Merry Melodies
Four years ago I finished recording a compilation of songs I'd written over the previous 15 years. It gave me a satisfying sense of completion to get all those tunes and lyrics out of my head, and get them collected in one accessible place:
Common Nonsense
Songs by Greg Thomas Hough
1984-1999
SIDE ONE: A Woman In Man, Maureen, You Hurt Me, Common Nonsense, Parents Day, Downtown Connection, To The End Plus x, Dead On, I Followed Her In New York, Rock And Roll Christ, Music To Fit, Merry Melodies, That Was A Boulder
SIDE TWO: Not Just A Pretty Face, Nuclear Black, You Always Get The Truth, Up The Mountain Aways, Strange Department, Sparkling America, Poker Face, Let's Eat, Hold On To Betsy, Let It Slide Or Pull It Tight, Under And Over The Bay, Waiting For Mr. U, Cigarette Machine, Welcome To The Hospital
Cassette demo tape recorded 1999-2000.
Songs 1, 2, 14, 15 and 16 originally recorded in 1984-85.
That sense of completion I had is just about gone, because I'm getting tired of putting off a long-planned sequel to "Common Nonsense." I've been working out my voice by singing along with Frank Sinatra and Elvis Costello while driving to and from work, and in the next couple weeks I hope to start recording the following:
Tangled Up In You
Songs by Greg Thomas Hough
1984-2004
The Whirling World Returning, Change My Mind Sometimes, Dancer Box Music, The Worst Is Over, Long Dark Hair Of Chicago, Mister Gunn, Love Will Be Available, Passing By, Real Estate, Working It Out, Margaret Has My Number, Playing To The Sky, Money Man, I Don't Want To Cry
These 14 unrecorded songs are only about half the number of those on my first compilation, so I expect I'll be adding to "Tangled Up In You" by finishing some songs from the past 20 years that were either never completed or need a reworking:
Diamond In The Rough, Tried, Heaven With A Half-Moon, Song About A Record Store, Watching The Suez Canal, Phasers On Stun, What Is Hidden, I'm Gonna Live, One Bed, Giving It All To You, Sex And Money, When The Marriage Was Over, Street Player, Ace, Morning Light, The Sea Dragons, Working Girl, Head In The Clouds, (You'd Say) I Have A Place, School Of The Air Time
The last song I completed was "Long Dark Hair Of Chicago" in the summer of 2001, and it's been awhile since I've truly engaged with the songwriting thing. The family thing and the Internet thing have taken precedence since then, but now I'm going to make sure I again give my tunes a high priority.
Sunday, February 29, 2004
Small White Ball
Article originally published April 28, 1980 in The Oregonian newspaper.
Tournament foosball lot more than barroom pastime
by Greg Hough
"You're so keyed up, any little thing can bother you," said foosball master Bev Froom of her sport. "Sometimes, opponents stare at you, or say, 'Gee is this bothering you?' to psyche you out. When any distracting thing around the table catches my eye, the other guy usually scores."
Those words do not come from the stereotypical, bowling alley fooser most pros would love to eliminate from onlookers' minds. Portland native Froom is a perfectionist, employing all the precision possible to improve her performance. As one of the top women foosball pros in the world, her intensity has paid off.
She was not alone within the humid atmosphere of the Expo Center Saturday and Sunday, when hundreds of foos fanatics from around the country gathered for the Western segment of the Tournament Soccer World championships. Few call the sport "Tournament Soccer" in casual conversation, but most realize the name adds credibility while "foosball" perhaps creates an unfavorable reaction in some minds.
Foosball, developed by a group of 19th century Europeans who likely had no idea the sport would become a competitive refuge from the blahs of middle-class suburbia for millions of 20th century young adults, continues to offer bigger and bigger paychecks for its winners. This is the second year a nationwide foosball tour sponsored by Tournament Machines Inc. of Seattle has offered $1,000,000 in prize money. Last year's top money winner, Portland's Dan Kaiser, took home $25,000.
Simplistic and compact, the game revolves around the soccer-based aim of moving a small white ball over a flat playing surface into the opponent's goal, using players operated at waist level by three parallel levers. A fourth lever controls a goalie.
Kaiser and Froom frequently are mentioned in Foos News, an intimate bible of world foosball developments. At best, it is an intriguing in-depth study of a fledgling sport finding itself, and at worst an embodiment of sentimental schlock, as the conclusion to a story on fooser-turned-actor Gregg Perrie showed: "Congratulations to Gregg on his long awaited movie release. Watch out...looks like we may have another John Travolta on our hands!"
Tending to steer toward the former was an article saluting Kaiser. It showed him to be a maverick of sorts, one who makes his living playing foosball while many consider it a supplementary hobby. As a four-time world champion, Kaiser has had enormous influence upon the attitude of younger players. They start earlier and work harder.
"Most first-time players are about 16 or 17," said Froom. "Although most pros don't get to that level until they're 20 or 21."
Froom, like Kaiser, lived on foosball playing. In the beginning, about five years ago, she would practice eight hours a day, seven days a week, and then play in almost every evening tournament available. Now, at the ripe old age of 30 -- old because the average fooser rangers between 18 and 27 -- she is raising a family and slowing her pace.
"When I first started playing, every time I practiced I pretended like I was playing in a tournament," Froom said. "Now I practice about 10 hours a week."
But others are adopting her former workload in growing numbers, especially in Western hotbeds such as Portland and Seattle. This has triggered a boom, but it also has created problems, according to Froom.
"It can hurt married couples, but only if they let it," she said. "Most of the time, both partners play, but not together, because then it doesn't work out. It's so intense, and you would be putting a lot of pressure on your relationship.
"Another problem is that it's a young sport, so you've got young players, and the immaturity has got a long way to come. I think the main thing the promoters could do is have better and separate officiating, not just officiating the matches but control the crowd. It's kind of hard to enforce the rules, and they (promoters) don't have time."
First-place winners in all the major events from the weekend competition will face those victorious in the Eastern segment of the Tournament Soccer championships, in a competition held in Chicago May 23-26. Thousands of dollars in bonus money, plus world championship titles, will be at stake.
Article originally published April 28, 1980 in The Oregonian newspaper.
Tournament foosball lot more than barroom pastime
by Greg Hough
"You're so keyed up, any little thing can bother you," said foosball master Bev Froom of her sport. "Sometimes, opponents stare at you, or say, 'Gee is this bothering you?' to psyche you out. When any distracting thing around the table catches my eye, the other guy usually scores."
Those words do not come from the stereotypical, bowling alley fooser most pros would love to eliminate from onlookers' minds. Portland native Froom is a perfectionist, employing all the precision possible to improve her performance. As one of the top women foosball pros in the world, her intensity has paid off.
She was not alone within the humid atmosphere of the Expo Center Saturday and Sunday, when hundreds of foos fanatics from around the country gathered for the Western segment of the Tournament Soccer World championships. Few call the sport "Tournament Soccer" in casual conversation, but most realize the name adds credibility while "foosball" perhaps creates an unfavorable reaction in some minds.
Foosball, developed by a group of 19th century Europeans who likely had no idea the sport would become a competitive refuge from the blahs of middle-class suburbia for millions of 20th century young adults, continues to offer bigger and bigger paychecks for its winners. This is the second year a nationwide foosball tour sponsored by Tournament Machines Inc. of Seattle has offered $1,000,000 in prize money. Last year's top money winner, Portland's Dan Kaiser, took home $25,000.
Simplistic and compact, the game revolves around the soccer-based aim of moving a small white ball over a flat playing surface into the opponent's goal, using players operated at waist level by three parallel levers. A fourth lever controls a goalie.
Kaiser and Froom frequently are mentioned in Foos News, an intimate bible of world foosball developments. At best, it is an intriguing in-depth study of a fledgling sport finding itself, and at worst an embodiment of sentimental schlock, as the conclusion to a story on fooser-turned-actor Gregg Perrie showed: "Congratulations to Gregg on his long awaited movie release. Watch out...looks like we may have another John Travolta on our hands!"
Tending to steer toward the former was an article saluting Kaiser. It showed him to be a maverick of sorts, one who makes his living playing foosball while many consider it a supplementary hobby. As a four-time world champion, Kaiser has had enormous influence upon the attitude of younger players. They start earlier and work harder.
"Most first-time players are about 16 or 17," said Froom. "Although most pros don't get to that level until they're 20 or 21."
