obviously known to Mom, because she said, “Oh, that’s such a shame.” I thought, at the time, it was because she really liked that artist and would be sorry she wouldn’t hear him again.

There have been a slew of artists that I know, who have passed away recently. Not in the shocking, headline grabbing deaths like Lennon, Morrison, Joplin, Hendrix or Corbain, all who died suddenly and much too soon. No, these announcements were the inevitable passing of people who reach a certain age, who just died the way we all will. The start of the erosion of that large block of life called the Baby Boom. Now I know what my mother meant when she said, “Oh, that’s such a shame.” It’s not they died. It was that their death brought home the fact that she was closer to that final scene herself. With the passing of each artist that we listened to, or the screen stars we saw in our youth, it means that we are now on the far side of life. We are heading to the dark side of the moon.

I was saddened today, a day where the feeling of inevitable outcome was driven home. I received an e-mail that told me that a life long friend, indeed the guy who might have symbolized my youth, had passed away. Taking a jog near his winter home, Tom McBride had a heart attack and, just like that, he is gone.

I had just been with Tommy back on the old block last September. We had grown up together. It was almost twenty years since the last time we saw each other but we got together, of all places, at the wake of my Mom. At that somber scene, Tommy looked great and I was genuinely happy to see him. Tommy was a natural athlete; we were on the same Little League team. I was his catcher and like Bruce sang, he could throw a pitch. It was a curveball, the best I had ever seen. We also played basketball together on teams all through school. He was good enough to get a scholarship to play big time college ball.

When I left the Jersey Shore for good, I stayed with Tommy for a few days before heading west. I didn’t see him again until I returned for my 20th high school reunion. The last time I was with him, we had dinner with his wife Elaine, and my son Matt, the night before I went back to Sweden. We had played golf that afternoon, which now seems the way it should have been, considering how many games we had played together in our lives.

Tommy is now as Dylan said, “forever young.” Friends and love ones will gather and look at one another with the sad and discerning eyes of age. Tommy won’t hear them talk about others who have gone before and the ailments and aches that they bear. He is now forever young in our minds and hearts. He will always be throwing curve balls and hitting winning baskets. He will live on as long as any of us who knew him are around to remember.

Our generation was once called the Youth Culture We have strived to stay young for longer than any other previous generation, and probably for any future one. Our refusal to accept aging has seen the development of Rogaine, botox and Viagra. However, we have reached the stage where, when any group of us gathers, we are shocked to see how old every one of our friends has got. It is one of the mischievous pranks that life plays on us is that we can never see ourselves getting older. The remedy for that malady is, of course, the mirror. From our side of our eyes, we are Dylan’s words. But, have you noticed how old HE has got to?

I Was Wrong

2009-01-28T16:12:00.012+01:00

“A man's errors are his portals of discovery.”

The Irish writer, James Joyce said that. The Irish ability to form words is without question, and as a writer, this man had no peers. I was reminded of these words of Joyce upon my repeated listening to Springsteen’s “Working On A Dream”, his latest release, while I was eating humble pie, and I don't mean the band.

The initial reaction to this collection of songs was mixed, mostly predicated on two early releases, “The Wrestler” and “Outlaw Pete”. The former was written for the movie of the same name. The song has already won a Golden Globe award and is up for Oscar consideration.(Update:The song has NOT been nominated. I apologize for the error-ed.) The latter was deemed a KISS rip-off and has clouded the acceptance of the rest of the album.

I was one of those in unsteadiness, as well. I thought “The Wrestler” to be a wonderful song, capturing the emotions of a man, who has dedicated his life to one purpose, facing the reality that he has no life when that purpose is taken away. Springsteen has always had that empathy with the characters that try, fail, and learn to deal with that failure.

Ironically, the song “Outlaw Pete” is also a movie song. Except, in this case, the sonic landscape that Springsteen creates is cinema-like. The saga of Pete unfolds like a movie, building steadily to its epic close. We “see” Pete going over the edge by Springsteen's use of descending scales. Bruce hasn’t used the “wall of sound” so well since “Backstreets.”

Which is why I sit here eating that pie. Yes, he does lift the KISS song, but it is far, far from being a lazy rip-off as some (me) earlier thought. Besides, we don’t think any less of Brian Wilson because he copied Chuck Berry note for note.

Sal Nunziato, the musical maestro over at Burning Wood, asked me to hear, not just listen, to the album. He has championed WOAD from its initial leaks as a brilliant Springsteen album. He is right in his assessment. Like many of Bruce’s previous songs, there are many on WOAD that can be easily heard, as they will eventually be, played live. The E-Street Band will expand the sound of “My Lucky Day”, “Life Itself”, “Surprise Surprise”, the title song, and “Good Eye”. Can’t you see Bruce, under a solo spot, singing “The “Wrestler?” Seriously, after listening to “Good Eye”, wouldn’t a Springsteen blues album be something?

Where Sal was wrong, at least with me, is that I never was one “…who think Bruce's best work is behind him, nothing will ever sound satisfying to you again. Very few songs are "Thunder Road" & "Meeting Across The River" and few will ever be.” Amen, brother, but you’re preaching to the choir.

What I thought, with my initial dabbling with “Outlaw Pete”, was that the money and the fame and having Obama on his iPhone speed dial had finally gotten to the artist I had so respected. While in the past, artists like Cole Porter continued to create late into their lives with bona fide compositions, today’s artists seem unable or, worse, unwilling to make viable work. They seem to be satisfied playing their jukebox for inflated ticket prices for nostalgic audiences who try to re-capture a memory. I wanted Bruce to be more than just the half time performer at Super Bowl whatever.

Indeed, with WOAD, he has done that. He has not only made a good album. He has, perhaps, written some of his best music. Ever. He has shook off any dust that may have gathered, stepped up and hit a game winner. No one in his class of artists has been able to deliver like this in a very long time. It will take a lot for any of them to match this effort, and that might include Bruce himself. To the doubters, like me, he has already alerted us. I just didn’t listen. He said on “Changing Children”:

“All you gotta do is hang around 
Tell you you're never gonna know 
Just what's going down
You ain't never gonna know…”

I’ll say.

"Outlaw" Blues-pt. 2

2009-01-21T17:44:00.014+01:00

A couple of days ago, I made some statements about Bruce Springsteen’s new song, “Outlaw Pete”. In the critique, I mentioned that I was disappointed in the song, because of its obvious resemblance to a song by KISS, specifically, “I Was Made For Loving You.” My essay was based on the premise that Bruce had finally run out of gas. The muse had up and left, and he was now reduced to ripping off riffs from make up bands of the 1970’s.

I have to admit that it was Lefsetz that got me all wound up. His newsletter is a definite read for anyone who remembers laying on his bed, listening to records while ardently reading and re-reading album liner notes. Back in the day, when being first to hear the latest album, or uncovering some rough gem and getting your friend over to say, “Man, you’ve GOT to hear this!” Bob Lefsetz is that kind of music junkie. Though his tastes run a little too much to the now departed Warner Brothers/Reprise stable, he has an encyclopedic knowledge of tunes that everyday has me firing up the Wayback Machine. The one drawback to Bob, if it is one, is he is a bit of a cynic about the bizness of music, with good cause. But it does have him “reading” into things that may not be there. He brought up the “Outlaw Pete”/Kiss connection. “We're supposed to believe in a man who's turned on everything he ever believed in, who has resorted to copying the work of hacks and pawning it off as his own?” Bob said. That’s one of the nicer comments. Bob gets that way. He pointed me to the You Tube video and, well, I freaked.

It did sound like the KISS rift. Plus, that the concept of the outlaw in epic-like story (like Pecos Bill?) was already done way, way better by Willie Nelson (Red Headed Stranger) and pretty well by the Eagles (Outlaw Man). The reality was I couldn’t shake the KISS thing. Plus the Wal-Mart deal and the Super Bowl AND “Outlaw Pete” all added up to the post of where had Bruce gone?

I have another brother in arms, Sal Nunziato (who’s blog, Burning Wood, you shouldn’t miss). Sal is also very passionate about music and very generous with the seemingly acres of music at his disposal. He argued that the song was better than heard on first blush. He also took issue with the premise that Bruce hadn’t written anything over the last 15 years that matched the output of his first 15. I said that Springsteen really hadn’t written a decent song since the Academy Award winner, “On The Streets Of Philadelphia.” That may be a cause for debate in some circles. You can talk among yourselves.

Bruce may be the most prolific writer in rock music history. I remember reading a quote by Steve Van Zandt that Springsteen always has a song in his back pocket. I will state right here and now, that Bruce Springsteen can write a better story on a wet cocktail napkin and keep it under five minutes (and add a chorus and a verse) than I can do re-editing a 1,000 words essay over two days. His catalog is littered with characters and emotions that have had me actually feeling and living in his imagination. Springsteen is an artist. Compared to him, I’m still writing “See Spot run!” What Sal misunderstood and what Bob overstated was this. Bruce is so good and has set such a standard that his latest output seems strained and is not quite hitting the mark.

