July 2012: What a difference a year makes

A year ago this week the brittle grass had all but given up.  Vegetables that had flourished briefly in the spring clung to life only because of daily watering sessions that both my wife and I were already tired of providing.  Normally, we’d hit a wall by early August, but this year, after having reached the 80s eight days in March, after breaking high temperature records twice in May, and after enduring the sixth warmest and fifth driest June on record, we’d already had it.  And it was just beginning.  Patience was wearing thin.  Tempers were short.

On July 1, I road home on my bike from my Sunday morning gig at Elmhurst Presbyterian Church, and on the way noticed a distinct line of foreboding clouds to the west.  As I neared home, I saw people watering their flowers and I shouted out, “There’s rain coming.”  I made it home, and my son and I took out lawn chairs in the back yard to watch the approaching storm, a welcome sight after such a dry June.

We lasted about thirty seconds.

The violence of our annual Storm of the Century forced my family and me inside and into the basement, where we could hear from outside the cracking of tree limbs, followed by the all-too-familiar sound of our electricity shutting off, as our smoke alarms yelped out a short, high-pitched siren of protest before falling silent.

A half an hour later, the sun was out, and our neighborhood spent that afternoon surveying the destruction, comparing stories and pulling branches to the curbs, careful to avoid those areas that had downed power lines (my house was one such area).  The destruction outside was far short of the images we’ve seen recently from Missouri and Oklahoma, but for the residence of north Elmhurst, this was close enough.  My poor tree in the back yard had shed yet another limb (one a year for the past three years), striking my neighbor's newly installed roof and gutters.  Neighbors across the street had a new hole in their roof, and down the street stood an invisible SUV, fully-encased in the branches of a downed limb.

And then the heat came.  The whir of generators could be heard all around us, a constant drone that only added to our frustration, because none of the sound was to our benefit.  We emptied our freezer and refrigerator and took the contents to our neighbors who still had electricity a block away, and as we put the last of our groceries into their freezer, their electricity went out.  It seemed that saving the chicken we’d purchased at Costco was not to be.

Our son was leaving for camp the next morning, and we’d planned on making a meat loaf for his “Last Supper,” but now we had to improvise.  We got in the car, heading down Roosevelt, expecting to find a restaurant open somewhere.  There was.  One.  Almost seven miles away.  Boston Market experienced what was probably its busiest Sunday evening ever.  From miles around, people had flocked for roasted chicken, meatloaf, mashed potatoes and corn, as the storm had shut down power as far west as Wheaton, through Glen Ellyn and Lombard and into Villa Park and Elmhurst. 

I summarized the mayhem in a text to my brother who was out of town…

Lines down. Transformer on fire.  Poles off kilter.  The works.  No flooding though.  If it weren’t for the heat I wouldn’t really care.

Ah, but there was heat.  That evening our second floor reached 94 degrees, as temperatures outside his 98.  On Tuesday we hit 96 with a low of 77 and still no electricity, and my wife, who was enjoying a day working in air conditioned bliss, texted me at home…

Any progress?

I texted back…

If u consider nothing as progress, then yes.  There’s progress.

That evening I decided to get the hell out of my hell-like home and go to York High School for a community band rehearsal, where we practiced in air conditioning and shared stories of the storm.  I was one of the few left without power.  Then I received the most welcome text ever from my wife…

Power is on!!!!!

I arrived home, and we aborted our temporary sleeping quarters in our relatively cool basement, and returned to our bedroom with the air cranked.  The next morning we took off for New York to see my sister-in-law, and here’s what we left behind:

July 4^th, 102 degrees

July 5^th, 103 degrees

July 6^th, 103 degrees

All three days were records.  We’d go on to have our third hottest July on record, with not one day offering a high temperature of less than 80 degrees. 

Today, July 2^nd, 2013, we expect a high temperature of 73.  Our grass is lush and green.  Our vegetables our flowering.  Our power is on.  True, we haven’t really had to use our band new air conditioner much this year, but that was to be expected.  And really, if we could have the summer we’re currently having every year from here on out, I’d be happy to never use our air conditioner again.