Froom, like Kaiser, lived on foosball playing. In the beginning, about five years ago, she would practice eight hours a day, seven days a week, and then play in almost every evening tournament available. Now, at the ripe old age of 30 -- old because the average fooser rangers between 18 and 27 -- she is raising a family and slowing her pace.
"When I first started playing, every time I practiced I pretended like I was playing in a tournament," Froom said. "Now I practice about 10 hours a week."
But others are adopting her former workload in growing numbers, especially in Western hotbeds such as Portland and Seattle. This has triggered a boom, but it also has created problems, according to Froom.
"It can hurt married couples, but only if they let it," she said. "Most of the time, both partners play, but not together, because then it doesn't work out. It's so intense, and you would be putting a lot of pressure on your relationship.
"Another problem is that it's a young sport, so you've got young players, and the immaturity has got a long way to come. I think the main thing the promoters could do is have better and separate officiating, not just officiating the matches but control the crowd. It's kind of hard to enforce the rules, and they (promoters) don't have time."
First-place winners in all the major events from the weekend competition will face those victorious in the Eastern segment of the Tournament Soccer championships, in a competition held in Chicago May 23-26. Thousands of dollars in bonus money, plus world championship titles, will be at stake.
Monday, February 23, 2004
Hat Trick
Issue #3 of The High Hat is here at last. It features more contributors from the Spitgroove than ever, and also includes another article by yours truly.
My brother Mike (who turns 40 on March 7) has revamped his blog of poetry and prose, Drainpipe, and I offer it again for your perusal.
Birthday shoutouts also go to my brother Chris, who turns 34 on February 24, and my dad Larry, 63 years young on March 2.
Let's hope that we continue to live.
Issue #3 of The High Hat is here at last. It features more contributors from the Spitgroove than ever, and also includes another article by yours truly.
My brother Mike (who turns 40 on March 7) has revamped his blog of poetry and prose, Drainpipe, and I offer it again for your perusal.
Birthday shoutouts also go to my brother Chris, who turns 34 on February 24, and my dad Larry, 63 years young on March 2.
Let's hope that we continue to live.
Friday, February 20, 2004
Divine Whatever
Over the past six months I've read more than at any time since college, going on 15 years ago. Part of it is my regular diet of online articles and posts. Add to that three books on modern marriage (by Drs. Mitchell, McGraw and Coleman) that I'm reviewing for a new High Hat article. And books on politics by Al Franken and Molly Ivins. A sports book by Christopher Russo and Allen St. John; a self-help book on personal creativity by Twyla Tharp. And, slowly over the course of 18 months, Gore Vidal's Creation.
Recently I finished pp. 287-299 of Creation, the part where the novel's protagonist, Cyrus Spitama, is a Persian ambassador in India talking to the Buddha, who was an elderly man at the time. Cyrus is the grandson of Zoroaster, a venerated religious figure in pre-Jewish Persia, and a theological precursor of the Judeo-Christian tradition. It was great to imagine Cyrus, with his belief in a Creator's necessary destiny, challenge the Buddha and his "divine whatever" cosmology:
"I had interrupted the Buddha. Nevertheless, I persisted in my rudeness. 'But my question is: Who or what made a world whose only point, according to you, is that it causes pain to no purpose?'
The Buddha was benign. 'My child, let us say that you have been fighting in a battle. You have been struck by a poisoned arrow. You are in pain. You are feverish. You fear death -- and the next incarnation. I am a skilled surgeon. You come to me...
...That is all the eightfold way can offer you. A freedom from the arrow's pain and an antidote to the poison, which is this world.'"
Over the past six months I've read more than at any time since college, going on 15 years ago. Part of it is my regular diet of online articles and posts. Add to that three books on modern marriage (by Drs. Mitchell, McGraw and Coleman) that I'm reviewing for a new High Hat article. And books on politics by Al Franken and Molly Ivins. A sports book by Christopher Russo and Allen St. John; a self-help book on personal creativity by Twyla Tharp. And, slowly over the course of 18 months, Gore Vidal's Creation.
Recently I finished pp. 287-299 of Creation, the part where the novel's protagonist, Cyrus Spitama, is a Persian ambassador in India talking to the Buddha, who was an elderly man at the time. Cyrus is the grandson of Zoroaster, a venerated religious figure in pre-Jewish Persia, and a theological precursor of the Judeo-Christian tradition. It was great to imagine Cyrus, with his belief in a Creator's necessary destiny, challenge the Buddha and his "divine whatever" cosmology:
"I had interrupted the Buddha. Nevertheless, I persisted in my rudeness. 'But my question is: Who or what made a world whose only point, according to you, is that it causes pain to no purpose?'
The Buddha was benign. 'My child, let us say that you have been fighting in a battle. You have been struck by a poisoned arrow. You are in pain. You are feverish. You fear death -- and the next incarnation. I am a skilled surgeon. You come to me...
...That is all the eightfold way can offer you. A freedom from the arrow's pain and an antidote to the poison, which is this world.'"
The End Of A Sword
Back to Greg's Dreamland Express™, where today we find a collection of dark dreams from 2003-04:
*
11-03: In a graveyard, walking toward a flat, metal headstone that is shaped like the Presidential Seal.
*
10-30: Swimming in an indoor resort swimming pool with my family. My son seems to be weighted down by something making him sink. I anxiously pull him up.
*
1-27: In a combination between my work cube and an outdoors handball court. Feeling like I'm hiding from something.
*
12-6: Floating over an amusement park that leads me to the inside of a house. As I slowly fall to the ground, my dad comes through a doorway, angry at me for not being somewhere I should, or otherwise doing something wrong. He starts hitting me with a belt, before and after I say "I'm sorry."
*
2-1: Running from an anonymous Oriental man with a sword. I hide from him in a closet behind a rack of heavy coats. He sticks the sword through the coats, and I grab the end of the sword as it comes through the other side. (The sword doesn't cut me.) I keep holding onto the end of the sword, to keep him from stabbing me. He lets go of the sword and runs to go get a knife, which scares me enough to wake me up.
*
10-27: Dining out with my brother Mike. I hear a song called "Nuclear Black (I'm Cellmatin')" and I realize it's a ripoff of a song I wrote and recorded in 1984. A woman is singing it, and it has a somewhat different arrangement. I go to the radio station playing it, and my brother doesn't understand why I'm making a big deal out of this.
"Because I'm not making any fuckin' money off this," I tell him.
There are igloo-colored bricks around the radio station. The station manager tells me of the "new" hit song: "They don't like it but I like it."
I tell him the song was ripped off from my copyrighted work. I say I have a cassette at home with my song on it, "and my brother will vouch for me."
The DJ and station manager look at me like they don't believe me, like they've heard it all before.
*
Next time: Girls! Girls! Girls!
Back to Greg's Dreamland Express™, where today we find a collection of dark dreams from 2003-04:
*
11-03: In a graveyard, walking toward a flat, metal headstone that is shaped like the Presidential Seal.
*
10-30: Swimming in an indoor resort swimming pool with my family. My son seems to be weighted down by something making him sink. I anxiously pull him up.
*
1-27: In a combination between my work cube and an outdoors handball court. Feeling like I'm hiding from something.
*
12-6: Floating over an amusement park that leads me to the inside of a house. As I slowly fall to the ground, my dad comes through a doorway, angry at me for not being somewhere I should, or otherwise doing something wrong. He starts hitting me with a belt, before and after I say "I'm sorry."
*
2-1: Running from an anonymous Oriental man with a sword. I hide from him in a closet behind a rack of heavy coats. He sticks the sword through the coats, and I grab the end of the sword as it comes through the other side. (The sword doesn't cut me.) I keep holding onto the end of the sword, to keep him from stabbing me. He lets go of the sword and runs to go get a knife, which scares me enough to wake me up.
*
10-27: Dining out with my brother Mike. I hear a song called "Nuclear Black (I'm Cellmatin')" and I realize it's a ripoff of a song I wrote and recorded in 1984. A woman is singing it, and it has a somewhat different arrangement. I go to the radio station playing it, and my brother doesn't understand why I'm making a big deal out of this.
"Because I'm not making any fuckin' money off this," I tell him.
There are igloo-colored bricks around the radio station. The station manager tells me of the "new" hit song: "They don't like it but I like it."
I tell him the song was ripped off from my copyrighted work. I say I have a cassette at home with my song on it, "and my brother will vouch for me."
The DJ and station manager look at me like they don't believe me, like they've heard it all before.
*
Next time: Girls! Girls! Girls!