By understanding his position in the Parthenon, he seems to be trying to capture the mood of his fans vis-à-vis the social and political atmosphere of the time he is writing in. That’s the change. In the past, he told us what he thought and wished, even if he called himself Handsome Johnny or told us how he wanted to bust out of this town. Didn’t we all, and it was that common dream we held with him that drew us to his music. In his music now, he seems (again, to me) trying to capture what we feel and think, trying to draw himself closer to us. Does he feel separated? Is that one of the prices one pays for the privileged life of celebrity? Hell, I’ll never know.

Listening a few more times, "Outlaw Pete" is better then I first thought. But, whether you like “Outlaw Pete” or not is not really the issue. I suppose it’s like saying that Henry the IV, pt. 2 is better than Henry the VI, pt. 3. It’s the entire work that makes the artist. With Springsteen, I may be disappointed with the current output as a fan, but I’m glad there is an output. The Baby Boom, which has fueled so much of the culture, is now in its descent. What will be the next lyrical vein that Springsteen mines? Max Schumacher says in the movie, “Network”, “…because I'm beginning to get scared shitless, because all of a sudden it's closer to the end than the beginning, and death is suddenly a perceptible thing to me, with definable features.” Shakespeare wrote King Lear about that dread. Springsteen writing about those feelings he has to feel could prove interesting, indeed.

One thing hasn’t changed in Bruce, I have never seen any one enjoy him self more in playing music. Of course, his shows are legendary. You can just hear a live Springsteen performance and know that the man is having a good time. He, obviously, is a man comfortable in his own skin when he plays. The playfulness he exudes in his Christmas shows, the “Open All Night” from the Dublin Session Band Tour, anytime he does “Ramrod” or “Thunder Road”, and this one, “Light of Day” from New York City.

When he plays with other people, famous and not, the deference they pay this man speaks volumes of his status. He just naturally becomes the band’s leader. Playing with Roy Orbison or playing “Mustang Sally” with a bar band in the Stone Pony, the band becomes Bruce’s band. The man loves to play and that is the reason I love him so. I understand that he has 40 years of touring experience, and has learned to pluck every audience string as well as he rips that Fender. So what? He shares with his band mates (and us) the fun he’s having and we all have a “Hungry Heart” to be part of his band.

Coming In From The Cold

2009-01-20T16:27:00.005+01:00

When I was a kid, a woman was arrested for not sitting in the proper seat on a public bus.

In 1954, The Supreme Court of the United States of America ruled, 91 years after the Emancipation Proclamation, that it was illegal to have segregated schools. Two and a half years later, the President of the United States had to call out the Army to protect nine black students as they enrolled in Little Rock High School in Little Rock, Arkansas.

In 1962, the President of the United States again has to call out armed troops and federal marshals to help a man enroll at the University of Mississippi in Oxford, Mississippi.

In 1963, the City of Birmingham, Alabama uses the public services of fire department hoses and police dogs to stop people from a lawful protest march.

In 1963-64, men are murdered in Mississippi for promoting civil rights, such as voting registration.

People are beaten; cities burn and leaders of movements are assassinated because of civil rights in these United States throughout the 60’s.

Since that time, lawmakers have enacted laws, repealed laws and tried to veto laws all in the name of something that doesn’t matter in the slightest when the shit really hits the fan.

When your house is on fire.

When your country is attacked.

When your kids are sick.

When you think you might die.

Today, a man will be sworn in as the 44th President of the United States of America.

The best thing about his being sworn in is that he was the best man for the job at this time in our country’s history. The people of the United States have chosen him for his spirit, his intelligence, and his empathy with them.

For the first time they have chosen a leader where his skin color was not a factor.

I hope it’s not the last.

Sing it, Bob!

"Outlaw" Blues

2009-01-19T00:09:00.016+01:00

In 1993, in accepting the Academy Award for Best Song for “The Streets of Philadelphia”, Bruce Springsteen said, “…I guess it’s all downhill from here.” It proved to be prophetic. He has not done anything near as well since.

Although his live shows are as compelling as they ever were, albeit shorter in length, his song output, especially in his writing, has not kept up the standard he set. Though the output has remained constantly prolific; any true fan would be lying if he said that any song in the last fifteen years has matched the first fifteen.

Before the nasty mails arrive, let it be known I am not only a big fan of Springsteen the artist; I am also a peer of Bruce the man. We are only six months apart in age, grew up in the same time and place on the Jersey Shore and have many common friends and acquaintances. I was in the audiences during his formative years. He was a guitar hero we saw develop on the stages up and down the East Coast. For many fans like myself, the Born to Run LP was the Springsteen we knew. I then worked for Bruce’s label, and for a time, up to Tunnel of Love, I was sure our personal lives were running in parallel, as I also married and divorced a woman from the Portland, Oregon area.

As slow as it has been, the decline of Springsteen’s work has been apparent. Yet, his many guest appearances with other artists, his forays into folk history and his political stance have always kept him in the fan’s good graces. No matter how much he accumulated wealth and fame, Bruce always seemed to remain a good guy. However, in the last three months, Springsteen has instituted three decisions that may show that he has, finally, jumped the shark.

The phrase refers to a scene in a three-part episode of the American TV series, Happy Days, that broadcast on September 20, 1977. In the third of the three parts of the "Hollywood" episode, Fonzie (Henry Winkler), wearing swim trunks and his trademark leather jacket, jumps over a penned-in shark while water skiing. The infamous scene was seen by many as betraying Happy Days' original 1950s setting (as well as reversing its earlier character-developments) by cashing in on the 1970s fads of Evel Knievel and Jaws. Producer Garry Marshall later admitted that he knew the show had lost something as the crew prepared to shoot the scene. The phrase has been used more recently outside the realm of popular culture, representing anything that has reached its peak and has declined in quality.

The first sign of Bruce donning the skies was when he announced that he would do the halftime show of the Super Bowl. I was able to justify that decision by noting that Bruce and the E Street Band are a great live act, and would be able to excite a live crowd of 80,000 and a national TV audience of millions more, much like Prince or McCartney had in past events. No doubt the younger Springsteen would never have booked the event, but we all mellow, as we get older, right?

If the water skis went on for the Super Bowl date then the leather jacket was donned for the next move. Last Tuesday, Wal-Mart released "Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band's Greatest Hits." The disc features only one song, 2007's "Radio Nowhere," that wasn't already on 2003's "The Essential Bruce Springsteen." The package will be sold exclusively at Wal-Mart stores in the United States. Al Norman is the founder of Sprawl Busters. He has helped grassroots citizen's groups stop big box stores for the past 15 years. This is what he wrote of the Wal-Mart deal, “The Boss has signed on with the Retail Boss, much to the chagrin of his many fans, which saw Springsteen as the voice of the disenfranchised. Now he's just another Walton commodity. Born in the U.S.A. meets China-Mart.”

Tony Sachs, in the Huffington Post, wrote, “Did Bruce Springsteen invest his record royalties with Bernie Madoff? Did he forget that his kids are rapidly approaching college age? Because I can't think of any other reason why The Boss would sell a new greatest hits CD exclusively through Wal-Mart, which hasn't exactly been the champion of employees' rights over the last few decades. Not only that, Bruce is basically telling the few remaining brick-and-mortar record stores just what he thinks of them. This move is so un-Springsteen-like that I'm almost tempted to believe that nobody's told him about it yet.”

I can think of only one reason why Springsteen would make this deal. It is because his core fans still buy CD’s, and there is, unfortunately, only one viable outlet to get his product. This is a fact that any realist knows. The music business has changed and Bruce’s fans are older. They can now have access to his music while doing the necessary shopping for the family.

As you can see, I have been able to justify the first and rationalize the second, and still keep my basic faith in Springsteen intact. Sure, he writes songs for his movie star buddies and hobnobs with Bono, Hanks, and Obama. Why not, he’s earned it.

I read that the hobnobbing on the campaign trail and the outcome of the Presidential elections in the US had “energized” Bruce to write and record a new LP of tunes. I was hoping that he would be able to transcend the usual malaise of successful rock stars, which is after you get it all-the money, the fame and the happy home life-what do you write about? What outrage or event will fire you up? I hoped that the political change in the USA might be the catalyst for him.

