September 2003

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A Monday Night Tradition...

Filed under: Imported

So, what is Monday Night Football up to?

The past 2 (two) weeks on MNF have featured 2 (two) separate incidents where John Madden was forced to give a response or talk at a time when he'd rather have eaten a steaming pile of poop.

The first occurred last week when he had to introduce and then talk about Al Michaels taking over the play-by-play duties of ABC's coverage of the NBA. I've been around some coaches in my lifetime, and, if there's one thing they could care less about, it's any sport other than their own. But that's minor compared to this week's transgression.

All of the sudden, there's a halftime "contest" where two football players per week, pair with two musical acts per week, to create performances for a "tournament," which will be fought out during halftime all season long by viewer vote via the internet.

Last night featured DE Marcellus Wiley of the Chargers with DMC (without Run), against Lions QB Joey Harrington with John Popper (apparently without Blues Traveller). Wiley rapped and Harrington played piano. Somewhere near the end of the 3rd quarter, the "official" voting was over and Harrington was ahead 87% to 13%, burying Wiley and his "sick" rap.

Uh huh.

Like Britney sleepwalking through a lip-synched dance routine on a be-happy cocktail of various uppers and downers before the season opener a few weeks ago, there's some kind of "sick" union going on between various suits in the recording industry and various suits at the NFL home office. MNF's numbers have been hurting the past few years, so it's stands to reason that they might pull a few stunts to reaffirm or disprove some of their theories about who's watching the games. Since the music industry has become a whore for everyone else recently, it isn't surprising they'd "go out on a limb" and do this too.

I didn't vote this week, but you can be sure I'm going to look at it more closely next week. What can we learn from Harrington's crushing defeat of Wiley? Well, with Green Bay on the tube, it's probably not a stretch to say that MNF had a predominantly white audience last night. Hey, I could be totally wrong on that one, but when the stiff white kid who struggles to keep the beat with Popper's maniacal harp playing beats the slick rapper in front of a national TV audience, you have to ask yourself, who was really watching last night.

This little contest may appear harmless my friends, but I assure you, there will be implications for everyone at the end of it. As for Madden, when Michaels revealed the numbers and the winner, he was reaching for his spoon to go after the pile of poop again.

Posted by Jack Sparks at September 30, 2003 12:29 PM

 

Pop goes the Cletus...

Filed under: Imported

From David Cantwell's review of some recent CD's in Pitch.com:

The knee-jerk equating of crap with pop doesn't add up, aesthetically speaking; the former is an evaluation of ends, and the latter merely describes means. Worse, it ignores that the tension between old-fashioned and newfangled is the lifeblood of tradition. As historian Richard Peterson reminds us, country has always moved from "hardcore" to "soft shell" and back around again like clockwork. This unbroken circle perpetually returns a changed genre to roots that have changed, too. Think of the way Buck Owens prompted the "traditionalist" revival of the early 1960s by playing rock and roll disguised as honky-tonk.

I've traded some emails with Cantwell in the past, and you know what? On some levels, I agree with the above. But there is a FATAL flaw to what he's saying.

Country can and will withstand, and even benefit from, an "injection" of pop music from a purely musical standpoint. But, the lionshare of pop in Country today is not there for musical reasons. It's there to deliver the female demographic to Country radio. As an example, just look at Cantwell's use of Buck Owens in the above quotation. Country was in the midst of the Countrypolitan nonsense of the Nashville Sound when Owens plugged it back in and returned some of the grit to it. But he did that because that's who he was, it was his version of Country, and it was what was making him a huge success on the West Coast. He was trolling for hits like anybody else, BUT, if he cranked up a Telecaster and blasted the wall of strings out of the recording studio, it was because he'd been doing that in a bar in Bakersfield for about ten years. If he was "disguising" anything, well, it was only a matter of degree. I guess I take issue with "disguised."

And now, the issue is the PROCESS. I've said many times that you can point to individual songs by individual singers in the mainstream and say, "well, that's not selling out." Of course. But, they're in the mainstream because the PROCESS is screwed up. People get label deals because they can sing relatively in tune, and they're good looking. The songs--as is very much the case for Brooks & Dunn--will be supplied to them. It's almost IMPOSSIBLE to find a more manufactured group than Brooks & Dunn, two guys who didn't know each other from Adam, that were put together by the marketing reps from two labels who were having a drink together and thought the two might match up well. The PROCESS is designed to provide pop songs, "disguised" as Country to radio, so that women between the ages of 25 and 45 do not turn off the radio during the Tampax commercials.

The final joke, as always, is the obligatory mention of Joe Nichols, Dierks Bentley, and Gary Allan. They get mentioned every time. It's a hallmark of country-pop apologists to finish their review, article, essay, or master's thesis by mentioning the "New Traditionalists," Nichols, Bentley and Allan. And why are these three guys the new traditionalists? I can name about a hundred acts that were new traditionalists several years before they came along; the answer is, quite simply, these are 3 handsome men whose wardrobes and haircuts we can control, who came to Nashville, and now are scared to leave. They'll ride this wave of test-marketing that the labels are doing with them, but then the cold iron bell of reality will ring. Mark it down, the next articles you read about these guys will be about how they lost their label deals because they wouldn't sing about babies, angels, or babies turning into angels after dying from an incurable disease, while at the State Fair with their high school sweetheart parents, who probably married too early. "Man," they'll say, "Nashville just chews you up and spits you out."

Posted by Jack Sparks at September 26, 2003 3:06 PM

 

There was a time, That time is gone (again)

Filed under: Imported

On stage, Jay Farrar reminds me of that Ten Commandments monument down in Alabama. He doesn't do a whole lot but stand there, kind of cold and roped off, but eveyone is going fucking nuts around him. I caught myself bobbing up and down on the First Ave mainroom floor like a college girl, to songs where he barely blinked his eyes while singing. I honestly believe that the American songwriting ladder goes something like Cole Porter, Woody Guthrie, Hank Williams, Bob Dylan, Jay Farrar. But Jesus, tap your foot, wiggle your knee, spit on somebody in the front row if you have to. I thought we were in for a real treat when he opened up the gig with Punch Drunk. "Man oh man," I thought, "here it comes." For the most part, he knocked me senseless. It's impossible to not be struck dumb by his songwriting abilities. Lovely, melodic, instrospective, intelligent, dark...always dark. You go numb in Jay's darkness after a while. As far as I know, he's happily married, has some kids, his own label and recording studio, and every long-haired, folk-rock, six string, jean jacket, college kid since about 1990 absolutely worships him.

He's been asked in every interview that he's done since 1994 if Uncle Tupelo is ever going to get back together. You know what? Who gives a shit? The first thing you Minnesota Nice people need to grasp is the aching finality of a Missouri (pronounced Missour-uh) blood feud. Brothers...BROTHERS in Missouri stop talking to each other because of one fight they had when they were 17; it's a betrayal thing. Someone you love unconditionally pisses on you and it hurts.

Well, here's our result...You were probably at the Wilco show at the Walker...Jeff Tweedy's free form jazz odyssey. What the hell was that? I'm not saying it was bad, I'm saying, "What the hell was that?"

Let me flesh this out. Standing on the floor, about ten yards away from Jay Farrar last night, I knew I was watching a master perform absolutely beautiful, original, Amercian roots music. It was good, and it made me emotional. But, it didn't appear to make Jay emotional. He got all wound up at the end of the encore for the cover of Neil Young's "Like a Hurricane" with Canyon, but his own music doesn't do that to him? And that's when it hit me.

He shook off Jeff, then the Boquist brothers, and now there's no one up there on stage with him to agitate him. Same with Tweedy...first Jay, then Jay Bennet, now it's just Jeff and the loop back feature of his keyboard player's synth.

Creative people can be extraordinary by themselves. But, they can be off the charts good with a little adverse or unusual input that shakes them up, makes them nervous, depressed, or angry. Look at some of the high water marks we got from Johnny Cash with Rick Rubin. This kind of grizzly, hardcore guy in sunglasses takes an icon and drags the fight out of him onto 4 records.

I don't know shit about Jay Farrar. His show last night was fantastic, but I wanted more. I wanted to see the fight. I wanted to see him acknowledge the raised glasses, lighters, the hoots and hollers. I wanted him to look at that 6'2", 90 pound hillbilly savant guitar player for Canyon who stood in complete darkness the whole night, wink, smile, and flip him off.

Posted by Jack Sparks at September 25, 2003 3:32 PM

 

So they loaded up th' truck with lotsa bag-gies...

Filed under: Imported

From the North Northfield StarTribune:

Bow hunter stumbles upon 200 pot plants

Associated Press
MANKATO, Minn. -- A deer hunter kicked off a three-week stakeout that ended with a million-dollar pot, literally, in Blue Earth County.

