The Sad Bear

Bracket Madness

noreply@blogger.com (Porter Perkins) — Wed, 20 Mar 2013 13:35:00 +0000

Given that it's March, and in continuation with our tradition of now three years, I have taken the last-second initiative and created a bracket at ESPN.com for the Sad Bear.

There is very little time left--you have to have your entries in by 12 ET tomorrow. So don't delay.

The bracket can be found here.

The password? sadbeardownzona

Of course.

New Top5 podcast

noreply@blogger.com (Tony) — Wed, 20 Mar 2013 02:35:00 +0000

Drew has a new podcast and it launches with his favorite songs from films. Listen!

Yo La Tengo by the minutes

noreply@blogger.com (Porter Perkins) — Sat, 26 Jan 2013 00:55:00 +0000

In lieu of a write-up of last night's magnificent Yo La Tengo concert, I decided to create a basic overview of the YLT catalog, which I have been filling out and listening to last couple months. Generally I prefer to listen to and argue about music in the context of albums rather than individual tracks. YLT is not an exception to this rule. Still, having already had a brief back-and-forth over my, uh, controversial pick for ~~best~~ favorite YLT album on Facebook, I thought I would come at their career from a slightly different angle.

I have broken into six discrete categories based on song duration. Within each category, I have chosen a "Best" track and one that I "Would Most Like to See Performed"--henceforth "WMLtSP." Although I recognize the thin ice upon which I tread--my YLT discography remains incomplete--I do not apologize. Argue about my mistakes, ignorance, and perhaps regrettable proclivity for sappy love songs in the comments, please.

Although a fairly small pool, these tracks have a distinctive feel versus the 2-3 minute tracks.

Best: "Return to Hot Chicken"*

WMLtSP: "Attack on Love"

*"Superstar-Watcher" close behind.

2-3

YLT are geniuses of the sub-three-minute pop song. Narrowing these down was brutal, so I have taken the liberty of adding an Honorable Mentions list--along with a couple of footnoted caveats.

Best: "One PM Again"*

WMLtSP: "Outsmartener"**

Honorable Mentions: "The River of Water," "Stockholm Syndrome," "A Worrying Thing"

*I might actually prefer "The Whole of the Law," but chose to disqualify it as a cover. And I haven't listened to "Well You Better" from the new album enough, but it could make some noise.

**The version on the Today is the Day EP. Note that they performed "Nothing to Hide" last night, and it was epic, so even thought I would love to see them perform it again live, I'd now prefer "Outsmartener."

3-4

The slightly more filled out radio-play category.

Best: "Sugarcube"*

WMLtSP: "Watch Out for Me Ronnie"**

*"By the Time it Gets Dark" incredibly close behind.

**They performed "Sugarcube" last night, epically, as well as "Black Flowers." I liked but was somewhat skeptical of the latter until last night's mesmerizing version (Ira bum-ba-bum-ing in place of horns, James singing "You can dip your brain in joy..."). Additionally, they performed "Little Honda" with a brain-melting, ten-minute wall of sound inserted in the middle--which my father, who attended and loved the show, referred to as "Mars invades" (refer to the >8 WMLtSP footnote below).

4-5

This one is even harder to parse than 2-3--my three favorite YLT tracks fall into this category--hence the return of the Honorable Mentions.

Best: "From a Motel 6"*

WMLtSP: "Drug Test"**

Honorable Mentions: "Sudden Organ,"*** "Magnet," "Pablo and Andrea," "All Your Secrets," "You Can Have it All," "I'll Be Around"

*So this is also the song I WMLtSP--it's probably my all-time favorite YLT track--but I decided to make room for others.

**They performed "Our Way to Fall"--my second-favorite YLT track--and although I did not cry as promised in a recent Facebook status, I was definitively in touch with, you know, my emotions and things. Also, their "Mr. Tough" performance was pure, old-fashioned-dance-party fun.

***My third-favorite YLT track.

5-8

Once you push a song past five minutes, you are beyond the standard radio-play pop song. These distinctive creatures are often fuzzy, distorted, even sinister tracks. I love them.

Best: "Flying Lesson (Hot Chicken #1)"*

WMLtSP: "I Heard You Looking"**

*This is also the song I WMLtSP, but, again, made some room.

**"I Was the Fool Beside You For Too Long" close behind. They performed "Ohm" twice last night--once as their stripped-down, acoustic opener. In that context it was, frankly, a bit of a letdown. They brought it out again later, and Ira turned it into a shredding guitar showcase--not a letdown. They also transformed "Before We Run" from a contemplative, horn-driven, sentimental piece into an anthemic rager centered on Ira's blistering guitar work. The last, say, 7 minutes of the song may have been the best moment ("moment") last night. I genuinely think they could have gone on for 20 more minutes, and I would have remained in transfixed awe. And if I were a better person, I would have followed through on my other recent promise. A better me would have grabbed the shoulder of that nice, dignified gentlemen beside me and slugged him square in his amiable face.

The consciousness-altering, simmering mess--another YLT specialty.

Best:"The Story of Yo La Tango"*

Would Most Like to See Performed: "Blue Line Swinger"**

*"Pass the Hatchet I Think I'm Goodkind"is a close second--meaning that the bookends to I Am Not Afraid... own this category. I also have to give "More Stars Than There Are in Heaven" a nod as likely the most overlooked. There's also a remix of "Autumn Sweater" by one Kevin Shields floating around out there that is pretty great.

**Songs that they transform into marathons in concert but that are shorter on the albums don't count. I've already noted the three tracks they did that with--spectacularly--last night ("Ohm," "Little Honda," and "Before We Run").

