Sting at the Rosemont in Chicago

In the liner notes of Joe Jackson’s first live album from 1988, Jackson writes that artists should play the music they want to play when performing live shows because an audience will always see through a canned performance.  Sting appeared to have taken this advice to heart for many of the earlier shows on his “Back to Bass” theater tour, as he ignored a great number of hits in favor of deeper cuts from more recent releases.  You couldn’t blame some fans if they walked away from these performances a little disappointed. 

At the Rosemont Theater near Chicago on Saturday night, Sting’s stance appeared to mellow just a bit, as a few additional audience-pleasing songs were inserted into the set-list.  Still, it’s interesting to note first the songs Sting didn’t play: If I Ever Lose My Faith In You, Brand New Day, Let Your Soul Be Your Pilot, You Still Touch Me, Why Should I Cry for You, Soul Cages, Fragile (or anything else from his second solo album, Nothing Like The Sun), and Set Them Free.  If he’d denied the audience “Desert Rose,” “Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic” and “Every Breath You Take,” there might have been a riot.  As it was, Sting did a nice job of interweaving various highlights from his repertoire, including stellar deep cuts, into the set-list, though the show still hit a bit of a lull about two-thirds in when he focused on tracks from his last studio album of originals, Sacred Love.

Supported by a first rate 5-person band, including a fiddle to take up many of the solos heretofore handled by woodwinds, Sting looked – let’s be honest here – fabulous as a sixty year-old man, sporting nothing more than jeans and a t-shirt.  Yes, I’m happy he no longer takes off his shirt as he used to do while singing “Don’t Stand So Close To Me,” but I’ve no doubt he looks better shirtless than I do at 17 years his junior.  Ho hum.  He plays better bass than I do, too.  Absent on this tour were keyboards, and with rare exception, they weren’t missed in the least (and this is coming from a keyboard player).  Like Joe Jackson, Sting manages to rearrange his songs to fit the instrumentation at hand and still have a full and exciting sound.

My three favorite Sting songs were all played, with “I Hung My Head” and “Seven Days” two of the show’s best of the evening.  My other favorite, “Ghost Story,” which was preceded with an explanation of how String wrote the lyrics for his father, didn’t fare as well.  The song was rushed and its climax was in need of additional instrumentation.  Better represented were “The Hounds of Winter,” “Stolen Car” and “Dessert Rose,” the latter coming off surprisingly well considering the absence of keyboards, and one that coaxed the audience to its feet all the way up to the balcony.

Fiddle player Peter Tickell handled much of the solo opportunities with terrific results, the most memorable being an impassioned run during an extended outro of “Love Is Stronger Than Justice” (among the worst Sting songs ever recorded, though the fiddle helped to make it at least palatable). 

Sting’s voice was mixed expertly, with nearly every syllable clearly understandable.  Though the low-end of the band suffered a bit in the mix and the acoustic guitar came out sounding tinny, I appreciated being able to actually hear the stories in the lyrics unfolding during some of the more compelling songs.

Six Police selections were included, including “Driven To Tears,” “Next To You,” and the deeper track, “Demolition Man,” which came out even better than the original, as did “Sacred Love,” another subpar track from Sting’s last album, but which played better live than in the studio.

My three children attended the concert, and despite not knowing a good percentage of the material, they were able to enjoy the musicianship and the obvious talents displayed on stage.  Seeing Sting perform an acoustic “Message in a Bottle” to finish the show is a memory I believe they’ll hold onto decades from now.  It reminds me of how we had to leave the Paul McCartney show six years ago while he played “Yesterday” because one of my daughters was falling asleep.  Perhaps fourteen is a better age to witness a legend.  Oh well.

Next week we see Paul Simon at the same venue, and 70 years from now my daughters will be able to tell their grandchildren that they witnessed the greatest American songwriter (Simon) and the greatest English songwriter (McCartney) as youths.   Throwing Sting in the mix is icing on the cake.

Ending It All

We Americans sure love our endings.  For as many as we’ve endured lately, it’s a wonder that we manage to function at all. 

Earlier this year, I read Jane Leavy’s biography of Mickey Mantle, and though it was a fine read, its title was a bit overreaching:

The Last Boy: Mickey Mantle and the end of America’s Childhood

If Mickey Mantle was really the last boy, then I want to know who the heck’s responsible for the trail of Legos that lodged into the skin of my big toe last week.  And as for the end of America’s Childhood?  I gotta believe that our Union and Confederate soldiers conveyed that sentiment 150 years ago. 

