Super Sunday Arrives Again

When did Super Bowl Sunday become a national holiday? Certainly not in 1967 when the dorky sounding Super Bowl was born. I mean come on, the AFL was second rate back then. To the surprise of no one, the Packers won big. I was just a kid, but I still remember the post-game press conference with Vince Lombardi being goaded into admitting that AFL champion Kansas City Chiefs couldn't compete in the NFL.
I suppose the 4th of July celebration in 1777 didn't amount to much either.
But give us Americans a reason to celebrate and by God we'll take it. The best holidays involve widespread drinking starting early in the day. And in a dreary month like February, who doesn't want that?
As I write these important thoughts, I haven't had my first one yet, but hey, it's only 9:30 in the morning. I'll get started soon enough.
The real turning point for the Super Bowl, as we all know, came in 1969 when Joe Namath's brash prediction of victory for his New York Jets came true. In that instant, the AFL established its legitimacy and boy did we start paying attention. The television ratings ascended, corporations dished out crazy money for ads and in a few short years, the Super Bowl became an American institution. Never mind that most of the games were blowouts. The game was secondary to the function of the Super Bowl: giving America an excuse to drink like crazy.
As the NFL has evolved into an increasingly corporate entity, their leadership sometimes slips and refers to the games as their "product". Nothing like turning a national pastime into another kind of widget.
This year we get The Who at halftime. But you knew that already, having been exposed to the relentless pregame build-up for two weeks.
Speaking of The Who, did you know that the NFL is claiming a trademark on the expression "Who Dat". Seriously. They have been serving cease and desist orders on New Orleans t-shirt shops selling shirts with the express "Who Dat", claiming that they're infringing on the NFL's exclusive right to market New Orleans Saints (and every other teams) stuff. As an attorney, I know a stretch when I see one, and it doesn't take an attorney to identify the distinctive aroma of such pathetic bullshit.
Not that I consider the NFL an evil empire---the fact is, they raise money for many worthy causes and they generate a very entertaining, uh, product. I really hope this years game between the Saints (the perennial loser Saints!) and the Colts is a doozie. And that I'm still awake at the end.

Elvis At 75: The King In Perspective

The King is dead. Long live the King. Dead since 1977, life seems eternal for Elvis Presley in western pop culture. Two days ago, he would have celebrated his 75th birthday. Chances are you've heard all about it. "Elvis Presley, that rare breed of talent that comes along maybe three times a century...." At the risk of blasphemy, I find myself wondering what all the fuss is really about.

Let's start by acknowledging that Elvis was a groundbreaking performer who electrified and galvanized a hungry, bored, white American audience starting in 1956. He infused rock 'n roll songs with a style and energy not previously seen. His hip movements alone created such a stir that worried parents sought legislation to censor the King, adding to the legend. Aside from The Beatles, I can't think of another musical act that has seized the attention of teenage America which such sudden, pandemic enthusiasm.

For several years, we couldn't get enough of it. The King's fame survived a two year hiatus in the military and launched a successful acting career despite Elvis' limited talents as a thespian (here, I am defining success strictly on a box-office basis; the movies ranged in quality from mediocre to wretched). Once his four or five years as a chart-topping singer passed, he still managed an occasional second tier hit. Thanks to Las Vegas and two much publicized television specials, he managed to parlay his earlier fame into a state of tremendous financial security. And somehow, in spite of weight gain, a conspicuous tendency toward personal overindulgence and obscenely garish wardrobe choices, his hold over a large, loyal audience has continued to this day with no end in sight.

Why does the memory of Elvis have such staying power? As an artist, he never wrote a hit song (it is widely acknowledged that on the 8 songs where he is listed as co-writer, he made no contributions). His guitar skills were so modest that early in his career, he ditched the instrument. Even his breakout performances of rock songs such as "Hound Dog" are clearly derivative of performances by black artists that went unnoticed by white America. And young Elvis' incendiary performance style has nothing on Cab Calloway's wildest musical histrionics from the 30's.

But that's just it. In Elvis, America was exposed to something new, exciting and slightly terrifying---a white man playing black music without inhibition. And since so few had heard such music, and boy were we ready for something new, history was made. So to the musical geniuses that followed (Buddy Holly, Little Richard, Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis and many more, guys who actually could write songs, play instruments, offer dazzling performances and expand the genre), as great as they all were, at the end of the day, Elvis stands alone as a cultural icon.

Of course we overlook his personal shortcomings. Most musicians have enough baggage to make a politician blush. But focusing strictly on Elvis' musical contributions, and comparing them with those of his contemporaries, is it unfair of me to suggest that his legacy is disproportionate to his body of work? Does it seem just that this performer is widely described as a talent so transcendent as to come along but three times in a century? For those who subscribe to this view, I respectfully beg to differ.