52 McGs: The best obituaries of Robert McG. Thomas Jr.

noreply@blogger.com (Tony) — Sat, 19 Jan 2013 16:33:00 +0000

In writing the obituary of a weather expert, he wrote that there was "no well-established meteorological career path to follow." The same might be said about writing obituaries.

But if there is a path to follow, it may be the one taken by Robert McG. Thomas Jr.: equal parts police beat, society news, and sports reporter — and, perhaps most importantly — a veteran rewrite man.

His best obits make up, "52 McGs.," the first book I've finished reading in 2013.

This week, like every other week, I've had obituaries on my mind, which set the backdrop for a climactic Saturday morning plowing through the back half of this collection. I'd been thinking about the Margalit Fox obituary for Dear Abby, and also the scrips and scraps I've turned up in my newspaper, including one man whose obit included his nickname: "Possum."

But the craft of Thomas's writing, and his deadpan delivery, may have no match. Obviously, I recommend the book, and here are a few favorite passages:

Mary Bancroft, spy

If Mary Bancroft had not existed, a hack novelist would surely have invented her, or tried.

Anton Rosenberg, a hipster ideal

... the Greenwich Village hipster ideal of 1950's cool to such a laid-back degree and with such determined detachment that he never amounted to much of anything...

Toots Barger, queen of the game duckpins

... leading to have duckpins named the Maryland state sport. The campaign failed, perhaps because legislators felt duckpins was just too odd to be the state sport, especially when Maryland already had an official sport: jousting.

Marshall Berger, linguist

A specialist in dialect geography, or dialectology, as it is known in linguistics, he was a dialectologist's dialectologist, a man with such a keen ear for the subtle variations of speech patterns that after listening for a few moments he could often tell a speaker's ethnic background, the neighborhood where he had grown up and his level of education.

Minnesota Fats, pool hustler

He certainly looked like a Minnesota Fats, or at least some Fats. At 5 feet and 10 inches, Mr. Wanderone had weighed as much as 300 pounds. ... Curiously, after he became Minnesota Fats, his new persona led to an actual job, something he had studiously avoided.

Wikipedia: Robert McG. Thomas Jr.

Poop Splash Epiphany

noreply@blogger.com (K. Harvey) — Sat, 05 Jan 2013 00:52:00 +0000

This is why science is good. This video just changed my life.

MWM Holiday Special

noreply@blogger.com (JHitts) — Wed, 02 Jan 2013 08:25:00 +0000

A weekly sampler of what we're listening to (new and old), and what we think you might like, too.

X-Mas songs by Jack Hittinger on Grooveshark

For this week's edition, we polled the SadBears on our favorite "nontraditional" holiday songs. (We are, after all, nontraditional students here.) We all figured we'd heard enough "regular" Christmas music (looking at you, Bing Crosby) that we should give readers a taste of some other stuff we like too. Here's what we came up with:

JACK: Julian Casablancas, "I Wish It Was Christmas Today"
The Band, "Christmas Must Be Tonight"
Ravonettes, "Christmas Song"

A mix of new and old. The Casablancas song is mostly a stand-in for the original SNL version of the song, which is one of the most legitimately uplifting ans honest Christmas songs ever written. I also crack up just thinking about Tracy Morgan dancing whenever I hear this.

The second is one of my dad's favorites by one of his favorite bands, so it's always one I kinda liked even though it is kind of cheesy.

The last one is nothing special, but the Ravonettes are really good at making recycled ideas just sound cool. That's what this does.

TONY: Cotton Top Mountain Sanctified Singers, "Christ Was Born On Christmas Morn"
Alabama Sacred Mountain Top Singers, "Sherburne"

If you ask Katie, she'd describe me as the Grinch when it comes to holiday traditions and Christmas music. It's true. Yet when Jack sent this prompt, I knew immediately that I needed to share two non-traditional Christmas albums, and representative songs from each.

First, I think the "Where Will You Be on Christmas Day?" album came out partway through college, and it collects some really odd and catchy Christmas roots music. I think of these ditties often, including my mix selection: "Christ Was Born On Christmas Morn," by the Cotton Top Mountain Sanctified Singers. As a second pick, check out "Sherburne" by the Alabama Sacred Harp Singers. This album would also be a good introduction to roots music, if you haven't dabbled much.

Second, of more recent vintage, is "An East Nashville Christmas," which just came out this year as a Nashville musicians' fundraiser for the homeless. It's really diverse and extremely listenable (whatever that means). You can stream some samples here: http://eastnashvillechristmas.com/

CHASE: The Hives and Cindy Lauper, "Christmas Duel"

I've never been huge into holiday music, and my taste really runs the spectrum depending on mood. A solid rendition of "Carol of the Bells" (probably my favorite traditional holiday song) will impress me one day, and then the next I might listen to Mariah Carey (no shame). But if I'm being honest, I've been avoiding holiday music this year.

MARK: Sufjan Stevens, "Hey Guys! It's Christmas Time!

Sufjan Stevens makes up 90% of my Advent/Christmas music diet every year. My consistent favorites each year are "Once in Royal David's City" and "O Come O Come Emmanuel." This year, though, I was particularly drawn to the above track, "Put the Lights on the Tree," and "Holy Holy Holy."

ECON: The Royal Guardsmen, "Snoopy's Christmas"

OATESS: Tom Waits, "New Years' Eve"

EDIT: For some reason this Tom Waits song was on Grooveshark, briefly, but then taken down. Or else I'm crazy and it was never on Grooveshark in the first place. Regardless, listen here because it's a good song.

