I don't know where or when I met Dave Kleinhardt but since we were both guitar players (a term used loosely in my case), we struck up an instant friendship working together in a prison. He was a counselor then and I was a Sergeant. Throught the years we have played in numerous bands together. Well not really numerous, since every year instead of learning new material we would just change the name of the band. We started as "Premature Grey", and went through names such as "The Dillons", "Shotgun Romeos", and "Three Daves and Two Other Guys". Although they still occasionally play, Dave cleverly moved so far away that it became impossible for me to keep it up.
However all is not lost. Although he accepted many promotions and works in Lansing now, we have kept up our friendship through the miracle of e mail. He supervises a large office staff and every year for Christmas they buy him a double pass to the Common Ground Festival in Lansing. As a generous goodwill gesture, Dave usually lets former band mates go to one of the 8 or 10 nights with him. I started out just taking the night nobody else wants to go, but recently I've kind of indicated which one I'd like to see.
So here is a run down of the years as I recall them.
Year One: Nobody else wanted this night so I went to WAR and JOE COCKER. We sat halfway back, and halfway through Dave's seat collapsed (chair technology has come a ways since then). But nevertheless it was a great show. I was blown away by how really good Joe Cocker was . He just kept coming at us with hit after hit. I had fogotten how many really great songs he has had.
***** Five stars.
Year Two: CROSBY, STILLS, AND NASH: Easily one of the best concerts I've ever seen, and buddy, I've seen a lot. I had anticipated three guys with acoustic guitars on stools and some quiet warbling. Boy, was I wrong. These guys came out rocking and never let up. They opened with a pounding version of "Carry On". We were also about second row center, and the boys were only about 20 feet from us. We could hear them chatting to each other. Hit after pounding hit highlighted by a blistering version of "For What It's Worth" from Stills, who is a lot greater guitar player than I ever gave him credit for. Combining all of the Springsteen shows into number one, this show easily fall into my top ten all time shows.
**** Five Stars. Easily.
Year Three: MITCH RYDER and THE BLACK CROWES. First row - right. I was attracted to this bill in order to see Mitch Ryder. I was right about him. He sounded great for 60 years plus. The Black Crowes were a real downer though, and maybe the worst show I've ever seen. They were terrible at best and were so full of themselves they wouldn't even play their one modest hit "Hard To Handle". If you ever get a chance to see them - don't.
* one star (Mitch gets that one).
Year Four: KEB MO and BONNIE RAITT. Third Row -center. I love Bonnie and since I'm a blues fan I was also excited to see KEB MO. But it had downpoured on us earlier and KEB just barely got a short set in before it started to down pour again. Bonnie tried to hurry through a set, but we were getting drenched and she mercifully cut it short. What we heard was wonderful though and I can't wait to see her again.
***Stars (only because it was short)
This year: DICKEY BETTS and PETER FRAMPTON. Fourth Row Center. Never been a fan of opening act Dickey Betts and still ain't. He was tired and lame. Yech! But Frampton came out and opened up on us with both barrels and never let up. He was incredible. Every time I see this guy, he's a better player than the last time. Man, was he great. And on top of that , he had a guitar side-man who was also one of the best guitar players I've ever seen. This was an awesome great rocking show, and I am so glad my old buddy Dave thinks of me year after year. Other than the Black Crowes, we have seen some terrific shows together.
***** Five Stars
Monday, August 27, 2007
Saturday, July 21, 2007
My Kids, The Superheroes
Man, am I lucky. Not only do I have great kids, they are superheroes. What makes my kids so special? What is their super power? Are you ready for this? They can become invisible. I'm not kidding. If you don't believe it, come stand behind them with me at a parade sometime. Watch how all the kids get candy tossed at them, and then watch how mine get skipped. Amazing. They stand there in what I believe to be full view and yet nobody handing out candy can see them. It has to be a super power. Some of the people look in their general direction, but I know they can't see them. Most just walk on by totally fooled by their invisibility.