The Blue Earth Country Sheriff's Office said a bow hunter called police after stumbling upon more than 200 marijuana plants hidden in cornfields.

Authorities staked out the location, watched who came and went and arrested three men. It took a county dump truck to haul away the plants.

Charged on Monday in Blue Earth County Court were: Paul Larson, 39, from Freeborn County, and his brothers, 42-year-old Joseph Larson and 32-year-old Daniel Larson, both of Bricelyn.

Each was charged with third-degree possession of a controlled substance and third-degree conspiracy to commit a controlled substance crime. Both of those are felonies. They face up to 20 years in prison and a quarter-million dollar fine.

This warm tale from the southwestern recesses of God's country reminds me of one of the funniest 3 panel strips ever committed to the fishwrap of American discourse. I can't find an actual picture of it on the net anywhere to rip off, so I'll just reprint the dialogue:

From Berke Breathed's Bloom County

Frame 1:
Senator Befellow: A farmer! A man of the earth! My heart bleeds for good folks like you. Going through hard times, are you?

Farmer: Nope, doin dandy.

Frame 2:
Senator Bedfellow: Good! This is an excellent batch of corn you have here...

Farmer: 'Taint corn. It's dope.

Frame 3:
Senator Bedfellow: Pardon?

Farmer: Here, take some home to the wife.
(please don't sue me Mr. Breathed)

As I've been telling everyone for years now, you have to look at the cracks in the sidewalks sometimes, before you try to fix the street. If you've spent any amount of time in the outstate portions of whichever member of the union to which you belong with anyone under 40 (forty) years of age, you know that dope is like Budweiser out there. A few farmboys knocking down some corn to grow some green when it looks like it's going to be a long, hot summer is not an unusual story. Somehow, black helicopters, Willie Nelson, Farm-Aid, and Cargill fit into all of this, but I don't have the mental wherewithal this evening to make the connections. That being said...

Jack's Tain't-Corn-It's-Dope Top Twenty:

1. Live at Billy Bob's, Jack Ingram
I haven't heard this disk yet. I don't even know if they have it burned, printed, and in the case. I'm telling you right now, it will probably be one of the best disks you've ever heard.
2. Rainy Day Music, The Jayhawks
3. Guitar Pickin' Martyrs, Luther Wright & The Wrongs
4. Just For The Record, Bobby Flores
If you know how to dance, and you put this record on your stereo, and you can keep from dancing, well, just call the morgue because you are officially dead.
5. Terroir Blues, Jay Farrar
6. Wave on Wave, Pat Green
7. Swing Time, Wayne "The Train" Hancock
8. Railings, Frog Holler
9. Streets of Sin, Joe Ely
10. Temporarily Disconnected, BR549
11. No Frills Friend, Amy Allison
12. One Step Ahead, Rhonda Vincent
13. ring, Big Ditch Road
14. ...the size of planets, Haley Bonar
15. Freedom's Child, Billy Joe Shaver
16. Live, Alison Krauss & Union Station
17. Live Recordings from the Louisiana Hayride, Johnny Cash
18. The Lawless, Kevin Deal
19. It Happened in America, Sherwin Linton & Friends
20. Wise to You!, Marti Brom

---

Posted by Jack Sparks at September 24, 2003 6:17 PM

 

Taking solace in the little things...

Filed under: Imported

From Joe Posnanski's typically good column in the Kansas City Star:

Right now, there's a guy to watch in center field. Most people around the country � even most people in Kansas City � may not think of Carlos Beltran as one of the great players in baseball. But he is. He is, in fact, the most complete player in the game right now, a five-tool wonder, a guy who breaks records without anyone noticing.

I'd like to congratulate a team that should have won this division by 15 games for finding a sack and pulling it out of their asses with a 10 game winning streak in the last week. Being a diehard fan of the sport, and, having something to cheer about with regard to my boyhood hometown team for the first time in 10 years, I am of course a little bitter that we didn't pull it out in the end. The Twins of course, should go very far in the playoffs, opening against the Yankees, a team they have dominated the past few seasons...oh wait a minute...that's not right either, is it? Having grown up a Royals fan, if EVERY SINGLE ONE of the Yankees walked out of their dugout and broke their ankles on their way onto the field, I would point, laugh, and begin cheering wildly. There is not a more supremely evil franchise at any level of sport, and everything bad that happens to them is a good thing. It would be funny if the Twins beat them, but this current incarnation of the Twins tends to shit down its leg when playing the Pukes in the Pinstripes, so you shouldn't hold your collective breath fellow citizens.

But, back to Posnanski's column. I have been having a play argument with one of my friends; he just tries to goad me into arguing whether Torii Hunter is better than Carlos Beltran. The good thing that Joe's column points out is that, not only is Beltran better than Hunter, he's better than everybody. Posnanski, as a hometown columnist may be biased, but the good thing about baseball is that numbers don't lie. Some highlights:

But one interesting new fielding statistic is �STATS Inc.'s zone rating.� It attempts to judge the percentage of plays made in that player's particular zone. I don't know how good a statistic it is, but it makes sense.

And Beltran's zone rating of .928 is the highest in baseball.

At any position.

So that old rumination about Torii Hunter being the best defensive Center Fielder in the game--something I admit even I ascribed to until this morning--is really false.

How fast is Beltran? Check this out: He has been thrown out stealing by a catcher once all year (he has been picked off twice). With one more steal, he will become just the fourth player to steal 40 bases and get caught fewer than five times.

No need to embarrass Torii by quoting his steal numbers.

You can play all sorts of fun number games with Carlos Beltran. For instance, take a look at Beltran's first five years next to another guy you might recognize.

Carlos Beltran: .287 average, 106 home runs, 461 RBIs, 490 runs, 148 stolen bases.

Barry Bonds: .265 average, 117 home runs, 336 RBIs, 468 runs, 169 stolen bases.

Last year, Carlos Beltran set an American League record for most extra-base hits by a switch hitter. The old record belonged to Mickey Mantle. Nobody made a big deal about it because nobody noticed.

Understand, I realize all of this is a lot of bitter chest puffing, now that the Twins have won the division and are moving on to the playoffs. But, I will take solace in the fact that going into next year, the Royals have the best Manager (Pena), the best Rookie (Berroa), and the best Player (Beltran) in the entire game of baseball. If they can find just 3 starting pitchers to have an average season for a FULL season, the Twins will not be able to limp and then back into a division title again.

Posted by Jack Sparks at September 24, 2003 3:46 PM

 

Grand Ol' Opry SMACKDOWN!

Filed under: Imported

From LAUNCH Radio Networks:

The Dixie Chicks want out of the country music scene, according to comments group member Martie Maguire made to German magazine, Spiegel. She said, "We don't feel part of the country scene any longer, it can't be our home any more."

Like nobody saw this coming...

Mainstream Nashville is a whore. If it were suddenly cool to be a cross-dressing, gay, Republican, Toby Keith would fly to the White House wearing eye-shadow and lipstick to fellate the President at a press conference in the Rose Garden with a Ford pickup in the background.

Somewhere along the way, these publicity stunts (Entertainment Weekly cover) and "controversial statements" that the Dixie Chicks have made got confused with typical Americans taking a historical stand on a particular issue.

The suits at Sony Nashville realize that despite all the alleged backlash from the pencil pushers who run radio at ClearChannel, Infinity, and Disney, the Chicks pretty much sold out their entire recent jaunt through the States...thousands and thousands of girls and women, aged 13 to 45...BUYING POWER my friend (and money in the coffers of those stations that supposedly took them off the air, but left their station logos up all around the arenas...just in case...). The only way to sell your beleaguered twangy girl act, is to make them a beleaguered twangy girl act. Call up your buddies the Mays Boys and tell them to take the Chicks off their country stations...we got a great idea to phase them into Rock/Pop when they get back from Europe...their naturally big mouths are GOLDEN!

You can start counting now...10...9...8...Toby Keith will say some knuckleheaded thing to counter this latest "statement," thus boosting HIS sales too. Create a little consumerist friction at home between the guys and gals, and pass it off as "political controversy." This isn't PoliSci 101, this is P.T. Barnum, the third and maybe most important progenitor, along with Billy Joel and Elton John, of "Today's Best Country."

The differences between the Chicks/Nashville-Keith controversy and the "feud" between Brock Lesnar and Kurt Angle are negligible...politically, personally, and most importantly, economically. I once saw Brock snap the University of Illinois heavyweight's hip like a twig (I heard the pop) at Williams Arena, and almost get disqualified for an illegal hold that resulted in a serious injury. That fight was real and there were CONSEQUENCES for the participants. Anybody catch the Chicks playing for gas money and eating tuna fish sandwiches at rest stops lately?

