tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52209542024-03-12T16:20:18.303-05:00Rocks Off: The Exiled on Main Street Weblog<i>“Writers live twice”</i>
- Natalie GoldbergBill Tuomalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06191456278219245659noreply@blogger.comBlogger1299125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5220954.post-32767818636144023492024-03-12T16:19:00.001-05:002024-03-12T16:19:21.161-05:00<p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt3s37LfOc4FH6GcopSomr9rkT-7_dGts7E9nJv5OPXTXh9NgvnAXQvNHMgdMi2kVlHgIwuTUObheruic_WPZTNFg5XTk47sRBqoK2Ajeq-Qd-cKxsgf-98gXRWdfGuFlRexVLj1scJXqHPv20lQRuhKjw0CBl3totpittkz8AB70jaTzhhzTbug/s1200/e98a14045bb6e48d1d4eec243420a32a.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="630" data-original-width="1200" height="52.5" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt3s37LfOc4FH6GcopSomr9rkT-7_dGts7E9nJv5OPXTXh9NgvnAXQvNHMgdMi2kVlHgIwuTUObheruic_WPZTNFg5XTk47sRBqoK2Ajeq-Qd-cKxsgf-98gXRWdfGuFlRexVLj1scJXqHPv20lQRuhKjw0CBl3totpittkz8AB70jaTzhhzTbug/w200-h105/e98a14045bb6e48d1d4eec243420a32a.jpg" width="100" /></a></b></div><b>Tuesday Tuneage<br />Terry Reid - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PS1ncEkIeQ8" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">“Rich Kid Blues”</a><br />1969 </b><br /><br />In my twenties I worked for a general contractor and one of the projects the company worked on was building out a new space in downtown Minneapolis for Smith Barney. They were famous in the early eighties for having TV commercials where spokesman John Houseman would eloquently state: “They make money the old-fashioned way. They <i>earn</i> it.” When in a meeting, an always-aim-above coworker in an aside said: “They make money the old-fashioned way. They <i>inherit</i> it.”<br /><br />I always think of that quote when Dean Phillips comes to mind.<p></p>Bill Tuomalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06191456278219245659noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5220954.post-88557105192920935722024-02-06T10:16:00.000-06:002024-02-06T10:16:10.191-06:00<p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT7QUKUsbVaFf2-za_51QZVWJMi_BDBxc_HEZVbQv-S2s1JleDTkflyM5qJxUwWEvoMlStlct1WyL-9MQiIo7lVHiegE4Gk9jo7I5sTKTi17afS-RTHQflR72Xc0XPi_-JcZ56NrL2vvAcgbDB1RIaKwLYQpCM67ITOM_Wb-cyNVKeB1U7JyEQxQ/s3158/IMG_0201%202.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3158" data-original-width="3022" height="100" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT7QUKUsbVaFf2-za_51QZVWJMi_BDBxc_HEZVbQv-S2s1JleDTkflyM5qJxUwWEvoMlStlct1WyL-9MQiIo7lVHiegE4Gk9jo7I5sTKTi17afS-RTHQflR72Xc0XPi_-JcZ56NrL2vvAcgbDB1RIaKwLYQpCM67ITOM_Wb-cyNVKeB1U7JyEQxQ/w191-h200/IMG_0201%202.HEIC" width="95.5" /></a></b></div><b>Tuesday Tuneage <br /><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vi67gnuWQnk" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Houston Oilers Fight Song</a><br />late 1970s<br /></b><br />During an Eagles vs. 49ers game in December, Fox caught a member of the San Francisco staff obviously stuffing a large plug of chewing tobacco into his mouth. Which made me wonder: where have all the chew fiends gone? There was a time when you couldn’t escape the stuff. Every big league ball player used it: Rod Carew flirted with batting .400 while having a chaw in his mouth the size of a small tangerine. There was usually some dude in your circle of friends who had a worn circle on a back pocket of his jeans signaling that he indulged. Invariably, someone would be encouraging you to try Skoal Bandits if you wanted to get your feet wet. Hell, they used to advertise the stuff on television. Who can forget the classic Copenhagen/Skoal/Happy Days “a pinch is all it takes” commercials where you could choose your own adventure? The best chewing tobacco commercial featured maybe the best running back in football, but I’m getting ahead of myself …<br /><br />The Houston Oilers were one of the more enjoyable NFL teams of the late seventies. Great uniforms, a character of a coach in ten-gallon-hat-wearing Bum Phillips, a devastating running back in the great Earl Campbell, irrepressible kick returner Billy “White Shoes” Johnson, and a quarterback who was known to wear a flak jacket to protect his injured ribs in Dan Pastorini. But they couldn’t get past great Pittsburgh Steelers teams in two straight AFC Championship Games, leading to the great Phillips quote: “Last year we knocked on the door. This year we beat on it. Next year we're going to kick the son of a bitch in!”<br /><br />Earl Campbell was one of the all-time great runners, he’d just as soon run over you instead of flashing his breakaway speed. He appeared in <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QyFV4EFTFX4" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">a great Skoal commercial</a> that finished with him saying “Skoal, brother” to us as he walked off with a beauty on the beach.<br /><br />And the Oilers had a fight song! It featured lyrics such as:<br /><i><br />We’ve got the offense<br />We’ve got the defense<br />We give the other team no hope <br /></i><p></p><p><i>We're the Houston Oilers<br />Houston Oilers<br />Houston Oilers number one</i><i> </i><br /><br />It also had an incessantly catchy melody. My brother and I spent too much time one afternoon reciting this fight song after hearing it. Thing is, a week or two later a Miami Dolphins game was on NBC and they were using the <i>exact same song</i> with “Miami Dolphins” being used in the lyrics for the team name. Weird, and somehow further cemented the legend of The Houston Oilers Fight Song in my mind.<br /><br />So circa 1992, I was helping my cousin and his wife move their belongings out of their apartment and into a moving truck. His friend Steve and I got into a rhythm of putting boxes onto a cart and shuttling it on an elevator and down to the parking lot. Steve is a total goofball, the best. He started talking about the Houston Oilers of the late seventies and asked me if I remembered their fight song. <i>Ummm, yeah!</i> He suggested we sing it, so we started in but after a bit he stopped me. “You’re going down in pitch for the ‘Houston Oilers number one’ but you’re supposed to go up, like this …” So we started over and I got it right. We sang the song for the slow ride down the four floors. The elevator and its shaft didn’t have much for insulation. The doors opened on first floor and there was a dad and his young daughter staring at us in disbelief and probably some suspicion. We said hi and continued on with our work.</p>Bill Tuomalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06191456278219245659noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5220954.post-56800930954530111672024-01-23T15:45:00.000-06:002024-01-23T15:45:56.050-06:00<p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiqSdnlJ8eKsc6RGS4ZnIGswiKIAAvHeBda7OUuX-SowsaVcACxKHr8UbIbVB-TWU443kob6DF-kAm4Jc41e8HKrtK5CL0WsOesRN9uIMqPezebPNzloxfwAKA9OQJFem466sSywvjk_7XVrYmBjuigVAbyYL-R57fTlVoAvI9ElYi0d1FK7oORA/s1000/Spellbound.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1000" height="100" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiqSdnlJ8eKsc6RGS4ZnIGswiKIAAvHeBda7OUuX-SowsaVcACxKHr8UbIbVB-TWU443kob6DF-kAm4Jc41e8HKrtK5CL0WsOesRN9uIMqPezebPNzloxfwAKA9OQJFem466sSywvjk_7XVrYmBjuigVAbyYL-R57fTlVoAvI9ElYi0d1FK7oORA/w200-h200/Spellbound.jpg" width="100" /></a></b></div><b>Tuesday Tuneage<br />Tygers of Pan Tang - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=beuH6hypqZg" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">“Tyger Bay”</a><br />1981</b><br /><br /><b>Part One: Michael Moorcock As Secret Influence in Seventies and Eighties Metal</b><br /><br />“Let’s go to Down in the Valley,” somebody said. Cool, some random weeknight fall of ‘88 with my three roommates. I hit the used racks, found omigod Bob Dylan’s <i>Highway 61 Revisited</i> in great shape, cover beat up but who cares if the vinyl is nice? I spotted a used Tygers of Pan Tang album while walking to the register, sitting right there in the front of a rack. Tygers of Pan Tang … had never heard them, just knew that my new faves Metallica raved about them in magazines I flipped through at Shinder’s and the library. But I didn’t pull the trigger on buying it, likely I didn’t have much money in my checking account, maybe I didn’t want to risk it, maybe I was too cheap to pay the eight-dollar price. And maybe I wanted to quit while I was ahead — how often do you find an all-time great Dylan LP in the used racks? <br /><br />Over the years, <i>Spellbound</i> became a white whale, especially when I scored the two-disc New Wave of British Heavy Metal <i>1979</i> compilation about fifteen years ago and it featured the Tygers’ “Killers” on it. And I didn’t want the album on CD (yawn), I wanted it on vinyl like that beauty I saw in the store years ago. Occasional trips through the used racks around town didn’t materialize in a find. Then up stepped the great equalizer, eBay. <i>Spellbound</i> was almost always available on their site, but it usually went for twenty bucks or more and then usually another fifteen bucks or so for shipping because the seller tended to be in the UK. But last fall a copy popped up from an American seller, in Very Good (VG) condition for fifteen bucks and nobody had yet bid on it. I contemplated making a lower offer but ending up winning it for that price. And no other bidders, suckers! Were they scared off by the VG grading of the vinyl, that it wasn’t Very Good Plus or Near Mint? I’ve had good luck with VG albums on eBay, they usually have some surface marks but play quite well. This LP also had a sticker on the cover, who cares I just want something that sounded good via my eighties dorm room stereo system of Audio-Technica turntable, Technics receiver, and ancient JBL speakers. VG = Virtual Gold.