Did I mention my kids are black? You'd think they'd stick out even more in our rural commmunity, but nope. Nobody can see them.
Now before you start rolling your eyes and think "Here we go again" let me give you a little background. I'm a white guy. Almost three years ago I married a black woman who much to my delight, brought along with her two children. They have been raised their entire lives in our small, rural, white community. I have often mused that I enjoy the kids innocence so much because they don't know they're black yet, i.e. what it means to be black in America. They have friends of all colors at their school, and are usually included in every social event just like everyone else. But slowly I have noticed a subtle, unconscious (dare I say the "R" word?) racism creeping into their lives. And I thought this stuff went out with Brown vs. the Board of Education, or the Civil Rights Act of 1964. But this stuff is so permeated into our society, that we as white Americans make decisions that we are not even aware of. (And I say "we" because having a black wife and black kids doesn't get me a free pass).
So I noticed the parade thing about three years ago while watching my first parade with my new family. I thought it odd that the candy would fly and then the person would be fumbling in the bag as they walked by mine, and then it would fly again, but hey, that's the breaks, and just wait for the next candy hurler to come along. And they would. And the same thing happened. And then another. And another. And soon the parade was over. Oh well, we'd think, better luck next year. That was just the way the chips fell this time, but what are the odds of it happening again? But it does. It happens so consistently that I, becoming jaded, find myself getting more and more disgusted and disheartened. What do I tell a kid on Memorial Day in Sheridan whose little white friend just down the way managed to get nearly a half a grocery bag of candy when he got three pieces? Three. And he gave one of those to a kid in a wheelchair. Trying to be good adult examples, we mumbled something about having better luck next time, but we know that luck hasn't got anything to do with it. Because it happens nearly every parade.
My son also played Pee-Wee baseball. Although he was consistently huddled with the others around his coach, and yelling as loudly as anyone, he would usually be one of the last to get an assignment. Ah, but there were three more players than positions. So the coach made a deal - if anyone agreed to sit out an inning, they could pick where they wanted to play the following inning. So, my son figured that this was an easy sacrifice to be able to play first base. But guess what? Assignments were being handed out, and he would bound out of the dugout first, but dog-gone it, he had that invisibility thing going and he would get an assignment last. He rarely ever got first base and if he did it was because nobody else wanted it.
My wife and I watched him come out of the dugout slower and slower as the year went on. He was resigning himself to the fact that he couldn't be seen like everyone else. And do you want to know the kicker? His coach loved him. His coach was a wonderful, caring, giving, generous individual who had a genuine fondness for our son. I know what he did was not a conscious thing. He liked our boy. But when we questioned our son about it at the end of the year, and asked why he thought he didn't get called on by the coach like the others, he answered "I just thought the coach didn't like me." Try convincing a kid in his position that the coach did like him. And like I say, the coach did like him! In fact we want our son to play for him again next year. But this white American conditioning is subtle.
We don't want our kids treated in any special way or any concessions made for them in any way at all. You see the point is, we just want them treated the same as everyone. No special favors, no free rides, just the same as everybody else.
So regarding the parades, eventually I reckon they'll end end up figuring out what's going on, and they'll get angry about it and become more aggressive in trying to get candy. And then watch. I can hear the people sputtering now. "Did you see the way those black kids acted? They don't know how to be civlized. They act like they won't get any candy unless they bully their way in." Suddenly, unfortunately, our kids won't be invisible anymore.
Did I mention my kids are black? You'd think they'd stick out even more in our rural commmunity, but nope. Nobody can see them.