#55

noreply@blogger.com (Chase) — Mon, 03 Dec 2012 07:00:00 +0000

A weekly sampler of what we're listening to (new and old), and what we think you might like, too.

MWM #55 by Chase on Grooveshark

JACK: Black Sabbath, "Supernaut"
I really wanted to share this "Chopped and Screwed" version of Black Sabbath's "A National Acrobat" that I heard about on a blog, but I'm not sure this is actually going to be on Grooveshark. So listen to that here (WARNING: Deep stoner vibes ahead... even for Sabbath, it reeks of pot.). In its place: Tony Iommi summons Satan (I think) with the best guitar riff ever written.

TONY: "Fancy Free," by By Lightning!
I'm choosing local with By Lightning! from a thick field of recent listening, which has ranged widely from Metric, to Frank Ocean, to alt-J, and to an especially large shitton of Dr. Dog. I'm seeing By Lightning! on Thursday night, finally fulfilling my need to see them after missing their two most recent shows because of scheduling conflicts. By Lightning! is a big band of folky indie types with a very tall bearded guitarist who, by appearance, might fit better in a hardcore band, and who sort of reminds me of the grim reaper. A few other members are pretty and pretty folky. And then their drummer wears a pair of ultra-thick, white-rimmed glasses that glow from the back of the stage as he beats away. I actually saw this drummer perform with another local act, Jonny Fritz, and I've become somewhat of a fanboy. Katie recently told me she saw him jogging near our house, wearing those glasses.

CHASE: Charles Bradley, "Why Is It So Hard?"
I'm in love with Charles Bradley. And he makes me think about Louisville. And he's the screaming eagle of soul.

ECON: Yo La Tengo, "Before We Run"
Because Yo La Tengo has never disappointed me, ever.

*NOTE: This song was not listed in Grooveshark. Please refer to the link above for the version on YouTube.

GOAT: The Mountain Goats, "Harlem Roulette"
I've been listening to the latest Mountain Goats album Transcendental Youth a lot lately, and this one sticks with me. Good scene-setting, something cleverish to say about the loneliest people in the whole wide world.

JON: Frank Sinatra and Count Basie, "Pennies From Heaven"
The song reminds me of Penny.

MARK: The Mountain Goats, "The Diaz Brothers"
I've been listening to this album nonstop for a couple months now. It's hard to pick a track. I don't think this is actually the best track, but it's the catchiest, and I do love it. The whole album, though, is magnificent.

Dr. Reist comments, cont.

noreply@blogger.com (Chase) — Sat, 01 Dec 2012 07:10:00 +0000

We received three more comments from Dr. Reist's former students, memories about the man and his impact on them.

JACK HITTINGER '08
I tried my hardest to take one of Dr. Reist's classes every semester. I damn near succeeded, too. Here's a list of the courses I took from him over the years:

-Theodore Dreiser and the American Dream
-Jewish-American Literature (the semester after that course he was taking roll and when he got to me, said, "Hittinger. You were in that Holocaust thing with me, right?")
-"Everyman" honors seminar
-English 370 (modern American Literature)
-Vonnegut

I'll be honest: I didn't always know what I was learning when I signed up for Reist classes. Mostly, I just thought it would be an easy grade with a funny guy I liked to talk to.

For example, it was something of an open secret among English majors that you could extend your normal paper length by substituting the standard Times New Roman/12-point font paper for Courier New/14-point font. Dr. Reist didn't care. Or at least, he never made any intentions that he cared. I got A's on all my papers so (I assume) he didn't dock me for not following MLA style. (I also always addressed him as "The Rev. Dr. John Seth Reist, Jr." on the papers' headers, and he always gave me a check mark for it. Not sure if it was actually him giving me points, but I like to think so.)

His tests were long but usually contained questions such as "Write your own question," or "Write a story involving three of the characters from the works we read and how they relate back to the overall theme of 'The American Dream.'" My stories, as did those of many others, invariably involved the Rest Twins showing up by the end of the blue book pages.

It wasn't until later in my college career that I appreciated just what Dr. Resit was teaching us. About literature, yes, but also about life, faith and America. That sounds really corny, but it's true: I perhaps learned more about these three things from him than I did from any Hillsdale professor.

They're all connected, and Reist was living proof: This neat, funny little guy who never said something he didn't mean and stood up for his convictions in the face of adversity. What's more American than that?

(PS, This has nothing to do with any of that, but the very best e-mail I ever received was from Dr. Reist.

Once before class I sent him this long email asking a couple of questions that probabaly merited a face-to-face with him instead of an e-mail. But I was lazy and didn't think of that, so instead i sent him an email.

A few hours later, just before class was set to begin, I received a response. Two letters, no punctuation or anything:

yo

That was it. I really wish I could find the email but it's disappeared into the internet somewhere.)

NICK TABOR '09
(NOTE: These comments were written before Dr. Reist passed away, and were intended to be read in his presence. Nick wanted the message to appear in it's original form, though, saying that, "If it was good enough before, I think it's good enough still.)

During the week I graduated, about four of my buddies and I went to Chicago Water Grill with Dr. Reist. John Krudy was there, and Dennis Walton, Sam Heisman, and Emrys Van Maren. I had dinner with Dr. Reist many times during college and this was one of the last. I'm sure he had a martini or two and later probably a glass of Merlot. When we were all feeling very comfortable he started in earnest telling jokes.

Dr. Reist had a reputation for telling off-color jokes, but mostly the ones he told in classes and around campus were like that “Honor, offer” one. But oh my god, at the restaurant that night, I remember feeling a bit uneasy when I noticed families sitting nearby. He may have told truly the dirtiest jokes I have ever heard. And some of them were hardly even jokes—they were just crude descriptions of sex!