If I was Johnny Cash, I'da up and died too.

Posted by Jack Sparks at September 23, 2003 4:59 PM

 

hey, why not?

Filed under: Imported

Blue Sky and Melissa, by the Allman Brothers, are great Country songs.
Alice's Restaurant, by Arlo Guthrie, is a great Country song.
Rocky Raccoon, by the Beatles, is a great Country song.
Wiser Time, She Talks to Angels, Thorn in My Pride, and Good Friday, by the Black Crowes are great Country songs.
Don't Think Twice, It's All Right, by Bob Dylan is a great Country song.
Atlantic City, by Bruce Springsteen is a great Country song.
A Child's Claim to Fame, by the Buffalo Springfield is a great Country song.
Sweetheart of the Rodeo, by the Byrds, is a great Country album.
Sail On, by the Commodores is a great Country song.
Sweet Jane, the Cowboy Junkies' version, is a great Country song.
Wedding Day, by Cracker, is a great Country song.
Futon Song, by Dieselhed, is a great Country song.
Black Water, by the Doobie Brothers, is a great Country song.
Into the Old Man's Shoes, by Elton John, is an underrated Country song.
Psycho, by Elvis Costello, is a great Country song.
The Zamboni Song, by the Gear Daddies, is a great Country song.
Truckin', by the Grateful Dead, is a great Country song.
Me and Bobby McGee, by Janis Joplin, is a great Country song.
Operator, by Jim Croce, is a great Country song.
As much as I wish it were true, Jimi Hendrix never recorded anything on the 3 albums that I would consider a great Country song.
Big Daddy, by John Mellencamp, is a great Country album.
Hot Dog, by Led Zeppelin, is a great Country song.
Dead Skunk, by Loudon Wainwright III, is a great Country song.
The Ballad of Curtis Loew, by Lynyrd Skynyrd, is a great Country song.
Wish You Were Here, by Pink Floyd, is a great Country song.
Fairytale of New York, by the Pogues, is a great Christmas Country song.
Wynona's Big Brown Beaver, by Primus, is a great Country song.
Amie, by Pure Prairie League, is a great Country Song.
Driver 8 and Don't Go Back to Rockville, by R.E.M., are great Country songs.
Waitress in the Sky, by the Replacements, is a great Country song.
Garden Party, by Ricky Nelson, is a great Country song.
Country Honk, Let It Bleed, Dead Flowers, Tumbling Dice, and Sweet Virginia, by the Rolling Stones, are great Country songs.
Engine Joe, by Slobberbone, is a great Country song.
Burden in My Hand, by Soundgarden, is a great Country song.
Interstate Love Song, by the Stone Temple Pilots, is a great Country song.
Cowboy Song, by Thin Lizzy, is a great Country song.
I Won't Back Down, by Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers, is a great Country song.

Posted by Jack Sparks at September 23, 2003 2:49 AM

 

For amber waves of grain

Filed under: Imported

Music isn't contemplated anymore. Any music.

My college girlfriend had these two friends from India named Nick and Subir. I used to watch these guys drink EXTRA strong coffee--maybe 10 or 11 cups--long after the sun went down, and smoke about a thousand hand-rolled cigarettes each, talking about jazz, and then fall dead asleep for the normal 8 hours. I'm one of those people who think jazz is written and recorded in Sanskrit, and, unless you personally authored the Rosetta stone, you have no chance of deciphering it. I can listen to it for a while, but soon, I get a little lost in the scales, tones, and modes, and you're just not going to throw me a lifesaver big enough to fish me out of the ocean. But you know what? Whenever I run into people like ol' Nick and Subir, it really gives me a hop in my step.

People who spend hours talking about the effect Coltrane had on music remind me of Bob Dylan. As far as what I do is concerned, Bob Dylan changed everything. There was a lot of "plight-of-the-working-man" in Woody Guthrie's music; there was a lot of "she-cheated-on-me-while-I-worked-the-3rd-shift-at-the-auto-plant" in Hank Williams' music; the guitar became a firecracker in the hands of Bo Diddly and Chuck Berry; and, there was a lot of "jammin'-on-the-one" to James Brown's music. Dylan very improbably synthesized all of this into whatever he did, is doing, and will ever do. But, where I'm going doesn't have much to do with a cursory history of the metamorphosis of music in the 50's, 60's, and 70's.

It has more to do with music's place in culture, its function if you will, and why the word "important," when associated with music, makes people cringe and write emails that the receivers delete with knowing smiles, shaking heads, and the tsk tsk tsk of your grandmother's wisdom.

Back when Coltrane was blue, Dylan was freewheelin', and TV was 3 networks and UHF, people read books and listened to music. Don't get me wrong, they still do that. But, back then, MANY people did that. Now, many people read bullshit blogs, watch end-of-civilization, reality TV shows, and have every album Britney Spears ever released. Hey, St. Augustine had a hard time looking away when the lions ate the Christians, so I'm not going to begrudge anybody their modern-day comforts. But, because of what I do, I have to believe there's an American discourse and history that takes place in our entertainments; there are moments when a song is more than a song...Cole Porter and Louis Armstrong were the voices of the American Renaissance, post World War I, etc.

Oh YES, I love to shuffle, two-step, and swing. Who gives a fuck what Nate's mumbling up there on a Friday night? I'm trying to swing this girl around the floor and into bed. No, every song doesn't have to be ABOUT something. You are so right my friend.

Now that we have that out of the way for Shania, Britney, and whatever soulless robot has yet to be launched by the perverts whose Armani suits are encrusted with Beluga caviar and semen in the bowels of the big record labels, let's get back on topic...

Let's just assume for a moment that there are people who are trying to paint portraits of America that don't pigeonhole into commercials for processed cheese slices, tartar fighting toothpaste, and feminine hygeine. I mean, Jesus...is that all there is?

Jay Farrar is or was Bob Dylan's heir. I say "is or was" because Jay still has some lead in his pencil and is working out where his mark is going to be; also, assuming for the sake of argument, that he's past his prime, no one has hit me as the next wrung in the impossible ladder I'm building at 2am.

But you should know this: just based on what he did in Uncle Tupelo (THE MOST IMPORTANT COUNTRY BAND OF THE LATE 80'S AND EARLY 90'S), Son Volt, and in his solo projects to date, Farrar is one of maybe 5 or 6 people with genuine talent who is struggling to paint the American portrait in music that will be collected and remembered 50 years from now. Sure, in 2013, Mothers in Edina will tune the FM dial in their Minivans to the ClearChannel station dedicated to the "Millenium Oldies"--Britney, Christina, AND Pink--while their kids watch the fucking purple dinosaur that just won't die, on DVD, from the back seats, buckled in tighter than any Apollo astronaut ever dreamed of being...but does that make it RIGHT?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

It took Mark Twain several years of bouncing around on the River to find out what it meant to be Mark Twain...Tennessee Williams bared scars, real scars, bleeding crusty scars, right there on stage for everyone to see and whisper about, right after they patted him on the back...and everytime I think I know what Bob Dylan has been trying to tell me and everybody else for the past 40 years, he still throws me curve balls. THIS is the stuff of ambulance driving in France in WWI, hunting lions in Africa between takes, and swinging at 3-0 pitches with the bases loaded and nobody out. Fucking turn off your monitor, your TV, your MP3 player, your combination watch-drink carbonator-dildo and fucking LIVE!!! This is still the greatest country and melting pot culture in the world; engage yourself in it.

And while you're living, go see Jay Farrar at First Avenue Wednesday night. If you aimlessly clap at some songs and heartily hoot at others, he will make note of it, and YOU my friend, will have become part of history.

Posted by Jack Sparks at September 22, 2003 2:37 AM

 

Hometown boys make good

Filed under: Imported

What can you say that isn't hyperbolic and cliché?

While white teenagers from Wayzata named Trevor and Rebecca were being whipped into a "rap" frenzy by the Insane Clown Posse at the Target Center, we adults with less of a theatrical taste were being pushed to the edges of Minnesota Nice in the Mainroom at First Ave by the Jayhawks. Paul Westerberg's mellow sobriety spawned a kind of fearlessly sensitive, six-string, White-guy songwriter fry pond here in town, and Gary Louris has kind of either backed into or outright grabbed the "big fish" title, I still haven't made up mind which. He delivers those love songs with a kind of 500-pound-brass-balls attitude that people like John Denver, James Taylor, and Cat Stevens never seemed to have. I think it gets back to what I was saying about him yesterday on the air; I've just sort of run into him at Mayslack's, Elsie's, and other kinds of neighborhood haunts, and for someone who's such a big wheel, he's a really unassuming and seemingly normal guy. It seems to me if a normal guy were given the lead mic, a cranked up guitar, and a packed-to-the-rafters First Ave, he'd leave everything he had on stage, which is what the band did. It's possible for highly melodic, achingly tenor love songs to have forceful, dark, music-club balls, and the Jayhawks are living proof. It's chilling to hear several thousand people--truck drivers, secretaries, accountants, lawyers, doctors, pimps, pushers, hookers--reach for the falsetto of "bluuuuuuue," and then look up at Gary who seems to be blushing behind the glare of his glasses, while at the same time, reaching for more to give. Last night ranks right up there with the best shows I've ever seen.

