Music Notes--Blast of Brass 2009

On July 17, I had the opportunity to take my daughter to the Blast of Brass performance at Eastfield College, thanks to my friend and colleague Oscar Passley. I was treated to some fine music and an enjoyable evening. The performance featured the instructors and other professional performers that had been working all week with young brass players at the school in workshops and classes.

Each song played made me marvel at the versatility of instruments I guess I didn’t know that well. I was particularly impressed by the guest soloist, Scott Hartman, a trombone player I had had the chance to hear the day before in recital. His rendition of “Londonderry Air” (best known as “Danny Boy”) was marvelous.

Two interesting highlights for me were the student ensemble performance and the surprise guest. Playing the “Overture to H.M.S. Pinafore,” a student group calling themselves The Beastie Brass entertained the crowd of mostly students and their parents. Trumpet student Danial Gerona had many in the audience laughing and saying “Wow!” to his part of the show.

Another treat was the “unscheduled” entrance of Kurt Bradshaw, artistic director of the Dallas Jazz Orchestra. He led the group in an unrehearsed playing of “My One and Only You,” sung by the Darla Meek, narrator for the evening, to her husband, trombonist, conductor and Blast of Brass founder, Keith Meek.

The concert ended with the students joining the professionals on stage for Bach’s “Wachet auf, ruft uns die Stimme” (“Sheep May Safely Graze”). There were lots of people up there, but the result was nice.

Blast of Brass is a wonderful way to support not only the young people working hard to improve their chops, but the mentors and performers who make that possible. I look forward to going again next year.

Music Notes--Random Axis at the Harbor

Last night I sat with my wife and friends to listen to Random Axis playing The Harbor in Rockwall. I really don’t have much to say about them. They were adequate, though they played a lot of mid-tempo songs like low tempo songs. They also played several tunes I’m not either not a fan of or I’m really tired of hearing. (I know it is darn near sacrilegious, but someone has to say “We Are Family” was never that good a song.) Don’t get me started on the plodding rap sections.

I did like the little Motown medley they began with. I laughed when one of the singers said they were going to “slow things down” a bit. But then they launched into “Georgia On My Mind,” which was the strongest performance of the evening. Then the group played a handful of dance numbers to close the set.

All my criticisms are likely moot. There was plenty of dancing and the crowd did ask for an encore. Though several people had left about an hour into the show, those that stayed seemed to really enjoy the performance. It seems most of the music Random Axis plays is not really for me, but that doesn’t make it bad. Kids dancing near the stage doesn't mean it was good either.

Music Notes--Quartet Live!

Ever since I read that Pat Metheny was working some dates with his Berklee mentor, Gary Burton, I have been anticipating this album. Adding to my giddiness is the fact that one of the best bassists in jazz, Steve Swallow, and the heir apparent to Jack DeJohnette, Antonio Sanchez, are on this recording.

The disc opens with the lively Chick Corea composition “Sea Journey.” At once I could see this was a Burton led ensemble, with four mallet vibes blazing away, but there is plenty of room for the other players. Metheny’s solo, as on the other tracks is delicious.

Next comes “Olhos de Gato,” one of two tunes written by Carly Bley, who composed many of the songs recorded by Burton’s groups when Metheny was the guitarist. Next is Steve Swallow’s “Falling Grace,” a treat every time it is recorded. Metheny’s solo here is one of his usual masterpieces in controlled fury.

Dreamy without being sleepy, both Burton and Metheny give inspired solos on the next tune, a Keith Jarrett piece entitled “Coral.” Then we have Burton’s tribute to Hank Garland, “Walter L.” This is one of the most rockin’ bluesy songs in the collection, Metheny shredding like mad.

Three Pat Metheny compositions find a place on Quartet Live. One is the ballad “B & G”. Burton’s solo on this one demonstrates where pupils like Metheny got their sense of timely improvisation. This is a song from Metheny’s early days, and his own solo impressed me. At one point he is playing very fast notes, but in the midst of the slow tempo song it sounds right. Fine backing from Swallow, Sanchez, and Burton make a big difference here.

“B & G” is followed by “Missouri Uncompromised,” a bopping number that features a fine solo from Antonio Sanchez. Hearing it made it even more jealous for the people at Yoshi’s that got to see it live. Duke Ellington’s “Fleurette Africaine (Little African Flower)” comes right after this, and it shows these musicians can make a classic sound modern without losing the flavor of the original.

“Hullo, Bolins” is next. On Pat Metheny’s website, this song is described as “a catchy jazz waltz that suggests what Chopin might have sounded like if he was reborn today as a jazz musician.” I don’t think I could say it any better. This is followed by the other Carla Bley composition on Quartet Live, “Syndrome.” This was one of the first songs I heard on a Gary Burton recording, and I really like the treatment it is given here.

Quartet Live closes with one of my favorite Pat Metheny songs, “Question and Answer.” Clocking in at just over thirteen minutes, not a single moment is wasted. We are treated another nice solo by Sanchez. Here is the only tune with Metheny soloing on the guitar synth, which might throw a few listeners, but is it does work. He moves deftly from this to a regular guitar riff until the sounds dissolve into the applause of the enthusiastic crowd.

This recording is a reunion of three of members of the original Gary Burton Quartet and the songs have all been captured before. But Quartet Live is fresh and new, the production so clean that it sounds like the band is playing in your living room. Get this and hear four great musicians who play as if jazz was invented for them.

Music Notes--Four Duke

I ran across this CD in my library and wondered why I had not listened to it in awhile. For the past couple of days, it has accompanied my work.

