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(10/31/02 5:00am)
Last year, I got sucked into watching "The Triangle," a dopey made-for-cable movie about a ghost ship. That one starred TV wash-ups Luke Perry and Dan Cortese. Then my brains turned to tapioca and I found myself watching "Lost Voyage," yet another made-for-cable movie about a ghost ship. That little masterpiece starred TV wash-ups Judd Nelson and Janet Gunn. Both movies were tedious and meandering, but hey, I was the numbnuts who watched them. Both of them.\nNow, more than a year later, I was faced with another movie about a ghost ship, this one creatively titled "Ghost Ship" and starring TV wash-up Julianna Margulies. The only difference between this theatrical release and those two boob-tube classics is several choice four-letter words and a whole lot of gore. By the bucketful.\nA crack marine salvage crew skippered by Murphy (Gabriel Byrne) is presented with an offer by Munder (Karl Urban), a pilot who has apparently discovered a luxury liner that disappeared without a trace 40 years ago. The deal: Munder and the crew members will, according to international marine law, split whatever booty they find on the ship.\nThe crew sets out for the frigid Bering Sea and climbs aboard the mysterious ship. The members of the boarding party eventually discover crates full of gold bouillon and think they have struck it rich.\nThat's when the goofy (and allegedly scary) stuff starts happening. Boats explode, people die and crew member Epps (Margulies) receives spiritual advice from a creepy dead girl. \nFrom the pointlessly bloody opening scene (one out-of-control ship cable and a whole lot of severed torsos) to a muddled climax that had something to do with pure evil (I think it did, anyway. I wasn't really paying attention), "Ghost Ship" actually made those TV movies look good. The acting was stilted (led by a comatose Margulies and an obviously bored Byrne), the script was mundane and the effects were non-existent.\nSo, perhaps, "Ghost Ship" was the final part of my masochistic marine trilogy. Hundreds of corpses and a half-dozen ex-TV actors later, I still feel like I'm adrift, lost on a sea of mediocrity, inanity and some seaweed. And I'm starting to get queasy.
(10/10/02 7:26am)
During the mid-1960s, Booker T. Jones was a music student at IU. On weekdays he would get up for 7 a.m. theory classes before spending countless hours practicing the trombone in the music school. All in all, Booker T. Jones led the life of a normal college student during the week.\nThen came the weekends.\nAfter classes finished on Friday, Jones would hop in a car and drive hundreds of miles to Memphis, Tenn., where he recorded some of the sweetest and most influential music of the rock and roll era.\nBecause during the '60s, Jones was the leader of Booker T. and the MGs, the house band at Stax Records in Memphis. Featuring a roster of talent that included Otis Redding, Sam and Dave, Eddie Floyd, Isaac Hayes, Albert King, Johnnie Taylor, Rufus Thomas and Carla Thomas, Stax was the country's pre-eminent soul label.\nThe music produced at Stax provided a gritty, sweaty alternative to the smoother, more polished Motown sound. While Berry Gordy called his label "Hitsville U.S.A.," the folks at Stax rightly boasted that they were "Soulsville U.S.A." Over the course of 15 years, Stax churned out music that was both influential and timeless, affecting generations of future rock and soul artists.\nAnd Booker T. and the MGs were the foundation of it all. Jones and his bandmates -- guitarist Steve Cropper, bassist Donald "Duck" Dunn and drummer Al Jackson -- became the prototypical soul band, establishing a precedent and a standard for soul music that still exists today.\nThe band provided the backbone for such classic cuts as Sam and Dave's "Soul Man," Wilson Pickett's "In the Midnight Hour," Otis Redding's "(Sittin' on) The Dock of the Bay" and Albert King's "Born under a Bad Sign."\nThe guys were also a productive band in their own right; in 1962, they recorded "Green Onions," the finest instrumental in rock history, and they went on to produced hits like "Hip Hug-Her" and "Time Is Tight."\nOh yeah, and while he was changing music history, Jones also earned an IU music degree.\nBut that's something the IU community never hears about. The School of Music is adept at trumpeting its reputation for producing a myriad of outstanding musicians, and well it should. But the school almost never acknowledges that Booker T. Jones graduated from its hallowed halls. It never boasts the fact that such an influential musician went through its prestigious program.\nAnd that's because the School of Music continues to believe popular music is not as important as classical (read: "real") music. The school -- and the university administration as a whole -- will not admit that there is another whole world of music beyond Mozart and Chopin. They won't admit that current, modern music like jazz and blues and -- gasp! -- rock and roll is just as valid as a Wagnerian opera or Vivaldi suite.\nAnd it's time that changed. It's time IU invited Jones back to campus and presented him with an honorary doctorate. It's time the School of Music recognized the contributions and impact of people like him. It's time admit that rock and roll is important too. It's time the school brought itself into the 21st century.\n"Roll over Beethoven," Chuck Berry said, "and tell Tchaikovsky the news." Damn straight.
