Category Archives: Music

Proto-Spring Break

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Time for a spring break, even though it isn’t quite spring yet here. Proto-spring is more like it. That winter-spring tug o’ war has started, with winter still having the upper hand, and the most visible result being mud puddles. Anyway, back to posting around March 13.

Mostly I remember metal showman Dee Snider for sparring with what-about-the-children Tipper Gore in the mid-80s over naughty words in popular songs, and for testifying before the U.S. Senate (along with interesting bedfellow John Denver) in favor of free expression. By all accounts, the Twisted Sister frontman acquitted himself well in those spats.

Also, I like that he goes by “Dee.” Still, metal has never really been my cup of meat. Even so, I took the occasion this week to listen to “We Aren’t Going to Take It,” Twisted Sister’s best-known song (released 1984) and something I haven’t heard in years. Apparently a number of groups have taken inspiration from it over the decades, and I can see why. Though the Twisted Sister video frames the song in terms of teenaged rebellion, most of the lyrics are broad enough to apply to most any resistance to authority or oppression.

We’re right
We’re free
We’ll fight
You’ll see

They’re also simple enough to be easily understood, even if English isn’t your first language. No wonder some Ukrainians have taken up the song. Snider reportedly has approved. But he doesn’t approve of every group who wants to use the song.

“People are asking me why I endorsed the use of ‘We’re Not Gonna Take It’ for the Ukrainian people and did not for the anti-maskers,” Snider said recently in a tweet. “Well, one use is for a righteous battle against oppression; the other is a[n] infantile feet stomping against an inconvenience.”

Snider continues to acquit himself well.

Snowy Thursday

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As expected, snow followed rain today. But at least yesterday’s rain didn’t leave an ice glaze everywhere. Especially underfoot. I salted a few patches of driveway this morning, but on the whole the surfaces were dry till the snow started around 1 p.m.

Views of the snowy scene this afternoon from the front door.

Wish I could say I wrote this, but no. By a random soul online: It’s only a comorbidity if it comes from the Comorbois region of France. Otherwise it’s just a sparkling pre-existing condition.

I heard a song by a band called Modest Mouse the other day on the radio in the car. Apparently they’ve been around for 30 years, but I miss a lot my not paying attention to much.

Interesting song, though I don’t remember what it was. Maybe that’s because I was busy imagining that Modest Mouse is Mighty Mouse’s lesser-known brother. He didn’t care for the spotlight, and never went into the Mouse family business of saving the day.

Text message from Ann not long ago (edited for caps and punctuation): Seeing Princess Bride at the Normal Theatre.

With this pic attached:
Normal Theatre 2022

Message continued: The sword fight was really great on the big screen.

My answer: Oh yes.

Spouting Off Thursday

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Compare and contrast, as my English teachers used to say.

Dusk on February 1.

Dusk on February 2.

For comparison, about the same framing — the view from my back door — but a whole lot of contrast. We caught the edge of the aforementioned winter storm on Wednesday morning. Not a huge amount of snow, just enough to be the usual pain in the ass.

Speaking of which, wankers are on the loose. They always are. Taken at a NW suburban gas station recently. No doubt posted by a true believer, unwittingly on behalf of the listed grifters.

One objection to the Covid-19 vaccine I find particularly irksome — one quasi-rational objection, that is, as opposed to the microchip ‘n’ such crackpot ones — is that it was developed too quickly.

True enough, it was developed much more quickly than any vaccine in history. Know what I’d call that? Progress. You’d be mistaken in believing Progress can cure all of mankind’s many ills, but it does a pretty good job in treating a lot of literal ills.

The other day I read about a woman who favored certain famous quack treatments for a relative dying of Covid-19, and who pestered his no doubt overburdened health care workers about it. One commentator on the situation said that the woman had attended the Dunning-Kruger School of Advanced Medicine.

Next, something a little lighter. Some time ago I was watching a video of “Puff the Magic Dragon,” sung in by Peter, Paul and Mary in 1986. At 2:53, the camera points toward a fellow in the audience, the one with dark curly hair — and instantly I recognized him.

That’s Dave, an old friend of mine I met in in the mid-80s Nashville, where he was from. Later we hung out in Chicago, since he went to graduate school there. These days he lives in Minnesota and teaches art. According to his Facebook page, he’s also a fellow at the Center for Residual Knowledge, Division of Other Things.