Wednesday, February 18, 2004
Roll Over Beethoven
You are Schroeder!
Which Peanuts Character are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
Well, I would've figured Charlie Brown...but I suppose I have my Schroeder days as well. The eternal dance between pitcher and catcher continues.
And it's been four years already since Sparky Schulz died. Good grief I'm aging.
Thanks to Maggie O. for the link.
You are Schroeder!
Which Peanuts Character are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
Well, I would've figured Charlie Brown...but I suppose I have my Schroeder days as well. The eternal dance between pitcher and catcher continues.
And it's been four years already since Sparky Schulz died. Good grief I'm aging.
Thanks to Maggie O. for the link.
Monday, February 16, 2004
Rock & Roll & Robert
Since I was a teen in the '70s I've much enjoyed the writings of rock critic Robert (his friends call him Bob) Christgau. His style as a wordsmith is often as hip and erudite as it gets, and I've learned a lot about pop and rock music via his articles and reviews in the Village Voice.
In the '80s I met someone who'd lived in New York City and had met "the dean of rock critics." He told me that I reminded him of Christgau. I'm guessing he picked up on some physical and verbal resemblance, but I found the comparison a bit strange nevertheless, not only because of the 20-year age difference, but also because "Bob" seems to possess more chutzpah, discipline and flair than I ever did or likely ever will.
Christgau's website has collected many of his finest writings from the past 35 years, and I'll link here to three of my favorites: a very respectful but decidedly unsentimental tribute to John Lennon; an excellent review of the music and politics of Paul Simon's Graceland album (which, as a referral source, helped me earn an A on a term paper in a college class); and a trippy, brainy journey through the history of 20th Century pop music.
Since I was a teen in the '70s I've much enjoyed the writings of rock critic Robert (his friends call him Bob) Christgau. His style as a wordsmith is often as hip and erudite as it gets, and I've learned a lot about pop and rock music via his articles and reviews in the Village Voice.
In the '80s I met someone who'd lived in New York City and had met "the dean of rock critics." He told me that I reminded him of Christgau. I'm guessing he picked up on some physical and verbal resemblance, but I found the comparison a bit strange nevertheless, not only because of the 20-year age difference, but also because "Bob" seems to possess more chutzpah, discipline and flair than I ever did or likely ever will.
Christgau's website has collected many of his finest writings from the past 35 years, and I'll link here to three of my favorites: a very respectful but decidedly unsentimental tribute to John Lennon; an excellent review of the music and politics of Paul Simon's Graceland album (which, as a referral source, helped me earn an A on a term paper in a college class); and a trippy, brainy journey through the history of 20th Century pop music.
Sunday, February 15, 2004
Back In The USA
Part 4 of 4. Part 1 posted on 1-16-04. Part 2 posted on 1-25-04. Part 3 posted on 2-6-04. Article originally published October 2001 in Molalla (OR) Pioneer newspaper.
American Hero
Molalla retiree twice won Bronze Star for WWII heroism
by Greg Thomas Hough
In April 1945, Allied forces invaded Berlin, and the European battles of World War II concluded with the defeat of Nazi Germany.
Staff Sgt. Ora Hellemn remained in the US Army in Europe for seven months after the German surrender, spending much of his time near Dusseldorf on border patrol in the region.
In November 1945, Hellemn left Europe -- and left behind a German girlfriend in Dusseldorf. He said he found out 11 years later, by letter, that she would have married him had he come back for her.
Back in the states, Hellemn gained an honorable discharge, returned to school, and in 1946 met his future wife Edlyn (who grew up in Molalla) while visiting Oregon for the first time. They married in 1949.
Hellemn joined the Air Force at the start of the Korean War and in the 1950 took a job with Navy in Guam as a civilian employee.
The Hellemns lived in Oregon, Guam and Alaska before returning to Edlyn's hometown in 1968. From 1968 until 1975, Ora had his own auto shops in the area: Molalla Body and Fender and Hellemn's Auto Repair.
In 1975, the couple, with their two youngest children, moved to Kodiak, Alaska so that Ora could do mechanic work for the Coast Guard. The job lasted until October 1985, when Ora retired. Soon afterm the Hellemns returned once more to Molalla.
Since his retirement, Ora has been a frequent participant in World War II reunions, which included a friendly meeting with John Crockett, his former platoon leader. Hellemn became a charter member of the organization to create a WWII Memorial in Washington DC.
Three of the Hellemns' children served in the military. His son William, who served in the 1991 Gulf War, recently retired as a commander in the Navy.
Ora said that William might get called back for service in the wake of terrorist attacks on Sept. 11.
The retired war hero said he's observed that "America has gotten soft" in recent years, and that this new conflict could require a national toughening up, as was the case after the attack on Pearl Harbor.
Postscript
Ora and Edlyn Hellemn couldn't have been more accommodating to me. As I interviewed Ora in the Hellemns' living room, Edlyn kept serving refreshments while Ora patiently waited for me to get as many notes and quotes in my notebook as I could. He let me see his Bronze Stars, and allowed my newspaper to use old photos from his time in Europe and his WWII reunions.
He said he'd never opened up to the media (or hardly anyone else) about his war experiences until the time of our interviews. His stories were often quite moving, and I consider it one of the peak moments I've had as a writer and journalist, to be able to share his remembrances with readers.
As we were wrapping up the interviews, I noticed that one of the movies Ora and Edlyn had in their VCR collection was Steven Spielberg's comedy 1941. Without getting into detail about how I felt the movie had been underrated over the years, I simply told Ora I liked the film -- and he replied that he thought it was "very funny." Which I thought was cool, as I imagined the ol' war hero kicking back and enjoying a John Belushi flick.
Part 4 of 4. Part 1 posted on 1-16-04. Part 2 posted on 1-25-04. Part 3 posted on 2-6-04. Article originally published October 2001 in Molalla (OR) Pioneer newspaper.
American Hero
Molalla retiree twice won Bronze Star for WWII heroism
by Greg Thomas Hough
In April 1945, Allied forces invaded Berlin, and the European battles of World War II concluded with the defeat of Nazi Germany.
Staff Sgt. Ora Hellemn remained in the US Army in Europe for seven months after the German surrender, spending much of his time near Dusseldorf on border patrol in the region.
In November 1945, Hellemn left Europe -- and left behind a German girlfriend in Dusseldorf. He said he found out 11 years later, by letter, that she would have married him had he come back for her.
Back in the states, Hellemn gained an honorable discharge, returned to school, and in 1946 met his future wife Edlyn (who grew up in Molalla) while visiting Oregon for the first time. They married in 1949.
Hellemn joined the Air Force at the start of the Korean War and in the 1950 took a job with Navy in Guam as a civilian employee.
The Hellemns lived in Oregon, Guam and Alaska before returning to Edlyn's hometown in 1968. From 1968 until 1975, Ora had his own auto shops in the area: Molalla Body and Fender and Hellemn's Auto Repair.
In 1975, the couple, with their two youngest children, moved to Kodiak, Alaska so that Ora could do mechanic work for the Coast Guard. The job lasted until October 1985, when Ora retired. Soon afterm the Hellemns returned once more to Molalla.
Since his retirement, Ora has been a frequent participant in World War II reunions, which included a friendly meeting with John Crockett, his former platoon leader. Hellemn became a charter member of the organization to create a WWII Memorial in Washington DC.
Three of the Hellemns' children served in the military. His son William, who served in the 1991 Gulf War, recently retired as a commander in the Navy.
Ora said that William might get called back for service in the wake of terrorist attacks on Sept. 11.
The retired war hero said he's observed that "America has gotten soft" in recent years, and that this new conflict could require a national toughening up, as was the case after the attack on Pearl Harbor.
Postscript
Ora and Edlyn Hellemn couldn't have been more accommodating to me. As I interviewed Ora in the Hellemns' living room, Edlyn kept serving refreshments while Ora patiently waited for me to get as many notes and quotes in my notebook as I could. He let me see his Bronze Stars, and allowed my newspaper to use old photos from his time in Europe and his WWII reunions.
He said he'd never opened up to the media (or hardly anyone else) about his war experiences until the time of our interviews. His stories were often quite moving, and I consider it one of the peak moments I've had as a writer and journalist, to be able to share his remembrances with readers.
As we were wrapping up the interviews, I noticed that one of the movies Ora and Edlyn had in their VCR collection was Steven Spielberg's comedy 1941. Without getting into detail about how I felt the movie had been underrated over the years, I simply told Ora I liked the film -- and he replied that he thought it was "very funny." Which I thought was cool, as I imagined the ol' war hero kicking back and enjoying a John Belushi flick.
