The Top 30 Rock Books I Own: #12 The Rolling Stone Record Guide

Title: The Rolling Stone Record Guide
Editors: Dave Marsh with John Swenson
Year Originally Published: 1979
Edition I Own: Rolling Stone Press, 1979

What They Say: I'm not even going to look for online reviews of this one, as it has existed in many editions over the years. Instead, I point you to Randall Roberts, who entered RS Guide data into Excel and came up with something he presented at the 2006 Experience Music Project. As a fellow music and numbers geek, I give him a standing ovation.

Tuomala's Attempt At A Take: I got this for Christmas from my brother one year in high school. I beat the hell out of it (that is not my cover pictured above, mine looks worse) constantly flipping through it in attempts to pick up a language to impress fellow music fans. It's strange now to think that someone thought that you could get an overview of rock 'n' roll and fit all significant record reviews into one not-that-large volume. I still get this one out every once in a while to see if a sixties or seventies artist I've come across is in it.

Paul McCartney Was In A Band Before Wings?

Count me as utterly apathetic that the Beatles' albums have been remastered and reissued. No doubt it's an effort (and a successful one) to get fanatics to buy the product on compact disc once more before the CD fades out of existence. And how many buyers will in turn go and listen to their reissues as mp3s?

A great many thousands of Beatlemaniacs will shell out in the neighborhood of $600 for two box sets of extravagantly remastered records they probably already own, rip those suckers to iTunes-type computer programs, and blast them on iPod-type portable MP3 players through earbuds (overpriced at $30 or so) that render the sonic differences between the old stuff, the new stereo stuff, and the new mono stuff thoroughly negligible.

Maybe I'm just cynical because I don't own all the Beatles albums, and the ones I do have sound just fine to me. The Beatles stuff was also reissued as a mono collection (Common Man: "If you want to hear the Beatles in mono, listen to them on AM."), which attempts to replicate buying the albums as they were originally issued on vinyl.

My guess is the next step is to actually go ahead and reissue the albums on vinyl. You don't see much for Beatles stuff in the used racks, so likely most everybody is still holding onto their original LPs. Do longtime fans want new Beatles vinyl? Vinyl has been making a comeback in recent years, would younger folks with no Beatles vinyl want new LPs? With turntable owners still being a minority, maybe the first step in a vinyl reissue would be to release some sort of anthology. I'm thinking maybe two double LPs. One could cover the pre-Sgt. Pepper's years of 1962-1966. Assign the cover a bold primary color like red to signify the Beatles' brazen takeover of pop music in the early- and mid-sixties. And of course, feature a photo of them smiling in their moptops.

The other double LP could cover the years 1967-1970, after they had conquered the world. This album cover could be a softer primary color like blue to signify the experimental and more-individualistic sound the band embraced in the second half of its existence. To signify how much the band had changed since its inception, use a photo of them as longhairs. If they ever posed identically as both moptops and longhairs, those photos would be PERFECT for these two albums.

Aside from the obvious songs essential to any Beatles collection, both anthologies could throw in singles and other notable tracks not on the official Beatles LPs. Stereo or mono? I'll let the fanatics fight over that one. I'm already imagining these LPs in the stacks over by my turntable, ready to be played all weekend long.

And Did Anybody Catch Munch In The Last Episode Of The Wire?

In my previous post, I forgot to mention a classic inside joke that aired on Homicide. An episode opens with Bayliss and Pembleton out on the streets in a Cavalier. Pembleton is driving, while Bayliss reads a book in the passenger seat. Pembleton asks Bayliss what he's reading, Bayliss tells him The Corner and that the authors spent a year in a known drug neighborhood. Pembleton wonders aloud if a writer would ever want to spend a year with homicide detectives and write a book about it. Bayliss replies sarcastically: "Yeah, right."

Beyond The Wire

Four years ago or so my friend Ben told me about The Wire, which was airing on HBO. I caught up with the show on DVD and became one of the many dedicated fans of the show, declaring it my favorite TV series ever. You're either all-in with The Wire or you're not. There aren't casual fans of the show, the complexities of it guarantee that. Since watching the end of the final season in early 2008 (I don't have HBO so I caught that season in a weird mix of late-night post-babysitting viewings on demand at my sister's and on some sketchy probably-illegal Asian websites), I have been exploring books and TV shows that have ties to The Wire. Below is what I've been into so far.