Bet I could get a fellowship there.

I didn’t realize the Winter Olympics were starting today until I saw it mentioned online. Upcoming events, according to the site, include figure skating, freestyle skiing, ice hockey, snowboarding, curling, bobsled and Uyghur internment, which is special to these Games.

Genocide aside, and that’s a big aside, I can’t muster much interest in the Games, except maybe for luge and skeleton, the events most likely to inspire spectacular accidents.

Things in the Mail

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Got a circular in the mail recently — another bit of paper, in this supposed digital age — advertising live shows at a metro Chicago theater I’ve been to exactly once, maybe five or six years ago. The theater has never forgotten that, on the off chance that I’d be willing to put in the miles (and it’s quite a few) to see another show there.

Topmost act on the ad? Grand Funk Railroad. It’s a nostalgia-oriented theater, and that name does take me back to adolescent days, or rather nights, of listening to my cheap bedside radio.

The band itself doesn’t have a lot of nostalgia value for me, though. They were fine. Had a few hits. Such as a decent version of “The Loco-Motion,” of all things. They were part of the astonishing variety that was commercial radio in the 1970s, which wasn’t that astonishing until the radio business decided to silo itself in unimaginative ways in later decades.

I was curious enough to look at the band web site, learning the following (all caps sic):

“Grand Funk Railroad is extremely excited to be touring in 2022 marking a 53 year milestone. After playing to millions of fans on the band’s tours from 1996 to 2021, Grand Funk’s 2022 SOME KIND OF WONDERFUL TOUR will continue to reach both new and long-time fans.”

I didn’t know they were originally from Flint, Michigan. Learn something every day. Forget just as much every day as well, probably.

I checked the ticket prices at the theater web site. For seats far away from the stage, $60. Most seats are north of $100, and if you want a seat in the loge right or left, that will run you at least $248. This doesn’t encourage me to see Grand Funk Railroad.

Also in the mail lately.

My name, unusual as it is, is gender ambiguous. I’ve been getting things addressed to Miss and Ms (and maybe Mrs, not sure) for as long as I’ve been getting circulars and other solicitations. That and, of course, a variety of misspellings, including of my last name, which is perfectly phonetic.

Our gas bills, which come all too regularly in the mail, offer up data on the price of natural gas. This isn’t good.

December 2020: 29 cents/therm. December 2021: 68 cents/therm. Good thing the most recent December was warmer than a year earlier, but I’m afraid January isn’t turning out that way.

I had to refresh my memory that a therm = 100,000 Btu. I’ve always liked that name, the British thermal unit. A Btu is the quantity of heat required to raise the temperature of one pound of liquid water by 1 degree Fahrenheit at the temperature that water has its greatest density (at about 39 degrees Fahrenheit). If that’s not a legacy of Victorian scientists, I don’t know what is. Sure enough, it is.

I’d read that natural prices were on the rise, and sure enough, there it is in my bill. “What’s Up with Natural Gas Prices?” this American Petroleum Institute article asks, as if Andy Rooney were asking. The short answer: the market fluctuates, and be glad you aren’t in Europe, where prices are astronomical, rather than merely steep.

First Thursday of the Year Musings

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Little wind today, which made the outdoors marginally better to experience. But not much. Tonight will be really cold, an illustration of the superiority of the Fahrenheit scale for everyday use, with 0 degrees being really cold and 100 degrees really hot.

I can’t remember exactly when I read it, but years ago there was an item in Mad magazine lampooning the midcentury notion — the quaint notion, as it turned out — that Americans were going to have a surfeit of leisure time in the future, including a vast expansion of the number of holidays. Millard Fillmore’s birthday was a suggested holiday.

Well, that’s tomorrow, and I have to work. That idea about leisure time didn’t pan out anyway. But I will acknowledge the 13th president’s birthday, because why not. Besides, I paid my respects to President Fillmore in person recently.

Today’s also a good day to acknowledge the expansion, ever so slow, of the public domain, eking out growth despite the rapacious efforts of certain media oligopolists whose mascot is a rodent. Works published in 1926 are now in the public domain.

I’m happy to report that The Sun Also Rises is one of those works, to cite one of the better-known novels of 1926. I could have quoted it previously, and in fact I have, relying on notions of fair use. Now all the words are freely available, no questions asked.

