The Latest Biography on Mickey Mantle

Author Jane Leavy’s latest biography has a preposterous title, but that doesn’t take away from its achievements.  The Last Boy: Mickey Mantle and the end of America’s Childhood is an expertly researched and well-written tale about a sports icon whose legacy might be as exaggerated as the book’s implication that somehow Mickey Mantle paralled the end of America’s innocence. 

This whole idea that America’s purity was soiled in the 60s and 70s has been exploited countless times, but bittersweet nostalgia still sells books to a generation that believes America’s best years have passed.  Depending on which book you read, America lost its innocence with the assassination of JFK, the assassinations of Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King Jr., the Vietnam War, Watergate, or the “me” decade of the 80s.  All of these notions are overblown, but at least within the realm of reason.

But Mickey Mantle?  That’s a bit of a stretch. 

The title notwithstanding, Jane Leavy’s book is hardly a trip down nostalgia lane, but rather a look at where reality and legend intersect and diverge. 

During his best years, from 1952 to 1964, Mantle was among the greatest baseball players ever, rivaling New York’s other center field stars, Willie Mays and Duke Snyder (not to mention another outfielder, Henry Aaron, the most underappreciated player of them all).  Mantle won the Triple Crown in 1956, earned the top spot in three MVP contests, and appeared in twelve World Series, winning seven of them.  The injuries he endured were numerous and devastating, starting with his rookie season in 1951, when he tore his knee in game 2 of the World Series so badly that he would never play without pain again.  Some of the stories surrounding Mantle’s baseball career are so grandiose, so epic in proportion, it would take a Hollywood movie to properly capture them, and in some sense they were in Barry Levinson’s The Natural, albeit through the fictitious Roy Hobbs.  But Mantle really did drive a ball off a the façade of Yankee Stadium  – twice, some 510 feet had the balls travelled unimpeded – and he really did play with blood seeping through his jersey in the ’61 World Series.  Roy Hobbs had nothing on this guy.

Throughout the 387 page book, Leavy interweaves a personal encounter she had with Mickey Mantle in 1983, and this very effective tactic (borrowed from Doug Write’s play, I Am My Own Wife) helps to illuminate not only the various traits of one of the greatest ballplayers to play the game, but also how the public’s perception of the Mick changed over time.  As is so often the case with sports figures, Mantle’s off-the-field activities undermined the heroic status he garnered from so many star-struck fans in the 50s and 60s (Tiger Woods, anyone?).  Starting prior to his retirement in 1968, and especially in the twenty years that followed, Mantle’s life degenerated into one long binge of drinking, philandering and selling himself with no less shame than Orson Welles did during his final years.  As a result, the public became more aware of Mantle’s humanity, for better or for worse, and it’s this realization the Leavy attempts to link to the end of America’s childhood, a broad attempt that falls short.  But as a personal journey of disillusionment, it works beautifully.

Mickey Mantle’s greatest achievement may have been his sobriety for the last eighteen months of his life, perhaps the first grown-up decision he’d ever truly made, and no doubt the most difficult.  Appearing on the cover of Sports Illustrated in 1994 to talk about his alcoholism was more important than any of his 536 home runs.  This turn around, along with the revelation of Mantle’s own sexual abuse as a child and the portrayal of his stern and discontented father, help end Mantle’s story on notes of empathy and redemption.  Mantle was no human being to emulate, but he was human through and through.

Something Old, Something New: Yes at the House of Blues

Here’s something to consider about the current incarnation of the prog-rock group, Yes, who played on March 19 and March 20 at the Chicago House of Blues: its two newest members, Benoit David, just one of a growing number of lead singers who’ve ousted their famous predecessors (think Styx, Journey and now – so I’m told – Boston), and Oliver Wakeman, son of Rick, who takes nepotism to a whole new level (thanks Dad!), are both – get this – OLDER than any of Yes’s band members were when I saw them perform in Milwaukee’s Mecca Arena in 1984, a full fifteen years after the band’s debut album.  With that iteration of Yes, Jon Anderson was the most senior member of the band at age 39, no doubt reveling in the comeback story of the year, as Yes transformed itself into a modern day force, achieving the commercial success that had eluded them since the early 70s.  “Owner of a Lonely Heart,” the most recent song the band played last weekend, reached number one on the Billboard Hot 100 in January of 1984, ousting Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson’s “Say, Say, Say.”  Not bad for a group that had only three years earlier disbanded in the wake of major personnel changes.