Homicide Detectives

In 1988, The Wire co-creator David Simon - then a reporter for the Baltimore Sun, spent a year with a Baltimore homicide unit and wrote the brilliant and insightful book Homicide: A Year on the Killing Streets.

A few years later, Barry Levinson and Tom Fontana created the TV series Homicide: Life on the Street based on Simon's book. While the show was fictional, it was shot on site in Baltimore and early episodes used cases straight from the book. Simon himself would write some episodes and in later seasons would become a producer of the show. Actors from Homicide would later show up The Wire: notably Peter Gerety, Callie Thorne and Clark Johnson. Though many other The Wire veterans showed up in minor roles (Bodie! Prop Joe!), my fave being Clayton LeBouef being stick-in-the-mud Colonel Barnfather in Homicide and overambitious strip club operator Orlando in The Wire.

Many parts of Homicide will be immediately familiar to The Wire lovers: Baltimore as another character, the white board in the homicide squad room, hard-drinking detectives, the concept of legalizing drugs (okay technically, that was in Homicide: The Movie), and questionable polygraph machines. (Here's The Wire's take.)

Oh, and Homicide was the best cop show on TV before The Wire came along. You will not be disappointed watching this show.

The Boys on the Corner

The Wire co-creators Simon and Ed Burns wrote The Corner: A Year in the Life of an Inner-City Neighborhood, a bleak-but-great book that should be required reading for all of those who think The War on Drugs is winnable. This was the basis for the Emmy-winnng miniseries The Corner, which I haven't seen. It predates The Wire but features some of the same actors. I have been told that casting tends to go against that in The Wire (a google search shows that Clarke Peters - Lester Freamon in The Wire - is a drug addict in The Corner.) Plus it has Khandi Alexander - no complaints here.

Crime Writers Who Wrote For The Show

George Pelecanos: His novels take place in Washington, D.C. They usually involve Greek-Americans, diners, and enough great music references that you have to keep a pen handy to write stuff down to check out later. (I was told in one book two characters discuss the Replacements, but haven't come across that one yet.) Pete Scholtes grades Pelecanos's books (Hard Revolution was probably my fave), plus interviews him about The Wire and other subjects here and here.

Dennis Lehane: His novels take place in Boston. Two - Mystic River and Gone, Baby, Gone - have been made into award-winning pictures, with Gone, Baby, Gone featuring The Wire alums Michael K. Williams in a small role and Amy Ryan in an Oscar-nominated best supporting actress role. This summer I was so captivated by Darkness, Take My Hand that I read it over a weekend.

Richard Price: Writer of novels and screenplays. I am currently reading Clockers (haven't seen the movie.) Published in 1993 and taking place in Newark, it covers familiar ground for fans of The Wire: A teenage corner dealer and a middle-aged homicide detective are dealt with in alternating chapters. I am blown away by this novel, the craft of it moves beyond the crime novel genre and makes it great fiction period.

On A Lighter Note

You can take a "Which The Wire character are you?" quiz. I'm Bunk, which thrilled me to no end.

Robert Mitchum's The Better Tough Guy Anyway

In an earlier post I mentioned reading William Manchester's memior Goodbye, Darkness. In the book, he referenced John Wayne being booed by World War II vets in Hawaii. This intrigued me, so I googled it and found out that Manchester himself had witnessed this:

Once we polled a rifle company, asking each man why he had joined the Marines. A majority cited ''To the Shores of Tripoli,'' a marshmallow of a movie starring John Payne, Randolph Scott and Maureen O'Hara. Throughout the film the uniform of the day was dress blues; requests for liberty were always granted. The implication was that combat would be a lark, and when you returned, spangled with decorations, a Navy nurse like Maureen O'Hara would be waiting in your sack. It was peacetime again when John Wayne appeared on the silver screen as Sergeant Stryker in ''Sands of Iwo Jima,'' but that film underscores the point; I went to see it with another ex-Marine, and we were asked to leave the theater because we couldn't stop laughing.