A short list of those whose contributions to music since the time of Elvis who, in my book, deserve equal or better recognition for their contributions to our musical heritage:
1. Bob Dylan
2. John Lennon
3. Paul McCartney
4. Bruce Springsteen
5. Jagger/Richards
6. U2
7. Buddy Holly
8. Jimi Hendrix
9. Clapton in all forms (solo, Cream, Derek & the Dominoes, etc)
10. Bob Marley
11. Paul Simon
12. Ray Charles
13. Fats Domino
14. Michael Jackson

You could even make a case that Elvis is not the most musically worthy or talented guy by the name of Elvis, because damn, Elvis Costello is outstanding! I could go on. I'll stop. I rest my case. May the King rest in peace.

Musical Progress---Thank You Jamaica

I've been waiting patiently for a musical resurgence. In earlier posts, I talked about "all the obstacles in my way" and it's no coincidence that I'm channeling lyrics from a classic reggae tune here since I just got back from Jamaica, which is where the resurgence occurred.
How did it start? I think it was on the beach when a trickle of lyrics and the nucleus of a song idea popped into my brain. Before long, an exciting new song was taking shape. "Seize the Day" is the title. It's a tune that's long on adult inspiration and positive values, just the sort of topic that swirls around my subconscious a lot these days as I come to terms with the notion of embracing my new age group. Most of my favorite songs include universal messages. "Seize the Day" is all about the universal. And it's built around a soulful guitar passage which kicks off the tune and repeats at the end of each refrain. I like songs that do that too.
Is that all I needed for my resurgence? Nope. I needed more, and I got it. Several performance opportunities came my way, and in the process, many new friendships were formed and a slew of perfect strangers embraced my musical with genuine enthusiasm. Three nights in Jamaica I held center stage and all three nights were magical and memorable.
Then, just a day before we needed to head home, another song popped into my head. And unlike typical song ideas which rarely result in a fully formed song, and when they do, it usually takes weeks or months for the song to evolve into a finished piece, this song was that rare kind which was essentially complete in twenty minutes. In my experience, the songs that come quickly are often the best.
Suddenly, I am committed to recording a new set of songs in 2010. I was slow to realize that there would be a beautiful rhythm to this since my first cd was released in 2004 and my second in 2007. That would make me one of those folks who puts out a new collection of songs once every three years. That notion holds a lot of appeal for me. And suddenly, it seems eminently do-able.
It's as if my patience with music, and my frustrations over the fact that the role of music has recently retreated from my life somewhat, has suddenly been answered in the best way possible. For that, and for many other reasons, I am wishing myself right now, and all of you too, the best of season's greetings and a Happy Happy Happy New Year---may 2010 rock for all of us!

It Was Neither the Best Nor Worst of Times

Charles Dickens wrote it 150 years ago. "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." It must have seemed true when he said it, just as it has often seemed true throughout the course of our lives. Why? The answer must relate to the glass half empty/half full conundrum. Which isn't really so much a conundrum as it is a metaphor about the power of perspective.
In any given moment, we see terrible possibilities for mankind and with good reason. These "glass half empty" thoughts lend powerful support to the notion that it is truly the worst of times. But then something inevitably happens to reinforce the opposite point of view. Whenever I hear Louis Armstrong's "It's A Wonderful World", for example, or "Imagine", my mental state transforms. Instantly, I am full of hope, a veritable fountain of good will. Welcome to the best of times.
Perhaps it is because we only experience life in the present. There is a drama queen within us all, and the average inner drama queen wants to make you think about the worst and best of all possibilities all the time. Actually, I think there are two inner drama queens within us, and they engage in a constant battle with one another. The good DQ wants you to think these are damn sure the very very best of times while the bad DQ wants to freak you out with worry.
The other day, my stepson encountered a man carrying a sign which read "THE END IS NEAR!" He asked the man a profound question: "And why does that bother you so much?" Which proves that one man's worst of times can be another's best of times---it's all a matter of perspective.
"A Tale of Two Cities" was released by Charles Dickens in 37 weekly installments in 1859. The final installment was released on November 25, 1859 which is nearly 150 years ago today. According to one source, 200 million copies were sold in English, more than any other book printed in the English language.
The opening line is so memorable and has been repeated with such frequency that many forget the equally good lines which follow.


"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times; it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness; it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity; it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness; it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair; we had everything before us, we had nothing before us; we were all going directly to Heaven, we were all going the other way."

I imagine that during World War II, it must have felt like the worst of times. And when the war ended, it must have felt like the best of times. During the Bush administration, it seemed like the worst of times and yet, I had some of my best life experiences during those eight years. We should accept that it is neither the worst nor best of times at any given moment. That perspective seems, to me, as both a healthy and truthful outlook. It calls upon us to reflect upon history more carefully, always a good thing. It requires us to identify the many positive, helpful things and people we are surrounded by that we often take for granted.
Thank you Mr. Dickens. You continue to enlighten us, long after your departure. Such is the power of words well chosen and ideas well articulated.

Weekly or Monthly?

How much is too much? How little is too little? The frequency of my postings is on a slide. No, a free fall is more like it. I'd like to think that with fewer postings comes increased quality of content. But I know that isn't true.

