Dodger Blue And The Kansas City Powder Blues

I got an L.A. Dodgers cap the other day. My wife said that I was really fickle when it came to sports teams. Perhaps, but in this instance she is mistaken. When it comes to major league baseball I have a favorite American League team and a favored National League squad. They are the Kansas City Royals and the Los Angeles Dodgers with the Royals taking an edge in a head to head competition. How I arrived at these teams is a small story and it goes accordingly.

I grew up in Middle Tennessee. There wasn't any professional baseball within a couple of hours and that's only if you count minor league teams. The Nashville Sounds didn't arrive until 1978 and the closest major league teams were Atlanta and Cincinnati. The Braves did have Hank Aaron going for them when I was little, but that was about it. The Reds just seemed bland to me. They played in a cookie cutter multi-purpose stadium on artificial turf. I may have liked Johnny Bench and the way that Joe Morgan would twitch his arm before hitting the ball was sort of cool, but they were part of The Big Red Machine. They were mere isolated spirits lost in an automaton headed by the loathsome Pete Rose. Sure, Kansas City also played on artificial turf, but you could hit homeruns into waterfalls at Kauffmann Stadium where the Royals played.

The point is that I didn't feel an allegiance to the nearest major league teams. As it was apparent that my chances of ever seeing a major league baseball game back then seemed to be absolutley zero, instead of basing my loyalty on proximity and attendance I chose two arcane methods: history book and Topps. I've found that reading and bubblegum are often reliable guides. I came to the Dodgers through reading books about baseball's greatest players. There were the great Brooklyn teams featuring Jackie Robinson which were amazing to read about, but what hooked me was the exploits of Sandy Koufax pitching for Los Angeles in the Sixties.

The dude was mild mannered looking, but dominant on the pitching mound. He was the NL MVP in 1963. He also won the Cy Young that year and also in 1965 and 1966 and this was when only one award for both leagues was given. He led the National League in ERA for 5 years in a row and he had a 0.95 ERA in 4 World Series. He was the World Series MVP in 1963 and 1965. He pitched 4 no-hitters and he's one of 17 pitchers to ever throw a perfect game. He probably would have done even more, but he retired at the age of 30 due to arthritis. His story was compelling and appealing. So I became a Dodgers fan due to history, but even this is no match for the Topps talisman inspired love of the Kansas City Royals.

It was a 1974 Topps team card that did it. I had the 1975 George Brett rookie card, but even now it's not as cool as the 1974 one of the Royals team. The simple reason is because it was the only team card I got that year. I turned 8 in '74 and most of my disposable income was in the penny bubblegum range, but my parents would usually give me a dime for a pack of baseball cards. We'd walk over to IGA on Memorial Blvd cutting through the back way where I once put a nail through a foot. I felt like it was destiny. The Kansas City Royals becoming my favorite team and not the nail through the foot part.

Two years later and the Royals would meet the Yankees in the divisional playoff series only to lose when Mark Littell gave up a walk off home run to Yankees first baseman Chris Chambliss. The Yankees then went on to be dismantled in the World Series by the Big Red Machine. The Royals were back again in 1977 only to lose to the Yankees again. I was devastated again, but this time there was hope for the World Series. The Yankees would have to face the Dodgers. There was no way they'd be able to beat the freaky fro of Don Sutton or the massive teeth of Steve Garvey. But it was not to be. 1978 would see the same story play out. First the Royals went down and then the Dodgers.

Both teams would go on to World Series victories in the 80's, but later both teams would see changes in ownership that would destroy their winning ways. My interest became less fervent as I grew older. I had rock bands to play with and then a family to start. The deluge of baseball programming made me need the sport less and less and when the World Series was scrapped in 1994 I figured I was done with ever watching the game. But the kid who once spent hours tossing a baseball up into the air and then hit it while imitating different major leaguers' batting stances couldn't stay away. The lure of the box score column was too much.

But, like I said the Royals and the Dodgers I had known and loved had been sold and their lack of competitiveness was not endearing even in a “dem Bums” sort of way. So I was seduced by the dark side. I began to root for my father’s favorite team the Yankees. It wasn’t an unprecedented thing. I had actually bought a Yankees cap when I went to see Atlanta take on the Pirates one weekend in 1990. The Yankees were not that great a team then, but least they had tradition and cheering for them was a connection to my father and to a childhood long past. The fact that they started winning like mad soon after didn’t hurt.