Saturday, February 14, 2004
Horseplay
Here's a second list of creative and/or unusual horse names, taken from race listings posted at my workplace, a wagering facility in Oregon:
Tinky Winky
Son Of A Bush
Nuke The Bunny
The Boogerman
Distorted Power
It's All About Me
Degenerate Gambler
Mr. Sulu
Mr. Spock
No It's False (sired by "Yes It's True")
Fudge Fatale
Insane
But Mommy
Algonquin Flag
Foxy Fey
Netcong
Nice Tush
Portlandate
Sister Swank
Fatal Binge
Here's a second list of creative and/or unusual horse names, taken from race listings posted at my workplace, a wagering facility in Oregon:
Tinky Winky
Son Of A Bush
Nuke The Bunny
The Boogerman
Distorted Power
It's All About Me
Degenerate Gambler
Mr. Sulu
Mr. Spock
No It's False (sired by "Yes It's True")
Fudge Fatale
Insane
But Mommy
Algonquin Flag
Foxy Fey
Netcong
Nice Tush
Portlandate
Sister Swank
Fatal Binge
Story Time
From Digby's blog last month:
Why, my friends ask me, do I think that modern politics (except in times of real extreme crisis) is almost entirely a matter of entertainment product consumer marketing? Why do I persist in my cynical view that with the proliferation of cable "news" entertainment wrestling, people see politics as a reality TV program, a cross between Survivor and American Idol? Why do I look at the current political contest and the media's predictable yet mind numbingly contentless horserace "coverage" and see a general election that is not a grassroots uprising or a patriotic affirmation, but a made-for-TV game show?
It's because that's what I see and it's not just here in Lala land, but all across this country.
The primaries are about casting the lead in our new political reality show. Many people will be voting for who they want to "watch" over the next four years, the steely-eyed Rocket Man/bumbling airhead or ??????
Stands to reason, when you consider that every president elected in the last quarter-century has had a demonstrably higher likability quotient than his General Election opponent.
My brother and I half-joke about a "Central Command" that monitors the Q ratings, polls and focus-group data about the candidates, and decides during the course of the election year which candidate is most likable and trustworthy to potential voters. Central Command then activates a matrix of influence over the process, from media propaganda to quasi-legal bribery to outright coercion and fraud, in favor of who it thinks will be the best "TV buddy" for Americans over the next four years.
It's all about the power of the narrative. George W. Bush remains politically viable, because his "Master and Commander of the War Against Evildoers" and "God-fearin' Sheriff Taylor from Mayberry USA" stories are well-established in the media bloodstream. The corporate fat cats who populate his fundraisers seem to still think he can continue selling those narratives, enough to justify keeping him in office...where he will continue to grease the palms of the corporations with tax cuts, and scratch their backs with deregulation.
Any bad side effects of a second Bush term, reason the GOP money men, will generally happen to non-rich people who deserve a fate of virtual serfdom, because they refuse to a.) summon the power of their inner Dale Carnegie; and/or b.) summon the power of a just and mighty Christian Deity.
There is evidence, however, that Bush's recent polling numbers indicate a drop in the trust and likability categories. Certainly not beyond repair, but perhaps vulnerable enough that more Movers and Shakers would seriously consider whether John Kerry is a worthwhile alternative.
What narratives, authentic or not, might Kerry utilize to exploit possible Bush vulnerabilities? Stud warrior? Clever wit? Master of political hardball? A hybrid of Kennedy-esque noblesse oblige with Lincoln-esque wartime gravitas?
We be seein'. Join us next time for another episode of Survivor: Washington D.C.
From Digby's blog last month:
Why, my friends ask me, do I think that modern politics (except in times of real extreme crisis) is almost entirely a matter of entertainment product consumer marketing? Why do I persist in my cynical view that with the proliferation of cable "news" entertainment wrestling, people see politics as a reality TV program, a cross between Survivor and American Idol? Why do I look at the current political contest and the media's predictable yet mind numbingly contentless horserace "coverage" and see a general election that is not a grassroots uprising or a patriotic affirmation, but a made-for-TV game show?
It's because that's what I see and it's not just here in Lala land, but all across this country.
The primaries are about casting the lead in our new political reality show. Many people will be voting for who they want to "watch" over the next four years, the steely-eyed Rocket Man/bumbling airhead or ??????
Stands to reason, when you consider that every president elected in the last quarter-century has had a demonstrably higher likability quotient than his General Election opponent.
My brother and I half-joke about a "Central Command" that monitors the Q ratings, polls and focus-group data about the candidates, and decides during the course of the election year which candidate is most likable and trustworthy to potential voters. Central Command then activates a matrix of influence over the process, from media propaganda to quasi-legal bribery to outright coercion and fraud, in favor of who it thinks will be the best "TV buddy" for Americans over the next four years.
It's all about the power of the narrative. George W. Bush remains politically viable, because his "Master and Commander of the War Against Evildoers" and "God-fearin' Sheriff Taylor from Mayberry USA" stories are well-established in the media bloodstream. The corporate fat cats who populate his fundraisers seem to still think he can continue selling those narratives, enough to justify keeping him in office...where he will continue to grease the palms of the corporations with tax cuts, and scratch their backs with deregulation.
Any bad side effects of a second Bush term, reason the GOP money men, will generally happen to non-rich people who deserve a fate of virtual serfdom, because they refuse to a.) summon the power of their inner Dale Carnegie; and/or b.) summon the power of a just and mighty Christian Deity.
There is evidence, however, that Bush's recent polling numbers indicate a drop in the trust and likability categories. Certainly not beyond repair, but perhaps vulnerable enough that more Movers and Shakers would seriously consider whether John Kerry is a worthwhile alternative.
What narratives, authentic or not, might Kerry utilize to exploit possible Bush vulnerabilities? Stud warrior? Clever wit? Master of political hardball? A hybrid of Kennedy-esque noblesse oblige with Lincoln-esque wartime gravitas?
We be seein'. Join us next time for another episode of Survivor: Washington D.C.
Wednesday, February 11, 2004
Kings Of This Island Town
The first thing my daughter usually does when we get in the car is turn on the local “hit music station.” One Saturday, after the top-30 requested songs of the week countdown -- consisting mostly of preening soul and hip-hop hybrids mixed with a touch of refried grunge-era stylings -- the #1 song was one of those cultural confluence moments that they don't prepare you for in parenting school. We were treated to a refreshingly retro Cars riff and lyrics evoking the long-ago cleverness of Ray Davies. Boomer Pop was back, if only for three minutes and 17 seconds.
“Stacy's Mom” by the NYC band Fountains of Wayne has since become a top-25 hit nationally, a most-requested video on VH1, and a 2004 Grammy nominee for Best Pop Performance By A Duo Or Group. It marks an overdue appearance to the singles charts by the band, who since 1996 has released three CDs consisting of at least two-dozen almost hits, songs that delight in their melodic and lyrical skill, but songs that for one reason or another missed the zeitgeist of a pop era dominated by glam bump-and-grind and gravelly fuzz-and-whine.
In online and TV interviews done since the June release of “Stacy's Mom” and the album it comes from, Welcome Interstate Managers, FoW songwriters Adam Schlesinger and Chris Collingwood seem to maintain a kind of Zen detachment over the creation of their songs. (“Anytime you hear an artist pontificate about pop songs you want to punch him,” Schlesinger told Hip Online in August.) But with “Stacy's Mom,” at least, there seems a determined hitmaking calculation behind the song's pop alchemy: one part suburban teen naughtiness (the lyrics tell of a teenage boy's lust for his girl friend's mother), one part acceptable classic-pop template (a Cars vibe still providing enough erotic buzz to hang with the manic sexsexsex of Top 40), and one part expert vocalizing (especially in the harmonies of Collingwood and Schlesinger on the song's hook). Add to that a well-produced and sexy video in '80s-retro style starring Rachel Hunter, and the thirtysomethings finally get their first hit.
It's too early to say whether "Stacy's Mom" will be the first of a string of hits, or an anomaly that puts FoW on the list of one-hit or two-hit wonders. But there's something about the band that remains out-of-sync with the glam and gloat of the cultural zeitgeist. Collingwood and Scheslinger take a low-key “ironic hipster” stance in interviews, in a time when irony is supposedly passé. For example, on Canada's Much Music show in September, they responded to a question about who influenced “Stacy's Mom” by making a crack about Chris' mom being in chemotherapy. Their joke flew over the host's head. If recent pop history is a guide, the collegiate smart-ass geekiness of the whole FoW machine will catch up with the band, and slow or stop any further hitmaking prowess.