Now before you start rolling your eyes and think "Here we go again" let me give you a little background. I'm a white guy. Almost three years ago I married a black woman who much to my delight, brought along with her two children. They have been raised their entire lives in our small, rural, white community. I have often mused that I enjoy the kids innocence so much because they don't know they're black yet, i.e. what it means to be black in America. They have friends of all colors at their school, and are usually included in every social event just like everyone else. But slowly I have noticed a subtle, unconscious (dare I say the "R" word?) racism creeping into their lives. And I thought this stuff went out with Brown vs. the Board of Education, or the Civil Rights Act of 1964. But this stuff is so permeated into our society, that we as white Americans make decisions that we are not even aware of. (And I say "we" because having a black wife and black kids doesn't get me a free pass).
So I noticed the parade thing about three years ago while watching my first parade with my new family. I thought it odd that the candy would fly and then the person would be fumbling in the bag as they walked by mine, and then it would fly again, but hey, that's the breaks, and just wait for the next candy hurler to come along. And they would. And the same thing happened. And then another. And another. And soon the parade was over. Oh well, we'd think, better luck next year. That was just the way the chips fell this time, but what are the odds of it happening again? But it does. It happens so consistently that I, becoming jaded, find myself getting more and more disgusted and disheartened. What do I tell a kid on Memorial Day in Sheridan whose little white friend just down the way managed to get nearly a half a grocery bag of candy when he got three pieces? Three. And he gave one of those to a kid in a wheelchair. Trying to be good adult examples, we mumbled something about having better luck next time, but we know that luck hasn't got anything to do with it. Because it happens nearly every parade.
My son also played Pee-Wee baseball. Although he was consistently huddled with the others around his coach, and yelling as loudly as anyone, he would usually be one of the last to get an assignment. Ah, but there were three more players than positions. So the coach made a deal - if anyone agreed to sit out an inning, they could pick where they wanted to play the following inning. So, my son figured that this was an easy sacrifice to be able to play first base. But guess what? Assignments were being handed out, and he would bound out of the dugout first, but dog-gone it, he had that invisibility thing going and he would get an assignment last. He rarely ever got first base and if he did it was because nobody else wanted it.
My wife and I watched him come out of the dugout slower and slower as the year went on. He was resigning himself to the fact that he couldn't be seen like everyone else. And do you want to know the kicker? His coach loved him. His coach was a wonderful, caring, giving, generous individual who had a genuine fondness for our son. I know what he did was not a conscious thing. He liked our boy. But when we questioned our son about it at the end of the year, and asked why he thought he didn't get called on by the coach like the others, he answered "I just thought the coach didn't like me." Try convincing a kid in his position that the coach did like him. And like I say, the coach did like him! In fact we want our son to play for him again next year. But this white American conditioning is subtle.
We don't want our kids treated in any special way or any concessions made for them in any way at all. You see the point is, we just want them treated the same as everyone. No special favors, no free rides, just the same as everybody else.
So regarding the parades, eventually I reckon they'll end end up figuring out what's going on, and they'll get angry about it and become more aggressive in trying to get candy. And then watch. I can hear the people sputtering now. "Did you see the way those black kids acted? They don't know how to be civlized. They act like they won't get any candy unless they bully their way in." Suddenly, unfortunately, our kids won't be invisible anymore.
25 "Must Have" Recordings
Here is a list of 25 recordings that everyone should have. If you don't, then check them out of the library and download them - or would it be upload them? I get confused - anyway load them. You'll never regret it.