Four Duke features Jay Leonhart on bass (and the occasional scat singing), Gary Burton on vibes, Joe Beck on guitar, and Terry Clark playing drums in a tribute to the great Duke Ellington. All the players are in top form, and the recording sounds as fresh as if it had been recorded yesterday.

This disc demonstrates (as if proof was necessary) that Ellington is one of this country’s greatest songwriters. It is hard for me to pick a favorite tune, but perhaps their version of “Caravan” is one of the most exciting I’ve heard in years. “Azure” and “Satin Doll” had me swaying in my seat at the computer. “In a Mellow Tone” and “Cottontail” had me tapping my toes (I would have been snapping my fingers, but I did have stuff to do). And “Take the A Train,” a duet between Leonhart and Burton, is plain fun to listen to.

If you like good jazz, or if you want something tasty to listen to while you work (not that this is wallpaper music), get Four Duke. But don’t be surprised if you find yourself nodding your head or dancing in your cubicle.

Bookmarks -- The Devil's Tour

Mary Karr is probably best known for her memoir The Liar’s Club. In the past few years, she has become a bit infamous for her essay, “Against Decoration,” in which she lambasts the kind of poetry that says nothing and hides behind “ornaments,” the kind of verse Donald Hall would later call McPoems. These little verses come out of workshops and graduate programs whose main goal is to pad the vita and land teaching assignments for its participants.

Karr’s poetry comes from life -- joyous, painful, and real -- and if more volumes were like those in The Devil’s Tour, we would have no reason to believe poetry in America was dying.

Her second volume of verse, The Devil’s Tour is much about the hells we make and endure in our own lives. The book opens with the brutally beautiful “Coleman,” about a black friend viciously murdered by boys in town who could cover up their crime by calling it a “hunting accident.” The event of the poem is not just the murder, but also joy of their friendship beforehand and the memory after: “you rode that ghost horse/hard and recklessly against the dark,//but could not break it.” Events like these are addressed in this book are the building blocks of a soul wandering the earth, not mere recollections.

Many of the poems in The Devil’s Tour are centered around the relationships the author has as mother, daughter, friend, and lover. Those that I found most moving and honest were the poems addressed to Karr’s parents. One does not have to have read The Liar’s Club or Cherry to understand the struggle to take from one’s parents only the good and the difficulty of giving back to them as much as our love contains. In “Her One Bad Eye,” Karr writes,

We are dead to each other

that way, though she opened

her body to let me shine

weeping into this world,

and sometimes I feel her

looking through me to

that other world. Blind, this way

we stare at each other like corpses.

Dan Chaisson, staunch defender of the McPoem, ironically criticized Karr for writing poems that seemed to come from the workshop or that were unaware of their audience. But these salvos come from the offices of a magazine that openly criticizes Karr and other Christian poets (like Franz Wright) merely for being Christian. I don’t know if Karr had yet entered the Catholic Church when she published this work in 1993, but one sees in these poems a sacramental vision of the universe, where the things of the earth (including suffering) become the avenues where grace can enter. These are poems from someone who has something to say.

Movie Notes--The Wrestler

Last week, I watched The Wrestler, and I saw why so many feel that Mickey Rourke has begun a comeback as an actor. I can’t remember a better performance from him.

Rourke plays once great wrestler Randy “The Ram” Robinson. Years have passes since his heyday, but The Ram keeps plugging away at the only thing he’s ever been good at. He has lost some of his hearing and his body has nearly been crushed by the pounding it has taken. He is forced to augment what little he makes in the ring with a nothing job at WalMart like establishment, dealing with a boss that belittles his other career. Drugs and alcohol have become routine, and Randy spends most of his spare time in a strip club looking at Marisa Tomei. But it is hard not to cheer for this guy.

Much of the story centers on Randy trying to reconnect with his daughter, played ably by Evan Rachel Wood. While there are moments that get sweet and may look to be cliché, the whole tale is painful, raw and honest. The sadness here is real.

While the “sport” of pro wrestling here an act, it is one that demands greatly physicality and athleticism on the part of the participants. I was really impressed by not only the fight scenes themselves, but the conversations and planning sessions between wrestlers. Much of the film was shot in a documentary style, which provided the viewer a chance to feel emotions honestly, not in some cheap, contrived way. The movie may move a little slowly for some, but the payoff is great.

I suspect some wrestling fans will not like this film, and that those who do not like wrestling will shy away from it. But wrestling here is not merely a metaphor for how one deals with life, but also for how one accepts and shapes reality. The Wrestler is a good, rich movie, period.

Music Notes--The Pictures at The Harbor

Austin’s party band The Pictures played The Harbor last Thursday night and pleased the large crowd with mostly dance tunes, though a couple of rock and pop songs augmented the set. Lots of people got up to dance, and it looked like most everyone was having a good time.

Though well done, the band did play three Michael Jackson tunes. That was overkill to me, but as I said, they did a fine job with them. Most of the dance songs came off well, except their version of the Bee Gees classic “Stayin’ Alive,” the band sounding as if they were not in sync. Even though at least four of the tunes were also played by last week’s group (Moving Colors), including Rick Springfield’s “Jesse’s Girl,” they showed why they have a full performing schedule.

Speaking of sync, one criticism I have of the performance is the use of prerecorded or synchronized music. It was most apparent in the second tune of the night, Earth, Wind and Fire’s “September,” a horn laden song where neither of the two keyboards were played. Something made those sounds, and it wasn’t any of the instruments on the stage. In some songs, I could tell that there was more percussion going out than was being played. For me, this was distracting. I don’t think most in attendance cared, however.