After my evacuation from Okinawa, I had the enormous pleasure of seeing Wayne humiliated in person at Aiea Heights Naval Hospital in Hawaii. Only the most gravely wounded, the litter cases, were sent there. The hospital was packed, the halls lined with beds. Between Iwo Jima and Okinawa, the Marine Corps was being bled white.

Each evening, Navy corpsmen would carry litters down to the hospital theater so the men could watch a movie. One night they had a surprise for us. Before the film the curtains parted and out stepped John Wayne, wearing a cowboy outfit - 10-gallon hat, bandanna, checkered shirt, two pistols, chaps, boots and spurs. He grinned his aw-shucks grin, passed a hand over his face and said, ''Hi ya, guys!'' He was greeted by a stony silence. Then somebody booed. Suddenly everyone was booing.

This man was a symbol of the fake machismo we had come to hate, and we weren't going to listen to him. He tried and tried to make himself heard, but we drowned him out, and eventually he quit and left. If you liked ''Sands of Iwo Jima,'' I suggest you be careful. Don't tell it to the Marines.

Touchy Touchy

I got a way-cool iPod Touch on Monday and having been spending the week playing around with its features. It's scary that it was able to identify my location on a map without me entering any info and I still don't know what all that stock stuff means (it says Dow at 9,500 ... good, bad, ugly?), but overall it's been a blast to explore. A friend wondered why I didn't man up and go all-in for an iPhone. For those of you who didn't make this leap of logic ... I'm no expert, but I believe the two are considered sister devices, the interfaces are similar and the same apps can generally be used on both. Actually it was an easy decision. My reasons to go with an iPod Touch rather than an iPhone:

1) I still have ten months left on my contract with T-Mobile and didn't want to pay the early termination fee.

2) The iPhone is exclusive to AT&T and they helped the government spy on US citizens. I'd rather not do business with them.

3) Even if I did go iPhone/AT&T, I'm not in the mood to pay $30 more a month for a 3G data plan. I can use the iPod Touch's Internet features anywhere I have access to wi-fi; not at 3G speeds but good enough for me to use the iPod's apps to check email and listen to Sirius, KFAN, and MPR.

4) Most importantly: I plan on using my iPod Touch's music-playing feature a lot when I'm at coffee shops working on writing and do not want to be bothered by some phone call coming in. That's what my cell phone - whether it be in my front pocket, in my book bag, forgotten at home or in the glove compartment - is for: To direct incoming phone calls into voicemail so that I can check it at my convenience. (And if the iPhone has some sort of direct-to-voicemail feature, I still go with #1 through #3 above ...)

As for that last one, yes lost in the mix at times when playing with my new gadget - I can stream past episodes of the Common Man Progrum! - is that the iPod Touch can play my mp3s. Later tonight, after continually staring at the Joan Didion quote Apple engraved (for free!) on the back of my iPod, I just hope I remember that the thing plays music and does it quite well.

Goodbye, Darkness

Recently I finished reading Goodbye, Darkness by William Manchester. It's his memoir of being a Marine sergeant in the Pacific Theater during World War II. Alternately gripping, gory, sad, and darkly funny - this book was one great read. Manchester sees things in the biggest and smallest pictures, by this I mean he knew the importance of defeating the Axis but ultimately fought for the men who served with him. The book also serves as a primer on the US efforts in the Pacific, to be honest a campaign I didn't know as well as the European campaign. Manchester writes early that this is the case for many Americans: Due to both the sheer hugeness of the Pacific and because Europe is more well-known to most Americans. Hopefully HBO's upcoming The Pacific will help rectify this.

If you are at all interested in American history read this book.

Party Down

If you are in the mood for a sometimes raunchy and almost-always hilarious sitcom, check out Party Down. I watched season one a few weeks back via the Netflix instant viewing option and laughed out loud more than once each episode. It originally aired on Starz and may be available via on demand if you have that channel.