“Here’s a taxidermist’s,” Bill said. “Want to buy anything? Nice stuffed dog?”

“Come on,” I said. “You’re pie-eyed.”

“Pretty nice stuffed dogs,” Bill said. “Certainly brighten up your flat.”

“Come on.”

“Just one stuffed dog. I can take ’em or leave ’em alone. But listen, Jake. Just one stuffed dog.”

“Come on.”

“Mean everything in the world to you after you bought it. Simple exchange of values. You give them money. They give you a stuffed dog.”

“We’ll get one on the way back.”

“All right. Have it your own way. Road to hell paved with unbought stuffed dogs. Not my fault.”

Speaking of life between the wars…

If that song doesn’t make you smile, what will?

Carpe Diem Songs

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The first serious cold wave of the season came with yesterday’s wind, putting temps as low as 13 degrees F. by the wee hours this morning. Of course, those kinds of lows will be a regular thing by January, with plenty of days even colder, but the first one of the season always seems particularly bitter.

One remarkable thing about YouTube is that it allows me to have a slightly informed opinion about different versions of mostly forgotten songs. Also, I can discover whole subgenres — or maybe sub-subgenres — such as songs whose theme is carpe diem.

Not long ago, the bots suggested the recording of “Enjoy Yourself (It’s Later Than You Think)” by Guy Lombardo (1949). If I’d heard it before, and I probably had, I’d forgotten about it. Charming little song, definitely with a carpe diem message. Music by Carl Sigman, lyrics by Herb Magidson, though as other versions were recorded, all sorts of new lyrics appeared.

That got me looking around and I spent a while listening to other recordings, of which there are a fair number. Pretty soon I had a favorite. None other than Louis Prima’s.

Hard to go wrong with Louis Prima, who brings that Louis Prima je ne sais quoi to just about anything.

Interesting that the alternative to having an enjoyable life, in the song, is the constant effort to make money. So you might call it a postwar boom song. Ten or 15 years earlier, that sentiment might not have flown quite as well. After all, 1933 was the year that gave us “We’re in the Money.”

Anyway, I like Prima’s version a little better than Lombardo’s, and a lot better than Tommy Dorsey’s, which I didn’t much like, or the borderline novelty by Bing and Bob Crosby, which is worth a listen only about once.

Among more recent versions, ska-man Prince Buster did a version with a somewhat different message, as did The Specials, and I especially like Jools Holland’s New Year’s version as captured in the mid-2010s (with Pauline Black and Tom Jones too!).

There are, of course, other carpe diem songs. More, probably, than I’d want to look up, but when I meditated on the subject, I thought of a couple immediately. Including Howard Tate’s “Get It While You Can,” by Janis Joplin, who brought a remarkable energy to this 1970 television performance, a few months before her death.

Finally, an old favorite of mine with similar title, “You Better Get It While You Can,” by Steve Goodman (d. 1984).

Glad I got to see Goodman. It was entirely by chance. I went to see Steve Martin on stage in 1979, and Goodman — whom I’d never heard of — was the opening act. I was lucky to see him, since all too soon, he was gone. Sometimes serendipity and carpe diem go hand-in-hand.

The Good Reuben James

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An anniversary worth noting, because it so seldom is: the sinking of the USS Reuben James, now 80 years past to the day.

Still famed in story and especially song, if you’re willing to listen. Illustrated in our time by an unusually thoughtful video. The Weavers did a good version of the song as well.

RIP, Charlie Watts

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I heard about Charlie Watts’ passing on the radio today, appropriately, as I was driving my car, in between men telling me more and more useless information that’s supposed to fire my imagination.

Actually, I would have been hard-pressed to name the drummer of the Rolling Stones, in their heyday or their more recent geriatric selves. Which turned out to be Watts the whole time. Not that I dislike the band, just that those kinds of details never captivated me.

“The news comes weeks after it was announced that Watts would miss the band’s U.S. tour dates to recover from an unspecified medical procedure,” the BBC reports. “Watts was previously treated for throat cancer in 2004.”

U.S. tour dates? This far along in the 21st century? Another thing I didn’t know about the Stones. They’ve got staying power, that’s for certain. I expect no one would have predicted such a thing in 1965.

RIP, Mr. Watts.