He had us laughing so hard our ribs hurt and we were almost in tears.

But I did spend a lot of time in his classes, and had he only made me laugh, that wouldn't have been enough. I want to try and get at another reason I kept returning.

One of the classes I did was Kurt Vonnegut. In a way Vonnegut's easy to parse without a professor's help. But he's deceptively easy, and in this way he resembles Reist.

My favorite Vonnegut novel is Cat's Cradle. It's very funny. It has an apocalypse where the world gets covered in this poisonous blue-white frost, and the narrator realizes the survivors will soon die of thirst, hunger, rage, or apathy. But after the disaster, in a cave, he has a “sordid sex episode” with another survivor, a woman he's been eying all through the novel.

She resists. Afterward she says, “It would be very sad to have a little baby now, don't you agree?” He says yes. “Well,” she says, “that's the way little babies are made, in case you didn't know.”

Maybe it sounds funny, but I think it's terminally serious. She's just cast his action in a new light of cruelty. Sex could mean subjecting a new person to a life of suffering, and the philosophical implications are more than a little significant. Of course the story moves swiftly along. The sorrow is momentary and it's so it's easy to miss. You can hear Dr. Reist saying, “Hey, it's how I met my wife.”

I wonder how many times this happened in Dr. Reist's classes and I didn't notice. I think about his stories of escapades in the Army. He spent two years in France, never went into combat, and he often said they were the best years of his life. But he sometimes made passing remarks about how difficult they were, and it confused me, and I asked him once when we were talking in the library, passing an afternoon. His mood was serious. He said, “Nick, they were the worst years of my life. They were miserable.” I don't think he said any more, and I didn't prod. It's not hard to imagine him feeling out of place in the military.

I think his graveness was always there, just elusive. He consistently taught such heavy, sorrowful literature. While I was here he did Theodore Dreiser, A.E. Housman, Vonnegut, Ernest Hemingway. He'd draw our attention to a Housman poem about soldiers, or to Jake and Bill's travails in Paris in The Sun Also Rises, or Robert Jordan's fate. Any of which might remind him of his own time as a soldier. He'd sing this jingle I think he learned in the Army: “Drink a highball at night fall, / Be good fellows while we may. For tomorrow may bring sorrow, / So let's drink up today.” He'd grin and bounce in his seat and have us laughing again. One time he said, “Hey, if we don't laugh about these things, we'll cry.”

I know of some writers whose work reflects this duality, but I've never met anyone who embodies it like Dr. Reist. It's a credit to his wisdom and his empathy, and his resiliency, but also how purely funny he is. Thank you, Dr. Reist.

MARIA SERVOLD '10

As a senior year at Hillsdale, I took a seminar-style class with Dr. Reist that covered the works of John Updike.

We read the "Rabbit" series, some of Updike's poetry, another novel, and several short stories.

As I'm sure most people reading this know, Updike often wrote about sex. The Rabbit quartet, especially, is full of it. All kinds of it. In extreme detail.

The subject matter of the class prompted some interesting discussions, but one anecdote sticks out above all others in mind - probably because my face was bright red by the end of the incident.

Dr. Reist started off this particular class with a simple question: "What is 'la petite mort?'" he asked. "Who here speaks French?"

I knew the answer to that question - I was a French minor - but was nervous about raising my hand. Would knowing the answer to this make me look bad? I wondered.

However, no one else volunteered, so I gingerly responded: "the little death..." hoping the conversation would end.

"Yes...but what does it really mean?" Reist probed.

"...an orgasm," I said, face hidden.

Reist told me I was correct and then proceeded to make noises and wave his arms about, demonstrating the power of such a moment.

"Ooo! Ahh! Yes! Yes! *grunt* *grunt* Yes!"

His impression went on for far longer than any real "petite death" could possibly last and we all looked at each other, wondering when the awkwardness would end, while still howling with laughter.

It was an embarrassing moment, but it was absolutely hilarious, and I will never forget it. It was also probably the most awkward I felt during a class at Hillsdale, right up there with the "thigh-warmed chocolate" class with Dr. Somerville. But we'll save that for another day.

Undelivered Remarks on Dr. John Reist

noreply@blogger.com (Chase) — Mon, 05 Nov 2012 04:05:00 +0000

When I first received the opportunity to speak about Dr. Reist, I recognized immediately that it was something I needed to do, despite the unease I feel when it comes to public speaking. And as Nov. 2 was set in stone, and the date in which I and others would gather to honor the professor inched closer, I set to work trying to craft some coherent remarks to illustrate just why the man touched my life, and the lives of so many others.

Of course, we were all too late. Reist succumbed to illness the day before three of us on this blog arrived on Hillsdale's campus. The tribute to him was postponed to another date, one I'm afraid I won't be able to attend. And while these words will be heard, read by someone else, it seemed appropriate to leave this here, too. I've left it in its roughest form. It was written as a speech, and you'll see that here:

--

First of all, I want to thank Dr. Somerville for pulling much of this together. I don’t get back to Hillsdale very often, but I couldn’t think of a better reason to return than to say a few words about Dr. Reist, who, in my opinion, has played an integral role on this campus for many, many years. I took Dr. Reist every year I attended classes here, so I learned very early on about this neat, kind, and totally strange man -- someone that I’ve consider to be an invaluable part of my education.