Like John Wayne in "The Shootist", the gunslinger is no longer the fastest draw. On his new album, “Working On A Dream”, Bruce Springsteen, the author of the following epics, “Badlands”, “Thunder Road”, “Ramrod”, and minor favorites like the “Girls in Summer Clothes”, has had to give us, for the opening cut, “Outlaw Pete”. While some people posting on the fan site Backstreets.com have given favorable reviews, others have been less charitable. Several posters compared the melody of the new Springsteen song "Outlaw Pete" with 1979 disco-rock anthem by KISS, "I Was Made for Lovin' You." Check it out and see what they mean.

If he had declared Outlaw Pete a homage to his (or his kids’) favorite rock band, it would have been much easier to swallow. After all, he did write “Hungry Heart” for The Ramones. I hope this song is only a slip. That “Outlaw Pete” is just a pimple on an extraordinary catalog of songs. I’ll have to hear the rest of the album to make that decision.

Meanwhile, I’m just waiting to read the announcement of the deal for Bruce and the E Street Band to play a six-month run at a casino in Atlantic City.

It's Winter Here

2009-01-08T14:14:00.007+01:00

I know some of you in the northern areas have had some bad weather of late. Certainly I am not trying to tell you that things are tough here in Stockholm. As the Swedes say, there is no bad weather-only bad clothes.

I took the camera along today when I went out and thought you might like to see the neighborhood.

Do The Things You Do

2009-01-06T16:10:00.002+01:00

Yesterday, I saw one of those human-interest pieces on the TV newscast. You know the ones. They tell some story that either pulls at your heartstrings or makes you shake your head in that “what were they thinking” sort of way.

It seems there is a group of Swedish friends who annually, during the New Year’s holidays, get together and hold a ski jumping contest. Unlike the one you may be familiar with from the winter Olympic contests, this event is a bit low key. Our contestants find a suitable slope and then build a homemade snow ramp.

The object seems to be to rumble down the slope, gaining speed along the way. Then launch yourself up and off the ramp. However, once the contestant launches himself, is where the two events depart similarities. In the legitimate contests, the goal is to see how far the skier can sail down the hill. In the little contest I witnessed, the goal was to see who could crash into a small, supple tree and hold on.

For the three or four minutes I watched, the friendly band of skiers, who were obviously relatives, neighbors, friends and friends of friends, shot down the slope and shot off the ramp and crashed into this tree. The ones who held on were applauded and cheered. The ones who didn’t hold on, well, some did so with comic results. Other contestants, however, had the crowd holding their collective breath until convinced the contestant was still able to move. It is all done for fun, and has obviously grown out of an amusing situation that is now recreated as an annual event. Its reputation has not only expanded the participant list, but also drawn enough attention to bring out a TV camera crew to tape the fun. What it shows is what we humans will do when bored and look for entertaining way to pass our time.

It started me thinking about some of the silly pastimes I have been involved in. I can remember my friends and I on a weekend golf outing. The golf course was in an isolated part of the Cascade Mountains in Oregon, between Eugene and Bend. A couple of dozen of us would get together and pitch tents and camp out for the weekend event. After sitting around the campfire telling tall tales and ingesting various refreshments, we all jumped up and went to the golf course and played a game familiar to golfers called closest to the pin.The object was to hit a golf ball from 150 yards out and see who could get it nearest to the flag stick.

As I said, this was a rather remote area of the Cascades, so electric illumination of any kind did not exist. As bright as the stars and the moon can be on warm summer nights along the Blue River in Oregon, it was tough to see the green, let alone the flag stick. To aid our directional and distance awareness, we knotted a flashlight with the flag. I’m sure there were golfers days later who were delighted to find the few dozen golf balls that were not successfully landed on the putting surface that night.

Caught Up In Die Walle

2008-12-05T18:13:00.006+01:00

You can file this in the drawer that says "If you had told me this five yeas ago, I would have said yer nuts!" Last night I saw a German film that had Swedish subtitles. Here are the thoughts I had last night:

The screen darkened and the ending credits began to roll. The audience at Stockholm’s Sture movie theater sat in their seats, silent and still, despite the loud rock music that thumped while the credits rolled. No one moved, each lost in their own stunned silence, trying to overcome the predictable, yet chilling ending to the movie they had just watched.

The movie is Die Welle (The Wave) the latest effort from director Dennis Gansel (he also wrote the screenplay based on the book by Todd Straser). In the movie, Rainer Wegner (played by Jürgen Vogel), a popular high school teacher, finds himself relegated to teaching autocracy as part of the school’s project week. His students greet the prospect of studying fascism (yet again) grumbling: The Nazis sucked. We get it. Struck by the teenager’s complacency and unwitting arrogance, Rainer devises an unorthodox experiment.

In probing the underpinnings of fascism, Die Welle is far from a social-studies lesson. As with his previous film, Before the Fall, director Dennis Gansel uses teens to fashion an energetic, gripping drama that cuts through the ideology and goes straight for the marrow—the human motives and individual behaviors that contribute to gangs, cliques or national political movements. In stripping away the emotions and inconsistencies of his characters (the need to belong, to be cool, to be outside the norm), Gansel puts a local and human perspective on the terrifying paradox that these students may welcome the very things they denounce.

Die Welle is based on the true story of Ron Jones, a high school teacher in Palo Alto, California. His sophomore World History class was studying World War II. During one lecture, he was interrupted by a question. How could the German populace claim ignorance of the slaughter of the Jewish people? How can people who were neighbors and maybe even friends of the Jewish citizen say they weren’t there when it happened? They were good questions and Jones had no simple answer. Jones decided to take a week and manipulate his class into a fascist “state”. Beginning with a simple step, having his students sit at attention, Jones began the “movement” and gave it a name, The Third Wave.

When he ended the experiment, Jones used a ruse, telling the class that they were actually being trained as part of a national movement to change the way the country was run. He had them gather to “meet” the supreme leader of National Third Wave movement. When no such leader appeared, it slowly dawned on the students they had been duped. In the four years Ron Jones taught at Cubberley High School no one ever admitted to attending the Third Wave Rally.

In Die Welle, we, the audience, are also manipulated. Gansel uses violence in increasing doses to lead into his inevitable finish. He suggests that the fascist state creates an environment where violence is the answer to any challenge to that state. But in reality, the violent scenes could be drawn from any teen angst movie in the last fifty years, from Blackboard Jungle, Rebel Without A Cause, West Side Story, and Over The Edge.
Reiner Wegner, however, teaches in the era of cell phones, SMS messaging, e-mails, and My Space. His students create web sites and are exposed to a modern world of video games and wars of terrorism shown on the daily news. Violence is not in the abstract and information is passed instantly. What the audience at the Sture realized this night was that the morality play they had just witnessed was not only believable but was wicked easily possible, not just in the Germany portrayed, but here in Sweden as well as anywhere.

Happy Thanksgiving from Mr. Dooley

2008-11-27T11:29:00.007+01:00

I often use a holiday as an excuse to send messages back to my friends and family back in the good 'ole USA. Usually, I will fill the text with sentimental thoughts that are sparked by some quote I research or find in my internet readings. After all, these quotes are made by people a lot smarter than I am, and if I can have a little of their smartness rub off on me, well, it's better for my readers. At the least, it starts me to think and that' s a good thing, isn't it?

So, with this Thanksgiving Day upon us, and as I'm getting nice messages from my American friends here in Sweden, I resort to Bartlett's Quotations for a nice quote to pass along to my pals. Now, here comes my point. I discover Mr. Dooley and his opinions. Written by Peter Finley Dunne, Mr. Dooley's Opinions was published in 1901.

The fictional Mr. Dooley expounded upon political and social issues of the day from his South Side Chicago Irish pub and he spoke with the thick verbiage and accent of an Irish immigrant. I think when you read this, that Mr. Dooley would fit very nicely in your Thanksgiving get together today. I have taken the liberty to update the writing so you can easily read this post. I have included the original text after.

Happy Thanksgiving, Everybody! Here is Mr. Dooley on Thanksgiving -

“When I was a young man,” said Mr. Dooley, “I often heard Thanksgiving Day alluded to from the altar as a pagan festival. Father Kelly doesn’t think so. He says it was founded by the Puritans to give thanks for being preserved from the Indians, and that we keep it to give thanks we are preserved from the Puritans. In the beginning, Hennessey, it was a religious festival, like dividend day in the synagogues. You see, the Puritan Fathers, whose descendents mostly live in Kansas, now, had such a devil of a time introducing religion and slavery among the savage red men that they found hunting wild cranberries in the neighborhood of Salem, Mass., that when the job was completed they set apart a day to thank the Lord for His opportune assistance in their work in reforming the world and with a few frills added in the way of food the custom’s been kept up to this very day. In every city of this fair land the churches are open and empty, the fleet anise seed bag is pursued over the smiling potato patch and the groans of the dying resound from many a football field. We’re giving thanks that we’re preserved from hunger, from thirst, from free silver, from war and pestilence and famine and each other. But don’t you forget it, Hennessey; it’s none of those things we really give thanks for. In our hearts we’re grateful for only one blessing and that is on Thanksgiving Day we get the first good crack of the season at the Turkey Bird and his running mate, old Uncle Cranberry Sauce. You betcha!