<br /><br />So what about the music? As Chuck Eddy wrote on the New Wave of British Heavy Metal: “(The artists) had Learned Lessons From Punk: Gone were the bloated excesses of yesteryear’s dinosaurs; in their place were shorter, faster, hookier, angrier songs.” So it goes with the Tygers. The riffs are played at breakneck speed with fast fast fast solos thrown in. The singer isn’t obnoxious — many times a crucial metal differential. And cooly, titles like “Gangland,” “Minotaur,” “Blackjack,” and “Tyger Bay” all point to some tough Thin Lizzy-like street-smart universe*.<br /><br /><b>Part Two: I Shun Microeconomics Unless It Favors Me</b><br /><br />So <i>Spellbound</i> ended up being $20.63 total after shipping and sales tax. (An eBay vendor charging sales tax? Go figure.) How does this compare to what I would have paid thirty-five years ago? Back in ‘88, the album was $8.00 and I think the sales tax then was about five percent. I took a “how much is a 1988 dollar worth today” calculator I found online — a dollar then is $2.54 now — and I came up with this:<br /><br />Eight dollars plus sales tax is: $8.00 x 1.05% = $8.40. And then taking that sales price and multiplying it by how much a 1988 dollar is worth in 2023 is: $8.40 x 2.54 = $21.34.<br /><br />So <i>Spellbound</i> would have cost me $21.34 in 1988 and I “won” by playing the long game and paying $20.63 in 2023. I saved 71 cents hoo-boy but missed out on thirty-five years of Tygers of Pan Tang fandom while also annoying folks with my raves about the band. As John Maynard Keynes once wrote: “In the long run we’re all dead.”<br /><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">*Here’s the part where I admit to failing at describing music, which is why I’m moving on to write about accounting, business, and economics in my new zine/blog <i>Troller or Controller?</i> (Not to be confused with a rumored under-the-counter zine allegedly titled <i>Bookkeeper or Bookmaker</i>? It will have features such as “Bill T’s Guide to T-Bills,” “What Your Chart of Accounts Says About Your Love Life,” and “Shutout? NHL Teams May Found the Key to Not Having to 1099 Emergency Backup Goalies.”</span><p></p>Bill Tuomalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06191456278219245659noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5220954.post-88099775274367018102024-01-09T17:28:00.002-06:002024-01-09T17:28:23.613-06:00<p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu_P_DzzicMvtgEsvjBRq8h_ZkcIREyQw8dRU9Gh5WNoTg4Fms_UTIelI-2QBvhPFW7QyzgAWq_nD6KjQ6bXX-wy90nvUOEiQRkk2hHM1otipT7GAKPPEvQk3UKW1-g0OOkK7DS3sGlpk7viMav9st_ithRE9BqY1q0eHmgHhPgB8rxfUXbHotnQ/s235/Mayhem.webp" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="214" data-original-width="235" height="68" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu_P_DzzicMvtgEsvjBRq8h_ZkcIREyQw8dRU9Gh5WNoTg4Fms_UTIelI-2QBvhPFW7QyzgAWq_nD6KjQ6bXX-wy90nvUOEiQRkk2hHM1otipT7GAKPPEvQk3UKW1-g0OOkK7DS3sGlpk7viMav9st_ithRE9BqY1q0eHmgHhPgB8rxfUXbHotnQ/w200-h182/Mayhem.webp" width="75" /></a></b></div><b>Tuesday Tuneage<br />Kansas - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0nUq0t_IHdo" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">"Everybody's My Friend"</a><br />1983</b><br /><br />New dictionary entry for 2024: "Socializing creep":<br /><br />1) I now say “hi” and exchange the smallest of talk with 3-4 people at the gym, I have succumb to socializing creep. 2) If this evolves into <a href="https://readexiled.blogspot.com/2015/11/tuesday-tuneage-new-york-dolls-dont.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">full-blown chatting</a>, I will have become a socializing creep. 3) The latest name for my imaginary punk-metal band is Socializing Creep.<p></p>Bill Tuomalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06191456278219245659noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5220954.post-25397172267112795112023-12-05T09:53:00.000-06:002023-12-05T09:53:19.287-06:00<p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMHyyvf5zIRfDPBBcVZRk-Bl8R-jeVVLaQIqM5K7JBhUI93roB1y_KWIMrppX2pfpaRotLUIpNczXiSLAxKBRHEtcIt3a9x-b1xMMNybucFW0LoLO0T3vscbdzVg7FSiOwsIPsFDchkMG55mylQ9TxFsJiHkJxjFtAc_MtaBxzrarOC41zl_cjoA/s2624/Woodman.heic" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2576" data-original-width="2624" height="98" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMHyyvf5zIRfDPBBcVZRk-Bl8R-jeVVLaQIqM5K7JBhUI93roB1y_KWIMrppX2pfpaRotLUIpNczXiSLAxKBRHEtcIt3a9x-b1xMMNybucFW0LoLO0T3vscbdzVg7FSiOwsIPsFDchkMG55mylQ9TxFsJiHkJxjFtAc_MtaBxzrarOC41zl_cjoA/w200-h196/Woodman.heic" width="100" /></a></b></div><b>Tuesday Tuneage<br />Izzy Stradlin & the Ju Ju Hounds - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HWy1hJe-7uI" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">"Take a Look at the Guy"</a><br />1992</b><br /><br />In December 1987 Ron Wood was at Odegaard Books in Minneapolis signing copies of his memoir <i>Ron Wood by Ron Wood: The Works</i>. I had been living with my parents in Minnetonka post-college for a few months, drove into the city, bought Wood’s book, and stood in line. Of course, the wait was long. I mostly people-watched and listened to the college kids behind me gossip and joke around. Being out of school just months myself, I felt an affinity for these guys and their sense of humor. At some point, an older guy (he may have been in his mid-to-late-thirties) approached the people in front of me and asked: <i>What are you all in line for?</i> “Ron Wood is signing autographs.” <i>Who is that?</i> “He’s in the Rolling Stones.” <i>Who are they?</i> “Uh, they’re a rock band.” The guy nodded, then went on his way. I related this interaction to the guys behind me, we all shook our heads and chuckled, I ended up shooting the breeze with them a bit.<br /><br />Soon one of Wood’s people announced to the crowd that he would only be signing for fifteen more minutes and after that anybody still in line would be out of luck. I was close enough to the signing table where I could tell I would get in under the wire, Ron was signing and signing and not chatting. A guy approached me and said he was at the back of the line and asked if I could get his acoustic guitar signed. Sure, I said. When I approached Wood, I asked if he could sign my book to “Wyman”, explaining it was my nickname. He glanced at me with a wry smile, then said “I’ll sign my nickname as well,” and signed “Woodman” and drew a little cartoon of himself. Then I asked if he’d sign my friend’s guitar as well. Sure, he said.<br /><br />I handed the guitar back to its grateful owner. I asked him whether he knew if the Uptown Bar across the street charged cover charge on weeknights. “You’re old enough for bars?” he asked. (A common question back then, I looked like I was sixteen for many years.) He explained he played bass in The Widgets, that they would be playing at a club downtown on Friday, and could put me on the guest list and buy me a beer as thanks for the guitar signature. I gave him my name and headed home.<br /><br />The club was Graffiti’s, it was in a loft space above Schiek’s, which back then was a fine dining establishment and not yet a gentleman’s club. Being an up-north kid used to bars and not rock clubs, this place was a revelation. Tiny, like it was somebody’s garage or basement. <i>Wow, this is cool</i>, I thought. The bouncer had the guest list written down in a spiral-bound notebook and boom there was my name. <i>Wow, this is cool</i>, I thought. I ordered a Special Export and grabbed a stool at a table. The Urban Guerilla<span style="font-size: x-small;">* </span>opened, my new friend bought me a beer and chatted a bit. Soon after, The Widgets played. <i>Wow, this is cool</i>, I thought, <i>I should get out like this more often.</i><br /><br />Sometime five or six years later at closing time after watching a band at the Uptown Bar, I was leaving my place up by the stage when I spotted the Widgets dude sitting on top of a booth back. I walked up to him and said: “You get any Ron Wood autographs lately?” Figuring there was maybe a fifty percent chance he remembered me, I was ready to keep walking. He recognized me and immediately started chatting away, introducing me to his friend and told our shared story. He gave me a business card, which I’m pretty sure mentioned some aspect of the local music scene. A record label? Another band? Unfortunately that slips me. But I still have that card somewhere, can’t wait to to stumble across it tucked away in a box of nostalgia or in some book I bought thirty years ago. If I were smart, I’d have used it as a bookmark in my Ron Wood memoir.