Of Tina Fey, Randy Newman, Ebola and Kate Upton

In 1999, Randy Newman sang these words: “I have nothing left to say, but I’m going to say it anyway” and “Each record that I’m making is like a record that I’ve made, just not as good.”  In Newman’s inimitable self-deprecating style, it comes of both hilarious and ironic, since his album Bad Love is arguably among the artist’s best efforts; it’s actually my favorite album of his illustrious career.

I too have nothing left to say, it seems, as I’ve spent the last month pursuing activities that include not a word written, a note composed nor a chord recorded.  However, since I recognize that age forty-six is quite a long way from the coffin (once can hope, at least) that I better begin writing something or I’ll simply have to go the way of Billy Joel and call it a career (without, um…the actual career).  I figure, if Bob Seger can come up with something say even after no one cares, why not me?

So here goes…just a few things on my mind:

I’d be a lot happier for the Kansas City Royals were it not for all the former Brewers.  A little glimpse of what might have been.

I could not be less worried about Ebola.  So why is it taking up so much news time?  Somewhere around 32,000 U.S. citizens die from influenza each year, garnering less than a front page headline.

In a perfect world, I would be that guy who reads The New Yorker, The New York Times and The Wall Street Journal, I'd be up on my politics, I'd have read all the classics and I’d know three languages.   Alas, I am not that guy. 

Tina Fey, while an excellent writer and comedic genius, is no dramatic actress, and the film “This is Where I Leave You” suffers as a result, not to mention that author Jonathan Tropper writes his own screenplay and is just a little too faithful to his original work.  Sometimes an editor is necessary.

If an artist is going to go through the trouble of printing out its song lyrics with a CD, wouldn’t you suppose the lyrics should be easy to read?  Yeah, I’m talking to you, Rufus Wainwright, The Shins and Dave Matthews and Pink Floyd and Prince and…

The fall of the Milwaukee Brewers, as demoralizing as it was to witness, did in fact prove my preseason prediction correct.  On March 26 I wrote to some friends, “I said between 83 and 85 wins (earlier).  I'm going to go on the low side.  83-79, good enough for third place, but no playoff.”  The Crew finished 82-80.  Third place.  No playoffs.  I’d rather have been wrong.

I’ve heard that you should never look at another woman who’s younger than half your age plus seven years.  So for me, that’s thirty years of age.  Kate Upton is twenty-two.  So yeah, I’m failing that test.

Running once every six months does in fact make the run much more painful.  I finished a 5K last month in relatively good time and felt it for three days.

If my daughters are any indication, senior year of high school is no longer considered a fun year (mine was a blast).  They have been trudging through their existence, almost as if they were well into their second decade of a dead-end job that earns little pay.  I guess, in a way, they are into their second decade of a dead-end job with little pay, except that this year there is an end, and a year from now their lives will dramatically improve.  But for goodness’ sake, whatever happened to the notion of enjoying the ride?

Some gifts keep on giving: the vertebra I fractured in December of 1990 is coming back to wreak havoc on my neck.  Perhaps I should have taken a beginners lesson after all.  Unfortunately I was immortal when I was twenty-two.

In the category of “Lessons You’ve Learned but Don’t Heed,” I went on a record and CD-buying binge last month, and now I feel the stress of having all these albums that need listening too.  Perhaps this is why I have nothing left to say: I’m too busy listening to music!

Basic Rock from the 80s and 90s

A few weeks ago, my friends are I challenged each other to a difficult task: select songs from our record collections from 1980 to 2000 that had – as a minimum and a maximum – only guitar, bass, vocals and drums.  No strings.  No brass.  No tuned percussion.  No harmonica.  No accordion.  You name it.  Just the basics.  This was a much harder endeavor than any of us had expected, especially as we challenged each other to represent all twenty-one years – not so easy during the 80s when even the biggest rock and rollers resorted to filling in the soundscape with a synthesizer, an organ or a violin (yeah, I’m talking to you, Mellencamp).  For me, 1982 was the most difficult year to represent.  I started off all cocky: “No problem, I’ll pick U2, REM or The Replacements.”  Well, Mr. So-Sure-Of-Himself, U2 and The Replacements skipped 1982, and R.E.M. didn’t put out their first album until the following year.  That I was never into heavy metal or big-hair bands (or grunge, for that matter) made the task set before me seem impossible at times.  With a week to go until the big unveiling of our lists, I managed to find an LP from 1982 with a tune that provided the very basics.  Thank you, Cheap Trick.

The evening was a bit haphazard, and we ran out of time to represent each year, but here’s what I documented.  For each year, my selection is listed first, then John’s, then Kevin’s.  Yes, the Replacements and the various iterations that resulted from the band are over-represented, but that ain’t bad; the song by Bash and Pop was one of the highlights of the evening for me.