All these problems aside, The Pictures does know how to work the crowd. There was a lot of dancing in front of the stage. My own kids got pretty worn out. I was disappointed that near the end of the set, when they played a nice version of Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline,” so many people started to go. But enough stayed to ask for an encore and the band did a rousing rendition of AC/DC’s “Shook Me All Night Long.”

T.V. Notes--Harper's Island

I watched every episode of the CBS mini-series Harper’s Island and I now feel like a survivor—a survivor of an attack on art and time. The show was just good enough to keep interest, but as the series rolled along, I was interested not in who the killer would turn out to be or which person was going to meet a gruesome death, but in just how many times the writers would pull plot devices out of their asses.

Harper’s Island is bit like a horror film soap opera, only tame enough for primetime television. The story revolves around the wedding of Abby Mills’ best friend (a guy by the way). Abby has come to the island for the first time in seven years after John Wakefield killed her mother and several other people. The homecoming isn’t all about dealing with her grief and terror, but also her relationship with her father and the abrupt end of her relationship with cute and rugged Jimmy Mance. In each episode, one or more the group are killed in some gruesome fashion, and of course fear and suspicion reign as they all try to figure out who is behind all the dastardly deeds.

The series has what every bad horror film and soap opera seems to need: stupid young people. Nearly every character makes brash statements and then acts most real people, even heedless youngsters, would not. Of course, sometimes these actions lead to someone’s death, but most often they just drag the story around. The side narratives (infidelity, a bag of money found near a dead man, a man trying to propose to his witless lover) do not deepen the chronicle, but are just tedious detours that help the viewer either endure or prolong the agony of the hackneyed main story.

As a mystery, I think the writer’s cheated the viewers. The flower girl, for example, after being abducted and released keeps providing the others with clues and interesting details, but only when it serves the plot. When we get to the end and find out who the bad guy is, we are not really shocked so much as we are appalled that the motivation for the killing spree seems to come out of nowhere. And any characters that are halfway interesting get killed off. I’m not proud to say that I kept hoping for the flower girl to get it.

Harper’s Island might have been fine for a two hour movie or possibly a couple weekly slots, but on the whole it was just thin and messy. Watch it at the risk of losing many hours of your life.

Music Notes--Moving Colors at The Harbor

We caught Moving Colors last Thursday at The Harbor, and were treated to a really fine set. The band played with a lot of energy and enthusiasm matched only by the crowd. I was impressed that group performed tight arrangements of a number of hit songs, but never seemed over rehearsed. Moving Colors also managed to move well through a diverse playlist of tunes from artists like Journey, U2, and Stevie Ray Vaughan to Beyonce and The Commodores.

One reason Moving Colors impressed me is that they managed to keep me interesting in songs I really don’t like, such as Christiana Aguilara’s “Ain’t No Other Man” and Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing.” Tunes I do like came off pretty well too. I enjoyed their version of Prince's "1999" and their little Michael Jackson tribute. They did interesting rendition of U2’s “Vertigo,” adding some drumming on plastic tubs. The video I took of them (that I can't seem to upload to Blogger) doesn’t do much justice to how they performed the tune.

During the set, members of the band contributed to a painting in the background. The painting was only mentioned briefly once, but it was interesting to see. The beach ball bouncing around the audience was an interesting way to get people to recognize their website name, but it became comical watching people fail to move the ball along. An elderly lady in front of me must have gotten knocked in the noggin about four times.

My only knock on the performance was that they seemed to hide the sax player, whose name I cannot find, in the back of the stage. I suspect he is not a regular member of the band since they mentioned the absence of another musician, but this guy could wail. He made a huge difference in the sound, reminding me of Charlie DeChant from Hall and Oates. There are only a handful of horn players who alone can make a group sound better (it is difficult to follow in the footsteps of Clarence Clemons). Many horn players are relegated to soloing on a couple of tunes and tossed off stage for most of the set. The group would do well to feature him a bit more.

If you get a chance to catch Moving Colors, do it. If you need to make room in your calendar, do it. You are very likely to have a good time with this fun and exciting band.

Publication Notes--July 2009

Well, it has been awhile since I updated here, and there isn't much to say. I went for some time not submitting work for a variety of reasons, mostly because I was very busy with school. Now that I am home for the summer, I have begun sending work out again.

I was pleasantly surprised to find that my poem "Cares" was published at Pond Ripples Magazine in their May issue. The nice editor had accepted another piece from a batch I had sent her, and I had assumed she was not interested in the other poems. Now I am in the unusual position of having to withdraw the piece from a submission elsewhere.

This morning read an email saying that my poem "Moments Before the Voice Lesson" has been accepted at The Houston Literary Review. Now I have to find a halfway decent picture to send them.

Wrestling Light (my Geocities website) is going away soon, so I have been making plans for a new site, one that will likely be a bit leaner. I plan to include a page to list publications with links to where my work can be found on the web. I'll place a link here when that happens. Feel free to drop me a line with any suggestions.

Movie Notes -- Forgetting Sarah Marshall

When this flick was first advertised, I thought that it looked interesting. Then in the chaos of life, I forgot about it. Now I wish I could get it out of my head. Forgetting Sarah Marshall is as terrible as a movie can get. As one is a long list of romantic comedies, it is neither romantic nor funny.

The absurd plot involves Peter Bretter (played by Jason Segal) who takes a vacation in Hawaii after his girlfriend, Sarah Marshall (Kristen Bell), breaks up with him. Unfortunately, Sarah and her (sort of) new boyfriend, rock star Aldous Snow (Russell Brand) is not only in Hawaii, but also in pretty much every place Peter goes. Hotel clerk Rachel Jansen (Mila Kunis) helps Peter have a good time (even putting him in an expensive suite he cannot afford in a move that does nothing but advance the story) and the two become attracted to each other. Yip-freakin-ee.