It deals with a group of caterers in Los Angeles who all have dreams to do something in showbiz someday. Except maybe Constance, who seemingly knows she's past her prime but brings her "A" game of optimism anyway. (She's played oh-so-perfectly by the great Jane Lynch.) And Henry, who had the misfortune of peaking early career-wise in a beer commercial and now just wants to bartend and remain anonymous. (He's played by Adam Scott as the straight man, blankly but gamely facing the catering circus.) Otherwise the dreamers are the narcisstic prettyboy, the geeky writer (Bill Haverchuck fans take note on this character), the wanna-be-overachieving team leader who constantly underachieves, and the major hottie funny girl.

Throw in superb guest appearances (generally one solid guest star per episode) by Ed Begley Jr., Steven Weber, J.K. Simmons, Rob Corddry, and Kristen Bell (plus Joe Lo Truglio making his Superbad role look like a mere audtion for his turn here) and you have my favorite new sitcom. E! Online says it has been renewed for a second season, so you know it must be true. Party Down, check it out.

The Cult's Electric

In those months before I discovered Guns n' Roses, one hard rock band I pinned hopes on was The Cult. "Love Removal Machine" was a hard rock gem – part AC/DC (the riff), part Led Zeppelin (Ian Astbury emits a Plant-like "baby baby baby" at one point), part sixties garage rock (a reference to "psychotic reaction.") And even Astbury yelling "boogie!" at some point couldn’t diminish the tune's greatness. Follow-ups on the old KJ104 like "Lil' Devil" and "King Contrary Man" led me to buy the Electric album.

I hadn't listened to the album in years, though when I deejayed I toyed with bringing the LP to the club to play "Love Removal Machine." Having imported all of my CDs into my iTunes a few months back, I'm currently in a period of rediscovering forgotten aspects of my music collection. So last week I broke out Electric for a late-night headphones spin on my turntable. The opener "Wild Flower" – a deifying ode to a woman – still slays. "Lil' Devil" is still fun. But "King Contrary Man", a song I once loved now comes off as a kinda dumb sell-your-soul-at-the-crossroads tune with lyrics such as: "zany antics of a beat generation." Worse, track two on side one is "Peace Dog" which is truly stupid and just stupid (i.e. not stupid fun like "Louie Louie" or "Smells Like Teen Spirit.") Lyrics like "peace is a dirty word / she used to be a painted bird / and war she's a whore" grate. Allmusic.com's review of the album nailed it: "What happens when the Doors are used as a model in the wrong way." (Astbury toured with a version of the Doors a few years back, plus the Doors had a similarly-titled song "Peace Frog".) Also, Astbury sings of wanting a B-52 (and not Kate Pierson, sadly) to "drop your love on me." Except he pronounces it "Bee Five Two." Dumb Brit. I like to imagine American producer Rick Rubin chuckling in the control room, but just letting Astbury go on and on. Hey, you can't produce Run-DMC every year, right?

I didn't make it through side two. After "Love Removal Machine," which is still awesome, they attempted to cover "Born To Be Wild." After Steve Martin's take on Comedy Is Not Pretty!, said song should just be left alone. Electric is a mixed bag of an album, if you listen prepare to be handy with moving that stylus arm up and down.

(And earlier this week, I checked out the video for "Love Removal Machine", which I hadn't seen since back in '87 when I first heard The Cult. I remember one of my roommates at the time loved the Doors and was disgusted by Astbury's Jim Morrison-like look of leather and long dark hair, but don't remember much else. This 2009 time around I loved the rock moves that were certainly not approved by the music intelligentsia of the mid-eighties: Guitarists having fun, Marshall stacks, aforementioned AC/DC and Zep influences, Brits actually acting like meathead rockers and not fashioned-obsessed swishes, and a huge beer can pyramid. Plus certainly-planned continuity problems with wardrobe/guitars and the drummer actually has an action spot!)

Beats Working

Rochester, Minnesota came up in a conversation today. I've only been there twice, both on business when I worked for Big Construction. As I recalled these trips, I realize I was sent to Rochester for pretty bizarre reasons.