While I'm at it, I'd like to give a huge "thumbs up" to the group for singing Tampa to Tulsa, my favorite song on the new disk. I was hoping they'd play it, and the performance was great.

Posted by Jack Sparks at September 21, 2003 5:35 PM

 

2 down, 2 to go...

Filed under: Imported

The first half is over and we get the ball to start the second...which is a good thing, because we're tied at a score a-piece.

A coupla days ago I blogged a preview of the week to come at beleaguered First Avenue. It was just a few days before four great gigs would hit in 8 days.

Wednesday night started off with a bang as California based Throwrag hit the stage to warm things up for BR549 and Reverend Horton Heat. First Avenue is Horton Heat's territory, they play the club like they own it, and they should. There's always been a carnival huckster quality to Jim Heath's smile, and filling the spot vacated by The Blasters with Throwrag really brought that to the forefront. What looked like a late 30-something version of Buckcherry took the stage and proceeded to howl through a 45 minute set of mostly unintelligible lyrics and who-the-fuck-ordered-this bodily gyrations. They were like some over-the-hill college party band that someone forgot to tell to go ahead and graduate. It was all kind of annoying until the overweight "washboard player" took off his shirt and started jiggling himself at the crowd. Annoyance turned into entertainment when he ran down into the crowd and brought up a pretty straightlaced girl and made her play his washboard while the band played on around her...capped off by her playing his ass cheeks with spoons. Indeed, this was the perfect band to start this evening.

For those who were fretting (namely, me), BR549 just might be better without Smilin' Jay and Gary Bennet. Chris Scruggs appears to be a better guitar player than Chuck Mead, and he took a lot of the lead parts while Mead stepped out front and coursed the band through it's leaner, meaner honkytonk route. Oh, and by the way, Donnie Herron is still one of the best pickers on the entire planet, and he produces a stunning wall of sound as he deftly switches his pickup chord between 3 instruments, making it all look effortless. Like The Fat Guy, I was wondering what a matchup of BR549 and Reverend Horton Heat would be like; but it became fairly apparent that a Horton Heat crowd is almost perfect for these guys. The can alternately "Hank" it out or screw it on as they please, and the crowd that paid good money for hillbilly madness will instantly make all the right connections.

So why was that sea of people in the Mainroom Wednesday night? They were there to see a red suit with silver flames and a jett black shirt. They were there to see one of the best guitarists in the world ditch the bullshit, screw up the volume knob, and keep the noise coming until the cigarettes ran out. It used to be that these shows were mostly greasers with spider-web elbow tattoos and girlfriends that resembled Betty Paige in hair-do only. But, there's a kind of universal, shine-runner, kickoff's-at-noon-on-Sunday, whip-a-hooked-3-wood-250-and-down-out-of-the-wind, that-bass-is-as-big-as-a-goddamned-baby, vibe to what these guys do. So you had your college frat punks, your way too pretty and obviously lost single girls, your hillbillies, your Fonzies, Richies, and Potsies...a really good soup, which the boys whipped into a frenzy before the clock ever struck 11. You really have to walk around the club to get a hold on this phenomenon. There were old people in the back with ear plugs; the psychobillies were in the wings bobbing their heads and comparing lighters, and up front, by the end of the evening, there was a full scale mosh pit. Bill Haley would have been flumoxed.

But that's just what the ol' girl can deliver: a crowd, probably differing in age from top to bottom by 30 or 40 years, all gathered together to hear a driving guitar sound and rub elbows with yer fellow honkies as 3 almost completely different bands try to deliver whatever it is they do best.

So what the hell happened last night? I was on the list for Amy Allison, Neil Cleary, and Martin Devaney at the Entry; and it's a good thing too, because once Devaney had to leave, I was the only one left, except for the sound man and 2 friends of Amy's who looked like they needed a map to find the place from whatever suburban home they ventured out of for the first time on a Thursday night since Jesus Christ was lecturing in Omaha.

And what a damned shame it was, because the 3 of us were thoroughly entertained. Devaney et al love to play, everybody knows that; since it was a last minute gig, he decided to incorporate a little mandolin and violin into the mix and it produced a really nice effect and a bit of a different vibe to the songs I have become familiar with off of September and Somebody Somewhere.

I was really anxious to hear Cleary and Allison though, because in this "business" you want to get a feel for the different styles of roots stuff from different parts of the country. And, there's only so much you can tell about an artist from a disk, you have to see them sing their stuff live, so the sad songs sound sad and the pissed off songs sound pissed off.

The old drummer in Cleary manifested itself right away as his mic was setup in a kind of downward pointing position, so he would have to look up to sing into it. He has a kind of confessional quality to the way he peforms and the songs he writes, even admitting in the intro to a song that he could have gotten used to having his coffee made in the morning by the married woman at whose house he stayed at the previous night. Sometimes you just get lucky and nobody shows up at a gig. Then, hopefully the artists let their guard down, and sing like no one's listening...an no one was. He finished his set with When All of Us Get Famous off of his latest disk, Numbers Add Up. This should be an absolute college anthem within 12 months; it showcases the central core of Cleary's songwriting talents: that's a conversation I've had before.

Allison seemed a bit shaken by the sparse crowd, and who can blame her? How do you get excited? She stepped up to the mic though and really transformed my opinion of her stuff. When I first heard the disk, I wanted to say she was kind of an American Kasey Chambers. But, something hit me while listening to her. Anyone who hasn't listened to a lot of Americana, roots, whatever music might listen to say, Chambers, Allison, and Victoria Williams and say they all sound the same; it's a kind of unique, high pitched, twang, that has an edge to it. But, who the hell are these women? Where does this particular type of voice come from? I had this idea that theirs is Josephine's voice the first night Wyatt Earp ever saw her. It's a kind of frontier bird voice that is both delicate and harsh, like those big prairie flowers that look beautiful from your car, but smell like shit when you roll your windows down. But, that's just it; when Allison crooned, "Babe/what's the deal?" it was soft and beautiful until the content of the lyric, the purpose of the question, hit me right in the spine; then the shrill quality of it when right down my back, fucking magical.

By the way, one of the best guitarists I've ever seen was just kind of sitting off to both performers' right all night, Mark Spencer. He's one of those guys that make all sorts of sounds come out of a Strat plugged into an amp, sitting on a bar chair, trying to keep his hair out of his eyes.

And if you're reading this, you missed it....tsk tsk tsk.....

Posted by Jack Sparks at September 19, 2003 1:21 PM

 

naught point four

Filed under: Imported

From the East Buffalo StarTribune:

Stern said the woman who lives on the property could face possible charges ranging from cruelty to animals, a misdemeanor, to engaging in prohibited animal fights, a felony. An investigation is continuing, he said.

"Most people don't have that many pit bulls on big, huge steel chains. That's not normal," Stern said. "Many owners have a kennel and a basic leash, not those made of steel to pull a car out of a ditch. That's what raised our suspicion."

Anyone who knows me personally knows that I've had a nice tablespoon of bad breaks lately. I'm not dying, homeless, or addicted to crack cocaine. But I've had my share of lemons recently, and, any time something good happens that's even tangentially related to me, it's a time for horn tootin'.

People in the radio biz will tell you one minute that Arbitron has some fatal flaws to its system of measuring listenership for various radio stations in any given town; the next minute, they'll make sure to quote those numbers that cast a favorable light on their little operations at the many advertisers they hope will open their pocket books.

All that being said, my little operation on The Mighty 1220, AM1220, WMGT, doesn't benefit so much from the minutiae of Arbitron's many breakdowns, graphs, and lists. Rather, just cracking the general, statistically significant borders of the "big list" means something. Does it mean thousands of people are listening? No. All it really means is that there is a statistically significant sample of people who are conscious enough of what station they are listening to, to mark a big "X" next to WMGT on their daily diary of listening habits.

As for horn tootin', it now brings the number to 2 (two) stations that have received overall ratings bumps after I signed on the air with them. Ha ha. Actually, WMGT features The Mighty Bob Yates, The Mighty Ruth Koscielak, The Mighty Bill O'Reilly, The Mighty Craig Ebel, and lil ol' me. We're a buncha pit bulls on car pullin' chains. Kind of a strange little group, but tenacious, and hopefully, going nowhere but up. Excuse all of us while we pat ourselves on the backs.