(10/10/02 7:06am)
Since beginning his career nearly 50 years ago, bluesman Little Milton Campbell has recorded for some of the greatest and most important labels on R&B history, including Sun, Stax and now Malaco.\nAnd along the way, he's established himself as one of the genre's elder statesmen by producing a sturdy, dependable catalog of material that skillfully straddles the fence between blues and soul.\nGuitar Man, which was recorded partially at the legendary Muscle Shoals studio in Alabama, is another solid entry into Milton's ever-growing record of accomplishment. It also proves that Malaco is still one of the few labels out there that passionately and consistently works to keep traditional blues and soul alive.\nMuch of the credit goes to Milton's supporting cast, especially organ and piano player Clayton Ivey, whose cool playing floats sumptuously through the album. Milton is also fortunate to have the horn trio of Vinnie Ciesielski, Harvey Thompson and Charles Rose, who punctuate Milton's time-tested vocals with precision.\nPerhaps the best cut on the album is the doleful "I Could Have Saved Our Love," which evokes memories of Clarence Carter's aching classic, "Slip Away." And the only real weak track on the CD is the album-ending cover of the shlocky Sinatra standard "My Way."\nBut overall, enjoy Guitar Man with a rack of ribs and some corn bread - this is the real deal.
(10/10/02 4:00am)
Since beginning his career nearly 50 years ago, bluesman Little Milton Campbell has recorded for some of the greatest and most important labels on R&B history, including Sun, Stax and now Malaco.\nAnd along the way, he's established himself as one of the genre's elder statesmen by producing a sturdy, dependable catalog of material that skillfully straddles the fence between blues and soul.\nGuitar Man, which was recorded partially at the legendary Muscle Shoals studio in Alabama, is another solid entry into Milton's ever-growing record of accomplishment. It also proves that Malaco is still one of the few labels out there that passionately and consistently works to keep traditional blues and soul alive.\nMuch of the credit goes to Milton's supporting cast, especially organ and piano player Clayton Ivey, whose cool playing floats sumptuously through the album. Milton is also fortunate to have the horn trio of Vinnie Ciesielski, Harvey Thompson and Charles Rose, who punctuate Milton's time-tested vocals with precision.\nPerhaps the best cut on the album is the doleful "I Could Have Saved Our Love," which evokes memories of Clarence Carter's aching classic, "Slip Away." And the only real weak track on the CD is the album-ending cover of the shlocky Sinatra standard "My Way."\nBut overall, enjoy Guitar Man with a rack of ribs and some corn bread - this is the real deal.
(10/10/02 4:00am)
During the mid-1960s, Booker T. Jones was a music student at IU. On weekdays he would get up for 7 a.m. theory classes before spending countless hours practicing the trombone in the music school. All in all, Booker T. Jones led the life of a normal college student during the week.\nThen came the weekends.\nAfter classes finished on Friday, Jones would hop in a car and drive hundreds of miles to Memphis, Tenn., where he recorded some of the sweetest and most influential music of the rock and roll era.\nBecause during the '60s, Jones was the leader of Booker T. and the MGs, the house band at Stax Records in Memphis. Featuring a roster of talent that included Otis Redding, Sam and Dave, Eddie Floyd, Isaac Hayes, Albert King, Johnnie Taylor, Rufus Thomas and Carla Thomas, Stax was the country's pre-eminent soul label.\nThe music produced at Stax provided a gritty, sweaty alternative to the smoother, more polished Motown sound. While Berry Gordy called his label "Hitsville U.S.A.," the folks at Stax rightly boasted that they were "Soulsville U.S.A." Over the course of 15 years, Stax churned out music that was both influential and timeless, affecting generations of future rock and soul artists.\nAnd Booker T. and the MGs were the foundation of it all. Jones and his bandmates -- guitarist Steve Cropper, bassist Donald "Duck" Dunn and drummer Al Jackson -- became the prototypical soul band, establishing a precedent and a standard for soul music that still exists today.\nThe band provided the backbone for such classic cuts as Sam and Dave's "Soul Man," Wilson Pickett's "In the Midnight Hour," Otis Redding's "(Sittin' on) The Dock of the Bay" and Albert King's "Born under a Bad Sign."\nThe guys were also a productive band in their own right; in 1962, they recorded "Green Onions," the finest instrumental in rock history, and they went on to produced hits like "Hip Hug-Her" and "Time Is Tight."\nOh yeah, and while he was changing music history, Jones also earned an IU music degree.\nBut that's something the IU community never hears about. The School of Music is adept at trumpeting its reputation for producing a myriad of outstanding musicians, and well it should. But the school almost never acknowledges that Booker T. Jones graduated from its hallowed halls. It never boasts the fact that such an influential musician went through its prestigious program.\nAnd that's because the School of Music continues to believe popular music is not as important as classical (read: "real") music. The school -- and the university administration as a whole -- will not admit that there is another whole world of music beyond Mozart and Chopin. They won't admit that current, modern music like jazz and blues and -- gasp! -- rock and roll is just as valid as a Wagnerian opera or Vivaldi suite.\nAnd it's time that changed. It's time IU invited Jones back to campus and presented him with an honorary doctorate. It's time the School of Music recognized the contributions and impact of people like him. It's time admit that rock and roll is important too. It's time the school brought itself into the 21st century.\n"Roll over Beethoven," Chuck Berry said, "and tell Tchaikovsky the news." Damn straight.