Jake

2008-10-23T19:18:00.003+02:00

A good friend of mine lost a dear pal of he and his family. Jake was somethin' else, and like most of us could be a pain in the you know what. But I was lucky to be a part of his circle. Here are some thoughts of mine on him-geno

That first time, I met him, his voice was resonating through the windows. Coming up the walk, apprehension was escalated by the blinds on the front window that I could see shaking and hear rattling, giving me a sense of his size.

Ringing the bell escalated the frenzy, (which later I would learn wasn’t menace, but simply meant, “Oh, boy, somebody’s visiting”, and that there would be some one new to play with) until a human voice would yell, “Jake! Be Quiet!” which stilled the voice, but never the enthusiasm.

Entering his domain, his size could put you uneasy. I am taller than some, and Jake’s head would come up to my lower ribs. I never stooped to greet him, but I always bowed to his magnanimity. At my first introduction, I extended my hand, palm down. I read somewhere that dogs, especially ones that are unfamiliar with you, look at a hand with the palm up as a threatening gesture. Jake, however, so secure in his demeanor, just gave a cursory nod to my hand, and immediately began the investigative sniffing that dogs do. After four or five snorts Jake had assessed my genealogical stock, school GPA, the reason I never returned that overdue book to the Multnomah County Public Library (Albina Branch) and if I had sex recently. Once assimilated, I was permitted to enter.

Having passed the entrance requirements, you were now officially accepted into the Friends of Jake, which was only open to bipods. The Chairman now went off to search for the nearest item of what’s important, the end all ball or chew toy. As a member of the organization, it would now be your sworn duty to occupy his time by throwing or tugging on said item until either he or you tired of the game. There was never a question of who would tire first.

Slowly, while doing your duty, a visitor would understand why the Feldman family played their music or TV so loudly. The clatter and clacking of Jake’s nails on the tile and the hardwood floor would drown out conversation and a normal audio volume. One worried about the Chairman, whether he would hurt himself or break some furniture, as his momentum of his large body would prevent quick stops on the slick floors. I’m sure in his youthful enthusiasm (which remained long after the youth had left) that there were some hair-raising crashes, caused by this lack of braking and the slides across the ice like surfaces. No matter the severity, nothing would hinder the back and forth scurrying that was Jake’s game. You were reduced to the mindless machine, like a tennis cannon, that continually delivered the object to chase. Which, after a few tosses, began to become downright swampy from his slobber, which mattered not one whit to Jake’s.

On my last visit, there was a noticeable hitch to Jake’s giddy up. No doubt that some of his aches and pains, like a veteran basketball player, were caused by his mad scrambles across the hardwood. It never dampened his gusto to play, however. It was his connection to you, his wordless communication that he liked you. What better way to show somebody that you like him or her then by playing? Play is a social skill that needs no language. Jake could speak it fluently.

Jake’s excitement to see his pals was so great that sometimes he had to spin in circles to release it. Like a dervish he would go round and round, making the observer dizzy, but seemingly, never him. But as happy as he was to see you, was just as sorry to see you go. He would ask you to take him along, using his big eyes to look imploringly at you. When that request was denied, as it had to be with me, and the door would shut, he would immediately head for his observation post, pragmatically nosing the window blinds aside for an unencumbered view of the departure, maybe hoping there might be some reconsideration.

Well, like all those other times, I’ll say now what I always said to him then, as he looked through that glass. “See ya, Dogface!” No less fondly then the previous, definitely more heartfelt now.

Single Malt Swedes

2008-09-26T23:41:00.001+02:00

I have a friend who collects single malt whiskies the way I used to collect record albums. Ralph revels in exposing his friends to brands of single malt whiskies with names you have probably never heard of. Unless, of course, you are as avid a connoisseur as he is. Now I know how I must have belabored my friends in dissecting the liner notes on obscure bands’ albums that would never be heard on an underground radio station much less Top 40.

As this was the last weekend for the Stockholm Beer and Whiskey Festival at the Factory in Nacka Strand, your correspondent decided to try to discover what the attraction to whisky is. One must understand that yours truly likes a good drink as much as the next guy. However, I always had judged my alcohol on two main criteria. The first was if the beverage was palatable. The second was never mix what you imbibe. The first rule was for pleasure. The second was for self-preservation.

The Festival was held at the rather cozy environment of the Factory on Nackastrand. I knew immediately that I was in for more than your usual kegger, as upon entering, you were given a glass made from real glass. No disposable plastic cups at this soiree. The souvenir could be used for the tasting and testing available inside. The showroom floor was divided into three sections, not for any other reason than that was the building’s floor plan. Beside the booths and displays of booze there were also purveyors of food, mostly of the kind that would go well with the smoky tastes of the single malts and dark beers. Elk, crocodile, fish, and chips were available, as well as high-end chocolates, desserts and, of course, cigars for good conversation after dinner, if people still allow that in their homes.

The festival divides itself by the time of the day. Early in the session, the real students –and those who think they are- move from booth to booth sampling, questioning what wood the peat was smoked with, and debate the fine points of the different distilleries. The latter part of the day, the Festival turns into one gigantic pub, with all the raucousness one associates with one.

I always thought that the wine cognoscenti were rather pompous with all the swirling and smelling and sipping that went into making a wine decision, especially when based on my limited alcohol acceptance level. So you can imagine my wonder at seeing people holding scotch up to the light and performing much the same rituals as those wine snobs.

Determined to find out the attraction, my first stop was to the “The Friends of Classic Malts” (www.malts.com). This is an organization, upon deeper study, started by Diageo, who are the makers of the world famous Guinness beer, Smirnoff vodka, Johnnie Walker Scotch Whisky, Baileys liqueur, Tanqueray and Gordon's gins, and many more prestigious alcohol brands. They also own twenty-seven working single malt distilleries in all the regions of Scotland. That being said, I found out that Sweden, for some reason is one of the world’s largest markets (by capita) of single malt whiskey.
In a land that seems to imbibe clear alcohol (with sill and a song) at every social function what made Sweden love whisky? My question at various booths was met with vague answers about the fact that Swedes already enjoy the taste of smoked fish and meats-ergo the smoky taste of malt whiskey falls right into place. There wasn’t much enthusiasm for your correspondence’s suggestion that the Viking raiders of the English Isles back in the day were bringing back casks of 10th century scotch as part of their plunder.

Later, I met with a Swedish chap by the name of Anders Gjörling, who titles himself a whisky ambassador. Mr. Gjörling has been a student of whisky since 1971, when a fondness for Scottish music led him, inevitably, to the customs of the country, notably whisky.

According to Anders, the Swedish fondness for whisky began during the periods between the World Wars. For time immemorial Swedes of all social structures sucked down clear alcohol, like brännvin (schnapps) and vodka. During the period between the wars, sophisticated Swedes began to drink cognac, to distinguish them from the common folk.

However, the outbreak of the Second World War made getting cognac impossible. So the sophisticates had to go back to drinking the clear stuff with the common folk. When the war came to an end, cognac was still scarce. But the British Isles, in an effort to jump start the war-ruined economy, began to export the one thing that had not been stopped by war production-whisky. And export it they did. Sweden, because of their neutrality, had a population with disposable income, so the sophisticates went from cognac to the whisky of the British Isles.

The UK produced so much whisky to a thirsty post war world, that by 1955 production levels had reached to pre WW I levels and by 1968 they doubled that again. In Sweden, there was a movement to upgrade the quality of all types of food, so, an interest in single malts began to catch hold, as whisky lovers looked to the smaller outputs of the single malt producers as a source of a better product.

Interest in single malts has continued to expand, much to the surprise of Anders Görling. “I thought back in the 70’s this would be like any vogue, people would be enthused, be part of the “in thing” and then look for the next hip thing.” However, Görling says, Sweden is now about to enter the fourth wave of single malt enthusiasm. “Like the waves on a shore, whisky lovers seem to ebb and then another batch of single malt fans appears.”

In fact, about 10 years ago, eight Swedish friends were sitting around, sipping their whiskies. Remarking how it seemed that on every occasion they enjoyed their scotch, they wondered why Sweden didn’t produce its own whisky? As engineers, they knew that whisky distillation was really a combination of water, peat dried barley and yeast aged in casks. Upon investigation and experimentation those eight friends now produce the first Swedish whisky in Gävle. Whiskey Magazine said of Mackmyra Svensk Whiskey, "Sweden has always been serious about its whisky but now it has a distillery of its own that it can be truly proud of.”