<br /><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">*There was a Minneapolis band called The Urban Guerillas who I had seen open at a (natch) notorious Replacements show in East Grand For*ks in ‘84. But on this night it was just one of them playing a guitar and singing, hence the singular moniker. </span><br /><p></p>Bill Tuomalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06191456278219245659noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5220954.post-32904388051989349132023-10-24T08:16:00.000-05:002023-10-24T08:16:50.298-05:00<div style="text-align: left;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVAb01DYpqnylzGzIo63maqdPtpi2QjF6Ntf3dobowfeFItP__nARyzAlSvvhHzsh0mMQy43O4_nObwg2nMzil8K_C7CqIJ8KSEvEglDLQ7sKgekyeJYynznQknY_GrmXg9vRkZ130-mMtpPRymS6DFbE6_M5ylAC6z8e1dECmPOow9mmSyiLpQQ/s225/Princeton.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="75" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVAb01DYpqnylzGzIo63maqdPtpi2QjF6Ntf3dobowfeFItP__nARyzAlSvvhHzsh0mMQy43O4_nObwg2nMzil8K_C7CqIJ8KSEvEglDLQ7sKgekyeJYynznQknY_GrmXg9vRkZ130-mMtpPRymS6DFbE6_M5ylAC6z8e1dECmPOow9mmSyiLpQQ/w200-h200/Princeton.png" width="75" /></a></div>Tuesday Tuneage</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Bobby Charles - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JWsuzqY-13k" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">"Grow Too Old"<br /></a></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>1972</b><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">So one night I was having my Sleepytime Extra tea, half bagel snack, and watching <i>Two and a Half Men</i> before heading off to bed. And one of my teenage actress crushes was the guest star. And I couldn’t remember her name. Brook? Brooks? A brook? A creek? Fukkit <i>Dawson’s Creek</i>? Katie Holmes?? <i>Poor Katie was dropped from the Christopher Nolan Batman franchise, thanks Tom Cruise … Nicole Kidman on a late night talk show after their divorce saying the best thing was that she no longer had to wear flats ha ha. </i>BUT THIS WASN’T KATIE HOLMES. She’s years younger than me and the teenage crush on TV was my age. And I couldn’t place her name. I recalled Calvin Klein commercials, her strategically placed hair in <i>The Blue Lagoon</i>, her going to Princeton, <i>Suddenly Susan</i>, her as the tough working-poor mom on <i>The Middle</i> … Oh yeah her appearing on Letterman and the girls I knew were mad because he was <i>nice</i> to her. But who was this gal on my TV screen? So I leaned on my crutch — IMDB — and typed in “Blue Lagoon” and oh sh*t yeah: BROOKE SHIELDS.</div><p><br />Did I mention the Calvin Klein ads? They were all the talk for a spell in ninth grade study hall. Which makes the Run-DMC diss a few years later in the mid-eighties all the more significant:<i> “Your Calvin Klein’s no friend of mine, don’t want nobody’s name on my behind.”</i> During this era, a friend of ours from the University of North Dakota dorm carried a 4.0 GPA in chemistry. (He went to the bar with us exactly once, needless to say my grades weren’t as stellar.) He went on to graduate school at Princeton. Back at UND we received a postcard. He said that one night he was leaving the chem lab and a passionate Brooke jumped him. Good thing, he wrote, that he was wearing his tearaway jersey and escaped. (An all-time great …)<br /><br />And despite remembering so many random things from my youth, I forgot Brooke Shields’ name. Aging is bad enough with chronic pains triggering physical therapy appointments, two different blood pressure meds, forgetting the names of friends from my school days, prescription orthotics, hands not always working when I’m trying to do something as simple as holding a spatula, knees that don’t always do well on stairs, changing the sports app on my phone because the old one started using a smaller font, etc., etc. … but this one trip-up got to me. Future nights will bring more disappointments and maybe some small triumphs, yet I am certain something ominous happened that night.</p>Bill Tuomalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06191456278219245659noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5220954.post-71051695390604493612023-06-27T13:51:00.005-05:002023-06-29T21:25:49.118-05:00<p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsNraUj005nbuExs9B5o3opGoSLUG49RYhcMAsjNlTF5KBs5rHusix6hdt3hYItn627CJio2EscbXU27i7iFkaKPyJhognwiJVq7xZqHNvh6_v1JC4I6XRlTwqQHdwQORIfctUdttw4rtZgLXbSTvPFSMogSZsYwoNe0jY4_7SDthpO3eES8kbhQ/s2017/ex24cove.gif" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2017" data-original-width="1875" height="100" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsNraUj005nbuExs9B5o3opGoSLUG49RYhcMAsjNlTF5KBs5rHusix6hdt3hYItn627CJio2EscbXU27i7iFkaKPyJhognwiJVq7xZqHNvh6_v1JC4I6XRlTwqQHdwQORIfctUdttw4rtZgLXbSTvPFSMogSZsYwoNe0jY4_7SDthpO3eES8kbhQ/w186-h200/ex24cove.gif" width="93" /></a></b></div><p><b><br />Tuesday Tuneage<br />Mike Post - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W1zYNrsx9Pw" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Theme from <i>The Rockford Files</i></a><br />1974</b><br /><br />In the first summer of my self-employment, NBC would show an hour of SCTV at midnight, after the 11 p.m. showing of <i>The Rockford Files</i> on WGN. It didn’t get any better in that summer of 2000 when there wasn’t much to do the next day — I’d just sip whiskey in my little apartment on Emerson Avenue and watch those two hours of great TV and smile and that is how these great journeys get started.<br /><br />This was when I was hepped to the true genius of Harold Ramis (me, looking him up on the Internet: <i>“Holy crap! He was SCTV’s first head writer! He co-wrote</i> Stripes <i>and</i> Ghostbusters<i>! No wonder he was in those movies!”</i>)<br /><br />The temp agency was still occasionally sniffing around at that time. I would get some phone calls saying: “Can you take this two-week assignment as a favor?” I had been so good at my work 1996-99 that two-to-four week assignments would get extended for months as the clients would like me so much. But I turned these latest offers down, hoping to sustain my income on only self-employed work. </p><p>One hungover afternoon that summer, I came up with the knockoff <i>Black Sabbath Vol. 4</i> font for <i>Exiled on Main Street</i> #24, using graph paper, a ruler, dime, and pencil. (It was all measuring and math.) And somehow using the Paint program on my PC to put it all together.<br /><br />There are other memories — reading Nick Tosches, buying a 1997 Chevy Cavalier and being excited about it, adding some Gary Stewart and Jerry Lee Lewis to those whiskey trips, seeing <i>The Godfather</i> on the big screen at the Oak Street Cinema, and scheming to get out of that little apartment as the building had been bought by a (since disgraced) landlord.<br /><br />I compare that era to now. I start my Sleepy Time Extra tea around 9:30 p.m., toast half a bagel, add light cream cheese, watch an episode of <i>Brooklyn Nine-Nine</i> on DVR, then head for bed. Still smiles all around.</p><p></p>Bill Tuomalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06191456278219245659noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5220954.post-26000593545766205182023-06-06T15:58:00.003-05:002023-06-06T15:58:20.716-05:00<p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1J2n8Xe5uAffjO1ERjFCi8y2eqopUfkDtfrbbvStu-Q2frmK4o8XwoiVF8X6EqGccIWuu_unA4Wd2jzYsLiHS4lMNvOOBoyHACJZQif_4vRtYlVhQGi7useAgG_G9lLR7sakSKl3rW1qWXcHVzUdGh6nrO6JuDq-cJyOhh6_LUqY59qwdgPE/s600/Nick%20Gilder.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1J2n8Xe5uAffjO1ERjFCi8y2eqopUfkDtfrbbvStu-Q2frmK4o8XwoiVF8X6EqGccIWuu_unA4Wd2jzYsLiHS4lMNvOOBoyHACJZQif_4vRtYlVhQGi7useAgG_G9lLR7sakSKl3rW1qWXcHVzUdGh6nrO6JuDq-cJyOhh6_LUqY59qwdgPE/w200-h200/Nick%20Gilder.jpg" width="150" /></a></b></div><b>Tuesday Tuneage<br />Nick Gilder - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lIz6uf-pftE" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">"Here Comes the Night"</a><br />1978</b><br /><br /><i>“Hey we’re Nick Gilder and band and we don’t dress like your typical rockers of these late seventies because we are </i>not<i> your typical rockers of these late seventies. No jeans, tee shirts, and regular-guy looks here.”</i><br /><br />Left to right: First we have Nick, whose pants sport a high waistband (sans belt) and pinstripes. Extra button undone on the sheer shirt. Then we have the dude who is confident enough to pull off brown shoes with black slacks. The confidence abounds as not only can he pull off wearing a vest (not all can) but he also wears a necktie unconventionally — without a corresponding collared shirt: the breathtaking audacity. Next is the guy whose shirt has a nonconforming design, plus his shoes look damn comfortable. Okay, the band’s fashion approach hits a little bit of a snag as the next gent is obviously the traditional rocker trying to fit in: hair parted in the center, mustache, jeans (d’oh). Put him in a white blazer and sneakers, have him hold a cigarette in a rad way, and hope he blends in. (Around this same time, The Cars would do a better job of hiding Elliot Easton’s obvious rocker intentions on the sleeves of their first two albums.) The final dude has short hair but also goes with the high waistband look and considers the buttons on his shirt optional. Two of the guys have their hands in their pockets, anticipating Alanis Morissette or maybe just indicating cool casualness. (This could be two-point-five guys, hard to see what Gilder is doing with his left hand.) And hey <i>nobody’s</i> smiling, but neither did the Dwight Twilley Band on their two albums and they were America’s power pop finest!