Trip #1: The company had finished a project in Rochester and needed a certain document related to the final payment to be picked up in person, the mail or FedEx wouldn't do. So I drove to Rochester on this errand, even though it wasn't a project my division had handled. I think I was asked to do this as my workload was a little light at the time and none of the accountants at the other office wanted to do it. (There may have been some office posturing at play here. The guy who asked me was a supervisor at another office and likely none of his accountants wanted to admit they had time to take a day to go to Rochester. Me? Toss me the keys!) Ah, the age before cell phones were prevalent: I had to call back to the company to confirm I had made the pickup. The pay phone wouldn't take my long distance credit card, so I called collect.

Trip #2: The company was bidding on a project in Rochester and the estimator needed somebody to go to the pre-bid meeting and ask one specific question to the guy running the meeting. I remember I had to write the question down as I had no idea what I was exactly asking. (Rebar this, concrete that, blah blah blah.) Again, I don't remember why I was exactly asked to run this errand. I do know that the estimators held me in high esteem due to the praises of my estimator buddy Turk and I may have been specifically requested. (In fact, this same estimator asked me to turn a bid for him on my last day on the job - he said he knew I'd do one last good thing for him. I did as he asked.)

In both cases, it didn't take much arm twisting to get me to volunteer. Sit in the office pushing paper or take a road trip on a nice spring day (I think both trips were in the May/June timeframe), charge all that mileage and a lunch to the company, report back to the other office with my findings
and then head for home rather than fighting traffic to downtown? Easy choice for this kid.

Almost A Joker

Monday I was on a conference call with a client and one of their clients. The 1-800 number I was given to access the call instead gave a recorded message directing me to another 1-800 number where I could "meet new people." My client emailed with the correct number, which I dialed and got into the conference call. I said hi, but was so tempted to add: "I liked that other number better, I almost got a date." But I kept my lips zipped.

Today I watched Pardon the Interruption while on the treadmill at the YMCA. The opening went like this:

"Pardon the interruption, but I'm Mike Wilbon. Two days before the Fourth of July, Bobby. You got your party plans ready?"

"I'm Bob Ryan. Cheap whiskey and illegal fireworks. Happy birthday, America!"

To which in the background, Tony Reali was heard to howl and start up with the USA! chant.

After PTI, I headed for the water fountain. I ran into a gal who used to work at Y, we always greet each other and sometimes make small talk when we run into each other. She asked me how I planned to celebrate the Fourth. I almost said "with cheap whiskey and illegal fireworks," but bit my tongue and instead mumbled something about watching the Twins that afternoon.

Dammit! When I am finally gonna unleash some of my "A" material (or Bob Ryan's)??

More on Six Feet Under vs. Homicide: Life on the Street

Let's compare the opening credits sequences:

Six Feet Under's cute little ditty: I am so clever as I sip on my wine spritzer.

Homicide's percussion-driven white-knuckle ride: I'll have a bourbon neat with a beer back. And keep 'em comin'.

They Say Your Memory Is The First Thing To Go, I Forgot What The Second One Is

I'm reading David Carr's The Night of the Gun, a remarkable book. Much of it deals with memories, and how Carr remembers events from the eighties differently than do his friends and former co-workers. One line I read last night grabbed my attention: "The power of a memory can be built through repitition, but it is the memory we are recalling when we speak, not the event. And stories are annealed in the telling, edited by turns each time they are recalled until they become little more than chimeras."

Memorial Day weekend, my two best friends Scott and Joel and I stood on Joel's Dad's front lawn and had a beer as we stared out at the lake. We three grew up together at the lake. Scott pointed to the opposite shore to where his aunt and uncle used to have a cabin. Almost immediately, the "get the hell out of there" story came up.

It was in the early or mid eighties. We were in a boat in front of Scott's relative's cabin fishing for sunnies. At some point, we heard a car door slam behind a neighboring cabin. Then two little boys wearing life jackets came running down the stairs to the dock and the boatlift. They hopped in the parked boat and started playing like they were driving it, yelling and having a gleeful time. Soon after, a man walked down, stood on shore, pointed at the boys, and said: "Get the hell out of there." The boys had shut up once they saw him, and upon his command quietly and dutifully left the boat with their heads hanging and went back up to the cabin.