In the first five minutes, viewers are treated to Jason Segal’s penis three times. First time was chuckle worthy. After that, it was just stupid. We get one more shot before the movie is over. Before one accuses me of being a prude, I could help but think that we don’t get to see any female parts (unless you count the picture of Mila Kunis topless, which I don’t because it is not real).

I suppose the intent here might be to make fun of the sex as love idea in movies, but what we get in the sex scenes is really some sort of comic porn. Well, maybe not so much because it isn’t really funny and nothing to get aroused by (unless the viewer is an adolescent). What we get is at best a silly story with lots of uncomfortable jokes about sex and Segal’s member on screen four times. The subplots involving the brother in law and the newlywed couple were more interesting, though they distracted from the overall story.

One of the bits of hype for this film is that it came from the producers of The 40 Year Old Virgin and Knocked Up. I haven’t yet seen the latter movie, but The 40 Year Old Virgin was hilarious and clever. Forgetting Sarah Marshall was just goofy. But now I can see why it garnered nominations for Teen Choice awards. In its few good moments, it is juvenile.

Music Notes--Petty Theft at The Harbor

On a hot July evening, as I sat at The Harbor in Rockwall, I came some realizations about the music of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. It has always seemed laid back, enjoyable in its way, but not really my thing. Something that is nice in tiny doses, but not for long periods of time. It occurred to me as I listened to the tribute band Petty Theft that I had never listened to Tom Petty for more than a few minutes at a time, probably during some kind of rock block on one of the local stations.

Not that Petty Theft couldn’t pull off a fine set. They managed to get through much of the better known tunes adequately, though they also left off a handful of notables like “You Got Lucky and “Breakdown.” People in the audience who were real fans of Tom Petty seemed to enjoy the performance. I noticed a few singing along even with tunes I had only heard a couple of times.They even spiced things up with a couple songs by the Byrds in the middle of the show.

There were a couple technical problems. Particularly in the beginning of the show, the vocals were not harmonized as tightly as one might hope with a group that’s been around as long as this one has. Also, I got the impression that they didn’t want the audience to hear any solos since when the time came for one – on both guitar and keyboards—it was either very low or couldn’t be heard.

If you are a fan of Tom Petty, these guys are probably worth checking out. They seem to get many gigs in the DFW metroplex. This was third year at The Harbor, and I suspect they’ll be back next year. But I may skip that show.

R.I.P. MJ

I have not been much of a fan of Michael Jackson since the 80s. I had a roommate my freshman year in college who played a couple of MJ albums and The Jacksons’ Live! quite often, and I was only tired of them when I wanted to sleep, which didn’t happen all that much. But around the time Jackson was making his best album, I started a years-long odyssey that including listening to no secular music (the two are not really related). Yet Jackson was so popular at the time, it was next to impossible to miss hearing songs like “Billie Jean,” “Beat It,” and “Bad.”

And today, I am torn about his passing. His music doesn’t have the same impact it had on me many years ago, but I cannot deny his talent or how well those songs still stand up. People make fun of Jackson’s music, but those who came after him are simply posers. He was weird as hell, and I’m pretty sure that most of the accusations about his unsavory dealings with children are true. However, he managed to be a sought out entertainer.

Jackson, perhaps unwittingly, managed to polarize people interested in the entertainment industry. While many are sure that he bought his way out of his molestation cases, there are plenty who are so devoted to Michael Jackson the icon they cannot conceive of his guilt, even in the face of strong evidence.

Though I loathe celebrity gossip, I find myself wanting to know more about Michael Jackson. I want to know the truth not only about what happened between he and those children, but also about why this guy felt the need to create a zoo/theme park of his home or the need to alter his body to such grotesque depths. And I must admit I’m interested in the odd events of his death (sounds like movie in the making).

But I’m pretty sure we won’t find out much about Jackson. At least for several years, I don’t expect us to learn anything useful. I do hope he’s at rest.

Movie Notes--Gran Torino

Watched the Clint Eastwood movie Gran Torino the other night and enjoyed it quite a bit. Eastwood plays Walt Kowalksi, an angry and racist vet of the Korean War who has just buried his wife. A Hmong family moves in next door and when the teenage boy tries to steal his beloved car, events are set in motion that transform Walt and the young boy Thao (played superbly by Bee Vang).


While I am not sure this movie is as strong overall as films like Unforgiven, Mystic River or his moving World War II pictures, it is really good. Eastwood’s performance is so fine, I don’t think anyone could imagine another actor in the role after seeing this. In addition, Ahney Her, as Thao’s sister is magnificent, nearly stealing the show from Eastwood. Eastwood’s attention to detail, particularly the elements of Hmong culture, make the movie all that more interesting without detracting from the narrative.


What makes the movie most interesting, I think, are Walt’s conflicts. He is, at first, a man who just wants people (including his grown children) to leave him alone. But we find that despite his racism, he can care about neighbors. Though Walt has no desire for the church or the priest that tries to harangue him into confession, he does find its value when the priest can think past his easy answers. Walt is proud of his service in the war, but admits that killing is a messy, terrible business.


The climax of Gran Torino surprised me a little, but in a very good way. I felt the last few minutes were a little slow, and perhaps a little cliché, but not so much they mar this otherwise really fine film. At 78, Eastwood is still a great actor and fantastic director who always produces top-notch work.