As time passes however, that probably won't matter much. Elvis Costello didn't have as many hits in the 1980s as Loverboy or Quarterflash, yet who has more staying power today? When many of the hitmakers of today are footnotes, the consistent quality of the FoW catalog will trump whatever wins the day now. While FoW may not have the right stuff for long-term Top 40 success, the band's impressive craftsmanship keeps it eligible for long-term "cult status" among discerning pop-music geeks. For long-term critical success, quality is key.
One can usually learn a lot about a band's quality quotient by checking out its influences, and FoW (which also includes guitarist Jody Porter and ex-Posies drummer Brian Young) cite not only the aforementioned Davies but also Randy Newman. Both Davies and Newman are masters of the potent pop-lyric miniature, a pithy, evocative summation of a life or a philosophy in three verses and chorus, aided by able melodic and hookcraft skills. The Kinks' Davies, in particular, became a particular passion of Schlesinger and Collingwood while they were developing their musical schtick in college during the '80s. In an interview with VH1 Online last year, Schlesinger said he loved Davies' work for “the character portraits he could produce and his use of specific locations in a song.” Newman's songwriting, Schlesinger told USA Today in August, often showcases the pathos of an “unaware narrator, where you learn more about him than he does himself inside of a few verses.” Take Newman's signature stories of spunky-but-pathetic Everymen, with Davies' (and Bruce Springsteen's) knack for illuminating locations and people within a specified and recognizable area; add to that a talent for melody in the realm of The Beatles and Paul Simon (two other influences credited by the band) and enough forward-thinking awareness of youthful sensibilities to retain a contemporary feel, and you've got a band that's practically tailor-made to be a critical darling among pop-music geeks, if nothing else.
For awhile there, it seemed like that's about all FoW would get: critical hosannas and not much more. As Alex Chilton's band Big Star was to the '70s, FoW would be (on arguably a smaller scale) to the '90s. The band's first release Fountains of Wayne, in 1996, earned notice for the MTV video “Radiation Vibe” and the fact that it was co-created by Schlesinger, who'd earned minor fame by writing the theme song to Tom Hanks' movie about '60s pop music,That Thing You Do! (which earned him an Oscar nomination). The songs were refreshingly literate and tuneful, but in relation to the band's later efforts, also had a certain facile slightness that is not uncommon on rookie efforts. The band was still “finding itself,” and suffered from too much cheap Gen-X trendiness in the vocals and arrangements.
That's not to say the first CD is without its significant charms. “Radiation Vibe” opens with a solid hook seemingly calculated for commercial breakthrough -- but unlike “Stacy's Mom,” the track fell short on the pop charts. The lyrics, though, effectively set the tone for the “regular guy” themes that pervade FoW songs: a failed jock with a broken knee comes back to town to rescue an old flame from “a dumb ape reading Playboy on your couch.”
On we go through an insular land of wage-slave schnooks trying to cut any piece of American Pie they can, while maintaining whatever self-respect they can muster. In “Joe Rey,” we meet a Spanish ladies man who's “not so pretty” and “smokes like a pigeon” but is “cool, cool, cooler than I am.” The working world of “Sick Day” is in the same ballpark as BBC America's The Office or Mike Judge's film Office Space, with a morning workplace “becoming one again” and a working girl “making the scene with the coffee and cream.” Everywhere there is ennui:
Here is the man pushing paper past her
Thinks up ways to make the day go faster
But the day goes on and on and he dreams of his lawn
And all about the pretty careerist the next cube over
Schlesinger and Collingwood maintain more warmth toward their characters than Newman does, which can veer them dangerously close to oversentimentalizing, but part of their gift is that they usually seem to know just where the line is, and rarely cross it. They also have a feminist bent in their lyrics, as songs like “Radiation Vibe,” “Leave The Biker” and “She's Got A Problem” all reflect empathy for repressed women, and “You Curse At Girls” is a would-be anthem for cutting females some slack: “Each time you curse at girls / You curse a little at yourself / Don't you know a girl gets angry.”
All in all, a solid debut. But it's indicative of how relatively minor the album's impact was, that in December 2003 the Grammy Awards gave FoW a nomination for Best New Artist, seven years after the band's first major-label release.
By all rights, FoW's second release, 1999’s Utopia Parkway, should have been the band's breakout album. It remains the most tuneful, the most consistent and the best produced of the Fountains' three albums. Lyrically, “Utopia” is a step up from the debut -- the wordplay is crisper, clearer, more assured. And with the second album, Schlesinger and Collingwood lay a certain lyrical gauntlet down right off the bat: our grand theme is going to be the stubborn pursuit of small-town, small-time happiness. The title track showcases a local musician in a cover band, “the king of this island town” -- or, as a later verse elaborates, “this goddamn town” -- armed with childlike enthusiasm his baby doesn't understand, plus “some paper and a staple gun.”
The CD deftly wanders through a world that, in the words of the Village Voice's Glenn Kenny, is populated by “white guys who can't get what they want or what they need, or if they ever do get something along those lines, can't hold on to it.”
The underdog romanticism continues with songs like “Red Dragon Tattoo,” where Our Hero is getting “dyed” at the local tattoo parlor in order to impress a girl. The depth of lyricism definitely rivals Davies' here, as in eight lines we learn things about this guy that might take half-a-dozen pages to fully capture in a book or article:
I hear the man say you want to see the others
A mermaid and heart that says mother
But I don't know from maritime
And I never did hard time
I brought a .38 Special CD collection
Some Bactine to prevent infection
And in case I get queasy
A photo of Easy...Rider
The tattooed young man is pursuing someone “pretending I've never been born.” But now, he looks “a little more like that guy from Korn.” Hope springs eternal, in this goddamn town.
Everything's permeated with the bittersweet: home in “Amity Gardens” is “a room in the shadow of a funny-looking man"; the bored, aging “Mrs. Carver” of “A Fine Day For A Parade” pines for the “old old days” and “clears up her head with bourbon / 'Cause beer is so suburban.” And in the beautiful ballad “Prom Theme,” the graduating seniors are reaching for stars and renting expensive cars, but soon will “forget each others' names” and “work until we die.”
Women remain mysterious, hypnotic figures: “Denise” listens to Puff Daddy and drives a lavender Lexus, while “she controls me” and has “a heart made of gravel;” in “The Senator's Daughter,” the crush on said daughter causes Our Hero to float away “on oceans of grey-blue water.” In “Lost In Space”, the girl's “off in a distant place...but I love her anyway.”
“The Valley of Malls” explores a lyrical theme that will get more focus on album three: the materialist aspirations of the working class. A traffic jam headed for shopping is “fighting for the freedom from a common bond / To be a barracuda in the guppy pond.”
FoW's expert pure pop would be even better executed on Welcome Interstate Managers -- but largely because when Atlantic Records dropped the band after the relatively poor sales of “Utopia,” the band went into a lengthy limbo that did not end until the third album (which was released on the S-Curve label) started to emerge in 2002-03.
The layoff, and perhaps the fallout from the band's failure to achieve commercial breakthough, may've played a key role in the continuing growth of Schlesinger and Collingwood as lyricists (and as vocalists) on the third album. But one wonders if the CD's success might limit the band's trajectory of creative growth -- the second single, the album's opener “Mexican Wine,” has some of the simplest lyrics on the album, and its choice seems an attempt to fit the band into a niche as “the next Smash Mouth.” The song is a trippy, poppy ode to the “fuck it -- let's drink!” attitude, one that teens and young adults will dig...maybe.
Drinking also figures prominently in the album's second track, “Bright Future In Sales,” an uptempo and wonderfully evocative look at another capitalist drone: “Seven scotch-and-sodas and the office party / Now I don't remember where I'm from.” This might've been the ideal followup single to “Stacy's Mom,” except Schlesinger and Collingwood elect to cut close to the vulgar bone in the chorus: “I'm gonna get my shit together / 'Cause I can't live like this forever.”
With Welcome Interstate Managers, the band continues its bittersweet lyrical ride, but with hints that there are larger thematic fish to fry, outside the insular world of the New York/New Jersey average dude. In a delightful ode to Zen ease, “All Kinds Of Time”, the band focuses on a world embodied by one well-executed football play: the quarterback takes a step back, while under attack, but “knows that no one can touch him now.” The QB feels “a strange inner peace,” and as he completes a pass, he embraces the completeness of mother, fiance, father and brothers watching him on a widescreen TV.