Now, I’m a reporter, which is basically to say that I’m naturally predisposed to be a bad public speaker, unlike Dr. Reist, who really knew how to work a room. I spend most of my days talking one on one with all sorts of people, then retreat to a desk in a messy newsroom, where, from behind a computer screen, I write stories about other people’s lives. It’s a day-in-day-out solo effort (for the most part) and I rarely speak to crowds, and honestly, that’s probably for the best. But in thinking about what I’d say here, and how I’d say it, I did consider trying my hand at Reist’s own style. But I think everyone knows it just can’t be replicated -- so very much unlike Dr. Reist, I’m going start at the beginning.

Full disclosure: I’m a Dr. Reist fanboy. Have been for years. My best friends and I started a group blog named in his honor (The Sad Bear, an expression of his) a year or so before we graduated, and have used it to stay in touch over the years. It’s there where we’ve archived some of Reist’s most quotable gems: the weird, the alarming, and the downright gut-busting things he’d say off the cuff in classes.

Originally, he was my academic adviser, and thus, the first professor I actually met when I arrived here from Louisville, Kentucky. I’m not sure how they do it anymore, but when I first got here, you had dinner with your academic adviser and small group of your freshman peers a day or so before classes. The idea was that you’d break bread, talk a little about yourself, and get your first introduction to what you could expect from the Liberal Arts. Capital “L,” capital “A”.

And, like most college freshmen, I didn’t really know what to expect, but still had this general romantic idea of what higher education would be like. I mean, I’d seen the library, sat in on a class or two during my visit, yadda yadda yadda.

Right.

Let’s just say this: It is impossible to meet a man like Dr. Reist for the first time and not be totally disarmed, sort of amused, and utterly befuddled. Within minutes of sitting down at his kitchen table for pizza, I’m pretty sure he’d dropped a curse word, possibly told us that, “There is a God and she is black,” and brought up the Roche scandal. I remember the prudes all shifted in their seats, something for which I’m sure he took much delight. And then he interviewed us, with rapid-pace abandon, leaving us completely stunned with his turn-of-phrase commentary and songs. When we left, the sun had already set. It was dark outside, and I couldn’t make eye contact with any of my peers as we walked back to our cars. The silence reeked of just how bewildered we all were. I think we all had the same question: Who was this jokester and what the hell just happened?

And more importantly for me, what was going to happen at 8 o’clock on my first day of classes. I was, after all, slated to take Reist’s hour-long, freshman English course first thing in the morning...multiple days a week.

It’s fair to say that, as freshmen, we weren’t prepared for what we got. Anyone who’s taken a class with Reist knows his teaching style is untraditional. To us, it seemed like an hour-long sort of schizzo, semi-Socratic runaway train of jokes and warped metaphors. A kind of comedy caravan that included deep questions about God scorning Job, Oedipus and his mother, and mentions of some strange work called “Soul on Ice,” by Elder Cleavage. It was wild stuff -- but fitting, especially for students who would go on to count themselves as non-traditional students

Of course, it never took much to ignite discussion. I remember when we were studying Oedipus, and one of the athletes in the room raised his hand during our third day of discussion.

“So, like, why is his last name Rex?”

Reist howled, though not unkindly, and we were off on a meandering course that surely led to an answer for that intrepid student, but also Heisman trophy trivia, a stream of compliments about his wife (who I can attest is a wonderful woman), and jokes about the college. Dr. Reist delighted in proffering his opinion about college matters, and admitted (sometimes with a giddy air of pride in his voice) to being a “pain in the ass” for administrators.

“Listen, Larry,” he said once of Dr. Arnn, “Winston Churchill did not die for your sins.”

And he often critiqued the obvious. I remember the time he reminded us of the college’s unspoken rule that there be six eagle statues for each student on campus. Which really isn’t that hard to believe given the state of the Heritage Room in the library.

Of course, as my time at Hillsdale progressed, I dedicated most of my life to The Collegian, which always had the unquestioned support of Dr. Reist. He actually had a small stable of satirical names for the paper. I’d pass him while walking across campus, and he’d always stop to ask me a question about the latest edition of “The Hellsdale Collision” or “The Hillsdale Concussion.” I remember that whenever he did voice a criticism, he always balanced it by talking about why he felt a student press was essential to the college campus. I cherish the several closed-door talks I had with him, when I had questions about the especially sensitive article ideas that inevitably cross an editor’s desk at the paper. He’d sit with his arms crossed (exposing his infamous weather guards), and listen with pastoral interest before helping you work through the matter at hand.

There is something very real, and very earthy about Reist and his presence here. Like I said before, coming to Hillsdale is a commitment to the Liberal Arts, and it’s easy to get swept up in the high-minded principles espoused by the professors here (Reist included). It’s not like you abandoned those when you walked into Reist’s classes, but he brought you back to Earth. He was always a reminder for me that I live outside those texts, and the liberal arts bubble. He, and his jokes and his songs and his whistling, helped keep me from taking myself too seriously.

One of my most vivid memories of Reist actually took place when I was in a crazed sort of haze. It was in my junior year during an evening class on Kurt Vonnegut (one of my favorite courses here, and one that, frankly, I think should be taught more often). Reist had an ironclad attendance policy: you miss a class, you drop a grade. So, one night, even though I was a feverish incubus of the bubonic plague, I kept to the syllabus and decided to attend.

Anyways, it was a bad idea, and an hour-and-a-half later, I was staggering home in a snowstorm alongside my good friend Tony Gonzalez, who, encouraged me along with conversation. I’m pretty sure I was slightly delirious, and probably responded in unintelligible grunts. When we got to our apartment, which was behind Simpson, I immediately got in the shower and sat there for about a half-hour under lukewarm water. I could barely concentrate, and I remember just hearing Reist’s one-liners playing over and over in my head.