(09/26/02 4:00am)
When Stevie Ray Vaughan died in an early-morning helicopter crash in August 1990, the world lost perhaps the only white blues guitarist (with the possible exceptions of Eric Clapton and Duane Allman) who has been able to channel the blues as well as the African-American bluesmen Vaughan worshiped so much.\nSince then, blues fans have been waiting for someone to fill the vacancy left by Vaughan, waiting for a guy who can prove that white boys can really and truly play the blues — and become famous doing it. Occasionally there are pretenders to the throne, like so-called wunderkind Jonny Lang, but such wannabes always leave something to be desired.\nOf course, much of Vaughan's power and passion was drawn from Double Trouble, his dedicated back-up band. Bassist Tommy Shannon and drummer Chris Layton (and later keyboardist Reese Wynans) helped fuel Vaughan's fire and catapult the late guitarist onto the world stage. And now, they're providing support for two more white bluesman, guitarists Tab Benoit and Jimmy Thackery.\nWith Shannon, Layton and Wynans chugging along behind them, Benoit and Thackery -- both of who have released solo albums for the Telarc label -- have produced Whiskey Store, an 11-track effort that builds on the century-old blues tradition by mixing Benoit's Cajun-flavored stylings with Thackery's Buddy Guy-inspired approach.\nThe result is both commendable and heartfelt, but certainly not stellar. The disc ranges from uptempo foot-stompers like "I Ain't Broke" to slow-burning slices of emotion like the album's title cut. "Away, Away Too Long" offers a taste of country honk, while harp virtuoso Charlie Musselwhite provides soulful accompaniment on "Strange Things Happen." The duo also runs through competent covers of Neil Young's "Unknown Legend," Dylan's "Leopard-Skin Pill-Box Hat" and the Stones' "The Last Time." \nWhile the album consists of some of the best blues you'll find on the market today, it falls short of the standard set by Vaughan -- and, for that matter, by Muddy Waters, Elmore James and Slim Harpo, among others. Benoit and Thackery show promise. The question now is, will that promise continue to blossom?
(09/26/02 12:32am)
When Stevie Ray Vaughan died in an early-morning helicopter crash in August 1990, the world lost perhaps the only white blues guitarist (with the possible exceptions of Eric Clapton and Duane Allman) who has been able to channel the blues as well as the African-American bluesmen Vaughan worshiped so much.\nSince then, blues fans have been waiting for someone to fill the vacancy left by Vaughan, waiting for a guy who can prove that white boys can really and truly play the blues — and become famous doing it. Occasionally there are pretenders to the throne, like so-called wunderkind Jonny Lang, but such wannabes always leave something to be desired.\nOf course, much of Vaughan's power and passion was drawn from Double Trouble, his dedicated back-up band. Bassist Tommy Shannon and drummer Chris Layton (and later keyboardist Reese Wynans) helped fuel Vaughan's fire and catapult the late guitarist onto the world stage. And now, they're providing support for two more white bluesman, guitarists Tab Benoit and Jimmy Thackery.\nWith Shannon, Layton and Wynans chugging along behind them, Benoit and Thackery -- both of who have released solo albums for the Telarc label -- have produced Whiskey Store, an 11-track effort that builds on the century-old blues tradition by mixing Benoit's Cajun-flavored stylings with Thackery's Buddy Guy-inspired approach.\nThe result is both commendable and heartfelt, but certainly not stellar. The disc ranges from uptempo foot-stompers like "I Ain't Broke" to slow-burning slices of emotion like the album's title cut. "Away, Away Too Long" offers a taste of country honk, while harp virtuoso Charlie Musselwhite provides soulful accompaniment on "Strange Things Happen." The duo also runs through competent covers of Neil Young's "Unknown Legend," Dylan's "Leopard-Skin Pill-Box Hat" and the Stones' "The Last Time." \nWhile the album consists of some of the best blues you'll find on the market today, it falls short of the standard set by Vaughan -- and, for that matter, by Muddy Waters, Elmore James and Slim Harpo, among others. Benoit and Thackery show promise. The question now is, will that promise continue to blossom?
(09/05/02 4:00am)
When the Who first became the Who, the group was little more than an amphetamine-charged James Brown cover band. The guys billed their music as "Maximum R&B," playing old soul and rock and roll standards at high speed and high volume, and their Mod followers ate it up. By the mid-1960s, the Who had already cemented its reputation as a premier live band, a group that derived its energy from playing in front of a crowd.\nSo when it came time to record their debut album, the four guys -- singer Roger Daltrey, guitarist Pete Townshend, bassist John Entwistle and drummer Keith Moon -- faced a singular challenge: how would they recreate their lightning-in-a-bottle live show on vinyl? As it turns out, they were unable to do so. My Generation was indeed a standout debut for one of the most important groups in rock history, but, as Daltrey told a reporter in 1971, "It wasn't like we were on stage… That album was recorded very quickly and very cheaply, and it wasn't really what we were all about."\nThe deluxe-edition reissue of the album reflects those limitations of the studio. The set contains the original album -- including the landmark title single as well as other Who classics like "The Kids Are Alright" and "A Legal Matter" -- plus 17 bonus tracks. Thrown on the reissue are "I Can't Explain," the band's first single as the Who, as well as alternate takes of "Leaving Here" and "Anyhow, Anywhere, Anyway."\nThe package is also chocked full of examples of Maximum R&B -- James Brown's "Please, Please, Please," "Shout and Shimmy" and "I Don't Mind," Bo Diddley's "I'm a Man," Otis Blackwell's "Daddy Rolling Stone," and Martha and the Vandellas "(Love Is Like a) Heat Wave," to name a few. All in all, My Generation makes for a solid reissue. The only problem is that it's a reissue of a flawed album, one that failed to capture the essence of the Who when it was first released.
