( 3:14 PM )
Part 2 of my musical education…
I’ve been trying to figure out how, when, and where I started listening to black music. I remember buying Earth, Wind & Fire 8 tracks when I was an elementary school kid in a small town in West Virginia. Where did this come from? My parents certainly didn’t listen to it.
I think the answer is basketball. My dad used to take my brother and me to basketball games at the local college, West Virginia Wesleyan College. They were an NAIA team with a squad full of junior college transfers from Akron, Ohio. In fact, the coach came from Akron and basically brought his whole team with him. They were a national power at the NAIA level, and we used to love to watch them play.
Most everybody on the team was black, which made them a novelty in our tiny town. They were practically the only black people in the town, and they were celebrities.
Anyway, they would play music that we weren’t accustomed to hearing while warming up before games. I got to hear Earth, Wind & Fire, early Madonna (when everybody thought she was black) and other artists that were until then, completely foreign to me. It expanded my horizons quite a bit. It’s the only explanation I have for my musical tastes.
One of my best friends had an older brother who played high school basketball. He was always listening to Parliament or some other funk or early rap group. We used to love to listen to his music because it was so completely different. And black was cool. Black represented something beyond our shitty little town in the middle of nowhere. It represented the city and urban culture. It really appealed to us. And somehow it was all tied up with basketball. The two were inseparable: black culture and basketball.
( 6:47 PM )
Part 1 of my Musical Education
We’re considering doing a “Top 100 albums of the 80s” list or some such iteration for the site. It got me doing some thinking and research yesterday. The more I looked, the more I realized how crummy a decade the 80s was for music. The 70s and the 90s were both much better. And even a lot of the really good stuff from the 80s took place around the fringes of the decade—1980, ’81, ’88, and ’89. The meat of the decade was pretty barren for quality music.
I also realized how little I really know about 80s music, despite having grown up during that time. I never got into the Replacements, or Husker Du or any of those other rock snob bands that populate the top 100 lists of the musically educated. Although I’m pretty content to remain ignorant. There are other decades I’d rather explore.
I can blame part of my ignorance on geography. And this goes for the late 70s as well. As a kid, I spent 1978-1983 in a small town in the middle of West Virginia. There was no rock radio to speak of, and the video age was in its infancy. Most of what I heard on the radio was country or easy listening. I finally discovered a Top 40 show on a station from a nearby town. Every Saturday I would listen to that show with my tape recorder at the ready to tape the songs I really liked. It was slightly hipper than Casey Kasem, but not much.
We sure as hell didn’t have MTV, so we had to make due with Friday Night Videos, Night Trax, and Night Flight. That’s really where I was introduced to any sort of countercultural music. Mostly is was Michael Jackson and the like. But Night Flight on the USA Network used to play some freaky shit. I remember seeing bizarre videos from bizarre looking bands. But to me it was mostly just weird. I only liked the music insofar as I thought the video was cool.
So I feel like I lost about 5 years there. Plus my parents’ record collection literally consisted of Air Supply, Barry Manilow, Neil Diamond, and Chuck Mangione. Obviously I was way behind the curve and working with a major handicap. I managed to fish out a couple of old Beatles and Elvis records from the depths of the basement to get some kind of musical foundation, thank god. I had to do the rest on my own.
( 10:54 AM )
Yo La Tengo at the 9:30 Club
Caught Yo La Tengo Saturday night at the 9:30 Club in DC. I’ll go ahead and put it on the line: I don’t get Yo La Tengo. Granted, I’ve never really listened to their music. I bought “And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside-Out.” I didn’t really like it much. They’re one of those bands that you’re supposed to like if you’re into music. The critics love them, and their fans talk about them in reverent tones. So I figured it was worth it to see them live.
I was less than impressed. Too many of their songs are just plain uninteresting or don’t have any energy. When they take the form of a guitar/bass/drums power trio playing blistering, feedback-laden grunge-rock, I enjoyed it. But don’t give me those keyboard driven reflective tunes with ambient noise and middling vocals.
The crowd reminded me of that Seinfeld when they go to the opera. Jerry gets into a shouting match with one patron, and then remarks to Elaine, “I like this opera crowd—I feel tough.” Yo La is the classic example of a rock snob band. The crowd reflected that reputation. They also barely moved—I’ve seen more raucous crowds at the Billy Graham crusades. These people aren’t exactly choking to death on soul, so there was essentially no dancing. Just standing there staring at the stage in rapt attention.
One highlight was an appearance by members of the Sun Ra Arkestra. Two trombone players and a percussionist/floutist. They added some much appreciated sound to the show. But they were underutilized. Too often the band’s guitar was so loud, there was no chance for a couple of horn players to compete. Plus their songs don’t really lend themselves to horn arrangements. The Sun Ra guys spend a lot of time standing there trying not to look bored. If you invite these guys to play with you, show them some respect and make sure they have the opportunity to play.
It was a fun time, but I am still not among those on the Yo La Bandwagon.