Posted by Jack Sparks at September 18, 2003 2:20 PM

 

Gimme a yawn an' a G chord...

Filed under: Imported

From the Kosciusko (MS) Star Herald:

By Mark Thornton
Mitch Moran, a well-known defense attorney in Leake County, was arrested for attempting to buy methamphetamine Wednesday night, just hours after losing a meth case in Attala County Circuit Court.

Moran, who lives west of Carthage, is charged with attempting to possess methamphetamine, which is classified as a felony misdemeanor. It was reported that a quarter-ounce of the drug was found in his barn.

Moran had been in court in Attala County all day. He lost his case. William C. Hill was sentenced to serve eight years in the Mississippi Department of Corrections for possession of methamphetamine and unlawful possession of precursor chemicals to manufacture methamphetamine.

The Drug Enforcement Agency worked with the Mississippi Bureau of Narcotics and the Leake County Sheriff's Department on the arrest. Outside agencies were called in by Leake County Sheriff Greg Waggoner. A DEA spokesman said that was to prevent local officers from looking as if they were out to get Moran, who often defends people they arrest.

Moran was scheduled to be back in Attala County on Sept. 23 to defend Daniel Steen, a bail bondsman from Ethel who is charged with possession of a controlled substance within a jail facility.

"It was a shock to me," said Steen, who said he had known Moran for years.

He was undecided if he would retain Moran's services.

Steen has insisted all along that he was given a pack of cigarettes to pass on to another inmate and he didn't know there was marijuana inside. That's why it's important that he have a credible attorney, he said.

"I just don't want anything to come along and mess everything up," he said.

There are certain things you should and shouldn't do, given the obvious contexts of your life. For instance, if you're a rural attorney from Mississippi, who regularly defends the ever blossoming out-state meth economy in America, you shouldn't drive to the next nearest dealer to buy rock, when you fail to keep your own peddler out of the hoosegow.

If you're light on your feet and silver in your tongue, you could maybe convince the 15 cops, 4 Feds, and 2 undercover DEA agents that you were doing a case study for your expanding client base. They may buy it, they may not, but at that point, getting disbarred and facing the possibility of becoming roommates with the same people who you told just a month earlier, "things look good, you should go free," is a really rotten alternative. Andy and Barney never put Otis in a cell with someone who went blind off his shine, did they?

But I digress. This foul day is usually reserved for my Top Twenty nonsense. I'm kinda bored with my usual Top Twenty list. If you want to know what this week's Top 20 are, go back to last week's and review. There will be a test later.

No my friends, in honor of the Crystal Meth defense attorney who tried to buy crystal meth, this week's Top Twenty will be about necessities. If you're a fan of Alt Country, Roots Rock, Insurgent Country, Americana, whatever the hell you want to call it, here's a Top Twenty of things you oughta own by now. Kind of a primer. First, know that even though I'm listing them 1 thru 20, it doesn't necessarily mean it's a rock solid ranking. Second, I'm not going to put any Minnesota Bands on it. The first thing you shouldn't do if you're the only Alt Country DJ in the state of Minnesota is rank the local bands, especially when you know it would be impossible for you to even begin that process. I truly believe that if you're into this stuff at all, and you live here in town, you should familiarize yourself with all of these folks. Finally, I'm going to try to stay away from recently released stuff. In other words, these will all be good disks to start your collection with, if you're just gettin' into it.

That being said...

Jack's Crystal Meth Defense Attorney Who Tried to Buy Crystal Meth Essential Alt Country Top Twenty (I just don't want anything to come along and mess everything up)

1. Stadium Blitzer, by The Gourds
2. Live at Robert's, by BR549
3. March 16-20, 1992, by Uncle Tupelo
4. Safe At Home, by The International Submarine Band
5. Live At Carnegie Hall, by Buck Owens & the Buckaroos
6. More a Legend Than a Band, by The Flatlanders
7. South Mouth, by Robbie Fulks
8. Ralph's Last Show, by Fred Eaglesmith & the Flying Squirrels
9. I Hate These Songs, by Dale Watson
10. Car Wheels on a Gravel Road, by Lucinda Williams
11. Strangers Almanac, by Whiskeytown
12. CLOSED., by Drag the River
13. Wreck Your Life, by The Old 97's
14. Life of the Party, by Charlie Robison
15. Live at Adair's, by Jack Ingram
16. Elite Hotel, by EmmyLou Harris
17. Furnace Room Lullaby, by Neko Case
18. Fear & Whiskey, by The Mekons
19. Thunderstorms & Neon Signs, by Wayne "The Train" Hancock
20. Pizza Deliverance, by Drive By Truckers

As always...remember...it's just a blog...

Posted by Jack Sparks at September 17, 2003 3:05 PM

 

P-A Dutch and they don't know much...

Filed under: Imported

I have to be honest, I've never been to Philadelphia, or, the state of Pennsylvania for that matter. But, as it has been described to me both in word and song, I think there's a lot of overlap between there and places like New Prague, St. Peter, and Mankato, places I have been. And I had to scan my mushy brain pan for those sensibilities to get myself around my Frog Holler collection. On my radio show's web site, I describe Frog Holler as a band you have to listen to about a thousand times before they sneak up on ya. I stand by that with their latest disk, Railings. In fact, I held off blogging this disk because I knew I had to listen to it at least 20 times to make up something in my own mind about it, long before it arrived in the mail and I opened it.

There's a kind of beef stew, head-cold reality to Frog Holler's music. It sounds like it's wrapped in a blanket with a steamy bowl of something nearby. Remember the Little House where it snowed like, 10 feet, and Pa had to dig a path to the barn? Yeah, me too. I think about stuff like that when I listen to Railings. Which is not to say there is nothing "urban" about their music; it was recorded in Philly after all. There's just a lot of German-hillbilly-in-the-big-city wholesomeness to the way they play, regardless of what the songs might say lyrically. Kind of like a rerun of the old Kato Barndance.

I don't know...maybe I still need to listen 20 more times. Or maybe I need to do one of my favorite little tricks these days...

If you have some MP3 software like MusicMatch JukeBox, put all of a band's studio albums into it, then load all the records and hit "shuffle." It's an interesting way to hear how artists change, yet stay the same over 3 or 4 albums. Frog Holler's earlier work, Adams Hotel Road and Idiots are good for that kind of stuff. In fact, I would highly recommend starting with Adams and Idiots before getting to Railings. Kind of a deal where you have to know where they've been before you know where they're going.

At any rate, if you're looking to get a good taste of P-A Dutch, Alt Twang, hillbilly yelping, Frog Holler is a great place to start.

Favorite songs on Railings:
2. Virginia
6. Suit & Tie
8. About Time
12. Hole in the Ground

---

Posted by Jack Sparks at September 16, 2003 3:32 PM

 

My hometown...

Filed under: Imported

It's hard to believe anything you read anymore these days, but enough people have written about whether First Avenue is in trouble that it makes me scratch my unshaven face and wonder....hmmmmm.

In the next week and a half however, everyone has the opportunity to see why this club is one of the best I've been in in America, why many people want to play there, and why you should be spending a little time there each month instead of that fucking eyesore, Block E, across the street.

Tomorrow night, in the Mainroom, The Reverend Horton Heat will be appearing with BR549 and Throwrag.

After I posted my ten greatest guitarists list a few weeks ago, a friend of mine and I got in a discussion about who the best "club act" guitarists were that we had seen. After gnawin' and chewin' on it for a couple of minutes, I threw out several names. But it was pretty clear to me that David Hidalgo of Los Lobos and Jim Heath of the Reverend Horton Heat were probably the best two on my list. You're pretty much guaranteed a few things when you see Reverend Horton Heat at First Avenue: 1) The crowd will be pumped; it's like they own the joint when they take the stage. This is a crowd that will be overly polite and attentive to whoever opens for the band; and then, all the tattoos, pomade, and filterless cigarettes will turn into a flat-out mob. 2) Jimbo will beat the shit out of his bass. 3) Jim will choke the shit out of his guitar. 4) You will walk out of there in a full sweat, even if you just stand there quietly watching.

BR549 has undergone some lineup changes that should make this an interesting show. I hate to play favorites, but Chuck Mead (from Lawrence, Kansas) was always my preference of the two lead singers in the original lineup. Chuck's another one of those guys who really knows his way around a guitar. But, he's the kind of guy who understates what he does, putting his Gretsch into the soup only when it's called for by the recipe of the song. About five years ago, you would have been hard pressed to find a better country band in America than BR549, the stories of what they would do at Robert's Western Wear store are legendary. But, they were chewed up and spit out by the morons in the suits in Nashville, and the morons in the glasses with the pencils at Country radio, and now we'll just have to see what's left. I'm betting on leaner and meaner.