(09/05/02 3:41am)
When the Who first became the Who, the group was little more than an amphetamine-charged James Brown cover band. The guys billed their music as "Maximum R&B," playing old soul and rock and roll standards at high speed and high volume, and their Mod followers ate it up. By the mid-1960s, the Who had already cemented its reputation as a premier live band, a group that derived its energy from playing in front of a crowd.\nSo when it came time to record their debut album, the four guys -- singer Roger Daltrey, guitarist Pete Townshend, bassist John Entwistle and drummer Keith Moon -- faced a singular challenge: how would they recreate their lightning-in-a-bottle live show on vinyl? As it turns out, they were unable to do so. My Generation was indeed a standout debut for one of the most important groups in rock history, but, as Daltrey told a reporter in 1971, "It wasn't like we were on stage… That album was recorded very quickly and very cheaply, and it wasn't really what we were all about."\nThe deluxe-edition reissue of the album reflects those limitations of the studio. The set contains the original album -- including the landmark title single as well as other Who classics like "The Kids Are Alright" and "A Legal Matter" -- plus 17 bonus tracks. Thrown on the reissue are "I Can't Explain," the band's first single as the Who, as well as alternate takes of "Leaving Here" and "Anyhow, Anywhere, Anyway."\nThe package is also chocked full of examples of Maximum R&B -- James Brown's "Please, Please, Please," "Shout and Shimmy" and "I Don't Mind," Bo Diddley's "I'm a Man," Otis Blackwell's "Daddy Rolling Stone," and Martha and the Vandellas "(Love Is Like a) Heat Wave," to name a few. All in all, My Generation makes for a solid reissue. The only problem is that it's a reissue of a flawed album, one that failed to capture the essence of the Who when it was first released.
(08/29/02 4:00am)
Long before Alanis and Jewel and the seemingly endless stream of pop divas they begat, Juliana Hatfield was struggling to be viewed as an equal in a male-dominated business. After leaving the groundbreaking but underappreciated Blake Babies, she joined the Lemonheads, playing bass and backing up boyfriend Evan Dando. But she couldn't remain in such a supporting role.\nAnd take, for example, how she describes her solo debut, 1992's Hey Babe, in an autobiography posted on the Zoe/Rounder Web site: "It was an earnest plea to be accepted into the rock and roll boys club continuum. And I thought I had made a rock and roll record. 'Hey babe,' sang Lou Reed. 'Hey babe,' sang J. Mascis. I was just trying to continue the tradition but I knew that as a girl it was hopeless and that I would never be accepted on equal terms."\nIt's ironic, then, that Hatfield would include covers by two male acts -- the Police's "Every Breath You Take" and Neil Young's "Only Love Can Break Your Heart," both of which are inspired and fresh -- on Gold Stars, a 20-track collection spanning the first decade of her solo career. But it's such contradictions that have endeared Hatfield to her audience.\nHer words can be in turn inspirational ("We Will Rise Again"), elegiac ("My Sister" ), bitter ("My Protégée") and poignant ("Everybody Loves Me but You"). Lyrically she can be dark and brooding or optimistic and wistful, while the music can run schizophrenically from raw to elegant in the space of two tracks.\nIn the end, Hatfield turns out to be much more important and influential than the legions of less talented but better marketed female stars that have populated the charts over the last 10 years. In an unpredictable, sometimes unsettling, sometimes energizing way, Gold Stars reflects that talent.
(08/29/02 4:00am)
When I first looked at the cover of Legacy, I picked up something familiar about Floyd Taylor's face. When I started listening to the CD, I recognized something in his voice. I was somewhat puzzled and intrigued.\nAfter doing a little research, I found out why Floyd Taylor's look and sound struck a chord in my head -- he's the son of soul legend Johnnie Taylor.\nAnd with Legacy, Malaco is stressing that familial connection with remarkable vigor. "This CD will delight every 'JT' fan," the company trumpets on its Web site, "and very soon will establish Floyd as the Heir to the Throne his father held for so long."\nSlow down.\nWhile Legacy is, in general, an excellent example of Malaco's ability to update traditional soul with modern production and contemporary R&B sounds, it doesn't come close to rivaling Johnnie Taylor's classic catalogs with Stax in the 1960s and '70s and with Malaco in the '80s and '90s. None of the tracks on Legacy burst out of the stereo the way, say, Johnnie's immortal "Who's Makin' Love" did three decades ago.\nBut Floyd does deliver a noteworthy, admirable effort. He revels in the same thematic territory that his father mined so well -- forbidden love, unfaithfulness and sensual, red-hot romance. On the up-tempo, brassy "I'm Crazy Bout that Woman in Red," he longs for a married woman, while on the lush "Old School Style," he implores his lover to make love "slow and easy… let it last a while."\nThe best track on the album is "Caught Between Two Hearts," a heartfelt, apologetic admission of guilt that he is "playing the cheating game," that "deep inside, I'm feeling so ashamed." He sings mournfully, "I know it's wrong, but I can't deny it / I love them both just the same." The song beautifully recalls his father in his prime.\nPerhaps if Floyd can continue honoring his father, while at the same time carving out his own identity, maybe then we can start talking about inheriting the crown.