<p></p>Bill Tuomalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06191456278219245659noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5220954.post-88112192991224643432023-02-23T11:13:00.004-06:002023-06-15T18:32:37.965-05:00<p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Araezpo03p9Kx5Ch3dVhisy0e8NsFcBASm2PdxQc9yLuecXJnI5UkmBkGUtsTyYaI_Pmu3LoXMvroJCmPj4lCVoEPTGXwXIJkWhOtOB-SyR9pn8ggCyBYK2sty5XFqViQ6CNnJBJgJxTkkp2QpUZ3oURwnLMWdsCK2SK5OiEpa92_5BP1iw/s3905/WickedLyrics.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3905" data-original-width="1961" height="80" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Araezpo03p9Kx5Ch3dVhisy0e8NsFcBASm2PdxQc9yLuecXJnI5UkmBkGUtsTyYaI_Pmu3LoXMvroJCmPj4lCVoEPTGXwXIJkWhOtOB-SyR9pn8ggCyBYK2sty5XFqViQ6CNnJBJgJxTkkp2QpUZ3oURwnLMWdsCK2SK5OiEpa92_5BP1iw/s320/WickedLyrics.HEIC" width="40" /></a></b></div><b>Tuesday Tuneage<br />Faces - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qaYNgDFAKz0" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">“Wicked Messenger”</a><br />1969</b><br /><br />Down in the Valley, Richfield location. Located on Penn south of 66th Street, exact location not quite remembered. What I do remember is returning from <a href="https://readexiled.blogspot.com/2009/07/beats-working-rochester-minnesota-came.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">a day trip to Rochester</a> for my corporate job and heading there to buy some CDs and (yes!) a much-desired blue surfer hoodie to wear on cool evenings lakeside up north. Along with the MC5’s <i>Back in the USA</i>, the Allman Brothers’ <i>At Fillmore East</i>, I also scored the Faces’ debut album, <i>First Step</i>. <br /><br />This was a Japanese pressing, so it <i>was</i> credited to The Faces. Huh? Well, American pressings have always had “Small Faces” on the cover apparently because the Small Faces-to-Faces transition happened so quickly nobody informed the folks at American Warners. (With Rod Stewart at 5-10 and Ron Wood at 5-9 taller than the former Small Faces Kenney Jones, Ronnie Lane, and Ian MacLagan, it was part of the impetus for the name change. Being a modest 5-8 myself, I appreciate Stewart and Wood being looked up to as tall.) <br /><br />The lyrics were in the CD booklet and they must have been translated by some intern in Tokyo with limited English knowledge as on the great Bob Dylan cover “Wicked Messenger”, this happens:<br /><br />Actual lyrics:<br /><br /><i>When questioned who had sent for him<br />He answered with his thumb<br />For his tongue it could not speak, but only flatter</i><br /><br />CD booklet lyrics:<br /><br /><i>When questioned who<br />You said the answer will I come<br />Boys tongue it could not speak but only patter</i><br /><br />Then there’s the Faces’ original “Three Button Hand Me Down”:<br /><br />Actual lyrics:<br /><br /><i>Now I had my fair share of these women<br />But they came between me and my suit</i><br /><br />CD booklet lyrics:<br /><br /><i>Now I had a fair sheriff named Wynn<br />That came between me and my sweetheart<br /></i><br />Hoo-boy. Lost in translation indeed.<p></p>Bill Tuomalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06191456278219245659noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5220954.post-45467497591520800972023-01-24T14:43:00.004-06:002023-01-24T14:44:22.256-06:00<p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKS3lkzW1Tyfu05WXS_atHzoWQM515DVaJwh31iyziZBAcUFnVpk3-0VE5dZvUP6MShrxb_aT7gL2Fb_d3ifo2x-89ivx9NbzbYib5UXB84mL3HGBdA9KpL6dtt1VFCG0WbNbz6ki94OYlQq_HdbgbwyR2IMXGNFuiGr32pWLwH0GxwvwbV7c/s280/Elo_Kiddies_single_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="280" data-original-width="280" height="50" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKS3lkzW1Tyfu05WXS_atHzoWQM515DVaJwh31iyziZBAcUFnVpk3-0VE5dZvUP6MShrxb_aT7gL2Fb_d3ifo2x-89ivx9NbzbYib5UXB84mL3HGBdA9KpL6dtt1VFCG0WbNbz6ki94OYlQq_HdbgbwyR2IMXGNFuiGr32pWLwH0GxwvwbV7c/w200-h200/Elo_Kiddies_single_cover.jpg" width="50" /></a></b></div><b><br />Tuesday Tuneage<br />Cheap Trick - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lVdd6zII8V8" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">"ELO Kiddies"</a><br />1977</b><br /><br />Punk didn’t make it in America, unless you count the Standells, Paul Revere & the Raiders, the Seeds, etc. back in ‘66. Cheap Trick’s “ELO Kiddies” anticipates Reaganomics with a fury equal of the Clash. New wave metal weirdos and from the Midwest to boot. Five stars.<p></p>Bill Tuomalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06191456278219245659noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5220954.post-87056820181593059862022-10-04T12:13:00.000-05:002022-10-04T12:13:17.524-05:00<p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtuDXUPoYNkUzMzS2Jy8JuVoVBEIYsy9vUMoRhRMEYCAKItPLk_ShHxXBB_1sMnW-xunHO0wk4PZImr6p4tFzzJVGfYTfhuO1RJvX-bYDbEUqcfhjPL84SCUz_0DEUyOlrf4PFfEoKHN8Z1hwX6elPIN10NC-WC7sdcoxaYAX7GGI2ja6-bIY/s2579/Knee.HEIC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2170" data-original-width="2579" height="84" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtuDXUPoYNkUzMzS2Jy8JuVoVBEIYsy9vUMoRhRMEYCAKItPLk_ShHxXBB_1sMnW-xunHO0wk4PZImr6p4tFzzJVGfYTfhuO1RJvX-bYDbEUqcfhjPL84SCUz_0DEUyOlrf4PFfEoKHN8Z1hwX6elPIN10NC-WC7sdcoxaYAX7GGI2ja6-bIY/w200-h168/Knee.HEIC" width="100" /></a></b></div><b><br />Tuesday Tuneage<br />Led Zeppelin - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vGYvToUMLeU" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">“Communication Breakdown”</a><br />1969</b><br /><br />Last month I got an MRI on my bum knee. The knee hurt when I walked on stairs, which was problematic given that I live on the second floor. I had spent six months in and out of various medical appointments, looking for relief. So on the Friday of Labor Day weekend, I ended up in St. Louis Park a stone’s throw from a Half-Price Books (pre-appointment vinyl shopping yessir) at an imaging facility. After stripping down to boxers and socks and putting on a gown and scrubs pants, the technicians tucked my legs into the MRI chamber. They told me to hold still for the next thirty minutes, and gave me earplugs and headphones and played a Spotify classic rock playlist for me to help block out the noise from what they assured would be a quite loud machine. Thirty minutes? I figured I’d get through seven or eight classic rock songs then soon be on way to the bus stop and a good book for the commute home. Turns out it was six songs:<br /><br />The Hollies - “Long Cool Woman in a Black Dress”: Best-ever knockoff of Creedence Clearwater Revival. (More on them later.)<br /><br />Todd Rundgren - “ Hello It’s Me”: Lately a top-five favorite. (This, the O’Jays “Back Stabbers” or “For the Love of Money”, and three others make up the top five.)<br /><br />Steve Miller Band - “Rock’n Me”: Like most of the Miller Band’s seventies hits, this one surprisingly punches above its weight.<br /><br />ZZ Top - “La Grange”: Decades ago, I was talking with members of my sister-in-law’s family from Illinois. I asked her brother-in-law where he lived there. He replied “La Grange,” then when he saw the smile creeping across my face threw in: <i>“They got a lotta nice girls there.”</i> Classic.<br /><br />Pat Benatar - “Hit Me with Your Best Shot”: <i>“There are three girls here at Ridgemont who have cultivated the Pat Benatar Look.”</i><p></p><p>The Band - “The Weight”: No matter all the raves and write-ups on the greatness that is The Band, their songs never do much for me. You know how The Band is always to referred to by their cult (I’d call ‘em “Band-Aids”, but Penny Lane already took that one) as “keepers of America’s mythic past, stoic traditionalists while society was breaking apart blah blah blah”? Well they sound zzzzz to these ears. Don’t come at with me with “Baby Don’t You Do It”, it doesn’t touch the Marvin Gaye original. As for <i>The Last Waltz</i>, you can count on that being trod out whenever your local PBS station is doing a fundraiser, as that’s the only time it will feature rock music. (Phones are ready.) <i>Creedence Clearwater Revival</i> was the keepers of America’s mythic past in the sixties-into-seventies era and they were 100% American, with The Band only being 20% USA-bred and the rest Canadian. Throw in that Creedence’s best-known songs were all three minutes long and bingo: They are who you play on the jukebox while you’re working on that pitcher of High Life and contemplating American Mythology. (Better yet, check out the incredible <i>Travelin’ Band</i> documentary-plus-concert on Netflix.) Thankfully a technician cut off The Band mid-song to inform me that my time was up. Being a true old man, I asked her if she could hand me my shoes as I didn’t feel like getting up off the table yet. She also offered to tie them for me. I declined, but like I said: Old man.