Neil Cleary and Amy Allison from New York will bring their downhome songwriting sensibilities into the 7th Street Entry, the little club that could, on Thursday night, and I'm personally excited to see this show. They'll have Mark Spencer of Jay Farrar's inner circle and the Blood Oranges with them, which should up the show's instrumentality a few notches. There are about umpteen million roots songwriters plying their trade around America somewhere other than Nashville and the ones out of the East always bring a little something extra to the party when they float through town. Cleary's latest album, Numbers Add Up is really good songwriter fare. He can play just about every instrument known to man, and does, on this disk. He's made a name playing drums for a lot of folks, and his ear for rhythm really shines through on this disk, each arrangement really adding to the mood he's trying to evoke with each song. Allison's latest disk, No Frills Friend, was recorded in Scotland and it really sneaks up on you, the more you listen to it. Fans of Kasey Chambers will dig her work just because they sound so much alike. But Allison's lyrics are much darker, really cutting at the gritty aspects of human relationships. Producer David Scott did a beautiful job helping her record this disk.

If you don't know who these guys are, go away. They will be in the mainroom on Saturday, the 20th. A local mainstream DJ and I were talking at Lee's about 2 weeks ago, and we both laughed because this band has its own little mafia here in town, and probably deservedly so. First Avenue's mainstage is where they belong, and seeing them there is really special if you've never taken the time to do it. Their trademark harmonies really ring off the walls in the ol' girl and the crowd is like any division contender's home ballpark.

Next Wednesday, the reinventer of Alt Country, Jay Farrar will hit the stage. The wild-eyed hillbilly hyperbole probably gets overdone a little bit, but, you should go see Jay Farrar because if you had been a club-goer in the late sixties and early seventies, you should have gone to see Gram Parsons. Jay probably lives rather comfortably off all the Uncle Tupelo nostalgia, but he's still grinding out the deepest Americana music. And make no mistake, Uncle Tupelo was the most important Country Band of the late 80's and early 90's. Any gritty, rootsy, grungy vibes that are sneaking their way into Country now are because they did it first. He shies away from the Tupelo and Son Volt stuff on his solo tours, but it's still Jay; and, he'll take you on a sonic tour that'll really vibrate your sinuses and adjust your spine if ya let him.

Posted by Jack Sparks at September 16, 2003 7:54 AM

 

Today's a day to be MAD, not sad...

Filed under: Imported

Johnny Cash meant something.

Today is not a day to turn on your radio and hope that the gutless cowards who run and program mainstream Country stations are going to pay tribute to the Man in Black. The smooth, well dressed cowboys and their pouty lips that get airtime on these worthless signals will shed greater tears for the deaths of Billy Joel, Elton John, and Barry Gibb, the true progenitors of the garbage that passes for Country these days.

Today is a day to turn off your radio and pay tribute to Johnny by playing his records on your stereo, in your car, or on your computer's CD, DVD, or MP3 player; also, to fill in the picture, fill your empty spaces with the sounds of the people who are truly part of his legacy: Bob Dylan, The Rolling Stones, Joe Strummer, Shane MacGowan, Jay Farrar, and Chris Cornell. There's more Johnny Cash in 3 seconds of the past 30 years' edgy music, than any 3 days of bullshit you're going to hear on any "Country" station that's left out there. His music is and was vital right up until the day he died, and any crocodile tear tributes that you hear in the next 24 hours on these stations is the final act of betrayal upon a man who made all of their jobs possible as the ultimate ambassador of the art form.

For my own part, I think Johnny "said" it best when he took out the above ad in Billboard magazine after winning the Grammy for the first American recording. He was right then, he's still right now, and sadly, he will probably be right on Monday, when the tributes stop and the gutless cowards go back to playing wall to wall Kenny fucking Chesney.

Rest in peace JR Cash, you will be sorely missed.

Posted by Jack Sparks at September 12, 2003 2:00 PM

 

Revisiting a theme

Filed under: Imported

To warm her up, to make her laugh, I tell Marla about the woman in Dear Abby who married a handsome successful mortician and on their wedding night, he made her soak in a tub of ice water until her skin was freezing to the touch, and then he made her lie in bed completely still while he had intercourse with her cold inert body.
The funny thing is this woman had done this as a newlywed, and gone on to do it for the next ten years of marriage and now she was writing to Dear Abby to ask if Abby thought it meant something.

--From Fight Club, by Chuck Palahniuk

---

From CNN.com:

Still, law student Erica Olsen said downloading music is her best option. "Often, I just want one song from a CD, and I don't want to pay 22 bucks for it. I don't think any amount of legislation is going to force us to buy CDs."

---

Maybe Chuck Palahniuk will track me down and black both my eyes someday for using his book to illustrate a point. There are many ways for the seers to interpret the guts once the goat's been filleted upon the altar, and Miss Erica Olsen unwittingly points one of those ways out to us, the unwashed ranters and ravers of the fringe/music/radio industry.

You're not going to get an argument from me about how downloading really isn't hurting the music industry. Math is math, and the Greeks and Egyptians didn't go to all that trouble just to have some wild-eyed hillbilly like me claim that numbers somehow lie. But as Pierre de Fermat and Blaise Pascal knew all too well, there are two sides to every coin.

Look at what young Miss Olsen is saying..."Often, I just want one song from a CD, and I don't want to pay 22 bucks for it..." Indeed Miss Olsen, indeed. Back in the day, before Napster, CD's, Garth Brooks, and Bill Gates, groups like Parliament Funkadelic would release albums like Gloryhalistoopid: Or Pin the Tail on the Funky. Excited young men who were given those albums by their older brother on leave from the Marine Corps as a gift, would open them up to find a full 20 page comic book inside, detailing the heroic deeds of Starchild and Dr. Funkenstein in quashing yet another dastardly plan by the supremely evil Sir Nose Devoidafunk (who shall never dance). These young men could spend hours entertained by these pictures, words, and thumpalicious music, always on the one, never havin' a 3 on it.

But then some asshole in Arizona invented a stupid call out research system for radio stations, and the record companies got cheap and stopped making fantastically complex album covers and liner notes. Albums ceased being albums and became (or went back to being) just collections of songs marketed at selling singles and getting airplay, specially designed not to interrupt the scheduled jingles and ditties backgrounding the commercials on the stations at the time.

Awww...it's just a theory.

One thing that anyone who's investigated mp3 piracy/downloading knows is that copying a record like Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon doesn't flow from one song to the other typically, if you download it song by song from different posters and servers. And anyway, if you don't own a copy of Dark Side, you suck and should leave this blog now. But to get back on point, there is audience loyalty with certain artists when their fans think they're getting their money's worth if they do in fact "spend 22 bucks." But if every "artist" that gets major backing and promo just flips out 12 songs worth shit that fits well between cosmetics and soap commercials, then people are going to look for the easy way out..."Often, I just want one song from a CD..."

RIAA members include the "Big Six" record companies: Vivendi Universal's Universal Music Group; Sony Corp.'s Sony Music; Bertelsmann AG's BMG; EMI Group Plc.; and Warner Music, part of CNN's parent company AOL Time Warner.

To the executives of the "Big Six," I say, "Congratulations you shitheels. Your years of forcing this mindless crap on us is bringing YOU exactly what you deserve." To the "artists" of the mainstream music industry who are complaining the loudest about this, I say, "Make them want to buy the whole album again you shitheels." To the big time downloaders and file sharers, I say, "Cut it out you shitheels, or go to jail. The law's the law. Some of these people worked really hard to give you this music, and you're KILLING their livelihood."

Posted by Jack Sparks at September 12, 2003 1:05 AM

 

Boopsie, Candy, and Betsy

Filed under: Imported

From the Picayune (MS) Picayune Item:

PRC HOMECOMING COURT -- Pearl River Central Homecoming Queen and Courtm from left, are: freshmen Ashley Cantrell, Brittney Champagne and Nikki Eden: sophomores Mindy Bliss, Kim Boutwell and Sunni Smith; juniors Erica Eden, Kalah Holmes and Amy Leah Sumrall, and seated, seniors Heather Cantrell, Dorthee Harvey, Alicia Talavera and Jamie Thrash

I don't have anything substantive to add to the many 9/11 rememberances happening today. My employer at the time, a thriving 50 year old company ruined by a bunch of #$%&s in Cincinnati, Ohio, pretty much told everyone to do what they felt like doing as the news broke. Everyone was having a hard time processing the carnage. It was a Tuesday, and my bowling league at Elsie's had just begun its season; I knew I'd end up there eventually that night, so I went down there, had a sandwich and watched ABC break the stories with Dave the counter guy in the alley. I pretty much sat there all afternoon with various regulars, and we tried to make sense of it all. Of course, like everyone, we had no idea what the true extent of the fallout would be.