1980

Billy Joel, Close to the Borderline

Cheap Trick, Baby Loves to Rock

Kenny Loggins, I’m Alright; John Wetton, Turn on the Radio

1981

Pat Benatar, Take it Anyway You Want it

The Church, a song whose title I forgot to document

4 selections from Kevin: Romantics, In the Nighttime; Stray Cats, Runaway Boys; Billy Squire, I Need You; Adam Ant, Beat My Guest

1982

Cheap Trick, Time is Runnin’

Marshall Crenshaw, Mary Ann

Kevin, opted for another 1981 release!

1983

The Pretenders, Time the Avenger

John passed

Black Sabbath, Trashed

1984

Big Country, Where the Rose is Sewn

Replacements, I Will Dare

Scorpions, Leaving You

1985

John Mellencamp, Rain on the Scarecrow

REM, Kohoutek

Anthrax, Medussa

1986

Joe Jackson, Hometown

Smithereens, Strangers When We Meet

Violent Femmes, Heartache

1987

The Bears, Fear is Never Boring

Replacements, (a bunch from Pleased to Meet Me)

Jesus and Mary Chain, April Skies

1988

The Pursuit of Happiness, Walking in the Woods

Pixies, Where is my Mind

Kevin passed

1989

Blake Babies, Dead and Gone

Lou Reed, Stawman

Gene Loves Jezebel, It’ll End in Tears

1990 We didn’t get to this year, but my pick was…

Replacements, Attitude

1991

Lloyd Cole, Weeping Wine

Meat Puppets, This Day

Concrete Blonde, Joey

1992

Keith Richards, Eileen

Paul Westerberg, Waiting for Somebody

Kevin passed

1993

Judy Bats, Simple

Buffalo Tom (entire CD of Big Red Letter Day); Bash and Pop, Friday Night (Is Killing Me)

L7, Scrap

1994

Green Day, Basket Case

Neil Young, Piece of Crap

Nirvana, The Man Who Sold the World

1995 We didn’t get to this year, but my pick was…

Emmy Lou Harris, Where Will I Be

1996

Barenaked Ladies, The Old Apartment

Rage Against the Machine, Bulls on Parade

Kevin passed

1997

Old 97s, Time Bomb

Sun Volt, Picking up the Signal

Kevin passed

1998

Fastball, Fire Escape

Lucinda Williams, Car Wheels on a Gravel Road

Beck, Bottle of Blues

1999  We didn’t get to this year, but my pick was…

Indigo Girls, Cold Beer and Remote Control

2000  We didn’t get to this year, but my pick was…

Steve Earle, Another Town

Short Story: The Missing Ingredient

My short story, "The Missing Ingredient," published in the winter 2013 edition of Sucker Literary Magazine, is now available for easy reading on my website.   

Alex is living the rock and roll dream, playing bass and singing for the power trio, Aunt Sally’s Nightmare.  But when his bandmates invite Maureen to sing lead, it soon becomes a battle for control.  Or could it be a battle for something else?

Go to Amazon to purchase the Young Adult anthology digitally or in paperback.

To read on my website, click here.

The Movie, Chef

When Jon Favreau made his big splash in the movie Swingers back in 1993, who could have predicted that he’d be playing a supporting role on TV’s Friends just a few years later?  The guy was clearly destined for bigger things.  Fortunately, since then he’s managed to carve out a nice resume of screenwriting, acting and directorial credits (Elf, Iron Man) and in his latest movie, Chef, he does all three in an absolute gem of a film.  I haven’t had this much fun at a movie all year. 

Favreau plays Carl Casper, a professional chef in LA who finds himself compromising his art due to restaurateur Dustin Hoffman’s insistence that he stick to the tried and true.  A novice at social media, Casper learns just enough from son Percy (Emjay Anthony) to become dangerous, and a series of self-induced mishaps – culminating in a videotaped tantrum in front of food critique Ramsey Michel (Oliver Platt) – puts him back on the job market, lost and uncertain of what to do next. 

At the prodding of Casper’s ex-wife, played by Sofia Vergara, Favreau and son begin a new business in Miami on a food truck, assisted by former line chef, Martin (played by the incomparable John Leguizamo).  They city-hop across the country, learning a few things along the way about fatherhood, work-ethics, and how to use social media as one’s advantage.  More importantly, the plot allows Favreau to show us his love affair with Miami, New Orleans and Austin, and the music and food that makes these cities come alive.

Favreau could have taken many predictable turns that would have made Chef yet another contrived Hollywood mess, and true, things are sewn up a little neatly at the film’s end, but the journey along the way is such a terrific romp, both sweet enough and irreverent enough to rope in my 12 year-old son (which ain’t easy), that a little contrivance toward the end is acceptable.  It’s not often a movie balances things so well (Favreau’s excellent Elf is one example), and Chef lends credence to the notion that a well-done character-driven film is often more interesting than a plot-driven film (though having both is even better).

Big name stars Robert Downey, Jr., Scarlett Johansson and Dustin Hoffman (not to mention Oliver Platt) all land terrific performances in small roles, but Leguizamo, sous chef Tony (Bobby Cannavale) and Favreau steal the show, along with Favreau’s father-son relationship with Anthony.   The dialogue seems natural and unforced, and Favreau’s obvious love of cooking shines, as he affectionately devotes numerous scenes that reveal just how much effort people are willing to expend – all for the pleasure of a fine meal. 