<br /><br />The MRI WAS noisy as f**k, just like the technicians promised. But what got me is that the noise the machine made the most frequently was one that replicated the noise Jimmy Page made at the beginning of Led Zeppelin’s “Communication Breakdown,” but whereas he did it for two seconds, the MRI machine carried on and on and on. It was funny, kinda. It would have been funnier if it wasn’t so annoying. But guess what song I played repeatedly on headphones on the bus ride home? <br /><br />Postscript: After a consultation with my physician’s assistant, physical therapy, an X-ray, two consultations with an orthopedist, and this MRI; the diagnosis was that I have a small spot of arthritis behind the kneecap. The treatment? Ice and naproxen. Of course.</p>Bill Tuomalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06191456278219245659noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5220954.post-18445602286484649972022-06-28T11:38:00.001-05:002022-06-28T11:38:10.777-05:00<p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLuNphhHRJwRGBKuClROh1U4xfgNdlL6Cwes9Fvp9BHyk00f-0tydRpmzyG8-A0mYh85TZAT11S0bsPaDBMsx_Uea8S1La0svnSnWgUTALi4GFbJISUEpyS-0UPo9bondfINMSs0EinP-7fcXz9Np3sBdlT374dUeVt5SW-7hlP7U17nakXIY/s960/Alex%20Morgan.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="70.63" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLuNphhHRJwRGBKuClROh1U4xfgNdlL6Cwes9Fvp9BHyk00f-0tydRpmzyG8-A0mYh85TZAT11S0bsPaDBMsx_Uea8S1La0svnSnWgUTALi4GFbJISUEpyS-0UPo9bondfINMSs0EinP-7fcXz9Np3sBdlT374dUeVt5SW-7hlP7U17nakXIY/w200-h113/Alex%20Morgan.jpg" width="125" /></a></b></div><b>Tuesday Tuneage<br />The Blasters - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KYu5WSmQ6AE" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">“Go, Go, Go”</a><br />1982</b><br /><br />Anybody remember the original Gaviidae Common? A high-end fancy pancy shopping complex on Nicollet Mall? Bound to be as successful as The Conservatory? I worked as an accountant for a general contractor when Gaviidae was constructed, the division I was in built out some of the tenant spaces there. One shop our company built was owned by a British couple and its concept must have been born from the hubris of the United Kingdom defeating mighty Argentina in the Falklands War in 1982: It was a freakin’ tea room. You could go there and sip your tea and eat your crumpets. On little round wooden tables with doilies. A jolly good time. Oh boy.<br /><br />Then the utterly predictable happened. The place had loyal customers numbering in the single digits and hence didn’t do great business. The Brits didn’t pay the bills owed to my company and our subcontractors didn’t get paid. Inquiring phone calls went up and down the owner-contractor-subcontractor chain over when funds would be made available to the companies that built out the space and things went to hell.<br /><br />There was a process directed by people above me involving sending notice that our company would file a lien on the space. One day my bosses were conveniently all in the same meeting so I took a call from one of the clients, a lady with a shrill British accent who railed at me, saying my company was acting inappropriately and offered up the usual deadbeat client excuses for why they weren’t paying their bills. After a few minutes of taking this bat’s haranguing, I calmly told her it was out of my hands and that I would ask one of my bosses to call her later. She yelled some more at me in that annoying voice before hanging up. I placed my receiver down and yelled: “THIS ISN’T THE GODDAMNED LEND-LEASE ACT!”<br /><br />So on the Fourth of July, I will raise a toast to Adams, Franklin, Hamilton, Jefferson, Madison, Washington, et. al. Imagine if all the gals in the Upper Midwest had an annoying accent and sounded like some version of that lady. I’ll be also be queuing up The Blasters’ <i>Over There</i> EP, a live recording from 1982 where they absolutely smoke in London. Its back cover notes by Claude Kickman Bessy state <i>“forgive me … for once doubting the American supremacy in the bopping field”</i> and its label has an approved use of the Gadsden Flag. <br /><p></p>Bill Tuomalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06191456278219245659noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5220954.post-76738858225196178172022-06-21T14:01:00.002-05:002022-06-21T14:01:39.621-05:00<p><b>Tuesday Tuneage<br /></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhozdcHTolA7myAL_sLrpN8xiWyYuRFEq5Vya2c8TxPOdT9cclwnL66fmQB-tpjc8MFJSzu1CatWy2pAICkvJjNyFJAvmQhzvO0CufAxeXMYbskoHx48G1iHWZ35pau7DrueR9T_ExQepasnq4oGUfxp_2g8kiJ87K5yUB98h4aWIoJGtZp6eU/s259/ZRock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="259" height="56.25" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhozdcHTolA7myAL_sLrpN8xiWyYuRFEq5Vya2c8TxPOdT9cclwnL66fmQB-tpjc8MFJSzu1CatWy2pAICkvJjNyFJAvmQhzvO0CufAxeXMYbskoHx48G1iHWZ35pau7DrueR9T_ExQepasnq4oGUfxp_2g8kiJ87K5yUB98h4aWIoJGtZp6eU/w200-h150/ZRock.jpg" width="75" /></a></b></div><b><br />Corrosion of Conformity - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Kj6UK1Wn8I" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">"Goodbye Windows"</a><br />1996</b><br /><br />Ozzy’s Boneyard — the classic hard rock and heavy metal station on SiriusXM — is my go-to listen when it comes to crunch time on the elliptical, for blasting out distractions while writing, or while descending into a living room happy hour on a lazy afternoon. You get a run of Deep Purple, Scorpions, Led Zeppelin, Black Label Society, and Blue Oyster Cult going on a Friday afternoon with a glass of Larceny bourbon and your troubles are behind you. Lately they have Corrosion of Conformity in regular rotation, which is cause for celebration. <br /><br />COC became a late nineties/early aughts favorite upon stumbling across a copy of <i>Wiseblood</i> in the used CD racks and circa 2000 I saw them on the <i>America’s Volume Dealer </i>tour at First Avenue. This was the show where I was standing on the main floor and two huge linebacker-size metalheads standing behind me (kindly? gently? it seemed that they had more humor in their intentions than bullying) pushed me into the mosh circle. I made moves like Barry Sanders and bid a retreat out of the pit and found a place further back <i>behind</i> two even bigger guys. But there was another reason for this show being written here in my history, my memoirs, my back pages — and it’s that at some point before the show some skinny little metalhead inadvertently bumped me and spilled part of my beer. He stopped and looked and me, shocked and sheepish, and said: “Oh dude! I’m sorry! I’m sorry.” Then he gestured at my beer and stammered: “Can I buy ya? … Can I buy ya?” I assured him that not much had been spilled and eventually he made his way on. I told this story to a couple of my friends a few days later and soon after “Can I buy ya?” became our shorthand for getting together for a beer. … <i>“Can I buy ya?”</i><p></p>Bill Tuomalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06191456278219245659noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5220954.post-5548999202696948462022-05-24T10:52:00.002-05:002022-05-24T10:52:24.479-05:00<p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlBc_JvbwdsqXFoGKLuqs_3q0uxashGaGpdWM4fbKfPR65shv9U9qhiajstTHSz6u9ToESSb19RwPWzAPaMDGDqne90i0XKHAVCUGBHbVgr7tWEx7K_ekx5fqbZgFA_wsW9Y5veZRiuRNgE3Cv7n3sNU7R9q3vsg_LQp0cPofl5A8K5-fktuQ/s259/godfather.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="259" height="56.25" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlBc_JvbwdsqXFoGKLuqs_3q0uxashGaGpdWM4fbKfPR65shv9U9qhiajstTHSz6u9ToESSb19RwPWzAPaMDGDqne90i0XKHAVCUGBHbVgr7tWEx7K_ekx5fqbZgFA_wsW9Y5veZRiuRNgE3Cv7n3sNU7R9q3vsg_LQp0cPofl5A8K5-fktuQ/w200-h150/godfather.jpg" width="75" /></a></b></div><b>Tuesday Tuneage<br />The Godfathers - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PUKKnYmtb3w" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">"Birth, School, Work, Death"</a><br />1988</b><br /><br />During 2006-08 upon the invite of a couple of friends who deejayed at a club near downtown, I joined them in spinning records a handful of times. It was a blast. To this day I’m still amazed I got a small share of the tip money (usually enough to swing cabfare home), free drinks, and a cozy, dark clubhouse in which to toss around inside jokes for a few hours.<br /><br />We played vinyl — LPs, EPs, and singles — which was old-school fun, more hands-on than pushing buttons, which led me into shopping for and buying more vinyl — a rather enjoyable pastime. <br /><br />In January of 2009 with a Cheapo gift certificate given as a Christmas gift in my hand, I bought the Godfathers’ <i>Birth, School, Work, Death</i>, the Pretenders’ debut album, and a couple of other picks in expectations that I would deejay them. What I didn’t know was that my tenure had come to an end. My deejay friends soon moved to NYC and I never asked the bar manager about perhaps continuing to spin records. It wouldn’t have been the same without my friends anyway, so I was content to play vinyl alone in my living room in the dark under headphones.<br /><br /><i>Birth, School, Work, Death</i> had been the first CD I had bought in 1988, along with Metallica’s <i>… And Justice For All</i>. Due to the title, I soon cut out the cover of the CD longbox (remember those?) and put it on the wall of my accounting cubicle. I dug out the LP recently. With a decades later re-listen, it has been a revelation. My favorite track lately is “If I Only Had Time.” Building upon the earlier single “This Damn Nation”, there’s more gripes about the State of Things: <i>“We’re living under a false economy” </i>shoots a dart straight and Thatcherism and Reaganism. The only relief is to live honestly outside the law: <i>“If I only had time, I’d think of the perfect crime.”