“SHOOZOOKUM!”

“Get a job, Larry. Go suck an egg. Go hug a nut.”

“Hey whoa man, yeah man, hey whoa!”

I’m pretty sure the synapses in my brain had reached a critical failure point, causing them to explode left and right, cementing Reist into my conscience, for good or for bad.

Maybe he wanted to entertain, possibly. But there was something to his story-style teaching that stuck. There was an implicit sense of trust that, on the other side of the course, you’d have picked up something, some invaluable lesson. Maybe it’d be rooted in the text, but it would always apply to life. To the bigger picture. And that stuck with me.

A couple of years ago, for The Sad Bear blog, my friends and I asked Dr. Reist if he’d record a video of himself offering us some life advice, the idea was that we'd save it on YouTube. It’s weird to think that one of my favorite possessions lives on the internet, but I’ve gone back to that video multiple times, and each time I swear I walk away with something new to think about. It’s also odd because, in a way, the video was our attempt to bottle and preserve Dr. Reist -- something that seems impossible based on experiences in the classroom.

There is one Reist line that I’ll never forget. It’s come in handy as I’ve graduated and moved into the “real world,” where you don’t have seasonal breaks, and where you experience the ups and downs that you just can’t learn in college. I forget which class it was where he said it, but sometimes when sitting at my desk on a down day, wondering what the hell I’m doing with myself -- it pops into my head:

“Life’s a bitch, but some days it has puppies.”

It’s true. And today, being able to come here and say these things, it’s one of those days. One of those puppy days. And I couldn’t be more honored to talk about this man, a self-professed, “neat, funny little guy” who touched many, many lives while he was here and shaped this campus for the better. Thank you.

Additional eulogies and links can be found at The Original Sad Bear: Dr. John S. Reist.

The Original Sad Bear: Dr. John S. Reist (Updated)

noreply@blogger.com (Tony) — Thu, 01 Nov 2012 19:26:00 +0000

The bewildering wisdom of Dr. John S. Reist will live on through his students.

Reist, a fine whistler, a rascal, and a beloved professor of English at Hillsdale College, died early Thursday in Kalamazoo, Mich. He was 76.

Colleagues at the college confirmed his death after a long illness. The professor was to be celebrated by friends and former students at the college on Friday. That event has been postponed, but prepared remarks by Chase Purdy are now available.

Visitation hours for Reist will be 5 to 8 p.m., Monday, Nov. 5 at Eagle Funeral Home, 40 S. Manning Street, Hillsdale. The funeral will be 2 p.m. Tuesday, Nov. 6, at Holy Trinity Parish, 263 Spring St., Hillsdale.

Reist's rambunctious style of lecturing — which synthesized one-liners, show tunes, college football trivia, and a deep knowledge of literature — made him divisive among students, but also created a devoted following, including through this blog, The Sad Bear, named in honor of one of his many energetic sayings.

Reist announced his retirement in September 2010, leading to a profile in The Hillsdale Collegian. The story is no longer online (PDF here).

"A cheerful whistle, a bobbing newsboy's cap — certain evidence of the approach of one man: John Reist ..." the story began.

Reist joined the faculty in 1985 and "became known for peace signs, off-color humor and 'how I met my wife' stories." He said students at the college needed to "chill out" every once in a while. He found comfort in stirring the pot.

An ordained Baptist pastor, he preached at Jonesville Presbyterian Church. He had baptized at least four students and married at least 30 college couples. He served in the U.S. Army.

"I used to think heaven was going to be beer kegs and broads," he told the newspaper. "Now I think it's going to be books."

Links:
Obituary for John S. Reist

Undelivered remarks on John Reist, by Chase Purdy, 11/5/12
Daniel Silliman remembers 11/2/12
A eulogy for John Reist (Dr. Michael Bauman) 11/2/12
Fairfield Society to honor Reist 11/1/12
Students reflect on Reist's passing 11/1/12
'He's got forearms like railroad ties' 11/1/12
Reist for grad speaker 3/5/12
Quotable quotes of Dr. Reist (Facebook group)

No tribute could do justice, but we are left with his words, a short message about his retirement in 2010, and this video message.

Updated: We're trying to capture the thoughts of Hillsdale alumni and friends. For now, here's this collection of them, in Storify:

Ghost Town

noreply@blogger.com (JHitts) — Thu, 01 Nov 2012 03:38:00 +0000

It's been dead around here lately, huh? Well, cheer up:

Happy Halloween. And remember: Vote for the Honey Badger.

Do it for the LULz.

Holla!

The Burning House Draft

noreply@blogger.com (Chase) — Mon, 01 Oct 2012 00:14:00 +0000

For several months now I've been following a website called The Burning House, which, by way of inviting people to make their own submissions, documents the precious items people would try and save if their house or apartment caught fire.

I haven't submitted my own yet because every time I think I've got a handle on what I'd bring with me, something changes my mind. But, in an effort to produce a draft (at the very least), I picked out some objects.

- Freitag bag.
- Handbound book by Tony (features pages from The New York Times).
- iPhone.
- Wallet.
- My first juggling balls.
- Pen.
- Reporter's notebook.
- Necklace from my mother featuring St. Paul, patron saint of reporters.
- Altoids from my dad (note says: "Just remembering -Dad."
- Glasses.
- Car keys.
- Favorite band: Spoon | "Tranference"
- Favorite album: Paul Simon | "Graceland"
- "Me Talk Pretty One Day" by David Sedaris (for laughter)
- External hard drive for music/photos.
- USA passport.
- Camera (Canon).
- Picture of my family.
- Adidas (blue).