But we like endings.  Endings sell books, and publishers have taken note.  Type in “the end of” at Amazon.com, and you’ll get a whopping 7700 titles in non-fiction alone. 

Endings are occurring all over the place, and they’re starting to make me just a little anxious. 

America’s aristocracy?  Gone. 

Gender?  Sorry, that’s done too. 

Romance?  Yep, finito. 

And I think the Occupy Wall-Street movement would be disappointed to learn that Wall-Street, has in fact, already ended.  My kids will be happy to hear that anger is no longer, but not so happy to learn about the end of youth.  Our friends across the Atlantic will be distraught to hear about the end of the European Dream, though I suspect a few might get a sadistic chuckle over the end of France.  Our troops will likely be furious to read about the end of Iraq, but I think we’ll all breathe a sigh of relief to learn about the end of old politics. 

Now if we could only put an end to new politics.

And what about this title: The End of Modern History in the Middle East.  Isn’t modern history an oxymoron?  And if not, doesn’t all modern history have to come to an end, inasmuch as it becomes recent history or ancient history?

Now, some endings make sense.  The decade of the sixties, for instance, did in fact end.  But did it really have anything to do with the Rolling Stones’ concert at Altamont, or was it more due to…I don’t know, the calendar changing to 1970?

Don Henley once sang about the end of the innocence.  But we’ve lost our innocence so many times by now, I’m starting to feel a little dirty.  And did it really have anything to do with Disney?  Or was it because of the Kennedy Assassination?  Or Watergate?  Or Vietnam.  Or…Mickey Mantle? 

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 - at least ebooks - to a generation that believes America’s best years are behind us.

I for one would like to propose a new rule: an end to books with the word end in them.  That is, unless the title is, The End of Milwaukee’s Wait for a World Series Title.  I’m hoping for that book in 2012.  

Pete Townshend and The Who in the Early 80s

After the death of Keith Moon, The Who limped into retirement (the first of many) with two albums in the early 80s: Face Dances and It’s Hard.  When considered alongside the band’s masterworks, these two releases aren’t often held in high regard by die-hard Who fans, despite the few songwriting gems of “Another Tricky Day” and “Eminence Front.”  But I think one needs to consider the makeup of the band itself, as well as Townshend’s solo releases around the same time period, to get a full appreciation of just how strong Townsend’s songwriting continued to be into his late 30s, and how exemplary the final two Who albums could have been (I’m ignoring The Who’s 2006 release: Endless Wire). 

Unlike other English bands that dominated much of the musical landscape starting in the 60s, The Who, while a tremendous ensemble of musicians when it came to arranging, were reliant on one man for their creative output: Pete Townshend.  Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones and The Beatles all had a strong duo of songwriters with a supporting cast of part-time composers.  The Who had one legitimate songwriter and a supporting cast of one (John Entwistle).  Had they been a band of two or three songwriters, they might have continued to shine during the 80s.

As it was, Townshend managed to produce exceptional music at a surprisingly prolific rate in the 80s, but instead of reserving his output, he spread his creativity over four projects: two solo and two with The Who.  The result was four decent albums instead of two gems.  I gotta believe that when Roger Daltrey and John Entwistle heard “Rough Boys” for the first time in 1980, they were thinking, “Damn, that could have been one of ours.”

Consider these four releases:

• Empty Glass, by Pete Townshend, released April 21, 1980
• Face Dances, by the Who, released March 16, 1981
• All the Best Cowboys have Chinese Eyes, by Pete Townshend, released June 14, 1982
• It’s Hard, by the Who, released September 4, 1982

Four albums in two and a half years.  Pretty impressive productivity.  All four albums have their moments of brilliance, and while I’d argue that It’s Hard is the best of the lot, if you condense these releases into two Who albums, I think you’re looking at the best Who releases since Quadrophenia (which is, to me, their magnum opus).  What if the final Who albums had the following track listings (or some variation of the following):

FACE DANCES 

• Rough Boys
• You Better You Bet
• Cache Cache
• The Quiet One
• Let My Love Open the Door
• Empty Glass
• You
• Cat’s in the Cupboard
• Gonna Get You
• Another Tricky Day

IT’S HARD

• Slit Skirts
• Athena
• It’s Your Turn
• Stardom in Action
• Dangerous
• Eminence Front
• I’ve Known No War
• The Sea Refuses No River
• North Country Girl
• Cry if You Want

Maybe you would substitute a particular song for another, but regardless, these two albums would have been at worst very, very good, and possibly even brilliant with the added contributions of Daltrey and Entwistle.