</i> Unlike other British alternative acts of the era, the Godfathers weren’t fey dorks. This is tough hard rock, smartly produced, with vocals spit out so you get the sense the singer knows everything’s pretty much bullshit.<br /><br />And I can’t remember where I read it, but I swear these guys had earlier released “Love Is Dead” as a single on February 14, 1987. Absolute heroes.<br /><p></p>Bill Tuomalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06191456278219245659noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5220954.post-38724199004913600782021-12-07T11:05:00.003-06:002021-12-07T11:05:50.343-06:00<b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdSQrxU36vJT_nmBgU3lszB4LjaGdOrGZXbRMCvtvwngQr6-4szJzt0SI9BTu0SyQQqbBnjYnDUiO0Vgsq10XerJkSB7guVP5hOQYHolVuWrFXrBHnPLeN9lPhHxGFv_m-GYqt_A/s800/DrugstoreCowboy.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="451" data-original-width="800" height="56" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdSQrxU36vJT_nmBgU3lszB4LjaGdOrGZXbRMCvtvwngQr6-4szJzt0SI9BTu0SyQQqbBnjYnDUiO0Vgsq10XerJkSB7guVP5hOQYHolVuWrFXrBHnPLeN9lPhHxGFv_m-GYqt_A/w200-h113/DrugstoreCowboy.jpg" width="100" /></a></div>Tuesday Tuneage<br />Bo Diddley - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qaA8ajDR7WM" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">“Pills”</a><br />1961</b><br /><br />It’s probably high school apocryphon, but it has stuck with me over the decades. We would sit in our nook of the commons before classes started in the morning, a crumpled-up-little-milk-carton’s toss from this couple, not being able to hear them but fascinated nonetheless. The guy was a wrestler. The gal was a cheerleader. What fascinated us was that he would totally fawn over her and she kinda held him in disdain. Like doing her nails or makeup while he talked to her. And he was nuts about her. And not crazy like in a puppy-dog-teenage love kind of way. Like in the way they were sitting there one morning, and he was talking to her and she was obviously ignoring him. Finally he groaned and ripped his teeshirt to make some sort of psycho point. (Over in our group, a fellow wrestler said: “Hey I loaned him that shirt!”) A week or so later we heard that she had broken up with him. Then a few days after that we heard that he showed up at Happy Joe’s Pizza Parlor where she worked one night and approached her at the counter and showed her a handful of pills. “If you don’t get back together with me,” he said, “I’ll take these.” And as the story went, she poured him a glass of water.Bill Tuomalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06191456278219245659noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5220954.post-66782813787890441162021-10-19T12:05:00.004-05:002021-10-19T12:05:52.664-05:00<p><b></b></p><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUl6aIeRLJxI91mVDCnW52DvMCWbA_tV-IbYQ8_BvgcYaAcJdfeFdAnXG0F4AS1-sBsBt2OGJYZC_zdRalATYLuAyq_S_yIukN6ZQBW3krmMHIpRdC6-mtVGSa7nu-Jrfms4XJqQ/s215/Uncleduke.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="215" data-original-width="200" height="75" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUl6aIeRLJxI91mVDCnW52DvMCWbA_tV-IbYQ8_BvgcYaAcJdfeFdAnXG0F4AS1-sBsBt2OGJYZC_zdRalATYLuAyq_S_yIukN6ZQBW3krmMHIpRdC6-mtVGSa7nu-Jrfms4XJqQ/w186-h200/Uncleduke.jpg" width="69.75" /></a></div>Tuesday Tuneage<br />INXS - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4frCw_hTUo" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">“This Time”</a><br />1985</b><br /><br />I recently finished reading <i>Gonzo: The Life of Hunter S. Thompson</i> and wow his life story got boring. Drug addict, alcoholic, abuser of women, a constant litany of “if he wouldn’t have fallen to his vices and lived up to his talent” quotes. Though when excerpts of his work were printed you could see that glimmer, that spark that proved he could at times live up to his hype. But the dude skipped out on reporting on both the Fall of Saigon <i>and</i> the Rumble in the Jungle, which is not gonzo. Not at all.<br /><br />There was an interesting tidbit that grabbed me. In the early eighties some kid from the University of North Dakota called one of Thompson’s agents, wondering if he’d come to UND to give a lecture. And it turned out that Hunter S. Thompson’s first college “lecture” was in Grand Forks circa 1983-84. I was a student there then, but have no recollection of this event. Then again, I didn’t become familiar with his writing until a few years later when a roommate subscribed to <i>Rolling Stone</i>. I remember Thompson wrote a review of ecstasy, which was likely when I found out that it’s a drug. A few weeks earlier I had run into a guy from high school in a loud bar and he was raving about ecstasy. I bluffed and nodded my head in approval. I thought “Ecstasy” was a band. (I was probably thinking of INXS, both having that “ex” sound it them.) So yet again not actively participating in a conversation paid off. <i>“Better to remain silent and be thought a fool …”</i><p></p>Bill Tuomalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06191456278219245659noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5220954.post-52521941273627333442021-07-20T08:42:00.000-05:002021-07-20T08:42:34.325-05:00<p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYKiWFqiGK_OOX2tAN4MIGLqsgO89Gs1yxncym859JU-UVcn4ssZSZOCjj4q9W_LixxH8NALagCveQv5MH8AaILNIFYMNMWrP6qUhrV0iDk8fSd8SZuwi9OUT31w9-lF5GTAAbKQ/s475/Hamilton.gif" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="288" height="75" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYKiWFqiGK_OOX2tAN4MIGLqsgO89Gs1yxncym859JU-UVcn4ssZSZOCjj4q9W_LixxH8NALagCveQv5MH8AaILNIFYMNMWrP6qUhrV0iDk8fSd8SZuwi9OUT31w9-lF5GTAAbKQ/w121-h200/Hamilton.gif" width="45" /></a></b></div><b>Tuesday Tuneage<br />Inside Experience - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WIH9YgOkvSY" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">"Tales of Brave Ulysses"</a><br />1969</b><br /><br />In the continuing effort to drown out the window AC unit, <a href="https://www.ridingeasyrecs.com/product-category/bands/brown-acid/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">the <i>Brown Acid</i> compilations</a> of proto-stoner metal from the late sixties and early seventies have been employed. The music is more amateurish and stumbling than the likes of Frijid Pink and Blue Cheer, as the <i>Nuggets</i>-era bands started embracing harsher drugs, became slower and heavier, headed for burnout, and brought about the comedown referenced in the series’ title. <br /><br />This cover of the Cream song by Eric Clapton and Martin Sharp starts out as a bummer, then stumbles into a higher gear. There’s no sign of Clapton’s wah-wah guitar, kinda like how when The Litter covered The Yardbirds’ version of “I’m a Man” they neglected to attempt the Jeff-Beck-treats-his-guitar-as-a-percussion-instrument thing. But the cool (yes, cool) touch these slouches pulled off was the sudden laughing and cackling kicking in at the end. The Sirens, of course. The tune sounds like it was recorded in the dankest of basements (hence the band name) and we the listeners are up on the porch drinking lukewarm Miller High Lifes. (If this had been recorded in the nineties, some joker would have told you that you were listening to “lo-fi.”)<br /><br />And after buying Cream’s <i>Disraeli Gears</i> forty years ago in the used racks at Mother’s Records, a kicking-myself realization: While this tune is about Ulysses from Roman mythology, a later verse doesn’t namecheck Venus and instead uses Aphrodite from Greek mythology. Hey Clapton: Shoulda brushed up on your Edith Hamilton! <br /><p></p>Bill Tuomalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06191456278219245659noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5220954.post-545979296855648352021-06-29T11:52:00.002-05:002021-06-29T11:52:41.283-05:00<p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPC95_K1EBCQasSiiRPGLhO0My70k9UZ9MBiZQSAABuutDKHgT9iExS90MYb_v7I3Ljgp6Kp7xtr5JUkSyqAdVJOS9CwpqNtEgkRe0KOzSS7e0cYJbVMu1Zf9jO8hOzBBv2_vgaQ/s540/Lunds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="540" height="75" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPC95_K1EBCQasSiiRPGLhO0My70k9UZ9MBiZQSAABuutDKHgT9iExS90MYb_v7I3Ljgp6Kp7xtr5JUkSyqAdVJOS9CwpqNtEgkRe0KOzSS7e0cYJbVMu1Zf9jO8hOzBBv2_vgaQ/w200-h200/Lunds.jpg" width="75" /></a></b></div><b><br />Tuesday Tuneage<br />Coverdale-Page - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=52r1Jix62-4" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">“Pride and Joy”</a><br />1993</b><br /><br />I was working my first post-college temp job at the Richfield Lunds grocery store in the summer of 1987. My task was to sit at a table with another temp and some senior volunteers and help people sign up to obtain at-home colon cancer screening tests. It was a campaign promoted by channel 5’s Dr. Michael Breen, who once stopped by to say hi and thank us for helping out. (Imagine my disappointment decades later while watching the NBA Finals and finding out ABC’s Mike Breen is a completely different guy, coulda done the Jeff Spicoli “ah, I know that dude” bit.) Later in the summer the reachout effort tamped down and the table was down to one-person shifts and there weren’t many interested patrons. (Though I was referred to as “sir” for the first time ever by a high school kid looking for the deli section ... I was twenty-one, sigh.) The manager of the store took a liking to me and said it would be fine if I flipped through magazines at my station during the slow stretches. So it was in a magazine there — I forget which — that I read Whitesnake’s name described as “seemingly both racist *and* sexist.” That line sounds like a Spinal Tap outtake, bravo.