Again, this is a work in progress. I think I'm getting close to something, though.

Foreign words

noreply@blogger.com (JHitts) — Fri, 28 Sep 2012 22:26:00 +0000

Had an insatiable craving for Dungen at work today and promptly called up this little gem. Admired the bass players' hair, the singer's smart sweater/jeans combination and the drummer's nonchalant racket. You may now carry on with the rest of your day.

"On the Road" (trailer)

noreply@blogger.com (Chase) — Thu, 06 Sep 2012 13:33:00 +0000

This looks like a hipster's wet dream, but I'm still going to see it when it hits the theaters.

Screaming Females = Sleater Kinney????

noreply@blogger.com (JHitts) — Thu, 30 Aug 2012 07:52:00 +0000

As SadBear lore goes, we've all fell in love with every single rock move perpetuated by Sleater-Kinney in this video. I still can't get enough.

But I think I've found a new musical crush/rock goddess/all-around badass to admire: Marissa Paternoster of the Screaming Females. She has made the best rock album of the year. Seriously.

Observe:

My pick to click: 10:30 in. Also, the solo beginning at 17:25

No offense to the dudes in the band, but the camera guy spends way too much time on them - which isn't even that much. I just can't get enough of Paternoster. She's tiny and attacks that fretboard like it murdered her best friend, but then she remembers she also has to sing and her words (physically and figuratively) engulf the mic.

Yeah, I'm gonna go ahead and order you to buy this album. I don't think I can be friends with someone who dislikes this band (even being an acquaintance would be tough).

A Review of Forecastle Music Festival

noreply@blogger.com (Chase) — Fri, 27 Jul 2012 01:03:00 +0000

The decision to buy tickets for Forecastle came on a whim.

At the outset, the trip provided four things: an extended visit to Chase’s hometown, the chance for us to see each other after more than a year apart, an unprecedented opportunity for Chase to reconnect with nearly all of his high school friends (one person flew in from San Francisco), and, of course, a pass to see two-days of terrific music.

In addition to seeing acts like My Morning Jacket, Girl Talk, Andrew Bird, Wilco, and Preservation Hall Jazz Band, we rumbled around Louisville (the old neighborhoods and the new), drank beer at the city’s own Bluegrass Brewing Company, and took a 1 a.m. swim at Chase’s place. With all those elements at work, it was pretty close to perfect, despite the threat of rain throughout.

Best Overall Performance

C: The thought first crossed my mind when I saw all the sweat dripping from his face, but the moment Charles Bradley made me teary-eyed, I knew then that his performance would likely top anything else at Forecastle. And it did. The 63-year-old “Screaming Eagle of Soul” rocked our crowd for nearly and hour, and then, completely soaked in perspiration, he stepped down from the stage and stood right in front of me. He looked into my eyes, reached for my hands, and hugged me. People around us touched his back. Then he hugged Tony, and my friend Jane, and a whole slew of people in the front two rows. Behind us, people screamed and cheered. Aside from the fact that the band with him was nearly impeccable, Charles Bradley worked hard. His feelings seemed genuine, and he transported me, momentarily, to another place. I was spinning and crying.

T: In a throwback to the White Sox broadcasters I grew up listening to, who would name one player each night expected to play the best, I announced my “pick to click” performer in advance of the festival: Charles Bradley. Relatively unknown (sort of, but it’s complicated) I urged our group to get up front for Bradley’s soul set on Sunday, and we were able to push against the railing, where we watched an incredible drummer and roots-rock guitarist groove through a great soul set with Bradley giving it — yes — 110%. My highlight was “This Love Ain’t Big Enough for the Two of Us,” which includes a shift partway through into some sort of Jimi Hendrix/soul world. (See clip, around 0:50.)

Second

T: I can’t lie: I thought Preservation Hall Jazz Band would come across as a novelty gimmick. Instead, they literally brought the sun out on Saturday afternoon, blasting energetic horns in a wide variety of tunes that more than kept my interest. Loved the drumming and guest appearances by Jim James and Andrew Bird.
C: I’m not sure if it was the music by Girl Talk or the experience of seeing and dancing to him with more than 1,000 other people around me. Either way, somewhere in the colorful hue of lights and shapes, I found what I’ll bet came pretty close to a perfect outdoor-festival-at-night time. It might have been better if I were intoxicated, but even sober I couldn’t help but set aside my inhibitions. With bouncing balls rocketing over the crowd and glow sticks being flung every which way, all of us were dancing in ways that loosened the body after a steady procession of earlier shows that invigorated less wiggling and more head bobbing.

Third

T: Neko Case, despite her surprisingly crude and somewhat annoying ‘tween-songs banter, put on a great show — really clear singing and a terrific backing band that made me think of her songs as more than just catchy narratives. I also picked up on a few of her go-to vocal stylings, in particular a certain type of repetition, like “man man man / man man man--eater” on “People Got A Lot of Nerve.” I’m also glad she named her banjo/lap steel player, Jon Rauhouse, who I very well may look up. Now I just need to learn the name of the guitarist who played with Charles Bradley.
C: As a native Louisvillian, I’m required to put My Morning Jacket somewhere in my top three. I think they earned the spot, too. It was clear from the outset, anytime Jim James came up on the news (apparently he played an intimate warm-up set Saturday morning) or stepped onto a stage unexpectedly (Preservation Hall Jazz Group) the hometown crowd would stir, and for good reason. Louisville cradled MMJ for years, and Jim James has been an outspoken lover (he even shared in dismay when our best record store, ear-x tacy, closed their doors last year). But besides the band’s personality, the parts of the show I saw were mostly wonderful. The middle lagged a bit, but by the end I was swept up in the moment.