Music Notes -- Hanna's Reef at The Harbor

Jerry Diaz and Hanna’s Reef call what they do “Texas Beach Music.” So it was with some hope that I went to hear them play during Concert by the Lake series at The Harbor in Rockwall. While I found much of the evening enjoyable overall, there were a few disappointments.

Some of the problems, I can’t fault the band for. We arrived only a few minutes before the show, and so we sat far back, just over the hill. Not only could I not see the band unless I was standing, I think the sound from there was not as good for me as it might have been for those a little closer. This snag was aided by the fact that the steel drums did not seem to mix properly with the rest of the band through some of the set and that people around me seemed more interested in just hanging out and talking than listening to the music.

The group played credible, if sometimes plodding, versions of what were mostly Jimmy Buffet songs. Though the lead guitar seemed to disappear during my favorite Buffet tune, “Come Monday,” and some versions came off a bit slow, the starting tune, “Cheeseburger in Paradise,” came off well. And it was nice to listen to some Buffet songs I had not heard in a long time like “Pencil Thin Mustache” and “Son of a Son of a Sailor.”

After playing so much Jimmy Buffet, I had begun to believe Hanna’s Reef was a tribute band, they performed a nice version of “Under the Boardwalk” and an adequate rendition of “Montego Bay.” As one might expect, the crowd did enjoy “Five O’clock Somewhere.” Though on his website, Diaz lists four Beach Boys tunes in his repertoire, the only one they played was the awful “Kokomo.” Maybe it is just me, but that is certainly one of the worst songs recorded by a truly great band. It makes me queasy that so many cover bands feel they have to play it.

The group did do a fine job with a couple of original tunes, “Sail Away” and “Watch the Young Girls.” The latter song was spirited and lively. It ought to be a hit.

Most of the crowd in front of me (including people on boats in the lake) seemed to be having a pretty good time listening and drinking to Jerry Diaz and Hanna’s Reef. (This was especially true of an old fat lady sipping from a pink champagne glass and waving a plastic parrot). I’m a bit disappointed that “Texas Beach Music” seems to be more about boats and drinking than actual beaches, but the evening by Lake Ray Hubbard was mostly pleasant. Especially if you are a Parrothead, I recommend checking them out.

Look at me! I'm ranting!

When I was a teen and even more in college, I thought I didn’t care that much about what people thought of me. In reality, I wanted people to think I was different. That isn’t too much unlike most young people though they work hard at trying to pretend they are unique.

As an adult, I find myself keenly concerned about how others perceive me. Don’t get me wrong: I still want to buck the status quo and prove myself different from what people may expect. But I also am more and more aware of what those I work with and for may believe, accurate or not. Sadly, perception rules more than reality.

So I come to this day angry about a lot of things concerning the media. And I have to admit I must go on perception, but I think some of these people either don’t really care or are ignorant about the perception they give to others.

Last night, Artie Lange hijacked Joe Buck’s debut show. There is no other way to describe it. Already many people are making a big deal about his “course humor.” That isn’t what bothered me. I don’t particularly like his brand of shtick, but I am upset that Mr. Lange took so much of the time of the show. He didn’t allow Buck to go on to other subjects or allow either of the other guests in the segment, Paul Rudd and Jason Sudekis, to speak. Lange is a selfish prick who craves attention more than a horny dog. And the horny dog is more interesting to watch.

David Letterman has had to do a bunch of backpedaling over the ire stirred up over a couple jokes he made about the Palin family. While I’m not sure the comedian should have to apologize for what really would otherwise have been a largely forgotten and inconsequential joke, I do think he did the right thing last night in addressing this the way he did, saying that he realized that the perception was stronger than the reality of his intent. But those sponsors who have threatened to pull out and Palin really got this wrong. I wonder if Palin and her jerk husband really are that oversensitive, that stupid, or just need attention so bad they have to complain their way into the media spotlight. Hasn’t anyone told this broad that she is the one who has made her daughter’s lives worse with her own foolish mouth?

I certainly would not appreciate a joke of a sexual nature about my daughters. But Palin and her cult are so unable to read and hear that they actually assumed that Letterman meant them harm. They seemed to completely miss that the jokes were poking fun at others and not necessarily the Palins. (Well, except the slutty librarian joke, and I’m sorry Ms. Palin, you bring that on yourself.) And perhaps it is futile, in a business known for being more concerned with the moment, for Letterman to suggest that his detractors “check his record.” David Letterman has had crude jokes on his show before, but never something that would suggest sex with a fourteen year old, forced or otherwise, is acceptable.

The phrase “political correctness” makes me nervous. It has become a way for all sides of political and cultural spectrums to decry other people. But political correctness is not always about being safe, but avoiding unnecessary offense. Lange doesn’t give a damn who he insults or what he does to others. His fans who think this makes him worth praising only have half the picture. He isn’t “keeping it real” (a truly meaningless phrase). He is garnering attention for himself for no other reason than to have it. Letterman, on the other hand crosses some people’s idea of the line of good taste. But he knows that offending people just to be offensive doesn’t serve him or those who work for and with him very well.

Consider another word that has lost a great deal of its meaning in the past few years: rant. For many, when a person rants, that person is angry or upset about something and saying whatever comes to mind about whatever is creating in them emotional distress. They may say things “in the heat of the moment” that they would normally not say in an environment where they would have to be careful about their words, such as on the job or at a party with people one does not know well. They sometimes use “colorful language” and even friends can tell that the person may not be totally fair. Sometimes we need to let off steam, I’m sure, but that is what friends and close relatives are for. They understand us and help us gain perspective while trying to support us.