Still, it never felt right. I knew I strayed from my true nature. The real connection to my father was cheering against his beloved Yankees while I usually got my hopes dashed. It was like a representation of what would have happened in reality if I had tried to kick my father’s ass when I was in elementary school. It would have been impossible unless in a strike year like in 1981 when the Dodgers beat the Yankees in the World Series after a shortened season. It perhaps would have made sense to join my father in cheering for the Yanks when I was a kid, but not now.

I’m around the same age as he was when the Yankees were making mince meat out of the Royals and the Dodgers. I shouldn’t become a fan just because my father’s getting up there in years. He doesn’t need any homage or pity. He probably would prefer me to stick to my boyhood favorites. Maybe this would make him feel younger, not that I’m sure of this or anything. I just know that it never truly felt right to be cheering for the pinstriped Evil Empire. There was always some Dodger blue or Royals powder blue visible on the horizon.

So I bought a Dodgers cap. I might even buy a Kansas City Royals one too. Both teams are hovering around the .500 mark right now. So not only are they connected in my consciousness they are connected in their current mediocrity. But I have hope they will both improve now that I’m cheering for them again because my renewed now non-fickle support has to count for something.

That is unless my love is predicated on less sturdy ground. Have you ever noticed the Dodgers and Royals logos are similar? On a subconscious level maybe my whole fandom thing can be traced back to that fact. Fonts and graphics aren’t too far removed from bubblegum cards and history books. It’s probably just a coincidence. Why shouldn’t my two favorite teams share some sartorial elements? Besides, I’ve been on the road too long. I’m glad to be home.

Go Royals!






Go Dodgers!

OP

I've been digging S.E. Hinton, the LA Dodgers, Top Chef 4, long bike rides, Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark, and Pavement.



Before I can move forward I have to take twelve steps flashback.

Mike E's Top Ten Punk Rock Artists

Mike E's top ten punk artists. I can dig Shawn Kerri since I always loved the Circle Jerks skanking dude, but I also dig BLack Belt Holmes and his take on Bert and Ernie.

Bee Gees vs. Kiss, sorta

When I was a young lad toiling away at Mitchell-Neilson Elmentary School my music teacher was a young lady named Miss Kidd. She rocked the Dorothy Hamill haircut and had the obligatory amount of folk singing fervor and enthusiasm that was the hallmark of elementary education music instructors perhaps the world over. I don't remember much about what we actually did in the class that met a few times a week. I believe there were xylophones involved. And those dread recorders that all children are made to suffer with, I've never met anybody that could actually play those plastic flutes well. The thing I do remember is that she gave us a poll on what bands we liked the most. Once the results came in she would then devote one class a week to the history of the artist and we could bring records to play of their music.

The most popular band was the Bee Gees. So I learned all about the Aussies and how they had this awesome Beatles inspired early success singing about mining disasters or shipwrecks or something or other before they got all falsetto'ed and Stigwood'ed out. Did I care alot for this? Nope. I was bummed because the band I voted for didn't come in first in the elementary world.

Kiss came in second in Miss Kidd's demographic survey. So I had to wait a week before I could bring in my Destroyer album and play the class "God Of Thunder" and "Beth." Miss Kidd gave us the history of the band which I knew by heart, but instead of praising their music or success like she did the Bee Gees, she disparaged them.

So I'm always up for a Kiss versus Bee Gees throwdown. WFMU details a showdown between tribute bands Mini Kiss and Tragedy. It makes me feel like I'm back in elementary school all over again.

The Kid Brother I Never Had

punk ass former deli junction wannabe graf artist moved to NYC and I guess, well he can make it anywhere check out his righteous mellow romantic blog chadkrobot also check out his better half's blog: wonting. Much love to both.

Bootleggers

I've run across three great live bootlegs in the mp3 format in the last few weeks which is always a treat since I'm not one of those bit torrent types.

First up: The Replacements from July 1st, 1985 in their hometown of Minneapolis, Minnesota. You can find it at Pop Headwound. It's a sufficiently rowdy and robust document of a band during 7th Street Entry gig. It's known under the title "Simply Unacceptable."

Next we have James Brown in Zaire playing a music festival in September 1974. It's quite funky and fast, but what makes it special is that this music festival happened right before Ali knocked out George Foreman in the "Rumble In The Jungle." Ickmusic has this polyester treat for all of you Maceo fans.

Greg at Captains Dead recently welcomed another future Pavement fan into the world so he shared one of his favorite Pavement shows from a June 26, 1995 Cologne, Germany show. So congratulate him and enjoy.