Here's the deal. My blog retreat can be directly traced to an explosion in the time I'm spending in this all-consuming activity of green development. My approach to this undertaking is definitely hands on. To use poker vernacular, I guess you'd say I'm all in. And the risks are terrifying. If I wasn't so confident that I was doing a good thing for our community and that ultimately, the fruits of my labor will reward me in a reasonable way, I would just say no.

This activity doesn't tolerate a half hearted approach. To overlook key details is to invite failure. I feel that I've worked too long and too hard to expose myself to a negative outcome in this new endeavor.

My commitment to overseeing my building projects, both from the standpoint of time and risk, is too large to allow time for other things I'd like to do. As a result, I'm performing less, blogging less, traveling less, running less, and the list goes on. But I'm willing to make these sacrifices because what I'm doing, for the most part, seems worth it. I sure don't enjoy explaining this to folks who ask when my next gig is. Still, I'm touched by the number of inquiries I've received.

To them and to you, now hear this: soon my projects will be done. And when they are completed, I plan to resist any urge I may feel to do more. That's when I'll resume my favorite activities like performing, writing new songs, record, travel and tour, and who knows what else. In the meantime, I appreciate your indulgence as this blog shifts into a once-a-month sort of affair.

Blog Sabbatical Ends--Read All About It

It's over. My blog sabbatical, that is. I'm not sure who that Mica guy in the picture is, but the "He's Back" sign says it all. My apologies, dear readers, for failing to announce my sabbatical in advance. I've long admired college professors for their ability to take sabbaticals. I decided to indulge myself. Or maybe I just got lazy or too busy with other stuff or found myself running out of topics worthy of your time and attention. Whatever the case, I'm draping my MIA period with a cloak of respectability by calling it a blog sabbatical. If my absence has let anyone down, hopefully this distinguished sounding excuse will make amends. I apologize. There, I said it.

Theoretically, sabbaticals allow one time to conduct research, make progress on new projects while unencumbered by the routine demands of employment and emerge from this period refreshed and reinvigorated. My sabbatical experience fell somewhat short of accomplishing these lofty ideals, but there were some good times. I literally climbed a mountaintop, a near vertical granite spire in the Canadian Rockies, to be precise. Yup, the one in the picture. I played music, entertaining folks from far and wide. But mostly, I toiled in fulfillment of my daily responsibilities back home in Eugene.

Am I refreshed? Uh, not really. But I stand prepared to make this commitment to you (not a promise, just a soft, fluffy "commitment", and a rather feeble one at that). My commitment is this: once again, I will provide blog content on a semi-regular basis starting now. Yes, you can read it all here, well-crafted prose drenched with meaningful literary content, rich with irony and sarcasm, self-aggrandizing blather about our life (ok, MY life) and times. Why bother reading the New York Times or the Washington Post op-ed pages when you can just read this instead. OK, I can't equal Garrison Keillor, but the rest of those guys, they've got nothing on me, especially now that I'm reinvigorated and refreshed. Look out Thomas Freidman and Charles Krugman, and especially those arrogant, self-important ones, guys like Charles Krauthammer and George Will. Now that I'm back, like phoenix rising from the ashes, you, my friends, are toast.

Birther Blather

Will the real Republicans please stand up? Who are the real Republicans these days anyway? Certainly the Birthers number themselves as Republicans but many in the party are reluctant to claim them. And it's easy to understand why given that the Birthers claim that Obama was born in Kenya is supported by no evidence whatsoever.

It is satisfying at some level to see that the Republican ranks include at least some folks who appreciate how foolish one looks when they go public with something as outlandish as the Birthers do.

Maybe what happened in the 2000 election warped their brains permanently. Emboldened by Bush's success in being declared president after losing the general election and having his brother steal the critical Florida electoral vote, the Birthers must figure that every election is theirs for the taking. In their minds, I guess electoral success depends so little on actual voting and so much on gaming the system. Unless of course you are a Republican who actually won an election, in which case, no further inquiry is needed, a la 2004, in which the Democrats showed considerable discretion in not making a big fuss about the peculiar goings on in Ohio.

If the Birthers had any power, they would be truly dangerous. Oh, wait, some Birthers DO have power. Heaven help us.

Shame on mainstream media, Lou Dobbs comes to mind, for dignifying this non-story with coverage. Even the crazies at Fox thought better of it.

Consider how such controversies might be avoided in the future, from a Birther perspective. Apparently having a birth certificate coupled with a media announcement of a birth is insufficient to establish proof of birth in America. Better take away those Birther passports to safeguard against the possibiliy that they might be illegal immigrants.

I suggest that parents who aspire for their children to be future presidents arrange for live births to be videotaped, witnessed by at least two unbiased properly certified verifying witnesses and a lawyer or two.

What a great country this is. Between the Birthers and the screamers who like to disrupt community meetings so that we can't conduct public discussions about universal health care, it's clear that freedom still rings around here, but the problem is that the sound is generally inferior to that of silence.