<br /><br />Tawny Kitaen (RIP) aside, I never cared for Whitesnake. Glossy corporate metal that became increasingly laughable once Guns n’ Roses appeared and dumb without enough fun to make up for it. (No, I didn’t care about the hire-Steve-Vai move.) While I could go back to David Coverdale’s solo album <i>White Snake</i> (two words, not one, a complicated fellow this Dave) and try to find a song, instead I’m using a Coverdale-Page song here because Jimmy Page’s efforts in the nineties to resuscitate Led Zeppelin were pretty damn funny.<p></p>Bill Tuomalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06191456278219245659noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5220954.post-66807595813890780022021-06-15T08:04:00.000-05:002021-06-15T08:04:40.244-05:00<p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7yYuWL-1xunb3DCSeSi0z_0rPxruNMIoqOBDHziaM7N21kAh32Xu0oNqrifL2dlLkeRPZLwRrI-8PIDSPDlBuHhtwGd9CfotKvw89KNwqPd7QeFcubNQl4E0AFJ5MVTPPiEUoiw/s300/Deep_Purple_in_Rock.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="300" height="75" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7yYuWL-1xunb3DCSeSi0z_0rPxruNMIoqOBDHziaM7N21kAh32Xu0oNqrifL2dlLkeRPZLwRrI-8PIDSPDlBuHhtwGd9CfotKvw89KNwqPd7QeFcubNQl4E0AFJ5MVTPPiEUoiw/w200-h200/Deep_Purple_in_Rock.jpg" width="75" /></a></b></div><b>Tuesday Tuneage<br />Deep Purple - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XxNYOcNnmGI" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">"Flight of the Rat"</a><br />1970</b><br /><br /><i>Deep Purple in Rock</i> was the debut of the fabled Mark II edition of the band. As Billy Altman wrote in <i>The Rolling Stone Record Guide</i> (original red edition, 1979): “(Ritchie) Blackmore began to pull feverish and original solos out of nowhere, as he and (keyboardist Jon) Lord began to serve as counterpoints to each other.” The best case of this on <i>In Rock</i> is “The Flight of the Rat.” The album also has one of the great seventies album covers. In Chuck Eddy’s excellent tome <i>Stairway to Hell: The 500 Best Heavy Metal Albums in the Universe</i>, he writes that Deep Purple disguising themselves as Mount Rushmore on the cover of <i>In Rock</i> was “a very Spinal Tap thing to do.” Thinking of this made me note other Spinal Tap-ish things that have occurred in real life. Soon I will be listing others here and maybe I’ll actually write something instead of quoting others. To get the writing juices flowing, I can look to <a href="https://rarerecordcollector.files.wordpress.com/2012/01/tpsa-7504-machine-head-poster.png" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">the lyrics that came with Deep Purple’s <i>Machine Head</i></a> (Mark II's masterpiece), they’re hanging in my office.<p></p>Bill Tuomalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06191456278219245659noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5220954.post-32319937085539898992021-04-27T09:38:00.002-05:002021-04-27T09:38:13.879-05:00<p><b></b></p><p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBc9WPVoNCbVDygF-69LYW4bVIZXtcHynJszgkCKL7a5Si5rxDxO6vgx155PMiYw3h2I28F-EelDgqoLfkefikM1Ceh_u1a23MYlyzKzzuuxYBgZJAnnegxA_naazehhCXf4Ihyw/s594/errolmann.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="50" data-original-width="75" height="67" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBc9WPVoNCbVDygF-69LYW4bVIZXtcHynJszgkCKL7a5Si5rxDxO6vgx155PMiYw3h2I28F-EelDgqoLfkefikM1Ceh_u1a23MYlyzKzzuuxYBgZJAnnegxA_naazehhCXf4Ihyw/w200-h133/errolmann.jpg" width="100" /></a><b> </b></b></div><p></p><p><b>Tuesday Tuneage<br />Mick Jagger with Dave Grohl - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MN9YLLQl7gE" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">“Eazy Sleazy”</a><br />2021</b><br /><br />“Deep dive” is one of those phrases thrown around a lot the past few years, and I can safely say that such excursions aren’t working for me when it comes to certain current events, even though these days I have all kinds of time. Even counting time washing masks, streaming shows, applying for PPP loans, coming up with excuses not to attend the inevitable post-pandemic parties, cataloging my grievances against my newly-adopted cat (who is doing the same), and avoiding neighbors in the hallway ... I have time. In fact, I have too much time on my hands but yet I don’t want deep dives. I only want shallow dives. Wait, with such a dive you could injure your head and neck in shallow water. No, I only want shallow <i>swims</i> these days. Subjects that aren’t deep, like: Figuring out which University of North Dakota football players have scored points in Super Bowls, Cheap Trick’s eighties output, <i>Everybody Loves Raymond reruns</i>, those three great songs from Badfinger, digging up the rules of board games I played as a kid, and this Jagger/Grohl song. It’s garage-dance rock, dumb as hell, and a lot of fun.<br /><br />And after a couple of spins and an afternoon dance party is contemplated, soon some time has been killed and it’s time for more coffee. A caffeine-plus-jitters diet is keeping the weight off, saves me from taking a deep dive into how to stay healthy when shut inside month after month. Coffee, water, and then daydream about beer. Friends are taking deep dives into craft beers, having all kinds of sixers and twelvers and growlers delivered to their homes. I shallowly swim in cheap macro lagers — Pabst, LaBatt, Grain Belt. Saves money and I can drink more of ‘em because they’re not hoppy. It’s fun tossing the cans into the recycling container, the kind of shallow activity that might take up my evening. Shallow swims, I’m in. <br /></p><p></p>Bill Tuomalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06191456278219245659noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5220954.post-43887278507076715612021-04-06T09:55:00.000-05:002021-04-06T09:55:21.717-05:00<p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik_bINpxL4Yusff0x4soWFNDe8t3TTG4ET-ibmQwrdJrwEuJk_9aobxneJwfhYHFnRfv0sECCyHN3DHaIsTUaGNhFQWfZS7lRI5dmNBqSbcn79ukvAry0XXxGG9QS8_zdj1GI0cw/s600/firewater.jpeg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="75" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik_bINpxL4Yusff0x4soWFNDe8t3TTG4ET-ibmQwrdJrwEuJk_9aobxneJwfhYHFnRfv0sECCyHN3DHaIsTUaGNhFQWfZS7lRI5dmNBqSbcn79ukvAry0XXxGG9QS8_zdj1GI0cw/w200-h200/firewater.jpeg.jpg" width="75" /></a></b></div><b><br />Tuesday Tuneage<br />Wilson Picket - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Qrx4vConNI" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">“Fire and Water”</a><br />1971</b><br /><br /><a href="https://readexiled.blogspot.com/2019/03/tuesday-tuneage-wilson-pickett-sugar.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">In my efforts to listen to more Wilson Pickett,</a> I assembled a playlist of him covering others’ hits. What a fun, exhilarating experience. Pickett would take on anything. There was hard rock: “Born to Be Wild<span style="font-size: x-small;">*</span>,” “Fire and Water,” and “You Keep Me Hangin’ On” (taking on the Vanilla Fudge version of the Supremes’ classic.) There was bubblegum: “Sugar Sugar” and “Run Joey Run.” There was the greatest British band with “Hey Jude,” the greatest American band with “Proud Mary,” and a criminally underrated American band with “Groovin’.” There was an ancient folk song in “Stagger Lee,” and a folk song of relatively recent invention in “Hey Joe.” Plus Roger Miller’s “Engine Engine Number 9” and another pretty good songwriter thrown in with Randy Newman’s “Mama Told Me Not to Come.”<br /><br />Perhaps my favorite is his take on Free’s “Fire and Water.” Where Free’s version was all tension until Paul Kossoff’s brilliant guitar solo freed (ahem) things up, Pickett’s soars with horns and his irrepressible vocal. The weather is warming up and it’s time to maybe smile. Me, I’m going to listen to sunny music with the windows open. Wilson Picket demands a listen. What else are you going to do: Listen to The Kinks sleepwalk their way through “Long Tall Sally”?<br /><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">*Better than Steve Martin’s version even. </span><br /><p></p>Bill Tuomalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06191456278219245659noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5220954.post-90490325941089724342021-02-23T11:01:00.000-06:002021-02-23T11:01:47.410-06:00<p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKBC6ecRpdCoPdyP15H5N3YJoVR6rjwRJm50BStICU21T9fyK4VIuSZelDIIgwL_-4YGIuWnaQP7ONo_6nPKzBflgttYlyl2IIFSRCHiJnq3kdoVICaUiwUEYt4_Y3j3PD1j7CZA/s321/Lodi.