The lovely acoustic number “Valley Winter Song” takes us into a wintry New England setting, with more wistful romanticism:
Hey Sweet Annie
Don't take it so bad
You know the summer's coming soon
Though the interstate is choking under salt and dirty sand
And it seems the sun is hiding from the moon
FoW's reach falls a bit short, however, as the CD goes on. Later tracks like the arch almost parody country track, “Hung Up On You,” and the overly hippy-dippy “Peace And Love” and “Supercollider” hurt the album's overall level of consistency, although there isn't a real clinker in the bunch. The songwriting has gotten so assured, that the album’s worst track (the country one) can still feature a masterful couplet that goes beyond the often-hackneyed country songwriting of today: “With an appetite for poison/And a suitcase full of dimes.”
FoW got a well-deserved moment in the industry spotlight at the Grammys this week, although it did lose in both categories it was nominated. With the band’s recent upswing, a show-business cliché question again seems apropos: Will success spoil Fountains of Wayne? Will the band end up, as Smash Mouth has, diluting its pop talents in the service of mediocre soundtracks and shallow Entertainment Tonight packaging? Schlesinger and Collingwood seem to possess a commitment to quality, but in midst of the hype, will they able to call bullshit on the starmaking machine, when it begins to infringe upon FoW's artistic strengths? For pop geeks who crave signs of life on the all-too-moribund commercial scene, the survival of Fountains of Wayne is not a trivial matter.
The first thing my daughter usually does when we get in the car is turn on the local “hit music station.” One Saturday, after the top-30 requested songs of the week countdown -- consisting mostly of preening soul and hip-hop hybrids mixed with a touch of refried grunge-era stylings -- the #1 song was one of those cultural confluence moments that they don't prepare you for in parenting school. We were treated to a refreshingly retro Cars riff and lyrics evoking the long-ago cleverness of Ray Davies. Boomer Pop was back, if only for three minutes and 17 seconds.
“Stacy's Mom” by the NYC band Fountains of Wayne has since become a top-25 hit nationally, a most-requested video on VH1, and a 2004 Grammy nominee for Best Pop Performance By A Duo Or Group. It marks an overdue appearance to the singles charts by the band, who since 1996 has released three CDs consisting of at least two-dozen almost hits, songs that delight in their melodic and lyrical skill, but songs that for one reason or another missed the zeitgeist of a pop era dominated by glam bump-and-grind and gravelly fuzz-and-whine.
In online and TV interviews done since the June release of “Stacy's Mom” and the album it comes from, Welcome Interstate Managers, FoW songwriters Adam Schlesinger and Chris Collingwood seem to maintain a kind of Zen detachment over the creation of their songs. (“Anytime you hear an artist pontificate about pop songs you want to punch him,” Schlesinger told Hip Online in August.) But with “Stacy's Mom,” at least, there seems a determined hitmaking calculation behind the song's pop alchemy: one part suburban teen naughtiness (the lyrics tell of a teenage boy's lust for his girl friend's mother), one part acceptable classic-pop template (a Cars vibe still providing enough erotic buzz to hang with the manic sexsexsex of Top 40), and one part expert vocalizing (especially in the harmonies of Collingwood and Schlesinger on the song's hook). Add to that a well-produced and sexy video in '80s-retro style starring Rachel Hunter, and the thirtysomethings finally get their first hit.
It's too early to say whether "Stacy's Mom" will be the first of a string of hits, or an anomaly that puts FoW on the list of one-hit or two-hit wonders. But there's something about the band that remains out-of-sync with the glam and gloat of the cultural zeitgeist. Collingwood and Scheslinger take a low-key “ironic hipster” stance in interviews, in a time when irony is supposedly passé. For example, on Canada's Much Music show in September, they responded to a question about who influenced “Stacy's Mom” by making a crack about Chris' mom being in chemotherapy. Their joke flew over the host's head. If recent pop history is a guide, the collegiate smart-ass geekiness of the whole FoW machine will catch up with the band, and slow or stop any further hitmaking prowess.
As time passes however, that probably won't matter much. Elvis Costello didn't have as many hits in the 1980s as Loverboy or Quarterflash, yet who has more staying power today? When many of the hitmakers of today are footnotes, the consistent quality of the FoW catalog will trump whatever wins the day now. While FoW may not have the right stuff for long-term Top 40 success, the band's impressive craftsmanship keeps it eligible for long-term "cult status" among discerning pop-music geeks. For long-term critical success, quality is key.
One can usually learn a lot about a band's quality quotient by checking out its influences, and FoW (which also includes guitarist Jody Porter and ex-Posies drummer Brian Young) cite not only the aforementioned Davies but also Randy Newman. Both Davies and Newman are masters of the potent pop-lyric miniature, a pithy, evocative summation of a life or a philosophy in three verses and chorus, aided by able melodic and hookcraft skills. The Kinks' Davies, in particular, became a particular passion of Schlesinger and Collingwood while they were developing their musical schtick in college during the '80s. In an interview with VH1 Online last year, Schlesinger said he loved Davies' work for “the character portraits he could produce and his use of specific locations in a song.” Newman's songwriting, Schlesinger told USA Today in August, often showcases the pathos of an “unaware narrator, where you learn more about him than he does himself inside of a few verses.” Take Newman's signature stories of spunky-but-pathetic Everymen, with Davies' (and Bruce Springsteen's) knack for illuminating locations and people within a specified and recognizable area; add to that a talent for melody in the realm of The Beatles and Paul Simon (two other influences credited by the band) and enough forward-thinking awareness of youthful sensibilities to retain a contemporary feel, and you've got a band that's practically tailor-made to be a critical darling among pop-music geeks, if nothing else.
For awhile there, it seemed like that's about all FoW would get: critical hosannas and not much more. As Alex Chilton's band Big Star was to the '70s, FoW would be (on arguably a smaller scale) to the '90s. The band's first release Fountains of Wayne, in 1996, earned notice for the MTV video “Radiation Vibe” and the fact that it was co-created by Schlesinger, who'd earned minor fame by writing the theme song to Tom Hanks' movie about '60s pop music,That Thing You Do! (which earned him an Oscar nomination). The songs were refreshingly literate and tuneful, but in relation to the band's later efforts, also had a certain facile slightness that is not uncommon on rookie efforts. The band was still “finding itself,” and suffered from too much cheap Gen-X trendiness in the vocals and arrangements.
That's not to say the first CD is without its significant charms. “Radiation Vibe” opens with a solid hook seemingly calculated for commercial breakthrough -- but unlike “Stacy's Mom,” the track fell short on the pop charts. The lyrics, though, effectively set the tone for the “regular guy” themes that pervade FoW songs: a failed jock with a broken knee comes back to town to rescue an old flame from “a dumb ape reading Playboy on your couch.”
On we go through an insular land of wage-slave schnooks trying to cut any piece of American Pie they can, while maintaining whatever self-respect they can muster. In “Joe Rey,” we meet a Spanish ladies man who's “not so pretty” and “smokes like a pigeon” but is “cool, cool, cooler than I am.” The working world of “Sick Day” is in the same ballpark as BBC America's The Office or Mike Judge's film Office Space, with a morning workplace “becoming one again” and a working girl “making the scene with the coffee and cream.” Everywhere there is ennui:
Here is the man pushing paper past her
Thinks up ways to make the day go faster
But the day goes on and on and he dreams of his lawn
And all about the pretty careerist the next cube over
Schlesinger and Collingwood maintain more warmth toward their characters than Newman does, which can veer them dangerously close to oversentimentalizing, but part of their gift is that they usually seem to know just where the line is, and rarely cross it. They also have a feminist bent in their lyrics, as songs like “Radiation Vibe,” “Leave The Biker” and “She's Got A Problem” all reflect empathy for repressed women, and “You Curse At Girls” is a would-be anthem for cutting females some slack: “Each time you curse at girls / You curse a little at yourself / Don't you know a girl gets angry.”
All in all, a solid debut. But it's indicative of how relatively minor the album's impact was, that in December 2003 the Grammy Awards gave FoW a nomination for Best New Artist, seven years after the band's first major-label release.