Now the band is back, and its two youngest members – both 39 or over – have breathed new life into the performances, begging the question of whether two-fifths of this band could eventually evolve into a very good tribute band once its old-timers call it a day. 

Chris Squire, Steve Howe and Alan White (only one of whom is an original member, though the latter two have been mainstays since 1971 and 1972, respectively) can still wow the audience with their obvious virtuosity, especially Howe, who I’ve never seen play more expertly.  His acoustic version of “To Be Over” never gets old, and it harkens back to a time when Yes’s creativity reigned supreme. 

Squire, whose large frame and tight pants offered a less-than-agreeable sight for the audience of approximately 500, can still dazzle with his trailblazing bass riffs, but he clearly struggled through the runs in “Machine Messiah,” the opening track from 1980’s Drama, an album which had been ignored in concert for nearly 30 years largely due to Jon Anderson’s pushback.  Still, there is no denying Squire’s greatness, though he never seems to tire of his very predictable shtick during “The Fish” and “Starship Trooper.”  I’ve seen the band six times in the last decade, and he does the same thing every time, hamming it up with the audience that supplies the adoration he so unabashedly craves.

Benoit’s vocals are pitch perfect and strong, and he exudes the enthusiasm befitting someone who just three years ago was singing in a tribute band.  Imagine one day being a minor novelty on Youtube, and the next touring with an iconic band.  The guy clearly has lots to be thankful for, and he commanded the stage with grace, never fretting even during those moments when he couldn’t hear himself.  A more reserved Wakeman was still fun to watch, and moreso than when I saw his father play in 2004, who by that time appeared to be phoning his performance in.

Yes’s set list has become a little less adventuresome on this tour, shelving the previous showstoppers, “South Side of the Sky,” and “And You And I,” as well as the more obscure, “Onward.”  And after watching Alan White pound his heart out for two hours, appearing spent by the end of the show, one gets the feeling that more adventurous songs like “Awaken,” “Perpetual Change” and “Heart of the Sunrise” might be forever relegated to archival footage from tours past.  The one track that surprised was the opening song, “Parallels” from Going for the One, a tune that hadn’t been played for over a decade (if memory serves).

Yes fans are a whole different breed, and I enjoyed meeting a few while waiting for the doors to open.  I met a man whose wife was clearly taking one for the team that evening, celebrating her husband’s birthday.  And a guy named Chris, who sported a shirt commemorating his favorite Yes album, Relayer, informed me that not only had he attended seven shows from Rush’s last tour, he even appeared in last summer’s documentary on the band.  It was good to meet you, Chris, and I’ll take up your band recommendations in the near future.

As for the House of Blues, it’s a terrific venue to watch a show, and I regret not having taken full advantage of this resource since moving to Chicago a decade ago.  This error in judgment will be corrected over the next decade.

In Defense of 80s Music (part two)

Like the 60s, the first three years of the 80s were really just an extension of the decade that preceded it, and for fans of more traditional rock and roll, these years alone might justify the entire decade.  During the first half of 1980 the albums from late 1979 dominated radio playlists: Pink Floyd – The Wall; Led Zeppelin – In through the Outdoor; The Charlie Daniel’s Band – “The Devil Went Down To Georgia” (but without the “son of a bitch” on AM).  But I distinctly remember hearing “Spirit of Radio” by Rush in the car one day along with “The Cradle Will Rock” by Van Halen – both 1980 releases – and you could do a hell of a lot worse than starting off a decade with those two.

In no particular order, allow me to rattle off a few albums that brought in the 80s not with a whimper, but with a bang (and yes, I fully admit up front that my white, suburban upbringing is the lens through which I view music).  You might not like all of these albums (I don’t) but there’s got to be something in this list that appeals to you.  These are all releases from 1980 to 1982.