When I tell a student she or he is ranting in an essay, I am trying to let that person know something about how the audience is likely to perceive the message. While the opinions may have merit and the ideas well worth noting, the delivery is such that the student can only appear to others as someone, not with an opinion, but one who presents that opinion as if nothing else in the world matters, not even organization of thought or the choice of words that best communicate one’s ideas.

But the word now seems to denote that a person, by jabbering and working to be as offensive as possible, has done the world some sort of service in presenting an opinion. The truth is most of what others may praise by using the word “rant” is really only preaching to the choir, only louder.

Songs I love by bands I hate-#1: Jump

I don’t really hate Van Halen, but I do think they are among the most overrated rock groups of all time. Sure they are fun, and they have a handful interesting songs, but they really don’t deserve the status they have achieved. A reviewer once said that each new Van Halen album is really ten new ways to say “Let’s fuck.” I’ll go even further and say that the cult of Eddie Van Halen needs to remember he didn’t invent all the tricks he uses when playing; he’s just more fun to watch than those who did.

“Jump” has all the excess and goofiness bands in the eighties were guilty of: keyboards where guitars usually go, chords that replace skill with loud and effects, and a video that has features 80’s rock star hair and pretending that the white man’s overbite is cool. But this song about trying to pick up a girl (another tired rock cliché) is really infectious and I have to admit to loving that little keyboard solo (better than most of what Eddie Van Halen ever played on guitar).

Commercial Complaint #2 -- Just For Men

Okay, I know that there are men who cannot accept they are going bald or that they have managed to acquire gray hair. I understand that there is a large market for such people.

But what I cannot grasp is the portrayal of graying men as insecure, pathetic losers who cannot find love or even manage their lives without dyeing their hair some youthful color (which basically means not gray). In one awful commercial, two daughters lovingly tell their father “It’s time,” and “help” him improve himself by making him use the product. Then we see the guy with an attractive woman and the girls are satisfied they have fixed their father. Everyone is better off because the guy did what his children told him to.

Am I the only one who thinks this is wrong? I don’t like having gray hair myself, but it is a crazy world if we really believe that only young looking men are winners. Never mind the fact that hair itself has no bearing on things that matter, like parenting or being a husband.

So much is taught in today’s schools about tolerance. And that is good. But when the young cannot tolerate their aging parents based on hair color, I begin to doubt. Of course, it is the parents first who must teach that even Dad can be different from what society approves of and he is still worthwhile no matter what is on the top of his head.

There’s irony. I’d love for the father in this commercial to tell his kids they are shallow and demeaning. But I guess that wouldn’t sell anything—except reasonable values.

Music notes--State of Nature

Stanley Jordan has always defied categorization. He’s always been a jazz guitarist, but has covered rock tunes with aplomb. He has appealed to listeners in both genres, not only because of his keen and unique approach to playing, but simply because the tunes are fun to listen to.

State of Nature is Jordan’s first project in over ten years. What has he been doing in the meantime? Well, among other things, he has been studying music therapy. But don’t let that throw you. State of Nature is not a collection of new age tunes designed to make you feel good about yourself or become at one with the universe. On the other hand, if you can’t feel good listening to this, then perhaps you need therapy.

The project is mixed between Jordan’s original tunes and his renditions of classic pieces by Antonio Carlos Jobim, Horace Silver, Miles Davis, and even Mozart. All of these covers are handled well, and though from divergent traditions (even within jazz), they sound good together on this disc. I do think the Mozart piece would have been a better choice to close the album than Joe Jackson’s “Steppin’ Out.” I’m particularly fond of “Song for My Father” and “All Blues.”

“A Place in Space” opens the disc with a nice groove. Other originals worth noting are “Forest Garden,” “Ocean Breeze,” “Healing Waves” and “Shadow Dance.” The latter song is one of those tunes Jordan does very well: starting off pensive and slow and building to furious crescendo, much like his signature cover of “Stairway to Heaven.” Songs like “Healing Waves” and Forest Garden” might be a little mellow for some tastes, especially with the inclusion of environmental sounds, but I found them to be well played testaments to what Jordan has immersed himself in as fans have waited for new material.

The album also features Jordan on piano. One should not expect the same prowess he displays on the guitar, but he does accompany himself quite well here.

State of Nature is first class jazz, though it does stretch the boundaries a bit. Was it worth a ten year wait? I can’t say. But it seems Jordan’s hiatus has resulted in not only enjoyable, but thoughtful music. I can’t complain about that.

Bookmarks--The Shack

Considering the subject matter, some may find that The Shack contains very little drama. Well, that is if you are looking for the sort of excitement one finds in crime stories or adventure movies where the focus is on catching the bad guy. But this novel has plenty to keep the reader interested.

The story centers on Mackenzie Phillips (Mack), a father who loses his daughter to a serial killer. After a couple years of what is termed “The Great Sadness,” Mack is called to the place where the murder took place to meet with God. Here he may not get the answers he wants, but he does find many of the answers he needs.

I’m sure that plenty of readers will be put off by God the Father as a Black woman, Jesus looking more like a yogi than a guy sitting on the side of a mountain, and the Holy Spirit as an ethereal sprite. But Young manages to handle these images deftly without, it appears, violating the basic orthodoxy of Christianity. (Not that one must be Christian or even religious to appreciate the story.) And there will be readers who are challenged by the theology in this book. However, while certainly outside what many expect from books on religious subjects, The Shack does not really go against the important ideas of religion. In fact, I’d go so far to say that those who get hung up on such things are likely to miss the value of this novel.