By all rights, FoW's second release, 1999’s Utopia Parkway, should have been the band's breakout album. It remains the most tuneful, the most consistent and the best produced of the Fountains' three albums. Lyrically, “Utopia” is a step up from the debut -- the wordplay is crisper, clearer, more assured. And with the second album, Schlesinger and Collingwood lay a certain lyrical gauntlet down right off the bat: our grand theme is going to be the stubborn pursuit of small-town, small-time happiness. The title track showcases a local musician in a cover band, “the king of this island town” -- or, as a later verse elaborates, “this goddamn town” -- armed with childlike enthusiasm his baby doesn't understand, plus “some paper and a staple gun.”
The CD deftly wanders through a world that, in the words of the Village Voice's Glenn Kenny, is populated by “white guys who can't get what they want or what they need, or if they ever do get something along those lines, can't hold on to it.”
The underdog romanticism continues with songs like “Red Dragon Tattoo,” where Our Hero is getting “dyed” at the local tattoo parlor in order to impress a girl. The depth of lyricism definitely rivals Davies' here, as in eight lines we learn things about this guy that might take half-a-dozen pages to fully capture in a book or article:
I hear the man say you want to see the others
A mermaid and heart that says mother
But I don't know from maritime
And I never did hard time
I brought a .38 Special CD collection
Some Bactine to prevent infection
And in case I get queasy
A photo of Easy...Rider
The tattooed young man is pursuing someone “pretending I've never been born.” But now, he looks “a little more like that guy from Korn.” Hope springs eternal, in this goddamn town.
Everything's permeated with the bittersweet: home in “Amity Gardens” is “a room in the shadow of a funny-looking man"; the bored, aging “Mrs. Carver” of “A Fine Day For A Parade” pines for the “old old days” and “clears up her head with bourbon / 'Cause beer is so suburban.” And in the beautiful ballad “Prom Theme,” the graduating seniors are reaching for stars and renting expensive cars, but soon will “forget each others' names” and “work until we die.”
Women remain mysterious, hypnotic figures: “Denise” listens to Puff Daddy and drives a lavender Lexus, while “she controls me” and has “a heart made of gravel;” in “The Senator's Daughter,” the crush on said daughter causes Our Hero to float away “on oceans of grey-blue water.” In “Lost In Space”, the girl's “off in a distant place...but I love her anyway.”
“The Valley of Malls” explores a lyrical theme that will get more focus on album three: the materialist aspirations of the working class. A traffic jam headed for shopping is “fighting for the freedom from a common bond / To be a barracuda in the guppy pond.”
FoW's expert pure pop would be even better executed on Welcome Interstate Managers -- but largely because when Atlantic Records dropped the band after the relatively poor sales of “Utopia,” the band went into a lengthy limbo that did not end until the third album (which was released on the S-Curve label) started to emerge in 2002-03.
The layoff, and perhaps the fallout from the band's failure to achieve commercial breakthough, may've played a key role in the continuing growth of Schlesinger and Collingwood as lyricists (and as vocalists) on the third album. But one wonders if the CD's success might limit the band's trajectory of creative growth -- the second single, the album's opener “Mexican Wine,” has some of the simplest lyrics on the album, and its choice seems an attempt to fit the band into a niche as “the next Smash Mouth.” The song is a trippy, poppy ode to the “fuck it -- let's drink!” attitude, one that teens and young adults will dig...maybe.
Drinking also figures prominently in the album's second track, “Bright Future In Sales,” an uptempo and wonderfully evocative look at another capitalist drone: “Seven scotch-and-sodas and the office party / Now I don't remember where I'm from.” This might've been the ideal followup single to “Stacy's Mom,” except Schlesinger and Collingwood elect to cut close to the vulgar bone in the chorus: “I'm gonna get my shit together / 'Cause I can't live like this forever.”
With Welcome Interstate Managers, the band continues its bittersweet lyrical ride, but with hints that there are larger thematic fish to fry, outside the insular world of the New York/New Jersey average dude. In a delightful ode to Zen ease, “All Kinds Of Time”, the band focuses on a world embodied by one well-executed football play: the quarterback takes a step back, while under attack, but “knows that no one can touch him now.” The QB feels “a strange inner peace,” and as he completes a pass, he embraces the completeness of mother, fiance, father and brothers watching him on a widescreen TV.
The lovely acoustic number “Valley Winter Song” takes us into a wintry New England setting, with more wistful romanticism:
Hey Sweet Annie
Don't take it so bad
You know the summer's coming soon
Though the interstate is choking under salt and dirty sand
And it seems the sun is hiding from the moon
FoW's reach falls a bit short, however, as the CD goes on. Later tracks like the arch almost parody country track, “Hung Up On You,” and the overly hippy-dippy “Peace And Love” and “Supercollider” hurt the album's overall level of consistency, although there isn't a real clinker in the bunch. The songwriting has gotten so assured, that the album’s worst track (the country one) can still feature a masterful couplet that goes beyond the often-hackneyed country songwriting of today: “With an appetite for poison/And a suitcase full of dimes.”
FoW got a well-deserved moment in the industry spotlight at the Grammys this week, although it did lose in both categories it was nominated. With the band’s recent upswing, a show-business cliché question again seems apropos: Will success spoil Fountains of Wayne? Will the band end up, as Smash Mouth has, diluting its pop talents in the service of mediocre soundtracks and shallow Entertainment Tonight packaging? Schlesinger and Collingwood seem to possess a commitment to quality, but in midst of the hype, will they able to call bullshit on the starmaking machine, when it begins to infringe upon FoW's artistic strengths? For pop geeks who crave signs of life on the all-too-moribund commercial scene, the survival of Fountains of Wayne is not a trivial matter.
Monday, February 09, 2004
What's Your Name?
I swear, my subconscious is like a cross between the People's Choice Awards, the ESPYs and a Democraticmeat market presidential debate. Here's a list of celebs who've made an appearance in my dreams since 12-1-03:
Al Franken, Margot Kidder, Linda Ellerbee, Paul Simon, Art Garfunkel, Howard Dean, Dan Aykroyd, Dick Clark, Jack Klugman, Jerry Lewis, Jack Nicholson, Candice Bergen, Carol Burnett, Gore Vidal, Dick Cavett, Phyllis Diller, David Bowie, Julia Roberts, Hilary Duff, Elvis Presley, Bill Murray, Muhammad Ali.
I swear, my subconscious is like a cross between the People's Choice Awards, the ESPYs and a Democratic
Al Franken, Margot Kidder, Linda Ellerbee, Paul Simon, Art Garfunkel, Howard Dean, Dan Aykroyd, Dick Clark, Jack Klugman, Jerry Lewis, Jack Nicholson, Candice Bergen, Carol Burnett, Gore Vidal, Dick Cavett, Phyllis Diller, David Bowie, Julia Roberts, Hilary Duff, Elvis Presley, Bill Murray, Muhammad Ali.
Dirty Work
Julius Civitatus, one of the fine regular posters at Table Talk's White House forum, summed up yesterday's "Chimpy and Stimpy" show in a way I couldn't have said better myself:
All the reviews point out the dismal performance of Junior on "Press the Meat", and the mild, bite-less interviewing of Russert, who allowed Our Fearless Leader to get away with lies, falsehoods and distortions.
I think this is a "green light" for Rove to go "all out" with the dirty trick: this basically guarantees there will be an "October surprise", and that there will be serious funny business with the Diebold voting machines. I'm worried about the nastiness that these bastards may unleash.
I just hope John Kerry, if nominated, monitors every precinct that uses electronic voting machines, looking for possible discrepancies. I note, however, that this was the man who last year told Democrats to "stop crying in their teacups" and "get over" the outrageous assault on democracy that was the presidential election theft of 2000. Not encouraging, although I'm guessing that Kerry's no dummy and knows by now what the Bush Mafia is capable of.
Salon today has a new article up about how the voting machines could be hacked.
Julius Civitatus, one of the fine regular posters at Table Talk's White House forum, summed up yesterday's "Chimpy and Stimpy" show in a way I couldn't have said better myself:
All the reviews point out the dismal performance of Junior on "Press the Meat", and the mild, bite-less interviewing of Russert, who allowed Our Fearless Leader to get away with lies, falsehoods and distortions.
I think this is a "green light" for Rove to go "all out" with the dirty trick: this basically guarantees there will be an "October surprise", and that there will be serious funny business with the Diebold voting machines. I'm worried about the nastiness that these bastards may unleash.
I just hope John Kerry, if nominated, monitors every precinct that uses electronic voting machines, looking for possible discrepancies. I note, however, that this was the man who last year told Democrats to "stop crying in their teacups" and "get over" the outrageous assault on democracy that was the presidential election theft of 2000. Not encouraging, although I'm guessing that Kerry's no dummy and knows by now what the Bush Mafia is capable of.