Are We Entitled to Make a Living Doing What We Love To Do?

The movie 20 Feet From Stardom – and if you haven’t seen it, you should – has sparked many conversations with my musical brethren, most of whom point to two scenes that they found particularly poignant, both involving the amazing vocalist Merry Clayton.  Never heard of her?  Don’t worry about it.  You have, in fact, heard her. 

The first aforementioned scene shows Clayton and Mick Jagger listening to the isolated vocal track of Clayton’s performance on The Rolling Stones’ song, “Gimme Shelter.”  It’s one of those performances that summons emotions in me that I’m unable to put into words.  Hearing the track, coupled with watching the singers respond to it, gave me chills and brought me to tears.  Just thinking about it gives me the chills.  Not too shabby for a song I’ve probably heard a couple hundred times.

The second scene has Clayton recalling how her attempts at stardom in the 70s resulted in three albums that sold poorly.  She says, her voice cracking, “I felt like if I just gave my heart to what I was doing, I would automatically be a star.”

No one could blame her or countless others for this belief.  After all, we hear it all the time: Follow your dream.  Do what you love.  Cinderella sang about it.  So did Aerosmith and a thousand other bands.  Hell, even I’ve written about it. Graduation speeches promote it.  Websites are devoted to it.  An industry of inspiring posters capitalizes on it.  It’s what parents want for their children.  It’s what children want for themselves when they become adults.  And I think there’s a kernel of good advice in that sentiment.  Do what you love to do.

And yet…

Are we entitled to make a living at it?  What a luxury it is to even be asking the question! In the history of humankind, how long has this idea of doing what one loves to do for a living been given even the slightest consideration?  For me, it brings to mind centuries of apprentices toiling in atrocious working conditions, slaves enduring worse, millennia of farmers laboring over the land, generations of immigrants, past and present, suffering through the most strenuous jobs for the littlest of pay.

I wonder how many people historically have had the luxury of saying, “I want to do this for a living.”  How many people living today can devote a realistic thought to the notion?  The starving worry about food, the terrorized worry about safety, and the poor worry about making a better living. 

So the fact that some of us are able to entertain the notion of doing what we love to do is already a blessing of blessings.  Let’s start there.  But should we be able to make a living doing what we love to do?  Well, that all depends, doesn’t it?  I could get into an analysis I suppose of capitalism, supply, demand, education, market saturation, etc., but what it all comes down is that sometimes jobs are in demand, sometimes they aren’t, and sometimes there’s never demand for what you love to do. 

Our grandparents, especially those who were the first in their family to go to college, probably didn’t give this a second thought, and majored in what was going to guarantee them a job. Right now, it seems like nursing is a good profession to go into.  I have a niece pursuing this as I write, and her prospects look good.  In a decade, who knows?  Engineering looks very promising at present.  Architecture, not so much. Then again, I know an architect in Milwaukee who is living her dream.  You just never know.  The entertainment industry, of course, is even more fickle.  Some musicians can make a decent living at it.  Others become superstars.  Others still can barely get by.  It isn’t fair, but that’s the way it is.  In 20 Feet from Stardom, singer/songwriter Stings says, “It’s not about fairness.  It’s not really about talent.  It’s circumstances.  It’s luck.  It’s destiny.  I don’t know what it is.”

And shouldn’t this be the case?  After all, if I could make a living watching baseball on TV, I would do it in a heartbeat.  I know people who love to fish.  Does that mean they should be earning a living at it?  I know people who love nothing more than to play a round of golf.  Does that mean they should get paid for it?

For me, I think the answer is this: do what you love.  Pursue it.  Immerse yourself in it.  And if you’re able to, do it for a living.  But either way, don’t stop.  I stopped playing music and writing fiction for a while back in ’94 and ’95, and then again in the early 2000s.  You know what?  I found myself out of sorts.  Unfulfilled.  Unpleasant at times.  Well, duh.  I wasn’t doing what I loved to do.  Now I make a little supplemental family income and I get to write fiction and play with fabulous musicians and create good – sometimes great – music.  It isn’t superstardom, but so what?

I have musician friends, some of whom play or sing for a living, and it isn’t easy.  I’m sure they had thoughts of stardom when they were air-guitaring in front of the mirror in 1985, but despite the difficulties, they’ve chosen to keep doing what they can to earn a living playing music.  Other people I know had thoughts of stardom but decided to go into teaching or engineering or accounting.  But they haven’t stopped playing.

I wish Merry Clayton had made it big.  I wish lots of people had made it big.  But there’s no reason they should have, just like there’s no reason I should be paid to watch baseball.  That’s life.  I have two daughters who in a year’s time will be majoring in fields of study that guarantee them nothing except a degree in four years.  What happens beyond that is anyone’s guess.  But I hope in twenty years, both of them are still pursuing their love, whether it’s during the week from 8 to 5, or on evenings and weekends.  Either way, they will be successes in my book. 

And you know what?  Merry Clayton is a star in my book, too.  To hell with superstardom.