Thursday Crumbs

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Warm and windy today. The wind died down some in the evening, and I had a pleasant time sitting on the deck drinking tea and reading. At advanced middle age, these are pleasures you appreciate.

Speaking of an advanced age, I’m glad to see Elvis Costello is still recording catchy tunes. He released an album in October — his 31st — called Hey Clockface, with the title track, “Hey Clockface / How Can You Face Me?” The video is as charming as the song.

He shares writing credit for the song with Fats Waller and Andy Razaf, since it incorporates part of “How Can You Face Me?” Not the sort of music Elvis Costello did 40 years ago when I saw him at VU, but I wouldn’t have appreciated it then anyway.

I left YouTube on autoplay after Waller’s “How Can You Face Me?” and left the room for a few minutes. When I came back, the Bratislava Hot Serenaders were playing, a band I hadn’t heard of before.

A word I hadn’t heard of before.

Clearly a commercial coinage in our time. But who knows? It might evolve over the decades or centuries into something unimaginably perverse.

The U.S. birth rate might be declining, but there are some births. I knew that the Social Security Administration keeps track of baby names, but I didn’t know until recently that the agency maintains a web page devoted to them, new and old.

Not a bad list in 2020, mostly traditional names, such as Olivia, Charlotte, Sophia, Elijah, William and James, rather than some of the trendy names of recent decades, none of which I’ll cite. I’m mossbacked when it comes to a few things, and baby names is one of them.

Riverfront Park, Peoria

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Another recent vaccination destination was Peoria. We spent about 24 hours on the trip, there in the afternoon and a return the next afternoon. Shortly after taking care of the shot at a local pharmacy, we took a walk along the Illinois River near downtown Peoria, including a paved section but also parkland.

Riverfront Park, Peoria Riverfront Park, Peoria

Riverfront Park gives you some nice views of the Murray Baker Bridge, which carries I-74 across the river. It’s named for an early executive of Holt Manufacturing Co., later Caterpillar Tractor Co., who oversaw its move to Peoria in 1909.Murray Baker Bridge Murray Baker Bridge Murray Baker Bridge Murray Baker Bridge

For what I took to be a fairly old bridge (opened 1958), it looked spanking new, a handsome example of bridgebuilding. Turns out there was a reason for that.

“After a final countdown the lights were flicked on and the Murray Baker Bridge was re-opened to drivers of Central Illinois,” 25 Week reported on October 31 last year. “The bridge, which was shut down back in March, went through $42 million worth of renovations. Workers replaced the bridge deck, repaired the structural steel, repainted, and fixed the LED lights, which was one of the most anticipated changes.”

North of the bridge is a curiosity called Constitution Garden, dedicated to the U.S. Constitution.Constitution Garden Peoria Constitution Garden Peoria

Looks a little unkempt, at least this spring, and the plaque is dark. Someone’s comment on the state of our fundamental law?

Not far away, overlooking the river, is the Dan Fogelberg Memorial, which has been there since 2010. A couple was there when we arrived — a man and woman maybe a few years older than me — and they expressed their enthusiasm for the musician to us, and had me take their picture in front of the rocks. Then they offered to take our picture (Yuriko was elsewhere with the dog.)
Dan Fogelberg Memorial Peoria

I hadn’t realized Fogelberg was from Peoria, but he was. The rock to our left features lyrics from “Part of the Plan,” which I told Ann was one of his better-known songs. Behind me the middle rock had lyrics from “Icarus Ascending,” a song I didn’t know, and to our right the rock says:

Dedicated to the legacy of
Dan Fogelberg
Musician, Singer, Songwriter, Artist
Born in Peoria August 13th
1951 – 2007

With some lines from “River of Souls,” another song I didn’t know. I liked Fogelberg well enough when I heard him on the radio, but I didn’t listen to him much beyond that, except for the album Phoenix (1979), which one of my college roommates had and I listened to occasionally. “Face the Fire” on that album has the distinction of being an anti-nuke song — nuclear power, that is, not bombs, clearly inspired by Three Mile Island.

Its lyrics didn’t make it onto a rock, unsurprisingly, since I suppose “The poison is spreading, the demon is free/People are running from what they can’t even see” wouldn’t have the right vibe for his memorial. More surprising is no mention of “Same Old Land Syne,” considering that’s a Christmastime sentimental favorite on the radio even now.