Starting your own distillery might be a little adventurous for most of us. However, if you’re interested in learning a bit more about these magical spirits of the Gaels, there are whisky clubs to join. You can find one near you by looking at the Association of Swedish Whisky Clubs site (www.svenskawhisky.se). Bars and pubs like the Bishops Arms (www.bishopsarms.com) have whisky tastes and seminars all around Sweden, as well.

I guess the answer to my question as to why Swedes like whisky may never be definitively answered. The best answer may come from the English golf writer, Horace Hutchinson. Paraphrasing, he said, “We borrowed whiskey from Scotland… Not because it is Scottish, but because it is good”.

Jazz Festival Coverage Needs To Be About The Music

2008-07-25T23:04:00.005+02:00

As printed July 27, 2008

For 25 years, the Stockholm Jazz Festival has been a highlight of city’s summer season.

This year’s event brought an eclectic selection of jazz, blues, and pop music to five different stages over four days.

Sadly, however, the casual reader of the entertainment sections of the local dailies would have thought that Mary J. Blige and Patti Smith were the only artists to perform this year.

Coverage of the event was delegated to second day editions or web pages. Worst of all, the jazz artists and the “unfamiliar” artist was hardly given any space at all.

In contrast, Stockholm’s media gave next day coverage of the rock and pop festivals in Börlange and Sölvesborg with pages of reviews of the artist performances and pictures from the event.

And rather than showcase the wonderful assortment of acts, festival press coverage instead focused on many of the criticisms that have emerged about this venerated musical experience.

Admittedly, the Stockholm Jazz Festival may not be perfect.

For starters, there are those who argue that it doesn’t deserve to be called a “jazz” festival at all. But the reason for bringing in pop artists like Tower of Power or Mary J. Blige is spelled m-o-n-e-y.

Unfortunately, the festival’s finances have long been on the precipice of insolvency.

According to the Festival Manager, Bo Persson, other Nordic festivals get six times as much government contribution as the Stockholm Jazz Festival receives from its supporting sources.

As a result, it’s the big name pop acts that bring an important boost to the festival’s balance sheet.

Some like to complain that the acts brought to Stockholm are not the best musical talents available.

But if artists like Patti Smith and Van Morrison are not on someone’s “A” list, you have to wonder who are?

Others point to festivals in places like Copenhagen and Rotterdam as having higher quality and larger attendance.

You certainly can say that in comparison, the Stockholm Jazz Festival is not as big as some other European festivals.

But isn’t that part of the attraction?

Stockholm music fans get to see their favorite artists relatively up close and not as part of a throng like at other musical festivals.

And for those of us used to attending music festivals in out of the way, muddy fields, the ability to see these name attractions in the intimate and panoramic setting of Stockholm’s Djurgården is quite a treat.

Opinions about the Festival are like noses. Everyone has one.

But more than 25,000 music fans didn’t show up this year to debate whether or not the festival should be labeled jazz or pop.

Nor were they there to complain about who wasn’t playing; they were there to enjoy who was.

Of course, some media attention to the problems of the event is valid. And stories about finances and debates on artistic direction are informative to the city’s music fans.

But once the show opens its gates and the music begins, the time for complaining is over and attention should then turn to the joys of experiencing one of Stockholm’s major cultural events.

There is plenty of time to write about what is wrong or what went wrong after the shows.

After all, it is the shows themselves that are the real story, year after year. They allow music fans to experience live performances by global super stars as well as emerging local stars in a relaxed and pleasant atmosphere.

And isn’t that what Stockholm summers should be about?

Why Matt's A Good Guy!

2008-06-26T22:57:00.006+02:00

OK, I don't post as much as I should, I know it-you are absolutely right. Shame on me! But when something comes along that moves me-I have to share it.

I truly believe, and it's proven to me the more I walk on this orb, that we are a lot more similar then we let on. Or that we want to believe. Here's an example why I think this:

Answer To A Question Of Age

2008-03-28T16:10:00.027+01:00

This was reported by Steve Benen in Crooks and Liars today. The Candidate Characteristic We’re Not Supposed To Talk About:

"But the one question that no one seems anxious to talk about is the fact that John McCain, at age 72, would be the oldest person ever elected president. There’s apparently some public discomfort over this, but it’s ground that few are prepared to tread...Voters may not be comfortable with McCain’s age, but figuring out what to do about this may be one of the more complicated questions facing Dems in the general election."

Sez Who?

Steve then further asks the question,

"Here’s the catch: Americans may not like the idea of a 72-year-old candidate, but no one has any idea how to take advantage of this. What are Dems supposed to do, tell elderly jokes? That’s clearly not going to happen."

Steve's right and the Democrats don't have to do that. Colbert, Leno, Letterman and Stewart will take care of that aspect. All the Dems have to do his show how the Office wears and tears on any one elected to be the POTUS.

Like this:

That should take care of the problem.

If Johnny "Guitar" Watson was President...

2008-01-29T22:12:00.000+01:00

If Johnny "Guitar" Watson was President of the United States, the State of the Union Address would have been more truthful...

and a whole lot funkier!

What Do You Expect? They're Swedish!

2008-01-19T19:42:00.000+01:00

Friday night at the Fasching Jazz Club in Stockholm, a group of musicians gathered to cover the varied discography of the acclaimed group, Steely Dan. Because of the artistry of the original musicians and the fact that the dedicated fans of Steely Dan are many and highly suspect of any band of pretenders, it would be a daring undertaking for any band.

So you can imagine that skepticism was high when 13 musicians, none over the age of 25, crowded onto the stage of the venerated jazz club. It was doubtful that these kids would have the chops to pull off the music that some of the most talented musicians in jazz and rock have performed. In addition, some of the songs were older then the oldest of the group known as The Stealy Band.

It takes pluck to perform your very first live gig in the oldest jazz club in Stockholm. It takes audacity to choose the complex music and often highly ironic lyrics of Steely Dan as your musical Carte de Jour. But on this night, the assembled group of musicians and singers from the Royal College of Music, not only were proficient, but the standing ovation from the overflow and appreciative crowd was testament that the kids had nailed it. To paraphrase the famous movie line, this band had the overflow crowd by the second bar of Time Out Of Mind, the opening number.

Rock music has always been the outlet for adolescent ache. But it's rare when rock captures the complications of adult sorrows almost purely with its sound. Steely Dan is the most unlikely hit-singles band. Steely Dan has abandoned many musical conventions and literal lyrics for an unpredictable, free-roving style. Less a band than a concept, Steely Dan is one of the most advanced, successful, and mysterious units of popular music. Combining pop hooks with jazz harmonies with complicated time changes and cryptic lyrics, this band sounds like no one else.

It would be a reach to say the The Stealy Band group captured the nuances of those jaded and sardonic lyrics. As an example, on Deacon Blues the Steely Dan founders Donald Fagen and Walter Becker, paint a picture of dark simplicity: "Drink Scotch whiskey all night long and die behind the wheel." Becker has been quoted, "We're about people who are more or less at the end of their proverbial tethers.” That's Steely Dan: frustration and failure at the heart of the party. As it happens, not many of these young achievers could be acquainted with that side of Steely Dan. They couldn’t be Kid Charlemagne. They can't know Josie. Don't know Peg. Yet.

Steely Dan is famous for their use of chord sequences and harmonies that explore the area of musical tension between traditional pop music sounds and jazz. In fact, they are known for their use of the mu major chord, often simply known to rock musicians as the "Steely Dan chord". It would be foolish of anyone to expect that these relatively inexperienced players could match the chops of such stellar former Steely Dan members as Jeff Baxter, Larry Carlton, Rick Derringer, Jeff Porcaro, Steve Gadd and Bernard Purdie. However, the enthusiasm and eerily dead on arrangements of Stealy Dan overcame any lack of playing (or life experience) shortcomings.

Running through a set list consisting of classics like The Royal Scam, Dirty Work, Deacon Blues, Reelin’ In The Years, Ricki Don’t Lose That Number and Josie, the young members did not shrink from their assignments. Vocalist Oskar Nilsson, sounding closer to early Steely Dan vocalist David Palmer then the later sounds of Donald Fagen was excellent, keeping the energy up all night. The four piece horn section (Kristian Brink and Jakob Gustafsson on tenor sax; Rikard Lindgren, trumpet; Lisa Bodelius, trombone) were spot on in their fills and solos. The rhythm section of bassist Kristofer Sundstom, keyboardist Edvin Nahlin and drummer Carl Ottosson kept the necessary pulse and harmonic support.