( 7:59 PM )
Two items of news that caught my eye today…
In today’s Washington Post, an article by Nico Price about Saddam Hussein’s son Uday revealed one fascinating tidbit. As American soldiers rummaged through the remains of his home, they found, among other things, walls plastered with nudie pics downloaded from the internet. Price quotes an army officer as describing it as “the biggest collection of naked women I’ve ever seen.” And this is from a guy in the army!
Among these pictures, they actually found pictures of the Bush twins "dressed up very nice in evening clothes."
How creepy must it be for President Bush to know that the son of his arch-nemesis, the same guy who played the same role to his dad, has pictures of his daughters tacked up on his porno wall of fame? If this war wasn’t personal before, it certainly is now. Just in case you needed another reason not to want to be president, here you go.
Item number 2: a former TV producer who brought us such fine programming as “Cops” and “World’s Scariest Police Chases” was killed when he fell off a cliff while hiking along the Oregon coastline. It’s too bad there isn’t video of this. Wouldn’t you love to see his grim death exploited for ratings? Maybe the autopsy photos will make it to the web. Ain’t karma a bitch?
( 6:20 PM )
Some thoughts from the NCAA Finals last night…
Can college basketball broadcasts please do away with the extreme close-up shots of cheerleaders crowding around the camera, index fingers extended to the roof, screaming “Go Jayhawks! We’re number one!” with an intensity whose shallowness is revealed only as the camera lingers on them a little too long and you could see the color slowly start to drain from their faces as they realize that it’s becoming an awkward situation for themselves as well as the viewing audience.
As I watched Carmelo Anthony showcase his skills in the Final Four, I can’t help but think: it’s a shame that such a talented ballplayer is wasting his time in college. This is what college basketball has become. I’ll eat my left leg if he comes back for his sophomore year.
Why is Tom Izzo always shouting? It’s one thing to be screaming at your players on the sidelines of a hotly contested tourney game. But when you’re doing a pregame segment for CBS, take it easy, Tom. No one in the TV audience is going to argue with you or fail to box out.
I can’t watch those Dick Enberg essays. The minute I see his face on the screen I have to start flipping and see what’s on VH1. They’re trying to turn him into Jim McKay, and it ain’t working. At least he still calls games about as well as anybody. I just feel sorry that he had to work with Kareem Abdul-Jabbar this year during the tournament.
When did Jim Boeheim’s nose get so big? I guess Michael Jackson was right—people’s faces do change.
If Saddam Hussein had been confirmed dead last night, I wonder how livid I would have been if CBS interrupted the game to cover it.
Has anyone else noticed how infrequently CBS has promoted the Masters during the tournament this year. In the past they have mentioned it during every time out. Maybe this is their version of bowing to pressure from Martha Burk. Or maybe they feel it’s just not necessary. No golf fan needs to be reminded of when the Masters takes place, and the media coverage of the controversy will clue in everybody else.
Now that college basketball is over, time to start watching to pros again. Thank god the playoffs are about to start. Go Wizards, you sucking bunch of losers!
( 3:55 PM )
Priorities and Charity
I am proud to say that for the first time in my life I won an NCAA tournament pool. Regardless of who wins the finals tonight, I’m $400 richer. That’s right, I actually picked Kansas to meet Syracuse in the finals. Let me take a moment to bask in the glow of my own genius. Now that that’s over with, I can admit that I’m simply lucky, as I actually watched very little college basketball this year until the tournament started.
I am contemplating donation a portion of my winnings to charity. In fact, the winnings are coming from an office pool of a large environmental organization. It would be a nice gesture to kick back some of the cash their way, as the pool’s organizer suggested. I agree that such a gesture would be gracious as well as the right thing to do.
But how much? Fifty bucks? Seventy-five bucks? Half? I like to think I’m not all that wrapped up in money. But then you start crunching the numbers in your head. Suddenly you can justify being a greedy and cheap jerk.
What is $100 of my money really going to do for the environment? Can I save a rainforest? Can I save the Alaskan wilderness from the oil companies? Of course my donation could never make a difference.
However, if I kept that money for myself, I could make a significant difference in my own life. I could buy a bunch of really cool CDs that would give me many hours of listening pleasure. Or maybe a couple of magazine subscriptions that would fill a void in my life for the next twelve months. We’re talking about serious lifestyle changes here.
I find myself having the same stupid argument in my head about Washington, DC getting a baseball team. I live in DC, and I love baseball. I am praying that we land the Expos. But in order to do so, the city is going to have to pony up many millions to help pay for a ballpark. Those millions could no doubt be put to better use fixing up the deteriorating public school system, or providing for Washington’s significant homeless population, or any number of other worthy projects. But damn, wouldn’t I rather have a baseball team.
What am I really willing to give up to make the world better for everyone? How deep does my generosity run? I’d rather not answer those questions. I think I’ll just go get those CDs I’ve had my eye on.
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