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="311" data-original-width="321" height="72.75" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKBC6ecRpdCoPdyP15H5N3YJoVR6rjwRJm50BStICU21T9fyK4VIuSZelDIIgwL_-4YGIuWnaQP7ONo_6nPKzBflgttYlyl2IIFSRCHiJnq3kdoVICaUiwUEYt4_Y3j3PD1j7CZA/w200-h194/Lodi.jpeg" width="75" /></a></b></div><b><br />Tuesday Tuneage<br />Creedence Clearwater Revival - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yA7iGxV6rt4" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">“Lodi”</a><br />1969</b><br /><br />Been at this same writing desk in my apartment for almost a year now, putting down words. But it’s not the same without being at the coffee shop, grabbing a table and setting up my office there with notebook, iPad, magazines, and folders. The words I type these days mostly go into unfinished pieces that feel inspired or at least solid upon first spark, but after typing up the notes and rewriting, revising, and editing, they lose their shine. There’s no variety while I sit here, no random sighting of folks across the shop, no snippets of conversation drifting across my table. No sense that as I’m away from home, I’m getting away with something. I like to use that feeling of mischief in creating, that sense of pulling a fast one, of getting away with the perfect score. But here I am sitting at home again, like the narrator in Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Lodi”, on a treadmill with seemingly no way of getting off. <i>“If I only had a dollar ...”</i><br /><p></p>Bill Tuomalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06191456278219245659noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5220954.post-10639740891857442572021-02-16T09:10:00.001-06:002021-02-16T09:10:33.489-06:00<p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVRN-g4t0ZzVJLTSzU3AbqQChkyO8WlSpsRadbN2_8hodW-QbORIv6_lc5MABxZARfoVyeYVTuXSH6_sLc9p-GgUUwtjg-7cmTUtqqsQ3-33kQCjNbFJIWmShs6O2Rpl4y0rg0Nw/s600/Brenton+Wood+PR.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="75" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVRN-g4t0ZzVJLTSzU3AbqQChkyO8WlSpsRadbN2_8hodW-QbORIv6_lc5MABxZARfoVyeYVTuXSH6_sLc9p-GgUUwtjg-7cmTUtqqsQ3-33kQCjNbFJIWmShs6O2Rpl4y0rg0Nw/w200-h200/Brenton+Wood+PR.jpg" width="75" /></a></b></div><b><br />Tuesday Tuneage<br />Brenton Wood - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a_ysqnR9m-4" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">“Psychotic Reaction”</a><br />1967</b><br /><br />How I made it until 2021 without hearing this one is baffling. Sampling Count Five’s garage rock masterpiece of the same name while adding ? and the Mysterians-like keyboard results in a soul nugget that anticipates Funkadelic, Prince (especially), and a long list of funk weirdos. Both Woods and the Five were on the same Double Shot label, must of made clearing the rights to the song easier. Interesting that the original “Psychotic Reaction” was a clumsy/genius rehash of the Yardbirds “I’m a Man”, which in turn was a cover of the Bo Diddley classic. Though when things get weirdly fun we tend to end up at Bo, don’t we?<br /><br />(And again, the singer is <a href="https://readexiled.blogspot.com/2014/03/tuesday-tuneage-brenton-wood-gimme.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Brenton Wood, not Bretton Woods</a>.)<br /><p></p>Bill Tuomalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06191456278219245659noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5220954.post-77167609279143062302020-11-03T11:58:00.003-06:002020-11-03T12:01:13.792-06:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdrsu5lM-nKowVyaKCRfSJo4ZXYqrCwuPEdgP2NfegJNQIp9Uo-Oi-ZD5Hhb457HVAwKck8ToN7ZMgFPkfTSyDk8rEtHDXVm7WHRhOQZBZUTbIMRhoYRE-Na8rjCnZ99xN2-rgsw/s1200/Josh+Marilyn.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="75" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdrsu5lM-nKowVyaKCRfSJo4ZXYqrCwuPEdgP2NfegJNQIp9Uo-Oi-ZD5Hhb457HVAwKck8ToN7ZMgFPkfTSyDk8rEtHDXVm7WHRhOQZBZUTbIMRhoYRE-Na8rjCnZ99xN2-rgsw/w200-h150/Josh+Marilyn.jpg" width="100" /></a></div><b>Tuesday Tuneage<br />Alice Cooper - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gTBKZrQUSwM" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">“Reflected”</a><br />1969</b><br /><br />Some rock ‘n’ roll urban legends are salacious, like the Rod Stewart/emergency room/stomach pump story. Others are curious: Bruce Springsteen supposedly wrote “Billie Jean”, this is backed up by a photo of Bruce mimicking that song’s video on <a href="https://eil.com/shop/moreinfo.asp?catalogid=40176" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">the back cover of the “Dancing in the Dark” twelve-inch</a>. Some are hilarious: In the late eighties a story swirled that Depeche Mode played concerts with backing tapes instead of real instruments, one time the tape machine malfunctioned, and the band had to start the concert over with the tape rolling from the beginning. My favorite of these legends is the “evil rock act has origins in something harmless from your youth” genre. I first heard one of these during my childhood in the early seventies. Alice Cooper was taking the nation by storm (documented in “Elected”) with a double-punch of their horror-movie-influenced live shows and a concurrent takeover of the radio airwaves with hook-filled teen anthems like “School’s Out” and “No More Mister Nice Guy.” A rumor circulated that lead singer Alice was none other than Ken Osmond, the actor who had portrayed Eddie Haskell in the sixties sitcom <i>Leave It to Beaver</i>. Turns out in reality Ken Osmond went on to become a cop in Los Angeles, was shot in the line of duty and survived, which may have been the genesis of the other rumor involving the cast of the show: That show star Jerry “Beaver” Mathis had been killed in action in Vietnam.<br /><br />The next variation I heard on this legend was in the mid-eighties. My brother said that our cousin had told him that he had heard that the members of Motley Crue used to be the band Bread. To be honest, I love this one more than the Osmond/Cooper rumor. Purporting that Bread, known for a run of saccharine AM radio hits in the seventies, went on to become PMRC bad boys Motley Crue is rich. In <i>The Wonder Years</i>, Winnie Cooper gave Kevin Arnold a Bread album. Kevin feigned enthusiasm (because Winnie, woo woo) but in voiceover admitted his disdain for the band. Which would explain why a fading David Gates knew that the typical teen male wouldn’t go for his songs. So he turned to Tom Werman to punch up some tapes he had sitting around (<i>"they’re like ‘Mother Freedom’, only more rockin"</i>), convinced his bandmates to wear makeup and change their names, and start paying attention to this thing called “MTV” ... <br /><br />Speaking of <i>The Wonder Years</i>, in the nineties a rumor circulated that Josh Saviano, the actor who was Kevin’s best friend Paul Pfeiffer, grew up to become Marilyn Manson. I didn’t hear of this one in typical urban legend third-hand such as “my sister’s neighbor’s friend told me ...”, instead I read it while surfing the Net via AOL. By this time I was in my thirties, had an interest in urban legends, and spotted the motif instantly. At a family reunion, a teenage cousin was into Marilyn Manson and tried to present his whole shtick as shocking. Her mom, a fellow child of the seventies, simply chuckled and said: “Oh yeah, Alice Cooper.”<p></p>Bill Tuomalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06191456278219245659noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5220954.post-57366750414384193452020-10-27T10:32:00.001-05:002020-10-31T17:22:38.015-05:00<p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0TU0b8KPvcWAzPdd984sf5M04Pluz2-VWESaItebQB6_E52O0QW1K4TklGC1qoVsEnKsATSOtSzNjoGIHy-b1DNW5qABKt87_IjCty-abEnGKnlU9ks7Ko6efkYSCzHovdSVgaw/s450/VH+Dancing.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="447" data-original-width="450" height="75" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0TU0b8KPvcWAzPdd984sf5M04Pluz2-VWESaItebQB6_E52O0QW1K4TklGC1qoVsEnKsATSOtSzNjoGIHy-b1DNW5qABKt87_IjCty-abEnGKnlU9ks7Ko6efkYSCzHovdSVgaw/w200-h199/VH+Dancing.jpeg" width="75" /></a></b></div><b>Tuesday Tuneage<br />Van Halen - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D5qT2C_Ggpg" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">“Dancing in the Street”</a><br />1982</b><br /><br />Per Wikipedia, the David Bowie and Mick Jagger cover of “Dancing in the Street” had two lead singers, three guitarists, two bassists, one drummer and a variety of other hangers-on who participated in that absolute mediocrity. But three years earlier, Van Halen made some seriously great white funk with the same song using just the four guys in the band being produced by the irreproachable Ted Templeman. The Bowie/Jagger song was produced by the duo of (seriously, I’m not making these names up) Alan Winstanley and Clive Langer, who no doubt were paying more attention to their black pudding and/or bangers and mash than to bother working with a couple of fading postage-prepaid superstars and put out anything that anyone would want to listen to decades later. Some didn’t want to listen to it the following week back in ‘85, either.<br /><br /><i>RIP Edward Van Halen, 1955 - 2020</i><p></p>Bill Tuomalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06191456278219245659noreply@blogger.com