New Fiction: The Song

I submitted an entry for found 11 of NPR's Three-Minute Fiction contest last month, and though I didn't win, I quite like my story, "The Song."  The winner and two finalists of the contest are all commendable with some beautiful writing, my favorite being "Chips" by Kristina Riggle.  Check out my story and the winners - short fiction can be very compelling.

Enjoy!

Song Forms: Doing away with AABA

Paul Simon once wrote the lyric, “I seem to lean on old familiar ways.”  And so it is for most songwriters, Simon included.  When it comes to song structure, inertia is strong, and few writers deviate substantially from one of two general song forms: AABA (most jazz songs follow this format, many show tunes, and several pop songs as well.  Think “Yesterday” by the Beatles) and, with modest modifications, ABAB (more identifiable as verse, chorus, verse, chorus, often adding a bridge after the second chorus).  Composers do it almost without thought, which makes exceptions all the more impressive.  Sure, it might not take a genius to write a song with the form ABCDCBA, but it’s not something that occurs to most people, so in that sense, maybe it does take a genius to compose a song in an interesting format, if only because no one else thought to do it.

Which means maybe JamesTaylor is a genius.  His 1991 song, “Shed a Little Light,” follows that song form – ABCDCBA - and somehow makes it flow nicely and memorably.  You would think after four sections foregoing repetition, the listener would be left to flounder, lost in a sea of unfamiliarity, but JT pulls it off impressively.  Most listeners probably aren’t even aware that the song is proceeding to unexplored territory; they’re only aware that the song continues to move forward, to gain momentum, before reversing the momentum and slowing to a halt, as if completing a four-minute train ride.

Of course, composers don’t need to go to these lengths to inject new life into their songwriting.  Even slight alterations from the standard formats can be inspiring.  For example, instead of following a format such as verse – chorus – verse – chorus – bridge – chorus, what about pushing the bridge up, or repeating it, or adding a second unique bridge?  Elvis Costello does a particular good job of mixing up song sections.  Consider the following song from his 1994 release: Brutal Youth:

“London’s Brilliant Parade”

Verse – Chorus – Bridge – Verse – Chorus – Verse – Chorus

ABCABAB

What I particularly like is the addition of a bridge immediately after the chorus, delaying the return to a verse.  I borrowed this technique for my song, “No Point In Seeing Me Through” from my album Pause.  After the first chorus I go to a bridge before returning to the verse.  To me, this keeps the song moving forward, plus I add a modulation up a step for the final verse before returning to the original key for the final chorus.

Costello song forms deviate even further in some of his compositions by repeating a bridge or by adding a second bridge (The labels of the song sections I use here are relatively irrelevant, and likely disputable, for in some of these songs each of the sections carry nearly equal weight):

“The Other Summer Side”

Verse – Chorus – Bridge – Chorus – Bridge – Verse – Chorus

ABCBCAC

“All Grown Up”

Verse – Chorus – Bridge – Chorus – Different Bridge – Verse – Chorus – Different Bridge

ABCBDABD

Even a successful song, like Costello’s modest 1989 hit, “Veronica,” can depart from the usual fare.  Here, Costello and Paul McCartney inject the bridge in a different place: after the second verse.  A very unusual tactic, but, in my find, an effective one.

“Veronica”

Verse – Chorus- Verse – Bridge – Chorus – Verse –Chorus

ABACAB

It’s odd that in light of these and countless other examples, so many songwriters – me included – continue to follow the formats we’ve grown accustomed to over the years.  Perhaps it’s time to try a little harder to mix things up.

42: A Film that Polishes the Past

Watching the Jackie Robinson biopic 42 last week, I couldn’t help but feel that I was watching ABCs movie-of-the-week in a theater.  Sure, the acting was good (it was great to see Harrison Ford actually act instead of relying on smirks), the story is of course compelling – it practically begs to be filmed – and the film does a reasonably good job of telling the story.  Chadwick Boseman and Nicole Beharie do fine as Jackie and Rachel Robinson (even when they have to spout cornball dialogue).  What’s troubling is how unreal the film looks and feels.  So little attention was made, aside from vintage cars and clothing, to make it feel like 1946-47.  Instead, we get a polished version of the past.

In 42:

No one sweats.  Seriously.  No one.