It's 1992 Up In Here

I've run out of things to write about. I'd like to think it is but a temporary lull, but even if I had some ideas I don't have the time. So to keep this dead horse on its feet, let's stuff it full of things found from one of my old notebooks circa April 1992. You see, I once fancied myself as a creative type - rock and roll songs, fanzine creator, and just general mayhem maker. I'd get these spiral notebooks from M.T.S.U. and keep these quasi diary stream of consciousness babble junk food language feasts.

This entry will be drawn from one I titled Wally Thunders Shangri-La. I wasn't a Bangs then. I only flattered myself with pretensions to heroin chic rock stardom in those days. So lets journey back to more innocent days and see how 1992 was treating me:

Rock and roll is our epiphany. Sound the trumpets, spring is here. Shake the sleep out of your eyes and dance to the tune of romance. Hand in hand the lovers go while I sit at home alone. What a lousy movie, what a lousy life. But meanwhile on the bright side, the Manic Street Preachers are soon to arrive. The days count down like the sand through the hourglass, like a mainline heroin injection time rushes by. "Nothing gold can stay."

Nothing could stop me. Nothing will. It's a movie, a ball game, a coffee maker, red Corvette, it's a pop culture genocide. We're all looking for a little shangri la, longing to find out what's never been told while all the artists hope they die before they get old but end up as fashion suicides.

Reinvention? Most types of people bore me, ignore me, or deplore me. But like W.C.W. I am the happy genius of my household, stranglehold of the senses - creation desperation. Clothes make the man so let's get fully clothed in the know. Books mean knowledge. Reading takes meaning. I'm in a band baby...let's go out.

So there's the first couple of pages. It appears I didn't have much to write about back then either, but somehow I found the time and energy to much ado about nothing. Hmmmm. It may not be much on the blog post richter scale, but it makes the now me feel a little better.

The Sidebar Blues

I need tips. Some sidebar tips. I've been looking through my links and I've jettisoned some. I think I'd like to get rid of some others, but I don't want to be the hatchet man. I'll leave that to you. Suggest some for the delete pile. But also suggest some links I can add. If you want to promote your own blog I'll even trade links if I dig your site. Either email me or add your twenty cents (man inflation is killer now).

Man, When I Think About Classic Rock I Think About Neal Schon

This veers off into territory unexpected somewhat. Just remember to be careful when you're on Anderson Road near Percy Priest Lake.


Now if we all know Sukie was a girl and she liked to hang out in the graveyard, then we should also know that all of my Riverdale High School memories revolve around the rock band Journey. They were already icons to me way before The Sopranos elevated the group to the pop culture zeitgeist firmament. My close personal friends, if there are any of those even left, are probably shaking their heads and muttering about me going on about how dinosaur rock wasn't that bad. They just can't reconcile how the first person to ever play them Black Flag also has a soft spot in his heart for beak nosed frontmen and white Afro wearing guitarists, not to mention former Babys members.

The reason is simple and it comes down to two things. School buses. I had to ride school buses and Journey were all over the radio my freshman and sophomore years. So their songs are sonically imprinted upon me. The ghastliness of "Open Arms" or "Faithfully" will suddenly spring up bubbling from my subconscious and the nightmare image of couples wearing identical Journey concert t-shirts flashes up. Because this is the second thing: the feathered hair Farrahs of my roller rink days all loved Journey. No amount of punk rock sneering could disguise the fact that if they had wanted you to take them to see Journey you would have done so gladly making sure to pack an extra Bic lighter for her so that when the house lights dimmed while the ballads echoed through Murphy Center she wouldn't feel left out of the flickering worship.

But I didn't ever see Journey in concert. I actually did and do like some of their uptempo songs and Neal Schon is a shredding guitar player. But really. I did once buy a Journey tape for a girl I liked and after she was killed in a car accident I've always wondered if there wasn't some connection. I'd hate for my final moments to be spent singing "when the lights go down on the city." Suffice it to say: I have a few hangups about the band.

So perhaps this is why I sent the following quasi fictional scenario to DD Blank after this article about wrinkled rock stars.