It was almost harder to go on the air for WIXK the following Sunday night and try to pretend that Alt Country was important, in light of what happened. So I didn't. I just cracked the mic, told everyone to hug the people they loved, and pray for healing and peace. I don't hand out prayers too often, because at heart, I'm a recidivist sinner; but, that's one I freely share. Suffering begets suffering, killing begets killing, and people who quote their religions for justification of any of it, are the most evil people of all.

As for Pearl River Central, someone needs to tell the parents there, and in towns like Eagan, Thief River Falls, and Mahtomedi, that in the big cities, names like Brittney Champagne, Nikki Eden, Mindy Bliss, Sunni Smith, and Jamie Thrash are often followed on the marquee by "3 Shows Daily! Great Buffet." Whatever happened to naming your daughters Eunice, Agatha, and Louise? For instance, if I were a farmer from outside Starkville named Juggs, I'm not going to call any of my daughters Pearl, Misty, or Felicity, that's just askin' for trouble.

Remind yourself and 3 of your friends that The Other Side of Country begins broadcasting on Saturdays, from 1 to 3pm, this Saturday, September 13th. Until then, duck and cover.

Posted by Jack Sparks at September 11, 2003 3:18 PM

 

I like orange oranges...

Filed under: Imported

From the Crookston Daily Times:

According to city officials, the same area has seen spectacular slope failures in the past, as recent as about 20 years ago and most dramatically in the early 1930s. The Green Gables Cabins once occupied several hundred feet of ground behind the Country Club Motel, which is considerably lower than the motel. Several of the cabins dramatically tipped over onto their side. Before 1933, the ground was level with the motel.
"What happened now is nothing new," said Luther Adland from the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources. "The thing we've got going now that's similar to the 30s is that it has dropped."

INDEED. When you first read that, and process it, you realize ol' Luther is saying that the similarities between this sink hole and the one in the 30's is that the ground has sunk. It's just the kind of downhome truism that's necessary in this world right now. Unemployment is high because people are out of work, soldiers are dying in a war that is over because the enemy is still shooting at them, and major label acts do a lot of lip-synching on "National Television" events because they aren't singing.

From Yahoo and Reuters:

A Warner-BMG combination would create the world's second biggest music company behind industry giant Universal Music, bringing together artists ranging from Britney Spears to REM in a deal analysts say could be worth several billions of dollars.

Now let's say it to ourselves boys and girls: If, in an industry where there are already just a few big record companies which more or less control radio playlists, there's a merger, which inevitably results in a "pairing" down of the merged entities, thus creating an environment where fewer people are listening to less music for fewer spots on the "roster," then there will be less opportunities for artists to crack the "mainstream." Call me an idealist, but a world where shit factories like Warner and BMG are competing is infinitely better than one where they just dissolve into each other. Just one more musical sink hole.

Jack's A-Sink-Hole-Is-A-Place-Where-The-Ground-Sank Top Twenty:

1. Live at Billy Bob's, Jack Ingram
I haven't heard this disk yet. I don't even know if they have it burned, printed, and in the case. I'm telling you right now, it will probably be one of the best disks you've ever heard.
2. Rainy Day Music, The Jayhawks
3. Guitar Pickin' Martyrs, Luther Wright & The Wrongs
4. Wave on Wave, Pat Green
5. Just For The Record, Bobby Flores
If you know how to dance, and you put this record on your stereo, and you can keep from dancing, well, just call the morgue because you are officially dead.
6. Terroir Blues, Jay Farrar
7. Live, Alison Krauss & Union Station
8. Swing Time, Wayne "The Train" Hancock
9. Railings, Frog Holler
10. Streets of Sin, Joe Ely
11. Temporarily Disconnected, BR549
12. No Frills Friend, Amy Allison
13. One Step Ahead, Rhonda Vincent
14. ring, Big Ditch Road
15. ...the size of planets, Haley Bonar
16. Freedom's Child, Billy Joe Shaver
17. The Lawless, Kevin Deal
18. Under the Table & Above the Sun, Reckless Kelly
19. Wise to You!, Marti Brom
20. Bona Fide, The Gibson Brothers

Posted by Jack Sparks at September 10, 2003 2:54 PM

 

boing boing boing

Filed under: Imported

Posted by Jack Sparks at September 10, 2003 1:49 PM

 

No Surprise Sunday

Filed under: Imported

The above photo is Pat Green playing live at Texas A&M University. You see that sea of people? This is typical for Green and his band just about anywhere in Texas. His shows have been compared to Monster Truck Rallies, only with pretty girls in the audience. So ask me if I was surprised that he drew slightly more than 250 people at the Fine Line last night. Go ahead, ask me...

YOU: Jack, were you surprised that Pat Green drew slightly more than 250 people at his show last night?

No, I wasn't. And I don't blame the Fine Line either. I applaud them for finally getting Green up here. I've been waiting to see him for years. It was the perfect punctuation to my weekend of fishing, football, and fun, too. He let everyone know early that he was kinda hungover and his pregnant wife, who was on the trip, was pissed at him. He kept riffing on that as he worked the crowd between songs and took some gentle ribbing from the outstanding pickers in his band, who didn't seem to be hungover or shy about "havin' another." I was thinking last night and this morning about what exactly to write describing this show; it occurred to me that breaking down the songs he chose, and some of the crowd stuff really loses the big picture. As near as I can tell, a Pat Green gig is like several hundred friends getting together and all singing their favorite songs in unison, and oh yeah, there's a band up on stage pickin' 'em out for ya. Jokes, smokes, tokes, and folks...Pat Green live, would love to see it all outdoors with about 5 or 6 thousand of my closest friends.

The above photo is Luther Wright & the Wrongs playing live somewhere that isn't Minnesota. You see that sea of people? They usually don't have much problem packing a small club because their reputation as polished pickers from the Great White North of Canada generally precedes them. So ask me if I was surprised that they drew about 50 people at the The Cedar Cultural Center last night. Go ahead, ask me...

YOU: Jack, were you surprised that Luther Wright & the Wrongs drew about 50 people at the Cedar last night?

No, I wasn't. And I don't blame the Cedar either. This is the second time that the Wrongs have been here this year, and the Cedar has brought them both times. It was a great warm up for the rest of the night after watching football all day too. Luther has one of the best country voices going today. It's a really pure tenor with just enough Canadian nasal twang to it to say "hillbilly Pavarotti." The Wrongs are a very tight band, and the two shows have been completely different; different mood, different set list, etc. The Cedar crowd was so subdued when I walked in that I remained standing in the back and started hootin' and hollerin' to add a little adrenalin to the joint. They play up the goofy Canadian angle really well and have good sense to realize it goes over well here in Minnesota. Meghan the fiddler was sporting a new electric violin that sounded really good, and the rest of the band was just as pure as the previous show.

So just to finish up here...two Country acts, one of whom normally draws thousands of people, came to Minnesota, and were seen by roughly 325, maybe 350 folks. Stop telling me about demographics, call out research, "format," all of that nonsense. When the alleged arbiter of the genre exists in a city and has one of the largest broadcasting ranges in the region, AND, absolutely no competition, AND, sticks to the Trailer Park Tammy Days of Our Lives Crossover Pop Garbage Playlist, it's gutless, it's dumb, and it ignores the kind of "alternate income streams" and good will that only helps everyone in the long run. Minnesota is a hot bed for Country fans, Country musicians, and plain ol' Country livin', and no one in a position of power has enough brains in their sittin' behind a desk ass to take advantage of it.

I posted this picture just so the other teams in the National Football League can get used to the sight, it's going to happen quite a bit this year.

Posted by Jack Sparks at September 8, 2003 12:15 PM

 

The first step is admitting you have a problem...

Filed under: Imported

A quick note to the RIAA and NFL Commissioner Paul Tagliabue

Come 7 o'clock, I was flipping back and forth between ESPN's NFL Countdown and ABC's pregame show. On behalf of all the men in America who prefer their women intelligent, coherent, and substantive, as well as beautiful, I'd like to apologize to Suzy Kolber for somehow being part of a system that forced her to interview Brittney Spears, AND, have to ask questions like how a Football player having a good or bad game was similar or different than Brittney going through the ups and downs of her recording career. Asking Brittney to make a Football analogy is like asking the Pope about French ticklers.