Guitarists Efraim Olofsson and Alexander Kronbrink had the unenviable chore of trying to replicate the signature Steely Dan guitar lead. Some of those solos are in the top 100 guitar solos of all time. Yet, somehow, The Stealy Band’s twin attack pulled it off to the delight of the audience, especially on Kid Charlemagne. While the guys were not note for note perfect, like they say, they were good enough for jazz.

The female soul-inspired backup singers in Steely Dan have the role of being not only the supporting vocalists, but are the foils to the middle aged angst of the protagonists in such songs as Babylon Sister, Peg and Hey, Nineteen. They often are the visual center point, as there isn’t much showmanship bombast coming from the rest of the band. As would befit a group in their first stage show, the trio of Ida Lindberg, Matilda Lindell and Emmma Salmonsson didn’t capture the necessary sultriness when not singing their parts. However, when the group stepped up to the microphone and opened their mouths, their talent captured the moment, especially on Babylon Sister and the encore, My Old School.

I have to give a nod to the soundboard at Fasching. To mike a 13-piece band that includes such diverse sounds as horns, voices, keyboards and electric guitars and then make them all sound distinct without any individual piece being overpowering is not easy. The Fasching crew did it with aplomb and some better-known groups could take a lesson from the guys at Fasching.

The standing ovation at the end of the two set show was proof of the crowd’s acceptance of The Stealy Band. The band received many cheers throughout the night's performance. When the audience would applaud and cheer at the end of each solo the players gave no acknowledgment. Not from any arrogance but from the stunned realization that the house was accepting their effort. Acceptance? Hell, they crowd loved them! When somebody at the table pointed out the humble lack of appreciation, a friend from Sweden responded, "What do you expect? They're Swedish!"

The show by The Stealy Band was, literally, better than advertised. There was a rumor going around that this was a one off show. That the whole set was a school laboratory project. That the members were doing it for school credit! If an exiting crowd that asks the question, “Will they play again?” means anything, then HEY! PROFESSOR! Give The Stealy Band an A+!

Tells Us What We Don't Know

2008-01-10T14:02:00.000+01:00

Tuesday night, another woman didn’t listen to the experts. Hillary Clinton got off the canvas after taking a hard punch in Iowa and won the next round in New Hampshire. I don’t care about your interest or affiliation with American politics. You still have to tip your hat to Senator Clinton and her victory in the New Hampshire primary on Tuesday night.

Tom Brokaw, the retired news anchor wondered aloud on MSNBC, last night about listening to the “experts.” He said, to Chris Matthews directly and the media in general, that they have to “temper that temptation to constantly try to get ahead of what the voters are deciding:

Brokaw made that assessment based upon the fact that the media had all but written the Clinton campaign as crippled, due to the large margin of Barack Obama’s victory in Iowa, the apparent disarray of the Clinton team and the polling done on the New Hampshire voters. Yet, when the voters emerged from their vote, the outcome was decidedly different from the predictions. The predictions of the pundits, that is. A closer look at the poll data showed them to be fairly accurate in their estimates.

The American media has based its coverage of national elections, not on what a potential office holder stands for, but the coverage is about the race itself. The reporting is exclusively who is ahead and who is behind. Reporters don’t try to establish the candidates’ policies, but try to catch them in “gotcha” moments of mistakes in what they say or about the events in their private lives. Questions are not focused on foreign policy or the national budget. Candidates are allowed to preach. The candidates talk about "change" as if it were substantive. Reporters dutifully transcribe the message, but not the blueprint. It takes too much effort to pull the curtain away from the wizards. Political coverage is asking how much a candidate spends on their haircut.

I’m sure all the candidates, no matter their political party or how they placed, are taking pleasure in the political pundits' blunder in New Hampshire. Settling in their seats as they head to the next series of events in this long trek to the White House, I’m sure every one of them thinks to themselves with a wry grin, “Gotcha!”

Monster (skier) of Lake Storsjön

2008-01-10T13:28:00.000+01:00

Last year I tried to cross country ski for the first time. It looks so easy on the Nordic Track videos. I had visions of me gliding through the Scandinavian countryside, healthy and invigorated. My experience, however, was like my brain and my legs were on two different frequencies and I made about 20 yards when two attempts at a steep incline of about the size of a step on your front stoop were not only unsuccessful, but the resulting fall led me to hang up my skis and retreat to the coffee shop.

While the American TV sports coverage was all about football, here in Sweden it was skiing, both the downhill and the (dreaded) cross-country events. The cross-country event was the two-year-old Tour de Ski and is modeled on the Tour de France of cycling. Races this year were held in the Czech Republic, Germany and Italy over eight days. The event is a combination of cross country ski races. The overall results are based on the aggregate time for all events, as well as bonus seconds awarded on sprint and mass start stages.

Sweden was cheering for Charlotte Kalla, who was competing in the Tour de Ski for her first time. A feisty 20 year old, Charlotte hails from Östersund, a city of 57,000 residents. Östersund is famous for its cross-country ski trails and Storsjöodjur, the Great Monster of Lake Storsjön. The hometown girl, Kalla, has been competing internationally since 2004. She has been steadily improving her stature and in her ski sponsor’s bio it says she is “stubborn and goal focused.” Her gusty performance this weekend proved those words true and made her an overnight sports hero.

Over the course of her Tour de Ski, she had a pole break in a sprint race, costing her a possible win. In the race on Saturday, while attempting a move to the lead, she clipped her skis with another racer’s skis which caused her to fall and lose time and position. Getting back on her skis, she screamed a word that would have been bleeped on American TV (or maybe not as it was in Swedish) and preceded to literally chase down the leaders. While the experts were expounding on the error of this tactic, Kalla blew by skier after skier until she finished second, only 36 seconds behind the Tour de Ski leader going into Sunday’s grueling final event.

The final stage was held in pursuit style in freestyle technique, with the overall Tour leader starting first and all other competitors starting after according to their time behind in the overall standings. After a short lap of the Val di Fiemme stadium tracks, the course meandered down the valley to the base of the Final Climb. Two and half kilometers and 425 vertical meters up the Alpes Cermis later the first athlete across the finish line would be the winner. With all the energy expelled on her second place finish on Saturday, the pundits did not hold high hopes for Charlotte winning on Sunday.

Charlotte caught Virpi Kuitunen from Finland a third of the way up the Final Climb, and then made a decisive break with one kilometer to go. She accelerated quickly and Kuitunen had nothing to answer with. She crossed the finish line and collapsed, winning by a spectacular 36 seconds ahead of the second place Finn.

Arriving back home in Sweden, the smiling Charlotte was a national hero. Her picture was on the front of every newspaper, and the TV stations were falling all over themselves to get an interview with the ski star from Östersund. The city fathers, in a burst of civic pride gave Charlotte a piece of land in recognition for her heroic effort that put the city on the international map.

By listening to her heart, body and a indomitable will to win and not to what the “experts” said was what made Charlotte Kalla a champion.

Re-setting the Bar

2008-01-10T12:40:00.000+01:00

Kajsa Bergqvist is the premier female Swedish high jumper. She has been a champion in world class high jumping events, winning an Olympic bronze medal, a gold and two bronze medals in the World Championships and two gold in the World Indoor Championships. She holds the current world record for the indoor high jump and is the Swedish record holder in both the indoor and outdoor women’s high jump.

Track and Field is a very big sport in Europe and the premier athletes are better known and respected then rock stars. The events are carried on European TV all summer long and are sponsored lucratively. The top tiers of European athletes are wealthy and connected, but not as much as the American professional athletes. Nonetheless, there is a lot of incentive to compete.

So, when Ms. Bergqvist announced this past Monday that she was retiring from high jumping, it was surprising. There were many who thought that her slump towards the end of last year was temporary. She just turned 31 this past October and though a veteran, probably had at least a year left to continue competing as a world-class athlete.

If she had an entourage of sponsors, a manager and advisors, perhaps she would have been pressured to stay on. Kajsa was just married on this past New Year’s Eve and in her retirement announcement she felt she was entering a “new phase” in her life and no longer felt motivated to keep competing, even after last year's long break away from the sport.

We so often criticize the athlete who hangs on past their prime, staying around only to collect a check when the skills have eroded. When that happens, we then shake our collective heads in scorn and forget the events that dazzled us with their skills. So I'm tipping my hat to an athlete who was honest to her fans, her sport and most importantly, to herself by getting out of the game when the time was right.

Way to go, Kajsa Bergqvist!

No Wimps...please!

2008-01-04T23:20:00.000+01:00

The Iowa caucus is over and the winners are Barack Obama, the freshmen Senator from Illinois and Michael Huckabee, the former governor of Arkansas. We could debate the qualifications of each man, but the reality is that neither one has enough credentials to give a high school debate team a good workout.