Circa 1983:

Hold those lighters in the air as the house lights dim and squeeze your lady tight while Steve Perry sings "Faithfully." You'll tell everybody tomorrow that "Stone In Love" was your favorite while others will say "Don't Stop Believing" hit the stratosphere when Neal Schon launched into a solo that would put his old employer Carlos Santana (what has that guy done lately) to shame. Then there will be that one weird girl in Basic Math that surprises everybody when she walks in wearing a Frontiers tour t-shirt and then claims she only likes Journey because of bass player Ross Valory's sexiness. The two people in class who've actually heard The Clash's first album snicker while the heavy metal kids won't admit to being at the concert even though they've kept the ticket stubs in their biker wallets that are chained to their jeans.

Dickens To Frozen Cats To Where Did Toby Holmes Go Again?

How my mind works, sorta:

I've been reading through Charles Dickens of late. I just started Our Mutual Friend this morning and encountered a character named Mortimer. I finished the first couple of chapters and in came Lola the pet cat of Wally Manor. This confluence of events reminded me that I once knew a cat named Mortimer. He belonged to that crazy Zorlac skateboarding riding miscreant Toby Holmes back in the day. I think I may have even named the cat Mortimer. He was just a stray that decided to stay and he must have been there awhile. Then he went missing. As he was a tomcat it wasn't surprising. We imagined he was out doing what came natural to a stud named Mortimer. When he didn't return after some weeks we figured he was gone for good.

This was back in the day when Toby and I went skating almost every day regardless of the weather. There was an office complex just down the street from the trailer court where Toby lived and one cold and frigid night we rode down looking to do some ollies and curb grinds. There was where we found Mortimer on his back frozen solid. Did we feel sad? A little. Did we give him a proper burial? Nope. We took turns ollying over his corpse. It was the kind of thing Mortimer might have liked.

I lost track of Toby over the years, but a couple of years ago he contacted me. We went and had some pizza and beer and sent emails back and forth. He was the same old Toby. But now I've lost track of him again and I wonder if I might find him one day frozen solid on his back. And if I did; would I try to ollie over him before I notified the authorities.

Review: R.E.M. Accelerate

Kick it out on the dancefloor like you just don't care!

After spending an inordinate amount of time writing some sub-Meltzer piece about how Accelerate is the perfect mid-life crisis album reflecting how time speeds up as one's metabolism slows down I decided not to inflict such weirdness on the world.

Supranational history lesson:

1984/85 discovered this hot combo from Athens, GA by way of magazines, David Letterman, and Jason & The Scorchers (Stipe gets co-write and sings back-up vocals on "Hot Nights From Georgia")



1986/87 made a pilgrimmage to Athens, GA went to both Wuxtry's (bought Boomtown Rats Mercury debut, Police Outlandos D'Amour, and a Pandoras record), bought any and everything with the name R.E.M. emblazoned across it, and saw them in concert. Started having some doubts when Document didn't do much for me.

1988/90 didn't purchase Green, didn't go see them play Murphy Center, but lots of high school and junior high kids did because I saw them when I'd go skateboarding

1991 bought Out Of Time after hearing "Radio Song" in a Sound Shop, brought it home and found it dull, and after R.E.M. swept the MTV Music Video Awards I began a long loathing of Stipe.

1992 - 2006 still listened to older stuff and liked "What's The Frequency, Kenneth?", wrote a piece about how I once loved the band, but it got to the point I became so disenchated with the band that I couldn't even bear to listen to Murmur and I sold all of my R.E.M. vinyl, the only thing I kept was a couple of cassette bootlegs from the Tyrone's days

2007 tuned into the Rock and Roll Hall Of Fame awards ceremony mainly to see how Bill Berry was doing and like all televison show ads claim now: It All Changed - the moment they launched into "Gardening At Night" I forgot all my former hate and just remembered all the joy they had once given. I went to Amazon soon after and bought all of their old great albums and then I picked up the later stuff in the bargain bins.



Which brings us to 2008 and Accelerate. It's heralded as a return to rock. A retreat from the blandness and lack of focus that had afflicted the three legged dog from Athens, GA. If you've read to this point you're either about ready to put me up against the wall and scream "Well, is it?!!" at me or perhaps smirk and say "I know it's not. Lots of other blogs have already told me so." I'm hip to this jive.

So let's first address focus. The album clocks in at 34 minutes and 39 seconds. With 11 tracks there's not much room for meandering. The album is succinct, to the point, brief, curt, and as many other adjectives you want to throw in there. I appreciate this. Just because you can pack 80 minutes onto a CD doesn't mean you should. Too many bands today suffer from bloated albums that you can't listen to in one sitting anyways. Hence the IPOD shuffle supremacy. So focus is confirmed.