As for her performance, I was reminded of Lenny Bruce's album, Live at Carnegie Hall. At the beginning of the routine, Lenny plays with a raucous member of the audience who's way up high in the balcony. He asks, "What, is it that much less bread man?" I'm just wondering out loud to Commissioner Tagliabue, is it that much more bread man? Does the NFL really need a woman, who's obviously on an anti-depression cocktail consisting of some combination of booze, zoloft, and valium, to disinterestedly do a zombie walk through several dance routines, not really caring whether her lips match the lyrics? You could see it in her eyes as they lifted her, on the back of some guy, over the stage at the end of her "performance," "Just get me back to the hotel so I can load up on speed, stay up all night, and cry as the bad reviews come in."

Brittney's somnambulant performance was just Act II in the cruel play of phony girlie music that started last Winter with Shania at the Super Bowl--lip-synched, over-coreographed, bullshit designed to make people who don't like football, watch football. What's the point?

And please note, I'm not asking anybody to have Alison Krauss or Neko Case waltz out on stage and belt something more real and more depressing at everyone. No, what I'm saying is bypass all this nonsense all together. It may not seem like it to everyone, but in the long run it's DAMAGING to both the recording industry and football to have a "big star" like Brittney stumble through a goofy lip-synched routine like that, still playing the little girl angle, like she has a million times before. Everyone takes the whole product a little less seriously after that.

As for NFL Countdown on ESPN...Is it that much more bread man? Apparently no one seems to notice, or remember, that Michael Irvin is somewhat of a loose cannon with a coke problem. He went from playing intense and inspiring football...on coke...to this kind of slightly bellicose and loud game analyst...on coke...but nobody seems to care. He went from shouting, "Give him his due! Give him his due!" on the podium of the Super Bowl after the Switzer win...on coke...to shouting almost the exact same analysis of every player or team he talked about last night...on coke...I thought the thoughtful, insightful, and intelligible team of Tom Jackson, Sterling Sharpe, and Steve Young was one of the best on TV last year, worth watching every week to help bring your (my) bets home. I'll be really disappointed if I have to listen to this all year. Finally, the substantive differences in what Rush Limbaugh brought to NFL analysis and what Dennis Miller did on MNF are negligible. It'll generate some viewers but he'll be gone when his contract is done.

As for the game...Trung Canidate owners will be jumping ship in fantasy football in record numbers come Tuesday morning. If you're commissioner of your league, become familiar with the name Ladell Betts. People will have all weekend to discuss whether the real Patrick Ramsey is First-and-Fourth-Quarter Patrick, or Third-Quarter Patrick; the difference being akin to the cliff-dive distance between Daunte Culpepper and Spergon Wynn. Vinny Testaverde didn't set the world on fire, but he didn't embarrass himself either, and the Jets only lost by 3, on the road, in the final seconds, against what was supposed to be a much better Redskins team. Finally, note too the emergence of the Moe-Williams Running Game Theory...your feature tailback scampers all over the field all night, then you have some moose come in and push it across the goal line...how disappointing for Curtis Martin owners.

Posted by Jack Sparks at September 5, 2003 7:45 AM

 

Nightmare on retail street...high fiber and vitamins for your stereo

Filed under: Imported

From the West Stillwater StarTribune:

Planet Hollywood, the financially strapped movie-memorabilia restaurant chain, has closed its Mall of America location after nearly a decade in the Twin Cites...The restaurant is the latest "eatertainment" establishment to leave the megamall. The adventure-themed Cafe Odyssey, which had won several food awards, closed in February after nearly five years in the mall.

Let's see now...branded, themed, market-researched fluffernutter is failing here and around the country at packaged megaliths like the MOA (isn't it amazing how close MOA is to DOA?). Maybe people want something a little more real than Whoopi Waffle fries and Bruce Burgers smothered in Divorce Demi-glace.

Nah.

My Top 20 list is starting to stagnate and bore me, so I'm going to retire some disks. If you don't already, you should own: Decoration Day, Drive By Truckers, Cow Fish Fowl or Pig, The Gourds, Balin, Fred Eaglesmith & the Flathead Noodlers, American IV: The Man Comes Around, Johnny Cash, and Blacklisted, Neko Case. Those are the five best disks of the last year or so. I don't need to keep including them in the list, they've had a good run.

Jack's F#$%& Planet Hollyweird (and every branded, themed, market-researched, and narrow-playlisted radio station like 'em), I Eat Taco Tuesdays at Mayslack's Top Twenty:

1. Live at Billy Bob's, Jack Ingram
I haven't heard this disk yet. I don't even know if they have it burned, printed, and in the case. I'm telling you right now, it will probably be one of the best disks you've ever heard.
2. Rainy Day Music, The Jayhawks
3. Guitar Pickin' Martyrs, Luther Wright & The Wrongs
4. Wave on Wave, Pat Green
5. Terroir Blues, Jay Farrar
6. Live, Alison Krauss & Union Station
7. Swing Time, Wayne "The Train" Hancock
8. Railings, Frog Holler
9. Streets of Sin, Joe Ely
10. Temporarily Disconnected, BR549
11. No Frills Friend, Amy Allison
12. Just For The Record, Bobby Flores
13. One Step Ahead, Rhonda Vincent
14. ring, Big Ditch Road
15. ...the size of planets, Haley Bonar
16. Freedom's Child, Billy Joe Shaver
17. The Lawless, Kevin Deal
18. Under the Table & Above the Sun, Reckless Kelly
19. Wise to You!, Marti Brom
20. Bona Fide, The Gibson Brothers

Posted by Jack Sparks at September 4, 2003 1:21 AM

 

Sure they go to church, but everyone in Green Bay knows what day Easter Sunday is...

Filed under: Imported

From the online addition of the Clarksdale (MS) Press Register:

Lawmen searching for casino robbery suspect

Around 1:30 a.m. Thursday, the Grand Casino in Robinsonville was robbed by a lone female. The robbery brings the total number of casino heists in northern Mississippi to 14 this year.
"A woman approached a teller and handed her a note demanding money," said Jeff Piselli, Tunica County public information officer.
The suspect is described as a light-complected black female, about 5-feet tall and weighing approximately 250 pounds.
Officials did not disclose how much cash the woman took.
"Authorities were on the scene within minutes of the robbery," Piselli said. "But the robber escaped." He added that the Tunica County Sheriff's Department, Mississippi Highway Patrol and Mississippi Gaming Commission are all investigating the incident.
Crimestoppers of Tunica County is offering a reward for information that leads to the arrest of the suspect. Anyone with information can call 662-910-0400.

At 6'1", and weighing somewhere "in the neighborhood" of 200 pounds, I cut a rather normal looking figure. I'm not imposing, but I don't need to tear out the Atlas ad in the back of my comic book so the bully won't kick sand in my face anymore, either. That being said, my grandmother who at 90 (ninety) years old has had both hip replacement and knee replacement surgery, and still manages to go dancing once a week, could probably run me down in a foot race if she were mad enough. But, as the "suspect" above has shown, sometimes all it really takes is willpower to overcome the ramparts and obstacles of institutions like the Grand Casino, the Tunica County Sheriff's Department, and gravity.

From ESPN.com:

Deer blindsides Wisc. jogger

Associated Press � Aug. 30, 2003
RHINELANDER, Wis. � Jogger Laura Tromp never saw what hit her. It turns out it she was blindsided by a whitetail deer.
"I went out for a jog about 20 to 6 Wednesday morning, and I was jogging on Stevens Street when all of a sudden I was face-down on the pavement," she said. "A woman who saw it all said I was hit by a deer. I never saw it coming."
Tromp, of Rhinelander, was treated at St. Mary's Hospital for multiple injuries.

It takes finely tuned eyes to read the entrails of human travails and come up with plausible explanations that play well at the Pentagon, on Meet The Press, and in the secret code messages of the Classified section of the National Enquirer.

To the dull, a 5:40AM attack on a denizen of Wisconsin by a member of the feral animal community would portend a Purple blindside of the Pack this weekend on what most men in this country consider the true Easter Sunday. However, to those of us with "the gift," God communicates in different ways. Tromp got stomped sideways by something weighing 4 or 5 times as much as she, and bounced right back. Had she died of her "multiple injuries," I would have picked the Vikes and given 2 1/2 points. But now that the burning bush has spoken by means of ESPN.com and the Associated Press, I'm more apt to toe the line, taking the Pack and giving 5 1/2. Playing the line at books only giving 5 is a coward's way out. The over/under is at 47 or so, and, even though it's on grass and both defenses are supposed to be "improved," I feel good about betting the over.

But where does our 5 foot, 250 pound suspect come into all of this? Well, as I said before my friends, life is more about will power. Anyone who does a lot of club crawling, chisel plowing, or dogfighting in Chisago County, knows that it truly IS the size of the fight in the dog that counts. Even though your veins will be filled with the bloodlust of American Professional Football and the liquid courage provided by towns like Milwaukee, St. Louis, and Golden, Colorado, it will be i