I know that the purveyors of news in the United States like to break down the American elections to the level of Seabiscuit against War Admiral. It would seem that the last two national elections for the President of the United States has proven the error of that kind of coverage. Living in Stockholm, Sweden, I've been spared the countdown to election coverage, but it is incredulous that America is forced to choose from these pretenders for its next president.

Obama has been preaching his mantra of bringing the country together. He said in his victory speech, "We're choosing unity over division and sending a powerful message that change is coming to America." However, no one has ever asked the follow up question, how is he planning to do it? How does a man who has never done anything for the State of Illinois but be elected propose to pull the United States out of its morass of difficult problems and the loss of its prestige overseas?

On the Republican side, the bible thumping former preacher turned politician has used the well-oiled machine of the Christian fundamentalists to win in Iowa. Like Obama, Huckabee does well telling his story in the cozy confines of the living rooms, VFW halls and church basements of Iowa. He is personable and he mirrors the hopes of God fearing folk. "Values voters spoke loudly tonight in Iowa," said Greg Mueller, a GOP strategist. "Huckabee also demonstrated an authenticity; he ran as a genuine candidate. Now, he's got to use that bully pulpit to broaden his populist appeal in New Hampshire." Huckabee's thinking seems to be that if the voter just believes strong enough and we can keep the sinners and heathens in check, the good ‘ole USA can return to the glory days of William Jennings Bryant. Or, at least, back to the days before the farm wasn’t being turned into a Wal-Mart strip mall because of all those foreign immigrants. The former governor's lack of any sophistication on the way the world works, either in politics or natural science is a warning. He is less capable of performing the duties of the President then George Bush. And this country cannot afford to have that happen. A Huckabee administration in the White House would be for the country like Katrina was for the Mississippi Delta. The United States has a lot of damage to repair on the world stage and saying, "There is a higher father that I appeal to" on U.S. foreign policy has not worked too well in the immediate past.

To me the lesson of Iowa is very simple. Obama has galvanized the young voter and the progressive grass root Democrats. The vote was not so much for Obama as a vote against the status quo. Like Howard Beal in the movie “Network”, the massive Democratic turnout told the Party’s leadership that they are mad as hell and they don’t want to take it anymore. They want the Party to do something different and they want it done immediately. The only entity that has a lower approval rating then the President is the Congress.

The congregations of the hinterlands are single minded, motivated and they can mobilize for their candidates and causes like the Christian soldiers in the songs. The outpouring of the fundamentalists for Huckabee in Iowa shows that they are ready for the fight in 2008. The only way that the Democrats can overcome the stranglehold that the Christian nationalists have on the elections is to mobilize the progressive side of the Democratic Party.

The good news from Iowa is that Barack Obama won. There is the smidgen of hope that the Democratic Party might, after all it's misjudgement and capitulation in recent years, will have the good sense NOT to nominate another cupcake "moderate" who will try to placate the voters by saying “We’re just like the other guys, only nicer.”

Home For A Time

2007-12-31T00:47:00.000+01:00

I was shopping in the outdoor Christmas market in Kungsträdgården Park in downtown Stockholm. It opens about four weeks before Christmas and the booths are supposed to carry genuine Swedish hand crafted gifts. But every year, it seems the items are less handcrafted and even less Swedish.

I have a silly notion that because I live in Sweden, the gifts I send to the folks back home should be, you know, Swedish. Something they cannot find in some store called “Northern Lights” in a suburban mall. I hold out until the last minute, hoping against hope that I’ll meet some artist or crafts person that will have a garage full of the gifts I am looking for. Some year it will hit me that I have to buy that stuff in the summer when I am traveling through some area of Sweden where these artists actually practice their craft.

I was under the gun to get something for Mom. After walking up and down the promenade between the booths, trying to decide what to choose, I settled on a linen bag full of silicone that heats up in a microwave or freezes in a freezer. It is used to apply therapy to knees, joints or other hurting parts of your body. My mom has had sore knees for a while. I thought that this bag of silicone, wrapped in a homemade linen sack with runes of the ancient Vikings on the cloth would be a step up from the frozen pea bag she was using. Weighing in at 1.2 kilos, it was about the weight and length of a good-sized Jersey submarine sandwich. Hopefully, it would be less than a small fortune to ship back to the States.

I was leaving the market, with my silicone sack in a plastic bag, shivering a bit against the mid December damp and cold. I needed to go home, wrap the gift, take it to the mailing shop, find an envelope that would work and get it off in the post today. I was trying to decide what bus to take home when coming towards me on the promenade was an older man with a camera around his neck.

The man was a perfect fit for the holiday season with his chubby shape, round face with high cheekbones and round rimless glasses. He had a close-cropped beard that was whiter than gray and it gave him the look of whom else, but Santa Claus. He came up to about my shoulders in height and he had a down jacket that was open in spite of the cold dampness of the day. His stocking cap was centered on his head, and looked like an inverted ice cream cone. Over his shoulder he carried a small canvas sack.

As we approached one another our eyes met and he smiled slightly and approached me. When this normally happens I prepare myself for the next few uncomfortable minutes of conversation. My Swedish is terrible and I have learned to say, in something near Swedish, how sorry I am that my Swedish is horrible and does the other person speak English?

“Ah, English,” said my gnome like stranger, “Where are you from?” After my answer of the United States, our conversation then became a monologue. My now new friend began a crash course history of his working adult life. The man was a professional news photographer and he had visited the United States taking photos at the Winter Olympics at Lake Placid. Upon my answering his question about what part of the United States I came from, he told me about the vacation the news syndicate gave the reporters and photographers in Florida after the Lake Placid assignment.

He then launched into a history of the United States covering the last fifty years. How the only Olympic games to make a profit were in Los Angeles. Surprising me, he then rattled off every assassination attempt on Presidents and other American dignitaries, including the perpetrators. A strange thing for anyone to remember, I thought.

My new friend asked me where I lived and what I did for a living. I responded that I was a freelance writer and lived here in Stockholm. “What have you written?” he asked. I said I had written some articles for magazines and that I had written a book. “What book!” he exclaimed. As the fates would have it, I had a copy of The Swedish Golf Experience in my bag. I had brought it to a meeting I had earlier that day. The book is a collection of essays and photographs of golf courses in Sweden. As a photographer, he admired the photographs and seemed pleased that I had shared it with him.

Regretfully, our meeting had to come to a close. I thanked the man for his time and began my farewell. He asked if he could take a picture of me holding the book? He took the camera off his neck, a film cartridge style with automatic winding that was state of the art twenty some years ago. He snapped a few shots, posing me in exactly the way he wanted. He seemed genuinely pleased to be at work, clicking away. We shook hands, and I wished him a God Jul. He said he had to give me something.

Ignoring my protests about needing anything from him, he reached into his sack and pulled out a small book. The book, "Vinterdag", really no bigger than a pamphlet, was a story by the Swedish artist, Roland Svensson. Svensson is renowned for his drawings of scenes from the Sweden archipelago. My friend excitedly paged through the book, struggling with his English to impart the information contained within. Pulling a pen out of the same bag the book was in; he asked how to spell my name. Realizing that my protests were falling on deaf ears, I patiently gave him the letters. He then inscribed a salutation, "To Jene from ..." and signed with a flourish, "press photographer Hanst Dehlskon." I had never met this man before and now I knew about his past and he knew enough about me to want to take my picture and give me a remembrance. What made this casual meeting in a city park so special?

On the way home, carrying the gift from Hanst, I wondered about him. Was he a gregarious man who walked the city striking up conversations with receptive people? Or, was it the opposite, a lonely old man who just needed to talk with someone? Are there people in this world who need to talk to strangers for, as Springsteen wrote, to receive that human touch?

I really hoped for the former over the latter. I wanted my press photographer to be a gregarious, world traveler who regaled the fortunate ones that he would choose with his tales of adventures with famous people in exotic locations. I imagined Hanst sitting in his living room, surrounded by his kids and grand kids, enjoying the warm glögg and family Julbord. I watched in my mind’s eye as he leafed through photos taken of events he had witnessed and documented with his camera’s eye, remembering the stories behind the events he had photographed.

I don’t want to give the impression that I am telling this story as a life lesson. I don’t expect you to now get some insight into life, and begin to seek out lonely people to strike up conversations on city streets. I rarely do this myself. Herman Hesse has said, “One never reaches home, but wherever friendly paths intersect the whole world looks like home for a time.” There was something that made that man’s path cross mine on that December afternoon. I should do that sort of interaction more in my life. Because, as rare as I have those spontaneous conversations, more rarely do I ever regret them.

Jonathan Saves Christmas...again

2007-12-27T23:41:00.000+01:00

One of my best friends in Sweden is Jonathan. Jonathan never is bothered by my lack of being able to speak Swedish. He has always made sure I am fully included in all the functions that we both partake in. Jonathan is six years old and the function that he makes magical for me is Christmas.