1. REVOLVER the beatles
2. BLONDE ON BLONDE bob dylan
3. SMALL CHANGE tom waits
4. BORN TO RUN bruce springsteen
5. SURFACING sarah mclaughlin
6. MY AIM IS TRUE elvis costello
7. WORLD MACHINE level 42
8. STOLEN MOMENTS john hiatt
9. ONLY TRUST YOUR HEART diana krall
10. I AM THE BLUES willie dixon
11. BEGGAR'S BANQUET the rolling stones
12. 'ROUND MIDNIGHT ella fitzgerld
13. MARSHALL CRENSHAW marshall crenshaw
14. JOHN PRINE john prine
15. TAKE FIVE the dave bruback quartet
16. KIND OF BLUE miles davis
17. SWEET BABY JAMES james taylor
18. MY FAVORITE THINGS john coltrane
19. ARE YOU EXPERIENCED? the jimi hendrix experience
20. SQUEEZIN' OUT SPARKS graham parker
21. TEA FOR THE TILLERMAN cat stevens
22. ZIGGY STARDUST david bowie
23. IN THE COURT OF THE CRIMSON KING king crimson
24. DESPERADO the eagles
25. MY MOTHER'S HYMN BOOK johnny cash
1. REVOLVER the beatles
2. BLONDE ON BLONDE bob dylan
3. SMALL CHANGE tom waits
4. BORN TO RUN bruce springsteen
5. SURFACING sarah mclaughlin
6. MY AIM IS TRUE elvis costello
7. WORLD MACHINE level 42
8. STOLEN MOMENTS john hiatt
9. ONLY TRUST YOUR HEART diana krall
10. I AM THE BLUES willie dixon
11. BEGGAR'S BANQUET the rolling stones
12. 'ROUND MIDNIGHT ella fitzgerld
13. MARSHALL CRENSHAW marshall crenshaw
14. JOHN PRINE john prine
15. TAKE FIVE the dave bruback quartet
16. KIND OF BLUE miles davis
17. SWEET BABY JAMES james taylor
18. MY FAVORITE THINGS john coltrane
19. ARE YOU EXPERIENCED? the jimi hendrix experience
20. SQUEEZIN' OUT SPARKS graham parker
21. TEA FOR THE TILLERMAN cat stevens
22. ZIGGY STARDUST david bowie
23. IN THE COURT OF THE CRIMSON KING king crimson
24. DESPERADO the eagles
25. MY MOTHER'S HYMN BOOK johnny cash
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Note To Karl Rove
Just because you can teach a monkey to sell pencils on the corner, doesn't mean it should be the CEO of Eberhard-Faber.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
The Biography
THE BEATLES - THE BIOGRAPHY
BOB SPITZ - Little, Brown, & Co.
Not long ago I finished the latest Beatles book in my collection - "The Beatles - The Biography" - and it is easily my new favorite book on the subject. I have read dozens of books about the lads from Liverpool, but this one is not only the most comprehensive, but is one of the most readable. I thought I knew everything about this subject, and yet I learned quite a few things. (Did you know that in spite of all the mysticism and swamis along the way, George Harrison embraced traditional Christianity near the end of his life?) And by comprehensive I mean comprehensive - it was well over 300 pages before Ringo Starr is mentioned in any context other than one casual reference to the drummer of a rival band in Hamburg. This book practically goes day by day.
This ride is thrilling as it paints the meteoric rise of the band, the blossoming genius of Lennon-McCartney, and the joy of discovery as they record "Rubber Soul", "Revolver", and ultimately "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band". The ride is also told in painful detail as the boys begin to falter - with the disasterous Magical Mystery Tour film, and as Yoko enters the sanctity of the studio and actively criticizes the other Beatles' methods. She actually at one point got up in the studio and sang... as if they were going to ask her to join the band. And we also get all of the details as John and Yoko got strung out on heroin throughout the "White" album, "Let It Be" and "Abbey Road" sessions.
My only critcisims are that author Bob Spitz doesn't mention the George Harrison trip to America in the summer of 1963, when he spent two weeks in a small town in Illinois and jammed at a VFW hall with a band called the "Four Vests". He also becomes a bit over-zealous, as they all do, and credits the Beatles with inventing the music video after they made two small films of a couple songs to promote then instead of playing them live. (I believe that of all people Ozzie Nelson was way ahead of his tme, when he would take a Ricky Nelson song like "Travelin' Man" and superimpose concert footage with scenes from around the world. Call it what you want, but that was a music video.)
Over all, even if you think you know it all, like I did, read this book. I guarantee you'll learn something.
BOB SPITZ - Little, Brown, & Co.