As noted, the book is more about Mack’s reconciliation with God, his family, and himself—a reconciliation he doesn’t even fully realize he needs. It is about facing not only one of the most difficult trials a parent could ever endure, but also about dealing with the problems that keep most of us from real peace and joy, no matter what real life problems plague us.

I expected a book that would too easily dismiss the real ache and anger behind such events. I expected some sort of Touched by an Angel crap that would certainly turn me off from religion. But The Shack is not that book, Thank God. There are places where, in my opinion, the prose needs sharpening, and parts of the tale that are not completely clear for me. But these are minor problems.


On the front of my copy is a quote from Eugene Peterson that states The Shack “has the potential to do for our generation what John Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress did for his.” I’m not so sure about that. But I do think it is a good novel well worth reading whether or not one shares Young’s vision.

Bookmarks--This Year You Write Your Novel

I rarely have use for magazines that are supposed to be for writers where fairly young authors tell you, as if they have been writing and publishing for decades, some kernel of wisdom about that one thing your story or novel or poem supposedly needs to be publishable or at least so wonderful that no one would dare reject it. And books on writing are sometimes so self-indulgent and thoughtless, I wonder how these people sometimes made it out of Advanced Composition.

But Walter Mosley’s slim little book promises what it delivers. Following his clear, simple advice, one could actually compose a short novel and significantly revise the draft within a year. And this doesn’t come from a guy you haven’t heard of who just happened to get a book in print a couple years ago. This is from the mind of one of America’s best selling and most respected authors.

Mosley's main advice is to write every day. Simple? Yes, and no. A writer writes, I'm told, but so much of what Mosley talks about here is just why it is necessary to carve out that time, and not use other things (like research) as excuses to put off writing. Mosley also provides practical ideas on how to accomplish revision, an integral and oft neglected part of all writing. In addition, This Year You Write Your Novel gives some good pointers on another habitually ignored part of the writing process: reading. I particularly liked what he had to say about the value of reading poetry and the pitfalls of the writer’s group.

This Year You Write Your Novel is a book that should be on the bookshelf of every beginning novelist, but is well worth the purchase for some who have been writing a while. In fact, because it contains ideas concerning writing of all kinds, if I taught Advanced Composition, I’d probably assign the book in that class as well.

Music notes--Piety Street

I am one of the few people, I presume, who heard That’s What I Say, John Scofield’s tribute to Ray Charles, and got tired of it quickly. The playing was fine and the songs were good, but I guess I had not warmed up to singing along with Scofield’s fun and fuzzy guitar. But his latest project, Piety Street, may have me changing my mind.

In Piety Street, Scofield explores both blues and gospel. I already knew that he could play a mean blues guitar, and he certainly does not disappoint here, though some may feel the sound is a bit subdued. I happen to like this subdued sound. Piano and keyboard player Jon Cleary and John Boutte take on the vocals here and really shine. These tunes won’t make the listener feel likes she or he has been in church, but the spirit is definitely not missing here. Like Scofield’s guitar, these tunes are gritty and sweet at the same time.

I hope I can catch John Scofield as he tours with this material. I suspect it will sound terrific with the rest of his set, distinctive as this disc is.

Bookmarks--Cesar's Way

Before I get to why I recommend Cesar’s Way, let me get out of the way a couple things that bothered me about it. First, it didn’t take long for me to get tired of all the name dropping. I didn’t care much when Cesar Millan was talking about his work with Oprah’s or Will Smith and Jada Pinkett Smith’s dogs the first time. Doing so over and over about made me crazy.

Second, it seems that Millan didn’t know what kind of book he wanted to write. A friend recommended the book to me to help me with my own dog. There are parts that are certainly “self-help” or instructional. But parts of the book are memoir. These sections are interesting in their own right, but a few shorter stories to illustrate his points (without the aforementioned narratives about animals belonging to celebrities) would have been more effective I believe. When Millan wants to write a real memoir, I might read that too.

But as I made my way through this book, I did find I looked at my own relationship with my dog differently, and I suspect this is the main purpose of Cesar’s Way. I could see not only why it is important to walk a dog every day, but how to do so. I did gather insight into the behavior of my pet (and some people). Cleo (our dog) doesn’t get walked for an hour a day, as Millan suggests, but she gets a lot more than she did before, and I like being around her much more.

Readers might also find interesting what Cesar Millan has to say about “bad” dogs. I was particularly encouraged that habits that make some dogs seem mean or just plain stupid could be changed with the right attention and work.

Since reading Cesar’s Way months ago, I have also noticed how woefully ignorant most people are about the animals they make blithe commitments to. People who grew up around dogs, like me, often make some rather damaging assumptions that are addressed in this book. Don’t get me wrong. Millan (with help from Melissa Jo Peltier) writes about the obligation sometimes as if it is marriage, as if most of one’s waking hours should be devoted to the animal. That’s a bit strong for me. However, he has convinced me that dogs one takes into one’s home should play a greater role than barking at strangers and languishing in the backyard until the owner feels like playing. And if readers use half of what Millan suggests, they will find themselves in the midst of a very rewarding relationship.

Bookmarks--The Stupid Crook Book

The Stupid Crook Book, by Leland Gregory, is one of those perfect bathroom books. Each page contains one or two very short anecdotes. It is easy to read and certainly entertaining, in its own way. One does run the risk of having others wonder what is going on they pass by your reading room and hear your guffaws. But the bathroom is no place to seek enlightenment, so what do they expect?

Most of the stories in this collection are pretty darn funny. And there are plenty of good tales to tell, considering that most criminals are not that smart to begin with (and Americans really do enjoy laughing at other people’s idiocy). Having listened to and read bad stories by students who try to explain why they deserve a good grade when they never come to class or why they just had to plagiarize their papers, I admit to a smug satisfaction that not everyone with the same mindset is running the country, but that most trip themselves up, making the jobs of overworked police detectives that much easier.