The first Christmas that we spent together; I was still a bit of stranger to him. He was only four years old at that time and Christmas was a very special occasion for him. In Sweden, on Christmas Eve, the kids have been gathering around the TV set to watch the Disney's Kalle Anka cartoon holiday special. The show is an hour of snippets from famous Disney characters in Christmas scenarios. The kids in Sweden have been watching this show for some fifty years. Jonathan sat on my lap as we watched the show for the first time together. When the show was over, Jonathan slid down off my lap, took my hand and gave it a tug and said, “Kom, Geno!” and led me to the living room where the Christmas tree and presents were set up. Sitting me down in a chair, he brought me a dish of Christmas candy and we sat together staring at the lights on the tree and each telling stories of Christmas in our native language. It seems that Jonathan and I can communicate without understanding a word we say to each other.

Part of the tradition of Jonathan’s family is the arrival of the Swedish Santa Claus, Tomten. After the Disney special, the family and friends gather for the Julbord, the Christmas buffet. After a few bites of the meatballs and salads, Jonathan gets up and begins to pace the house. He peeks out of the front and back windows of the house, looking up and out for any suggestion of Tomten’s arrival. Every few minutes he comes to his father and asks if it is time yet, the anticipation building in the young boy’s mind. Time is relative according to Einstein with bodies moving at different speeds having different references to the universe, something like that. Observing a six-year-old boy agonizing over how slow time advances while waiting for Santa while to you and I spend a few minutes passing in conversation.

Finally, after receiving a phone call, Papa Ralph says loudly that he has heard a noise, or has spotted someone outside. An explosion of activity meets the alarm, as the younger kids scramble to look out the window, get a good seat in front of the tree or answer the door. This year, in this pandemonium of activity, Jonathan actually did a 360 turn in the middle of the kitchen trying to decide to go to the window or go to the door. I thought to myself, when the last time that Christmas was that thrilling to me?

Especially this year, I tried desperately to make the complete transition to Ebenezer Scrooge. I never have been able to consolidate my desire to show my appreciation and repay the kindness that has been shown me with my budget. So I resort to what I always do. I take care of the mandatory presents to mother and my (current) special one. When the kids were young, I always made sure that they enjoyed Christmas. But the truth be told, I never enjoyed the process. And now, because I live in Sweden, the built in excuse of having to shop in November to make the early December shipping date to the United States. Plus the cost of shipping across the Atlantic can be more than the cost of the gift itself. Christmas? Bah, Humbug!

However, there is nothing like the wide-eyed wonder reflected in the eyes of young child at Christmas time. Watching Jonathan’s face light up at the arrival of Tomten. Watching him closely scan the face behind the false whiskers, the young brain wanted to cling to the fable while the logical side tried to figure out exactly who the stand-in Claus was. Just like it seems that my old conscience full of memories of Christmases past fights with the present feelings of distance from family and friends back in the States.

Yet, somehow, the spirit of Christmas always comes through. It mutates through the years. It has gone from the wonderful imagination of a childhood’s Santa in the North Pole to the young adults party with friends. From then it replenishes itself as the parent introduces the child to the family’s traditions and the cycle begins all over again. No matter how crass the commercialism becomes, the spirit that is a six-year-old child doing spins in the kitchen at the arrival of his Santa Claus is what keeps Christmas alive.

One Step Up, Two Steps Back

2007-12-20T00:01:00.000+01:00

Last week was Santa Lucia Day in Sweden, and the American Club was having its annual Santa Lucia luncheon at the Grand Hotel. Like most ex-pats who are used to luncheons Stateside at the Marriott, the Grand Hotel was an amazing experience for lunch.

The Grand Hotel is an ornate edifice that has been hosting the elite people of the world in Stockholm since 1874. The American Club event was being held in the Hall of Mirrors where the first Nobel Prize ceremonies were held.

The guest speaker was Gloria Ray Karlmark, who was one of the Little Rock Nine. The Little Rock Nine was a group of teenagers who opened the Little Rock, Arkansas Central High School to desegregation in 1957. The Civil War had been over for 92 years, yet the centuries old prejudices were still running high. Ms. Karlmark opened her remarks with the words, “Fifty years ago, I was called a Negro.” She then outlined the chilling story of a 14 year old girl being pushed down on the floorboards of a strange car and being spirited away by white Little Rock police officers from her high school on her first day of school. Having to be sneaked out of your high school because your presence there would be the catalyst for a riot. How the U.S. Army’s 101st Airborne Division was stationed in the school’s halls and each of the nine students had a private soldier to protect them from their neighbors.

While the story unfolded, I thought about my first year in high school and how I stumbled through my first steps in teen years. I tried to imagine what kind of pressure being the object of jibes, innuendo, racial slurs and epitaphs and outright physical threats would have put on me. Oh, and by the way, you have to read the next 15 pages of biology and be ready for a pop quiz tomorrow. Could I have the courage to desire and attain an education in a school that didn’t want me there so vehemently that the U.S. Army had to escort me to class?

My second thought was that the granddaughter of a slave was now standing in the Hall of Mirrors in the Grand Hotel in Stockholm, Sweden. It seemed that in 1957, we had not made much progress in racial relations. Have we come any further in the last fifty? Did that fact that a slave’s granddaughter was standing in front of a group of tolerant Swedes signify any progress?

Not if you were aware of the reason for Ms. Karlmark being in that mirrored hall. She was there to raise money for the Little Rock Nine Foundation. The non-profit Foundation, founded by the original nine students themselves, has a simple goal. Reach out to nine needy students from around the United States and fund two years of extended higher education. The only repayment from the recipients is that they mentor the students who follow them.

Ms. Karlmark quoted some statistics from the United States Census Bureau that were startling. Statistics like 25% of white students who start high school never graduate. However, minority students drop out at a rate of 50%. Almost 25% of those students live below the poverty level. They have little access to teachers and, even in the white schools they are placed in, little access to the resources needed to succeed.

I was embarrassed to be an American sitting and listening to such a litany of failure being told to an audience of my Swedish friends and neighbors. It is fortunate that the Swedes would probably find such a concept so preposterous due to the full and free access to education that Sweden has. That a country, like the United States, that so espouses its greatness to the rest of the world, cannot come to terms with keeping its citizens educated is disturbing. Disturbing because of the way it treats its most needy citizens. Disturbing because the United States sets itself up for falling behind in the competitive world economy. Ms. Karlmark called for a cooperation between the Government and Corporations in funding schools and scholarships for deserving students.

We were so concerned with education and civil rights in 1957 that we brought out an entire Army Division to insure it would be instituted. It makes me wonder if we have progressed or regressed since those days in Little Rock fifty years ago?

Today More Than Ever

2007-07-04T22:13:00.000+02:00

IN CONGRESS, July 4, 1776.

The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America,

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.--That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, --That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.--Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good.
He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.
He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.
He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.
He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly firmness his invasions on the rights of the people.
He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected; whereby the Legislative powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned to the People at large for their exercise; the State remaining in the mean time exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within.
He has endeavoured to prevent the population of these States; for that purpose obstructing the Laws for Naturalization of Foreigners; refusing to pass others to encourage their migrations hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands.
He has obstructed the Administration of Justice, by refusing his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary powers.
He has made Judges dependent on his Will alone, for the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment of their salaries.
He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Officers to harrass our people, and eat out their substance.
He has kept among us, in times of peace, Standing Armies without the Consent of our legislatures.
He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil power.
He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws; giving his Assent to their Acts of pretended Legislation:
For Quartering large bodies of armed troops among us:
For protecting them, by a mock Trial, from punishment for any Murders which they should commit on the Inhabitants of these States:
For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world:
For imposing Taxes on us without our Consent:
For depriving us in many cases, of the benefits of Trial by Jury:
For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences
For abolishing the free System of English Laws in a neighbouring Province, establishing therein an Arbitrary government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render it at once an example and fit instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these Colonies:
For taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws, and altering fundamentally the Forms of our Governments:
For suspending our own Legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever.
He has abdicated Government here, by declaring us out of his Protection and waging War against us.
He has plundered our seas, ravaged our Coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.
He is at this time transporting large Armies of foreign Mercenaries to compleat the works of death, desolation and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of Cruelty & perfidy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the Head of a civilized nation.
He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken Captive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to become the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall themselves by their Hands.
He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages, whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.

In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.

Nor have We been wanting in attentions to our Brittish brethren. We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement here. We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpations, which, would inevitably interrupt our connections and correspondence. They too have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity. We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our Separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies in War, in Peace Friends.

We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States; that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.