No one smokes.  (For a sense of how smoking should be used in a period film, check out this scene from Good Night and Good Luck)

All clothing is new, clean and pressed.  No dirt.  No grime.  No tatters, even of the clothing from kids in Florida, who I presume weren’t exactly rolling in the dough.

Everyone is beautiful (except for the bigots), from the lead characters to the woman who babysits the Robinson’s son.

Baseball jerseys, even after nine innings of play, are bleach-white.  We only see dirt directly after Jackie dives or slides into a base.

All men are clean shaven or have neatly trimmed beards.

In short, it has the look and feel of The Truman Show or Pleasantville, except this isn’t supposed to be a farce of a 1950s sitcom.  This is supposed to be a film dramatizing real life, not an antiseptic version of the past.  Some directors are so careful to make films look realistic, but Brian Helgeland misses the boat on this one.

He also falls short on the screenplay.  It’s amazing how the writer of such terrific films as Mystic River and LA Confidential managed to write such contrived, cornball dialogue.  Maybe Jackie and Rachel Robinson really did have a marriage as strong as the one depicted in the movie, but it doesn’t make for good film.  No arguments?  About anything?  Never anything mundane to say?  Only perfectly executed love notes to each other?  I’d put good money on the real-life Rachel Robinson actually being a full-fledged three-dimensional woman.  Instead, Nicole Beharie does what she can with a two-dimensional script.

See the film, if only to watch it with your kids, as it may provide an education for them about racism and baseball’s tarnished past.  But for the most part, the past has been polished in 42, keeping the story from ringing true.  One has to wonder how good this film could have been in the capable hands of a filmmaker like Spike Lee.

The Best 20 Minutes of News on TV

Getting one’s news from television may seem like an antiquated idea: according to The Pew Rearch Center, just about a third of people younger than 30 are getting any of their news from TV.  This is in stark contrast to the days of Brokaw, Jennings and Rather, when well over half of American’s watched news on television.  My old roommate Scott and I used to say to each other at 5:30 each evening, “Time for Brokaw?” and tune in to NBC.  How many people today can even name the three network news anchors?  Can you?  (full disclosure: I couldn’t.  I forgot that Diane Sawyer is still doing ABC News).  And if you do tune into the evening news, will you walk away with more information on prescription drug ads than you will actual news?

Despite the fall of television journalism, there are twenty minutes that I find well worth my time: the first segment of CBS This Morning with Charlie Rose and Nora O’Donnell.

Back in the day, CBS was the network to shy away from the fluff that NBC and ABC embraced so enthusiastically.  Ratings suffered, and CBS news, both evening and morning, was relegated to third place for a long time.  Perhaps it is in this spirit – the spirit of Dan Rather, who has accused today's reporters of needing a spine transplant – that CBS’s morning news has reinvented itself so effectively in the last year.  After years of trying to compete with NBC and ABC, and after a long game of anchor musical chairs – remember names like Chris Wragge, Jeff Glor and Julie Chen? – CBS has finally settled on a lineup of Rose and O’Donnell. and interestingly, have as part of their mission, decided to focus on – get this – actual news.  No more endless banter between anchors.  No more meteorologists hamming it up with cheering fans on the street.  No more cooking segments. Just news.

It’s working.

True, CBS This Morning still ranks third among the three major morning news programs, but it is the only one that’s growing.  For a good article on the show and the philosophy of executive producer Chris Licht, click here.

My son and I have gotten into the habit of tuning into the first twenty minutes of CBS This Morning. No commercials.  No lengthy interviews with talking heads.  Just a quick summary of the seven or eight most important news items of the day, often with the benefit of CBS’s trump card, John Miller, who has to be among the most intriguing reporters on television.  When there are news stories regarding law enforcement, as there have been lately, he alone makes it worth tuning in.  Charlie Rose at times shows his age (71), but more often than not does the job he's known for: cutting to the chase by asking pointed questions.  Nora O’Donnell does something few other anchors have the guts to do: re-ask a question after it isn’t answered the first time around.  Jim Lehrer, take note.

So now, after my son and I get our news and weather (with no Al Roker!), we have breakfast and discuss the news items of the day.

Not a bad way to spend the morning.