It was quite a sight and we three laughed over it. We imagined the two tykes riding the hour's drive from Fargo, wearing those life jackets the whole way, just dying to go for a boat ride once they got there. "Get the hell out of there" became a favorite catchphrase, and the story has been repeated endlessly over the years.

But on this afternoon in 2009, we started to notice discrepancies in our individual recollections of the incident. For instance, we differ over the exact gesture used by the man. Did he point with just his index finger or was it the index finger and the middle finger together? I see the man as an older guy in his fifties, probably the boys' grandfather but Scott and Joel see a younger man, a father. We realized the exact details were foggy after twenty-five years or so, but the gist of the story remains true: The boys ran down to the dock and into the boat with life jackets on and the man did say "get the hell out of there."

And my favorite part of this bull session was when Joel said: "You know, I'm not even sure if I was with you guys that day. I might just be convinced I was because I've heard this story so many times."

Ibuprofen Is The Fifth Food Group

Pick a moment during any week, and the odds are good that I will be sore in my right wrist/arm, neck, lower back, or feet. Thankfully, the pain generally is more of a nagging nature than a chronic one. Here's the history of why:

Right wrist and arm - Pain from tendinitis caused by computer mouse. Went through hand/wrist therapy in 1995.

Neck - Pain caused by improper workplace ergonomics. Went through physical therapy (after chiropractor and acupuncture were busts) in 1998 and 2002. Due to mixup between health provider and insurance company, scored a $700 home traction unit for free - meaning I inadverdently contributed to the need for health care reform.

Lower back - Pain into my right hip, leg, and knee via a bulging disc caused by sitting at a desk for twenty years. Went through physical therapy in 2006/2007 (didn't work in the long term) and 2007/2008 (different place that was effective.)

Feet - Pain caused by flat arches. Orthotics prescribed by podiatrist in 2009 (to make them they took a plaster of Paris of my feet, and then a hot nurse washed my feet - very steamy in a New Testament way) alleviated the pain, though the cost was straight out of pocket as insurance didn't cover them. But doctor advised me to never take up running, giving me all the more reason not to.

So like I said above, one of these areas of my body tends to be sore at any given time but not in the severe way when the condition first surfaced. It's more of a nagging pain that can be treated with iboprofen, ice, and stretching. And thanks to Justin Morneau for finally giving me a term for what afflicts me. He sat out Sunday's game. The reason? "General soreness." I hear ya.

What Do You Want On Your Tombstone?

One of my top-five favorite clients is a caterer, and I am constantly amazed at their ability to come up with various menus and to prepare and present the meals. Sometimes they give me leftovers and I am in eating heaven. But I am not a foodie. I enjoy eating, but don't like to cook. At all. Being a single guy, you can likely imagine the heights of my kitchen wizardry: 1) Spaghetti - I amaze myself as I boil up some noodles while at the same time heat up some Prego sauce. 2) Tacos - This one is tough as it involves both browning the ground beef and remembering to buy the shredded taco cheese. So invariably I fall back into: 1) Cheeseburgers on the George Foreman Grill, and 2) Stauffer's.

Yeah, I'm pathetic I know. And also lazy. I just want to have something quick and simple to eat with supper while I read the sports page. All single guys out there absolutely KNOW what the staple of such a diet is: The frozen pizza. While you thought that the Tombstone pizza couldn't get better, I am glad to tell you that it can be better. My friend Melissa turned me on to the Presto Pizzazz Pizza Oven. I scored one from Amazon for forty-five bucks a few weeks ago. Why a pizza oven rather than your regular oven? It cooks the pizza evenly, meaning the crust tastes better and the cheese and sauce won't conspire to scorch the roof of your mouth. You won't have to leave your pizza to cool for five minutes or so before you can take a bite, not to mention that this pizza oven involves no preheating so your pizza will be ready many minutes quicker than conventionally. And you get to impress your non-foodie buddies with your best food boast since that time you scored Taco John's down in the TCF Building/AT&T Building skyway: "Hey, I bought a pizza oven!"