You could also argue that none of this would have mattered anyway – that once Keith Moon died, the energy of the band died too.  But I think if taken as a whole, the creative output of Townshend in the early 80s was even more impressive than, say, The Rolling Stones, who managed to put out two good releases in the same time period (Emotional Rescue and Tattoo You).  But unlike the Stones, Townshend’s gems were spread out over four albums, not two. 

Either way, not too shabby.  And for Townshend, his best solo effort was on the horizon: the brilliant White City.

When Religion and Sports Intersect

When the Packers and Bears met up for the NFC Championship last January, it was a match made in heaven: division rivals with the longest history of any two teams in the NFL.  The upcoming Brewers-Cardinals matchup for the National League Championship may have less history, but given the recent contention between these two teams and the memories of the ’82 World Series, this duel has a similar feel. 

Twenty-nine years after the Cardinals took the October Classic in seven, the teams are now in different leagues, the first time I suspect that former World Series foes have met in a league championship.  That two teams from the lowly NL Central would represent the NL Championship series is, to say the least, surprising, given that St. Louis was a full 10½ games behind the Atlanta Braves as of late August, and that only two teams in the division finished above five-hundred.  At season’s end, many remarked – with some legitimacy – that the only reason the Brewers had ninety-six wins was because of their weighted schedule against the Cubs, Astros and Pirates.

But here we are.  Friday night produced a stunning pitching outing from Carpenter and a labored pitching outing from Gallardo that was just good enough, propelling both of their teams further into the playoffs.  That’s why they play the game.

I had visions of 1965 Sandy Koufax as my family and I had to abort our baseball-watching evening to attend Yom Kippur service.  The Brewers were just about to wrap things up in the ninth, and I felt grateful that I’d get to see the entire game prior to leaving the house.  But then John Axford showed that he was in fact human, and not just a saves-producing machine, blowing his first save since April.  I rushed the family into the car in a worse mood that I’d been just an inning before.  Yes, I had thoughts of staying put, but I figured, if Koufax could miss a World Series game that he was supposed to pitch in, then perhaps I had no excuse to miss a game I was merely going to watch.

Radio 620, WTMJ Milwaukee comes in clear most evenings down in suburban Chicago, but on Friday night interference made the call by Bob Uecker shaky, and the signal pulsated as if Miller Park were revolving around an axis.  As we made our way to the synagogue, I prayed - PRAYED - that the Brewers would finish things off in time.  Miraculously, the call in the bottom of the tenth was clear as clear as God's call at Mount Sinai: a Gomez single, an advance on a stolen base, and then a game-winning signal by Morgan, the player everyone outside of Milwaukee watches with a degree of disgust. 

I high-fived my daughter and wife, and many at service congratulated me when they heard the news.  Even more people congratulated me the next day after Cubs fans learned that the Brewers would face the Cardinals.  That two division rivals are battling it out in the NL Championship must sting for Cubs fans, but for most, a Brewer victory at this point would be welcome.  In the World Series?  Perhaps not.

Though there should be no more religious-related conflicts for the remainder of the playoffs, this is of little comfort to the Jews of Philadelphia.  Not only did the service start prior to the beginning of the Phillies/Cardinals game, by the time it was over, the Phillies were about to be bounced out of the playoffs.

A fine how-do-you-do to ring in a New Year.

It makes me wonder if Bud Selig managed to scoot out of Miller Park on Friday to attend services, and if so, whether he smuggled in a smart-phone for the occasional update.

Short Story wins the James Jones Award

My short story, "Water Music," has won the 2011 James Jones Short Story Award, sponsored by the Illinois Center For the Book.  As soon as I'm allowed to post the story in mid-November, I'll do so.  In the meantime, you can click here for more information on the award. 

Water Music: a woman returns to the vacation cottage of her childhood and relives a fateful summer involving first loves and last good-byes.