Not long ago I finished the latest Beatles book in my collection - "The Beatles - The Biography" - and it is easily my new favorite book on the subject. I have read dozens of books about the lads from Liverpool, but this one is not only the most comprehensive, but is one of the most readable. I thought I knew everything about this subject, and yet I learned quite a few things. (Did you know that in spite of all the mysticism and swamis along the way, George Harrison embraced traditional Christianity near the end of his life?) And by comprehensive I mean comprehensive - it was well over 300 pages before Ringo Starr is mentioned in any context other than one casual reference to the drummer of a rival band in Hamburg. This book practically goes day by day.
This ride is thrilling as it paints the meteoric rise of the band, the blossoming genius of Lennon-McCartney, and the joy of discovery as they record "Rubber Soul", "Revolver", and ultimately "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band". The ride is also told in painful detail as the boys begin to falter - with the disasterous Magical Mystery Tour film, and as Yoko enters the sanctity of the studio and actively criticizes the other Beatles' methods. She actually at one point got up in the studio and sang... as if they were going to ask her to join the band. And we also get all of the details as John and Yoko got strung out on heroin throughout the "White" album, "Let It Be" and "Abbey Road" sessions.
My only critcisims are that author Bob Spitz doesn't mention the George Harrison trip to America in the summer of 1963, when he spent two weeks in a small town in Illinois and jammed at a VFW hall with a band called the "Four Vests". He also becomes a bit over-zealous, as they all do, and credits the Beatles with inventing the music video after they made two small films of a couple songs to promote then instead of playing them live. (I believe that of all people Ozzie Nelson was way ahead of his tme, when he would take a Ricky Nelson song like "Travelin' Man" and superimpose concert footage with scenes from around the world. Call it what you want, but that was a music video.)
Over all, even if you think you know it all, like I did, read this book. I guarantee you'll learn something.
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Friday, May 25, 2007
Elementary School
Thank You Mrs. Thomas for teaching me to read.
Thank you Mrs. Krieger for teaching me to write cursive.
Thank you Mrs. Bradshaw for allowing Steve Walton to participate in story telling
even though he had that over-active saliva gland problem.
Thank you Mrs. Waters for reading all those animal stories to us.
I still remember why the Blue Jay is blue, and why the porcupine has quills.
But Mrs. Heaton with your wooden block heeled shoes
and your demented cruelty,
And Mr. Acey with your sadistic treatment of Mike Browan
and the sick way you punched us in the chests with your first two fingers,
and Miss Azzarello with your talon like nails that pinched juglar veins
and your twisted obsessive-compulsive hand washing and clothes changing
throughout the day,
You three can all kiss my fat behind.
But you can't can you?
Because you're all dead.
And so we terrified little ones, we victims of our ages,
We have the last laugh after all, now don't we?
Because you're all dead.
Dead and gone to the eternal teacher's lounge in Hell
where Farrell Bieber's cigarette smoke always hangs in the air,
and the sandwiches in your lunches stay forever dried out.
Thank you Mrs. Krieger for teaching me to write cursive.
Thank you Mrs. Bradshaw for allowing Steve Walton to participate in story telling
even though he had that over-active saliva gland problem.
Thank you Mrs. Waters for reading all those animal stories to us.
I still remember why the Blue Jay is blue, and why the porcupine has quills.
But Mrs. Heaton with your wooden block heeled shoes
and your demented cruelty,
And Mr. Acey with your sadistic treatment of Mike Browan
and the sick way you punched us in the chests with your first two fingers,
and Miss Azzarello with your talon like nails that pinched juglar veins
and your twisted obsessive-compulsive hand washing and clothes changing
throughout the day,
You three can all kiss my fat behind.
But you can't can you?
Because you're all dead.
And so we terrified little ones, we victims of our ages,
We have the last laugh after all, now don't we?
Because you're all dead.
Dead and gone to the eternal teacher's lounge in Hell
where Farrell Bieber's cigarette smoke always hangs in the air,
and the sandwiches in your lunches stay forever dried out.
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