(08/29/02 3:06am)
Long before Alanis and Jewel and the seemingly endless stream of pop divas they begat, Juliana Hatfield was struggling to be viewed as an equal in a male-dominated business. After leaving the groundbreaking but underappreciated Blake Babies, she joined the Lemonheads, playing bass and backing up boyfriend Evan Dando. But she couldn't remain in such a supporting role.\nAnd take, for example, how she describes her solo debut, 1992's Hey Babe, in an autobiography posted on the Zoe/Rounder Web site: "It was an earnest plea to be accepted into the rock and roll boys club continuum. And I thought I had made a rock and roll record. 'Hey babe,' sang Lou Reed. 'Hey babe,' sang J. Mascis. I was just trying to continue the tradition but I knew that as a girl it was hopeless and that I would never be accepted on equal terms."\nIt's ironic, then, that Hatfield would include covers by two male acts -- the Police's "Every Breath You Take" and Neil Young's "Only Love Can Break Your Heart," both of which are inspired and fresh -- on Gold Stars, a 20-track collection spanning the first decade of her solo career. But it's such contradictions that have endeared Hatfield to her audience.\nHer words can be in turn inspirational ("We Will Rise Again"), elegiac ("My Sister" ), bitter ("My Protégée") and poignant ("Everybody Loves Me but You"). Lyrically she can be dark and brooding or optimistic and wistful, while the music can run schizophrenically from raw to elegant in the space of two tracks.\nIn the end, Hatfield turns out to be much more important and influential than the legions of less talented but better marketed female stars that have populated the charts over the last 10 years. In an unpredictable, sometimes unsettling, sometimes energizing way, Gold Stars reflects that talent.
(08/29/02 2:08am)
When I first looked at the cover of Legacy, I picked up something familiar about Floyd Taylor's face. When I started listening to the CD, I recognized something in his voice. I was somewhat puzzled and intrigued.\nAfter doing a little research, I found out why Floyd Taylor's look and sound struck a chord in my head -- he's the son of soul legend Johnnie Taylor.\nAnd with Legacy, Malaco is stressing that familial connection with remarkable vigor. "This CD will delight every 'JT' fan," the company trumpets on its Web site, "and very soon will establish Floyd as the Heir to the Throne his father held for so long."\nSlow down.\nWhile Legacy is, in general, an excellent example of Malaco's ability to update traditional soul with modern production and contemporary R&B sounds, it doesn't come close to rivaling Johnnie Taylor's classic catalogs with Stax in the 1960s and '70s and with Malaco in the '80s and '90s. None of the tracks on Legacy burst out of the stereo the way, say, Johnnie's immortal "Who's Makin' Love" did three decades ago.\nBut Floyd does deliver a noteworthy, admirable effort. He revels in the same thematic territory that his father mined so well -- forbidden love, unfaithfulness and sensual, red-hot romance. On the up-tempo, brassy "I'm Crazy Bout that Woman in Red," he longs for a married woman, while on the lush "Old School Style," he implores his lover to make love "slow and easy… let it last a while."\nThe best track on the album is "Caught Between Two Hearts," a heartfelt, apologetic admission of guilt that he is "playing the cheating game," that "deep inside, I'm feeling so ashamed." He sings mournfully, "I know it's wrong, but I can't deny it / I love them both just the same." The song beautifully recalls his father in his prime.\nPerhaps if Floyd can continue honoring his father, while at the same time carving out his own identity, maybe then we can start talking about inheriting the crown.
(08/01/02 4:53am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>As soon as the Rolling Stones announced their 40th anniversary tour, a friend from my undergrad days scurried to the Internet and managed to pick up one ticket -- for $300. On top of that, I think the show is in L.A., which means that by the time he's done, he will probably have shelled out well into four figures to see four 60-year-olds creak around for two and a half hours.
And I'm completely jealous, of course. That rat bastard! Here I am, suffering as a poverty-stricken grad student, and he's spending his big Associated Press salary on Stones tickets. How insensitive.
But we all have to manage to deal with such negative feelings in productive ways. It's what separates us from apes and Karl Rove. So instead of going on a six-state crime spree featuring Megadeth and Exodus at high volume and copious amounts of pixie sticks, I'm channeling my emotions by imagining that I'm at a Stones concert and the band is playing all of my favorite songs.
Of course, when it comes right down to it, my favorite Stones songs include just about everything they've ever recorded aside from "Angie," and all of Their Satanic Majesties Request. More like "2000 Light Years from a Decent Album."
But there are some overlooked Stones gems that I would love to hear in concert, namely:
"Get Off of My Cloud"Too often this song gets overshadowed by the band's biggest mid- '60s hit, "Satisfaction," which really wasn't that great of a song to begin with. (Sayeth Keith: "It could just as well have been called 'Aunt Millie's Caught Her Tit in the Mangle'"). But it's got a bounciness that the Stones don't often display.
"Have You Seen Your Mother, Baby, Standing in the Shadow?"Mick Jagger once said during a Saturday Night Live skit that this was one of his favorite Stones songs (along with "Let It Bleed" he said). It's filled with horns and a distorted guitar sound, which proved that the Stones could get psychedelic without being totally irrelevant (see Satanic Majesties above).