Salon today has a new article up about how the voting machines could be hacked.
Friday, February 06, 2004
Courage
Part 3 of 4. Part 1 posted on 1-16-04. Part 2 posted on 1-25-04. Article originally published October 2001 in Molalla (OR) Pioneer newspaper.
American Hero
Molalla retiree twice won Bronze Star for WWII heroism
by Greg Thomas Hough
In January 1945 began the stories of Ora E. Hellemn's Bronze Star-worthy heroism.
"We came to an area with two little German towns (Tetingen and Butzdorf)," he recalled. "There were German fortifications on the ridge near Tetingen, and snipers firing at us from a house there.
"We came out of the woods to walk through about a fourth-of-a-mile stretch that separated the two towns, heading for Butzdorf."
Their intent, Hellemn said, was to secure the town for the Allies, while awaiting reinforcements.
"We were getting fire from everywhere -- people were getting hurt," said Hellemn. "Something hit my rifle and took the stock right off of it.
"I dropped my rifle and laid in the snow, deciding what I was gonna do next. My squad leader, Harry Baker, had been hit, and there were guys that'd been hit who were laying all over the snow."
After a second round of mortar, Hellemn got up and continued toward Butzdorf. "By the third round, they usually hit their target," he said.
Of 90 men who marched through the field, only 17 made it to Butzdorf. Hellemn was one of them.
His rifle made useless, Hellemn headed back toward Tetingen to get another one, braving more fire. He encountered his squad leader, still badly hurt and not moving, on the way back.
"I wanted to get Harry," he said. "In Tetingen there was a captured German medic who could speak a little English, and he said he'd go with me.
"We were able to pick up Harry and get him back to town, and somehow we didn't get hit."
Hellemn said they didn't settle for rescuing only the squad leader: "We decided at that point to get other people who were down."
Still avoiding being hit by fire, they were able to rescue about 10 others. They loaded all the wounded in an old abandoned American medical jeep (risking that the jeep might've been boobytrapped by the Germans) and made four trips to an AID station 10 miles away.
"We were getting shot at, and we later found out there were a bunch of land mines on that road," Hellemn said. "But apparently because there was a lot of ice on the road, and because the jeep wasn't heavy enough, the mines didn't go off."
Those who stayed in Butzdorf were able to capture the town, after reinforcements came. And though he didn't know it at the time, Hellemn would receive a recommedation for his first Bronze Star from Harry Baker, who spent three years in a VA hospital because of his war wounds.
"I never found out what happened to Harry, until at one of our squad reunions (in 1986) I heard that he was still alive," Hellemn said. "So I went to Springfield, Ohio (where Baker still lives) in 1987 to visit him."
Baker told Hellemn that he though he'd been captured by the Germans, because he'd heard the German medic's voice.
"He had shrapnel in his head and legs, and they didn't think he was going to make it. He still walks with a limp," Hellemn said, tearing up again.
There was to be more heroism from Ora Hellemn during the war: just two months later, in March 1945, he found himself leading another rescue mission.
While fighting through the German line on Germany's "Western Front," Hellemn and his fellow soldiers found themselves on the banks of the Rorer River, after a bridge over the river was blown up.
"One of the guys in the squad got hit by a mine, and was killed instantly," he said.
"I bent over him to check him out, and in doing so I tripped on a mine -- but because I was bent over, the bearings that came out of the mine were fired away from me. The mines there were designed to hit people who were standing."
After this, yet another close call for the 23-year-old Hellemn, he and four other soldiers were ordered to cross the river and set up a roadblock.
"After we crossed the river, a guy in our squad got hit by shrapnel," he said. "I gave him first-aid, after the other guys had fled, and then drug this guy back across the river."
For his bravery in rescuing a fellow soldier, Hellemn was awarded a second Bronze Star citation in 1945.
Part of the official military commedation for Hellemn's second Bronze Star reads: "His unselfish courage, many times displayed, is in keeping with the highest traditions of the military service."
Part 4: The spoils of victory
Part 3 of 4. Part 1 posted on 1-16-04. Part 2 posted on 1-25-04. Article originally published October 2001 in Molalla (OR) Pioneer newspaper.
American Hero
Molalla retiree twice won Bronze Star for WWII heroism
by Greg Thomas Hough
In January 1945 began the stories of Ora E. Hellemn's Bronze Star-worthy heroism.
"We came to an area with two little German towns (Tetingen and Butzdorf)," he recalled. "There were German fortifications on the ridge near Tetingen, and snipers firing at us from a house there.
"We came out of the woods to walk through about a fourth-of-a-mile stretch that separated the two towns, heading for Butzdorf."
Their intent, Hellemn said, was to secure the town for the Allies, while awaiting reinforcements.
"We were getting fire from everywhere -- people were getting hurt," said Hellemn. "Something hit my rifle and took the stock right off of it.
"I dropped my rifle and laid in the snow, deciding what I was gonna do next. My squad leader, Harry Baker, had been hit, and there were guys that'd been hit who were laying all over the snow."
After a second round of mortar, Hellemn got up and continued toward Butzdorf. "By the third round, they usually hit their target," he said.
Of 90 men who marched through the field, only 17 made it to Butzdorf. Hellemn was one of them.
His rifle made useless, Hellemn headed back toward Tetingen to get another one, braving more fire. He encountered his squad leader, still badly hurt and not moving, on the way back.
"I wanted to get Harry," he said. "In Tetingen there was a captured German medic who could speak a little English, and he said he'd go with me.
"We were able to pick up Harry and get him back to town, and somehow we didn't get hit."
Hellemn said they didn't settle for rescuing only the squad leader: "We decided at that point to get other people who were down."
Still avoiding being hit by fire, they were able to rescue about 10 others. They loaded all the wounded in an old abandoned American medical jeep (risking that the jeep might've been boobytrapped by the Germans) and made four trips to an AID station 10 miles away.
"We were getting shot at, and we later found out there were a bunch of land mines on that road," Hellemn said. "But apparently because there was a lot of ice on the road, and because the jeep wasn't heavy enough, the mines didn't go off."
Those who stayed in Butzdorf were able to capture the town, after reinforcements came. And though he didn't know it at the time, Hellemn would receive a recommedation for his first Bronze Star from Harry Baker, who spent three years in a VA hospital because of his war wounds.
"I never found out what happened to Harry, until at one of our squad reunions (in 1986) I heard that he was still alive," Hellemn said. "So I went to Springfield, Ohio (where Baker still lives) in 1987 to visit him."
Baker told Hellemn that he though he'd been captured by the Germans, because he'd heard the German medic's voice.
"He had shrapnel in his head and legs, and they didn't think he was going to make it. He still walks with a limp," Hellemn said, tearing up again.
There was to be more heroism from Ora Hellemn during the war: just two months later, in March 1945, he found himself leading another rescue mission.
While fighting through the German line on Germany's "Western Front," Hellemn and his fellow soldiers found themselves on the banks of the Rorer River, after a bridge over the river was blown up.
"One of the guys in the squad got hit by a mine, and was killed instantly," he said.
"I bent over him to check him out, and in doing so I tripped on a mine -- but because I was bent over, the bearings that came out of the mine were fired away from me. The mines there were designed to hit people who were standing."
After this, yet another close call for the 23-year-old Hellemn, he and four other soldiers were ordered to cross the river and set up a roadblock.
"After we crossed the river, a guy in our squad got hit by shrapnel," he said. "I gave him first-aid, after the other guys had fled, and then drug this guy back across the river."
For his bravery in rescuing a fellow soldier, Hellemn was awarded a second Bronze Star citation in 1945.
Part of the official military commedation for Hellemn's second Bronze Star reads: "His unselfish courage, many times displayed, is in keeping with the highest traditions of the military service."
Part 4: The spoils of victory
Wednesday, February 04, 2004
Think Link
Three recent additions to the WATP Links section:
*Orcinus, a blog by ace Internet journalist David Neiwert.
*Trouble Down South bassist Julie Beth Wood's fine blog, ill-sorted ephemera.
*A daily dose of insight courtesy of Poetry Daily.
Three recent additions to the WATP Links section:
*Orcinus, a blog by ace Internet journalist David Neiwert.
*Trouble Down South bassist Julie Beth Wood's fine blog, ill-sorted ephemera.
*A daily dose of insight courtesy of Poetry Daily.