But I do think there are a couple of problems with this book. Perhaps they fall under the pet peeves category, so take these criticisms for what they are worth. The lesser difficulty I have with The Stupid Crook Book concerns the many, many bad puns that seem to end most of the stories. A few is okay, but many were a stretch and the sheer number should make one groan.

The most significant flaw in this little volume is that not every story is about a person who is actually stupid, unless “stupid” is part of your general definition of criminal. In some cases, the criminal hasn’t done something idiotic, but has really had circumstances go against them (perhaps it is bad karma). Some of the stories are more about the odd things that criminals try to steal than about brainlessness that gets them caught. I’m not saying we should have sympathy for burglars who are having a bad day or robbers stealing a toilet or popsicles. However, with so many bad criminals in the world, why throw in narratives about what many would really call bad luck? (By the way, are criminals “smart” when they get away with their crimes? Where is the stupid police book?)

I’m sure my issues with The Stupid Crook Book won’t bother the average reader. As I mentioned, the book is, overall, pleasurable, even if that pleasure comes from thinking the reader is certainly not as dumb as the moronic and unsuccessful felons Mr. Gregory writes about.

Swine Flu Panic?

Just one question: If the powers that be don't want us to panic, then why have so many school districts and event planners cancelled so much, particular at this end of the year rush?

Governer Goodhair gets on television and tells us everything is okay, but then asks for federal dollars to help with the Swine Flu Epidemic. This is the same governor who refused stimulus money that could help Texas, and threatened to secede from the country in a wonderous political move meant only to further polarize the country.

Back to the issue at hand. I didn't worry when a couple of schools, trying to play better safe than sorry, closed. But I got concerned when Ft. Worth, a large school district, closed. Texas and Alabama stopped UIL events, and know I have concerned parents for my soccer team wondering if it is safe for their kids to play.

I don't want to be over cautious. But I don't want to expose my kids to danger. I really don't appreciate the mixed messages.

How about a new three strikes rule?

I’ve been asked a few times if I will start watching the NFL now that Mr. Owens has been removed from the Cowboys. I remind those people that had my problem been only with the Cowboys, then I would have found a new team to cheer for. But my complaint is not just with the Dallas team, but the league itself. I find it incomprehensible that an entire league continues to sanction the behavior of people like Owens, who are not just “selfish,” but who tear down entire franchises and who have changed the face of football much for the worse. Professional football is less a competition centered on moving an oval up and down a large grassy patch as it is a reality show where the most outrageous personalities not only get the most attention but the get paid millions of dollars for their antics.

Sports has always had its self-centered players. And one might say that the position of wide receiver seems to be an inherently selfish one. At least it is a position where the player seems less likely to see the whole of the game. I once heard Troy Aikman comment that Michael Irvin always thought he was open. In Irvin’s case, as with those before him, it may have been as much confidence in his ability to catch the ball in traffic or over a defensive back that prompted such talk. But Owens is not just a guy who thinks he is open when he is not. He seems unable to see that he is not the center of the universe. Remember last season when over half the offensive plays directly involved him, and he still publically complained that he didn’t get the ball enough? Sadly there are too many people like him in football

For all the good that Roger Goodell has done to improve the image of the National Football League, I’m not sure I’ll be satisfied until there is a three strikes policy for athletes like Mr. Owens. This person has had an opportunity to succeed for three teams. Each franchise (not just the team) is worse off for his having been there. Each team worried too much about how “T.O.” would react to this or that. Each team ran itself darn near into the ground by wrapping decisions, on and off the field, around his warped and destructive personality.

I predicted after Philadelphia lost the Super Bowl that Owens would never have a Super Bowl ring. And his relegation to Buffalo is likely to help prove my point. Sure, he will make some great catches. He’ll generate some excitement for a franchise stuck in the nether world. But he is likely to do little more than wreak havoc.

Owens has had his chances. Already too many of them. We have policies concerning athletes who take drugs because, among other reasons, they knowingly bring harm to themselves and to the teams that invest in them. Owens is a drug. Feels good at first, despite being a little scary. But look down the road, and you see nothing but waste. It is time for the NFL to get out while it can.

A note about the A-Rod thing

Just wanted to say that I'd like to see just how many players on the sorry Rangers were juicing when Rodriguez the bust was. Perhaps the message to young people then would be that all the effort to do something illegal doesn't always pay off. It sure as heck didn't help the Rangers.

I don't have too much sympathy for those who were caught, but I do find it odd that Rodriguez was singled out. Not much sympathy for him because he 1) is supposed to be one of the best players in baseball, and 2) was a lackadaisical player when collecting his check with the Rangers. But the agreement was that the results would be secret, and my pomposity aside, I know I'd be more than a little pissed if I found myself in a similar situation at work.

Imagine you have been doing something illegal at work, something the may or may not make you better at your job, but is certainly immoral. You agree to some sort of survey --or possibly a lie detector test--where that illegal activity is discovered, but you have been promised anonymity. You have long ceased doing what you knew was wrong. Now someone outs you, not to make the company better, but for the sheer self-righteousness of letting others know you cheated once.

Maybe I do have a little sympathy.

What often angers me about professional athletes is that if the average person did what they often do, she or he would be unemployed, and yet the athlete is often given notoriety and attention (I'm looking at you Mr. Owens). But in turning this situation around, we see that sports is often not about the great accomplishment, but about a continuing saga in a soap opera.