The Cars – Panorama

Steely Dan – Gaucho

Bruce Springsteen – The River, Nebraska

Van Halen – Women and Children First, Fair Warning, Diver Down

Rush – Permanent Waves, Moving Pictures, Signals

Cheap Trick – All Shook Up

Peter Gabriel – Peter Grabriel III (or Melt)

John Lennon – Double Fantasy

Tom Petty – Hard Promises, Long After Dark

Rickie Lee Jones – Pirates

Talking Heads – Remain in Light

Journey – Departure, Escape

King Crimson – Discipline, Beat

Donald Fagen – The Nightfly

Rolling Stones – Emotional Rescue, Tattoo You

Elvis Costello – Get Happy!!, Trust, Imperial Bedroom

Joe Jackson – Beat Crazy, Jumpin’ Jive, Night and Day

Yes – Drama

Roxy Music  - Avalon

Paul Simon – Hearts and Bones

AC/DC – Back in Black, For Those About it Rock

Dire Straits – Making Movies, Love Over Gold

Prince – Dirty Mind, 1999

Michael Jackson – Thriller

The Police – Zeynatta Mondatta, Ghost in the Machine

Genesis – Duke, Abacab

Fleetwood Mac - Mirage

Heart – Bebe Le Strange

Pretenders – Pretenders I, Pretenders II

Billy Joel – Glass Houses, The Nylon Curtain

Don’t forget Devo also put out three albums to start off the 80s, Graham Parker kept up his prolific output, Supertramp released one album (Famous Last Words…), Squeeze put out three albums as did The Cure, The Replacements made their stunning debut, and oh, there was a little band from Ireland making a splash with the albums Boy and October.  Hell, even Paul McCartney put out one of his best albums, Tug of War, during this time period. 

Not a bad start to a decade. 

“Now wait a minute,” you might say.  “Let’s get to the heart of the decade.  You know, thin ties, bad hair, synth pop, pseudo-metal bands with big hair.  Surely, nothing good came out during this period.”

Or so our memories might have us believe.  One reader of my last blog entry commented that because the 80s included the start of MTV, the images planted in our brains from this time period are often visual.  I think that’s right on.  When I think 80s, I have a visual image of a thin-tied, feathered haired guy playing a keyboard.  But these years have so much more to offer.

Without further ado, here again in no particular order are just some of the many albums released from 1983 to 1989.  These might not be the albums that we think of when we think of the 1980s, but maybe they should be.

Paul Simon – Graceland

U2 – Unforgettable Fire, The Joshua Tree, Rattle and Hum

REM – holy crap.  Get a load of this output: Murmur, Reckoning, Fables of the Reconstruction, Lifes Rich Pageant, Document, Green

John (Cougar) Mellencamp – Uh-Huh, Scarecrow, The Lonesome Jubilee, Big Daddy

The Replacements – Let It Be, Tim, Pleased to Meet Me, Don’t Tell a Soul

Dire Straits – Brothers in Arms

10,000 Maniacs – In My Tribe, Blind Man’s Zoo, Our Time in Eden

BoDeans – Love & Hope & Sex & Dreams

Tinita Tikaram – Ancient Heart

Simple Mind – Once Upon a Time (perhaps my vote for album of the decade)

The Police – Synchronicity

XTC – Skylarking, Oranges and Lemons

Rickie Lee Jones – The Magazine, Flying Cowboys

Big Country – The Crossing, The Seer, Peace in our Time

Joe Jackson – Big World, Blaze of Glory

They Might Be Giants – They Might Be Giants, Lincoln

Randy Newman – Trouble in Paradise, Land of Dreams

Talking Heads – Speaking in Tongues, Little Creatures, Naked

Bruce Springsteen – Born in the USA, Tunnel of Love

King Crimson – Three of a Perfect Pair

Yes – 90125 (I’ll skip Big Generator)