"Stray Cat Blues"This is a ballsy cut from 1968's brilliant Beggars Banquet, a disc that kicked off a run of four straight near-perfect albums (the other three will be referred to shortly). On Banquet, "Stray Cat Blues" fits nicely alongside classic cuts like "Sympathy for the Devil" and "Street Fighting Man."
"Monkey Man"1969's Let It Bleed ends with the somewhat overbearing "You Can't Always Get What You Want," but the album actually hits its peak on "Monkey Man," which features a great riff and great vocals by Mick.
"Sway," "Can't You Hear Me Knocking" and "Dead Flowers"These three standout cuts from 1971's Sticky Fingers are grittier and sturdier than the album's lead single, "Brown Sugar." "Dead Flowers" reflects the band's growing affinity for traditional country-western flavorings, while the seven-minute-plus "Knocking" features a smoking organ, courtesy of Billy Preston. And "Sway" is a slow, grinding dirge that burns.
Exile on Main StreetPerhaps the best album in rock history. A lot of fans and critics dislike 1972's Exile because, they say, it's convoluted and meandering. But to me it's a tour-de-force of swirling, out-of-control rock 'n' roll record and a fine successor to Jerry Lee Lewis and Little Richard. Aside from the popular "Tumbling Dice," standout tracks include "Rocks Off," "Happy," "All Down the Line" and "Shine a Light."
"Before They Make Me Run"After a half-dozen years of mediocre albums (Goat's Head Soup and Black and Blue, to name a couple), the band returned to form in 1978's Some Girls, and "Make Me Run" is the best track on the disc (and that's saying a lot, considering the album also includes "When the Whip Comes Down, "Some Girls," "Beast of Burden" and "Far Away Eyes"). It features Keith on vocals, at his craggy, sublime best. It's my favorite Stones' song.
"Hang Fire"Ugh. If I hear "Start Me Up" one more time...1981's Tattoo You was highlighted not by that overplayed anthem, but "Hang Fire," a tight little bundle of energy that explodes off the CD player.
"Already Over Me" This aching, forlorn cut was the cream of 1997's Bridges to Babylon, the Stones' best album since Some Girls nearly 20 years earlier.
That's it. For a second or third encore, of course, the band could do a couple of cool covers, like maybe Bo Diddley or Hank Williams or the Isley Brothers or the Clash. But that could be asking for too much. Nah.
(08/01/02 4:00am)
Over the first nine tracks of In the Morning, Joe Louis Walker deftly careens from one type of blues to another. From the Latin-tinged opener "You're Just About to Lose Your Clown" to the echoes of Louis Jordan on "Joe's Jump," to the inspired gospel of "Where Jesus Leads," Walker displays a mastery of practically every type of blues known to man.
(08/01/02 4:00am)
____simple_html_dom__voku__html_wrapper____>As soon as the Rolling Stones announced their 40th anniversary tour, a friend from my undergrad days scurried to the Internet and managed to pick up one ticket -- for $300. On top of that, I think the show is in L.A., which means that by the time he's done, he will probably have shelled out well into four figures to see four 60-year-olds creak around for two and a half hours.
And I'm completely jealous, of course. That rat bastard! Here I am, suffering as a poverty-stricken grad student, and he's spending his big Associated Press salary on Stones tickets. How insensitive.
But we all have to manage to deal with such negative feelings in productive ways. It's what separates us from apes and Karl Rove. So instead of going on a six-state crime spree featuring Megadeth and Exodus at high volume and copious amounts of pixie sticks, I'm channeling my emotions by imagining that I'm at a Stones concert and the band is playing all of my favorite songs.
Of course, when it comes right down to it, my favorite Stones songs include just about everything they've ever recorded aside from "Angie," and all of Their Satanic Majesties Request. More like "2000 Light Years from a Decent Album."
But there are some overlooked Stones gems that I would love to hear in concert, namely:
"Get Off of My Cloud"Too often this song gets overshadowed by the band's biggest mid- '60s hit, "Satisfaction," which really wasn't that great of a song to begin with. (Sayeth Keith: "It could just as well have been called 'Aunt Millie's Caught Her Tit in the Mangle'"). But it's got a bounciness that the Stones don't often display.
"Have You Seen Your Mother, Baby, Standing in the Shadow?"Mick Jagger once said during a Saturday Night Live skit that this was one of his favorite Stones songs (along with "Let It Bleed" he said). It's filled with horns and a distorted guitar sound, which proved that the Stones could get psychedelic without being totally irrelevant (see Satanic Majesties above).
"Stray Cat Blues"This is a ballsy cut from 1968's brilliant Beggars Banquet, a disc that kicked off a run of four straight near-perfect albums (the other three will be referred to shortly). On Banquet, "Stray Cat Blues" fits nicely alongside classic cuts like "Sympathy for the Devil" and "Street Fighting Man."
"Monkey Man"1969's Let It Bleed ends with the somewhat overbearing "You Can't Always Get What You Want," but the album actually hits its peak on "Monkey Man," which features a great riff and great vocals by Mick.