Is Accelerate bland? That's a big negatory good buddy. While the album does tend to blur somewhat with such buzzing guitars that haven't been heard since New Adventures In Hi-Fi, there is enough sonic variety to tickle the eardrums especially if you've got your earbuds in place. It sounds like real people playing musical instruments this time. Gone are the sub-lounge singer keyboards. Stipe's voice may have lost range, but he sounds impassioned. Isn't passion one of the ingredients needed for good rock and roll.

Which is what Accelerate does. It rocks. And I didn't expect it to. Just because I had found my long shelved love for the band didn't mean I would accept whatever they did. I'm a big fan of Bill Berry and his contributions to the band. Plus, I still remember things like them saying they would break up at the stroke of midnight of the year 2000. It was a coming to terms over those types of issues that let me love the music again. So I wasn't sure if I would like the new material, but I do.

Accelerate is a solid album. Something they should be proud to put their name behind. Will junior high school kids want to go see them in concert (if they could afford to) - who knows. Not only are all the fans from the Murmur era, from the Document era, or the Automatic For The People era different so is the music industry. There's no way R.E.M. can ever reach the highs of the past. Their own success acts like an anchor. The impulse is to say how this album stacks up in the catalogue. I think this wrong to a certain extent.

Shouldn't we let some time go by before making grand assessments like: is Accelerate as good as Document? Hell, I don't know. I barely liked Document during the 80's. That album had to grow on me. How about Life's Rich Pageant? How does Accelerate stack up against it? Man, it was such a completely different world when Pageant dropped....weren't R.E.M. already being accused of being sellouts. Let time decide such comparisons. For now; I'll just dig Accelerate. The three legged dog has finally learned how to run.


Now if you want to read what I think is the best review of Accelerate I've found (and the main reason I didn't do any song analysis since it's here) check out Annie Zaleski's one at Riverfront Times.

Ghosts Of Surfing Past

I had an email from Future Me in my inbox this morning. I almost deleted it as spam, but I opened it out of curiosity. Here's what it said:

Dear FutureMe,

It's been four years since I wrote this. I hope everything is going
well. One word of advice for the future me: cool out. Seriously, chill.
Read some books and play some music. Play with the kids. Take the wife
out for a night.

chow,
wally

That was some good advice from my younger self. I'm surprised I didn't put in "Stop living like a Repo Man."

Mississippi Pics

I visited some familiar ground a few weeks ago. I went to Ripley, Mississippi to attend my Aunt Ermie's funeral. She had run a sandwich shop for 42 years selling the most delicious slugburgers in all of North Mississippi. It seemed like she was closed during each of my infrequent visits over the last 20 years or so and I had planned on a visit this month, but she died a week before. Maybe her grandson Bruce will keep the place going.

I took some snapshots of the courthous and of the public library. The Ripley Public Library has a special place in my heart. It's the first library I can remember. It's where I got my first library card. I don't recall the title of the book, but I vaguely remember a yellow race car was on the cover. I never had any business in the courthouse, but I visited the square often as a child. There doesn't seem to be much there now.

It was strange being in Ripley. I know the town as if I had lived there my whole life, yet I only lived there a year and then visited once a year until I was around 20. When I visit I feel like such an outsider, yet I'm filled with a flood wash of memories and love for the place. I want to tell everyone I see, "I'm not an intruder, I'm as much a North Mississippi resident as ya'll." Yet, when it's time to leave I know that I am truly a Tennessean to my core. Some things can't ever be recaptured.

Like 6-10 cousins and 5-6 adults all sleeping in Grandma Bridges's tiny 4 room house. It's still there on Cooper Street with its tin roof and front porch. When I was a child I thought this porch was massive. Time has shrunk its dimensions, but not my memories.


I'll visit Ripley again. I'd like to come check out the First Monday flea market again. There will undoubtedly be more funerals - a sad, but mortal fact. And I will likely go through the same emotions - excitement at traversing familiar terrain as I barrell down through Bolivar, TN heading toward the Mississippi state line (oh how tremendous it was every July when my mother and I would drive down) and then through Walnut and Falkner on Highway 15. And then the natural regret of leaving when I come back to Tennessee. Here's one last pic taken through the car window since I didn't want to disturb or freak anybody out. It's the house I lived in when my parents ran Raney's Cafe on 15. It was right down the street from the Cafe next door to a smoke belching shoe factory (it's now the Ashley plant).