Prince – Purple Rain, Around the World in a Day, Sign o’ the Times

Tom Petty – Southern Accents, Full Moon Fever

Van Halen – 1984, 5150, OU812

The Bears – The Bears, Rise and Shine

Graham Parker – The Mona Lisa’s Sister

Genesis – Genesis

Robbie Robertson – Robbie Robertson

The Cure – Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Disintegration

James Taylor – That’s Why I’m Here, Never Die Young

The Pursuit of Happiness – Love Junk

Elvis Costello – Punch the Clock, King of America, Blood & Chocolate, Spike

Sting – Dream of the Blue Turtles, Nothing like the Sun

Paul McCartney – Flowers in the Dirt

Peter Gabriel – Peter Gabriel IV (or Security), So

Bruce Hornsby – The Way it Is, Scenes from the Southside

Rush – Grace Under Pressure, Power Windows, Hold Your Fire, Presto

After I compiled this list, mostly from memory, I looked up the 100 greatest albums of the 1980s by Rolling Stone Magazine.  I think I mention 40 of the albums they put on their list, but you might want to scan what they consider the best of the decade (two of which came out in ’79.  What’s with that?).  They include artists that fall under synth pop and big hair bands that I purposely avoided, only because they already define the decade.

I’ve no doubt left off some great albums.  You might have noticed a dearth of female and African American artists.  An injustice, no doubt.  Set me straight.  Comment below and mention some of the artists and albums that I overlooked, and together, we can defend the 80s!

Since We're Talking About the 80s...the Retirement of a Musical King

I was going to bring you part two of my defense of the 80s this week, but then an 80s icon changed my plans.  On Saturday, musician Phil Collins announced his retirement, which is a funny thing for a musician to do.  It’s not as if there’s a need to make these things official; there wasn’t an impending tour to consider, and as far as I can tell, no one was exactly waiting with bated breath for his next release.  I suspect news of his retirement provoked about the same response as his release of Motown covers last year – a mere shrug of the shoulders.  But there’s no denying his past mastery of the pop music genre.  Even if his song “Susudio” makes you grimace, or if the ballad “A Groovy Kind of Love” makes you cringe, you’ve got to give it up for the man who reigned as Musical King during the 1980s.

One need look no further than Milwaukee’s own US Cellular Arena, known as MECCA back in the 1980s, to get an understanding of just how dominant Collins was back then.  MECCA was the place in Wisconsin for arena rock shows at the time: Kiss, ABBA, Rush, Van Halen, Queen, Billy Joel, Bruce Springsteen – they all came to MECCA back in the day.  And so did Phil Collins.  In fact, in 1983 alone, Collins graced the stage in Milwaukee three times: in February as a solo artist, in August as the drummer for Robert Plant’s first solo tour, and in November as the lead singer and drummer of Genesis – three shows with three different acts in the same calendar year, a mindboggling feat.  I don’t know if this had ever been done before or if it’s ever been done since, but one gets the feeling that Collins’s ex-wives might have had a strong case in their divorce settlements; the guy was clearly not home often.

In the 1980s, when Collins wasn’t recording, he was touring. When he wasn’t singing, he was drumming or producing.  In ten years, Collins gave us five Genesis albums and four solo albums. He recorded drums with Robert Plant, Peter Gabriel, Howard Jones and Paul McCartney, produced records for Phillip Bailey, Eric Clapton and Adam Ant, and contributed to three movie soundtracks, garnering two Oscar nominations.  He even helped to create a “signature sound” that others emulated for years: the now-classic gated-drum popularized in the song, “In the Air Tonight.”  And in 1985, Collins performed at Live Aid on two different continents in one day: first in London, and then – courtesy of the Concorde airliner – in Philadelphia, including a set as drummer for Led Zeppelin. 

In short, Phil Collins ruled the decade. 

His current health woes, which include nerve damage in his hands and a dislocated vertebra, have prompted him to finally leave the stage.  But as Brett Favre has shown us, retirement can be a fickle thing, and no more-so than with musicians.  After all, I attended Elton John’s farewell tour – in 1984.  Two years earlier I watched The Who’s final concert on HBO.  Who knows – Phil may be around again before it’s all over, whether we ask for it or not. 

But in the meantime, I wish Phil Collins a happy retirement, and if it IS indeed a permanent one, here’s hoping that one day Celine Dion does the same.

Winter Storm Essay broadcasted on 89.7 WUWM Milwaukee

Press play to listen to my essay broadcasted on 89.7 WUWM's Lake Effect program on March 1, 2011