"Sway," "Can't You Hear Me Knocking" and "Dead Flowers"These three standout cuts from 1971's Sticky Fingers are grittier and sturdier than the album's lead single, "Brown Sugar." "Dead Flowers" reflects the band's growing affinity for traditional country-western flavorings, while the seven-minute-plus "Knocking" features a smoking organ, courtesy of Billy Preston. And "Sway" is a slow, grinding dirge that burns.
Exile on Main StreetPerhaps the best album in rock history. A lot of fans and critics dislike 1972's Exile because, they say, it's convoluted and meandering. But to me it's a tour-de-force of swirling, out-of-control rock 'n' roll record and a fine successor to Jerry Lee Lewis and Little Richard. Aside from the popular "Tumbling Dice," standout tracks include "Rocks Off," "Happy," "All Down the Line" and "Shine a Light."
"Before They Make Me Run"After a half-dozen years of mediocre albums (Goat's Head Soup and Black and Blue, to name a couple), the band returned to form in 1978's Some Girls, and "Make Me Run" is the best track on the disc (and that's saying a lot, considering the album also includes "When the Whip Comes Down, "Some Girls," "Beast of Burden" and "Far Away Eyes"). It features Keith on vocals, at his craggy, sublime best. It's my favorite Stones' song.
"Hang Fire"Ugh. If I hear "Start Me Up" one more time...1981's Tattoo You was highlighted not by that overplayed anthem, but "Hang Fire," a tight little bundle of energy that explodes off the CD player.
"Already Over Me" This aching, forlorn cut was the cream of 1997's Bridges to Babylon, the Stones' best album since Some Girls nearly 20 years earlier.
That's it. For a second or third encore, of course, the band could do a couple of cool covers, like maybe Bo Diddley or Hank Williams or the Isley Brothers or the Clash. But that could be asking for too much. Nah.
(08/01/02 3:37am)
Over the first nine tracks of In the Morning, Joe Louis Walker deftly careens from one type of blues to another. From the Latin-tinged opener "You're Just About to Lose Your Clown" to the echoes of Louis Jordan on "Joe's Jump," to the inspired gospel of "Where Jesus Leads," Walker displays a mastery of practically every type of blues known to man.
(07/25/02 8:23pm)
I made it to Toledo before I finally lost my mind. I thought that was quite an accomplishment, considering I had survived the drive through the wastelands known as Buffalo, Erie and Cleveland. (Ignore Drew Carey. Cleveland most definitely does not rock.)\nI pulled off I-90 for some gas and to dry out. My drive from Rochester to Bloomington was being made in the un-air conditioned confines of my truck, so by the time I reached northwest Ohio, my sweat glands had endured quite a workout. (My propensity for perspiration has, without a doubt, also resulted in my continued bachelorhood at age 28. Well, that plus my fondness for Monty Python movies.)\nI pulled into a gas station/mini-mart and pulled up to a pump. I climbed out and began to fill my tank. My mind started to wander (as it often does when I pump gas in Toledo), and I started to think about how far I had come and how long it had taken me to get there. The drive had been uncomfortable, even painful process. It felt like a burden.\nJust like my life.\nMy parents and my sister estimated that I could make it from Rochester to IU in about 10 hours. But, because I drive slower than Strom Thurmond walks, it had taken me about eight hours to get to Toledo, and I still had at least four to go to Bloomington.\n"Why am I such a wuss?" I asked myself. "Why can't I just get behind the wheel, haul ass and just get where I want to go? I hate this. I hate everything. I hate myself."\nThat last thought sort of squirted out of subconscious before I even knew I was thinking it. "I hate myself." Very, very ugly as thoughts go, and not very productive, either.\nThe pump handle clicked, signaling that my tank was full. I drew a deep breath and sighed as I replaced the handle and closed my tank cover.\nMaybe that's your problem, I told myself. Maybe you piss and moan and gripe so much about being a whiner that it gets in the way of you ever getting anywhere important. Maybe, just maybe, that lousy attitude is what stops you from achieving anything really worth celebrating. Maybe that's why your life is, as you say, a burden.\nMy first reaction to that internal opinion was a Homer-esque, "Shut up, brain. Leave me alone. I need some pork rinds."\nAfter graduating from IU in 1995, I had spent six years bouncing from newspaper job to newspaper job -- two years in North Carolina, two years in Massachusetts, two years in New York. Although I was always proud of my work, I always lacked a sense that my life was on the right track, that I was headed in the right direction, that I could someday be happy.\nSix years is a long time, and Carolina-to-Mass-to-NY is a long way to go. It's also a lot of unhappiness.\nIt took me six years to realize that perhaps I needed a change in direction, a shift in aspirations to find some personal satisfaction -- and self-acceptance.\nHence the decision to return to IU and pursue a masters degree. I finally realized that (close your virgin ears, all you J-School undergrads) the newspaper business kinda stinks. I finally understood that working on weekly or daily deadlines and worrying about ad revenue (which, despite the rhetoric in both the classroom and the IDS, you always do as a journalist in the real world) just wasn't what I wanted to do.\nSo I decided to return to academia in the hope that it might lead to a career as an educator or an author or both. I decided to junk the past and all the crud -- both journalistic and personal -- that went with it. Instead of constantly drowning while trying to swim across the same raging river, I chose to walk over the bridge.\nOf course, the bridge will have a few missing planks, and it won't be smooth sailing from here on out. I still have a lot to overcome, especially the mountains I have created in my mind. But at least I'm trying something different. At least I'm actually trying to get where I want to go.\nI went inside the mini-mart, grabbed some Fig Newtons and a tasty beverage and paid the cashier. It was time to get back on the road.
(07/25/02 8:23pm)
By a little after 3 p.m. Monday, I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. The day hadn't gone as I had hoped, and by the middle of the afternoon, I was ready to break down. My worst and most pessimistic fears had come true. I was deflated and defeated.\nThe day had begun with a frantic, frustrated scramble to find a parking space and progressed through a minor fender-bender in which I backed into a person behind me in the Poplars parking garage.\nDuring the entire parking hunt and accident, I behaved like a complete jerk, losing my temper, shouting obscenities to myself in my car and careening on a rant of self-loathing when giving my insurance information to the driver of the other car.\n"I'm sorry," I told the woman, who was patient but understandably testy. "I didn't even bother to look behind me. I don't know what to say."\nMy words were drenched with frustration and self-loathing. "I'm just an idiot, ma'am," I said. "I'm just an idiot."\nI was angry, and my anger was targeted entirely at myself. I had lost control, and I hated myself for it. To me, there was no excuse for emotions, no reason to act like a human being. I was weak and I was stupid, and I deserved to suffer.\nAfter the woman took my information and headed toward the elevator, I walked toward the parking-ramp wall and peered over. It was four stories down. That would be enough, I thought. That would do it.\nI stared down at the ground for a while, then headed off to campus in an attempt to salvage and already-ruined day. But things did not get any better. As I waited in Swain East for the start of my first class, I soon noticed that no one else was showing up. As the scheduled class start time came and went, I realized something was wrong. I was not in the right place. I had made another unforgivable mistake.\nI eventually learned that the class time had changed to Thursdays, and that it now conflicted with another class. I panicked. My heart sank.\n I scrambled to find another class and adjust my schedule. I met with my advisor and eventually fixed things up, dropping the changed class and picking up another one in its place. My schedule was smoothed out.\nBut I was not.\n"You deserved this," a voice echoed in my head. "This is what bad people get. This is what you get -- this is what you will always get."\nThe day ended. Around 8 p.m., I walked back to the Poplars parking garage, rode the elevator to the top and made my way to my truck. The ramp was virtually empty now. There was no one else in sight. As I approached my car, I was again drawn to the wall. I stood next to the ledge and looked over. Four floors would be enough, I thought. It would certainly be enough.\nI stared at the pavement below for a long time. A long time. But for some reason, I did nothing else. Something deep inside me told me to forget the day, forget my problems, forget my self-hatred. Go home and watch "The Simpsons," it said. Go home and listen to Otis Redding. Go home and get ready for tomorrow.\nI broke my gaze at the ground. I sighed deeply. Not today, I thought to myself. Not today.\nI turned, got in my truck and headed home.
(07/25/02 8:23pm)
Six and a half years ago, when I entered an in-patient psychiatric hospital for the first time, my therapists gave me a warning.\nMost people out there in the world, they told me, aren't ready to discuss mental illness. It's taboo to many of them, something you just don't bring up in public. Be ready for that.\nAt the time, I really didn't think much of that warning. I just wanted to get out of that hospital.\nBut as the years passed, I started to realize what they meant. I worked for bosses who didn't even try to understand why I sometimes couldn't concentrate on my work or come into the office every morning with a smile on my face.\nI dealt with family members who didn't want to engage in a conversation about my problems. They would simply get frustrated and change the subject or pass the phone off to someone else or practically yell at me.\nI had girlfriends break up with me when my symptoms spiraled out of control. I saw how an acquaintance's face would go blank with puzzlement or shock when I told them about my hospital stays or medication regimen.\nAnd every time any of those things happened, I was crushed. I hated myself for being ill, for being a weakling.\nBut even though those experiences were painful, I hardly ever blamed the other people for their reactions. I knew they didn't understand mental illness, and I knew I couldn't expect them to. Usually, they were simply trying to protect themselves.\nThat's an instinct I can completely relate to; for nearly seven years, I have been practicing mental and spiritual subsistence and survival. I've had to just to make it through each day.\nThat's why I understood last week when I learned that my last column, in which I detailed my recent thoughts of suicide, had not settled too well with some people on campus.\nI knew that because mental illness is still largely a taboo topic, many people might not be comfortable dealing with blunt depictions of depression. I knew that, through little fault of their own, they would be skeptical of the concept of mental illness and unsure of how to deal with it.\nAnd that's why, despite some doubts of my own, I went ahead and wrote the column. That's why I decided to be honest and matter-of-fact about what is going on inside me -- because I knew the only way to make any progress is to bring the subject of mental illness out from the shadows.\nI did not write the column to say that suicide is OK, that giving up is a valid option. If I actually believed that killing oneself is a good way to solve problems, I wouldn't be alive right now.\nI wrote the column simply to say that depression, that mental illness, is not a rare occurrence, that more people than you know suffer from brain disorders. I wrote it because I hoped I could let people know that they aren't alone in their struggles, that they aren't freaks.\nAnd, in the end, I wrote it to make sure people like me -- like us -- hold on to hope, both in ourselves and those around us.\nSociety will catch up. It just might take a little time.