Best Moments

Tony's:
1. The Features took it up to “11” at the end of “Love Is,” in a moment that may have been the most intense rocking I have ever seen on stage. They seemed to reach a cymbal-crashing crescendo, but soon showed that they could take it another step faster, and then still another step beyond that — a full two measures more intense than all those other bands.
2. I began the Girl Talk set on a mission to move toward the front, but I ended it by seeking out Chase and dancing while some nutjob rained refreshing water on the crowd and balloons floated into the dark night sky. I most enjoyed mashups that included the Beach Boys, Vampire Weekend, and a Beastie Boys / “Lust for Life” mash.
3. Charles Bradley can dance. He did.
Chase's:
1. Heading deep into the Girl Talk crowd to dance.
2. Charles Bradley stepping down from the stage to hug and smile at his crowd.
3. Getting to hear Andrew Bird’s “Fitz and Dizzyspells” live.

Wish I Could Have Seen More

C: This is easy. Ever since I’ve been home, I’ve been listening to The Features. Non-stop. “Lions” is my alarm. “Exorcising Demons” was my shower music one morning. And I’ve been making my way through their discography while writing at work. The Forecastle scheduling made seeing their full set virtually impossible as they played during both Girl Talk and My Morning Jacket. But, if I knew then what I know now, I would have skipped the middle of MMJ to listen to the rest of their songs. Their music feels very earnest and amiable, some songs unleash some lash, others bob along sweetly. No matter how they move, their lyrics are interesting and smart. A minimal amount of research about them did reveal the shameful fact that they have a song on the Twilight movie soundtrack, a minor blemish. I like what they told one reporter in an interview: “We're not weird enough for a certain crowd and we're a little bit too out there for the other crowd. We fall in the middle somewhere between mainstream and hipster, which puts us in this weird place, but we're all pretty happy to be here."
T: Easy to agree on this one. My main regret is not sticking it out for the back half of the Features set, especially after their blitz rock on “Love Is” and the “Lions” bop. Because of other scheduling overlaps, I also missed “Washed Out” and Ben Sollee.

Surprised Us

T: I might hate to say this, but Dr. Dog surprised me. I have misgivings about one of their vocalists, but they rocked. I also didn’t know what to expect out of a Neko Case set, and was equally surprised at how awesome the music was and how non-graceful Case can be. Never will I ever need to hear more about where the sweat is running down her body.
C: I figured Preservation Hall Jazz Group would play a lot of swing music I’d be into, but I wasn’t prepared for them nearly run away with the festival on Saturday. They blew me away, and the cameos by Andrew Bird and Jim James only got me more excited about the group. I didn’t want their set to end.

Unsung hero

T: Gotta give this to the clouds, the sun, and the bridges of Louisville, which provided a terrific backdrop to acts like Andrew Bird, Neko Case, and Real Estate. Also: my orange Nalgene water bottle. Lovingly lugged that thing all weekend and didn’t really need any beer.
C: This might be TMI, but honestly, the person who designed the port-o-potty setup near “The Red Bull Stage” (where all the techno artists played). Other toilet areas featured a row of port-o-potties where a line would form in front of each one. Some people would start yelling at the door if a person (not me) took too long. It made the whole experience very high stress. But the design near the Red Bull Stage was much better. The fifty or so port-o-potties were set up in a “U” shape, with one line of people waiting for a door to open and someone to exit. Basically, once a person went in, the line would forget about them because three other doors would open suddenly. It allowed you to be more anonymous. Yeah.

Caveats

T: The My Morning Jacket set seemed to blow everyone away, but the middle third dragged. Too much jamming.
C: Two things: (1) Admittedly, I'm not a huge Wilco fan to begin with. Maybe it's Jeff Tweedy's stupid hat, or the fact that they're only as good as their best songs (which are from years ago). Either way, Tony put it best when we were swimming at my house, 'I'm glad I saw Wilco, so I never have to see them again.' (2) I heard but never got confirmation that the bourbon-tasting test was a free-of-charge deal. If this is true, then it’s a shame I missed out on that opportunity.

Get right back

noreply@blogger.com (JHitts) — Thu, 26 Jul 2012 03:07:00 +0000

1) Watch the movie Slap Shot.
2) Memorize this song.
3) Repeat until you get tired of both. (Hint: This can never happen. You will not.)

Not Writing Charming Songs About Fatherhood

noreply@blogger.com (Porter Perkins) — Mon, 09 Jul 2012 17:17:00 +0000

So I kept writing through the summer, and in August the baby was born and I'd cradle him in my left arm while writing melodies at the piano with my right, and I said, let Osiris the keeper of the gates be my witness, other songwriters may go soft when they get to be parents but I am going to keep going all the way down into the inner darkness, it will set a good example for the baby, and besides, what am I going to do, suddenly start writing songs about cute things instead of songs about how to wrest cries of triumph from the screaming places? Please. May the baby grow up to spit in my face if I should pose that hard.

John Darnielle on Transcendental Youth, due out October 2nd.

Too Soon: Bands that broke up before we were ready

noreply@blogger.com (Tony) — Fri, 06 Jul 2012 12:30:00 +0000

The message arrived unannounced last month and unprecedented in the long, celebrated history of this blog — a request from a loyal reader.

Could you all (and guest contributors) do a post on a list of bands you wish you could have seen before they broke up, died, or became uncool?

Vanessa asked and now receives her answers from The Sad Bear, in the form of top tens — and top threes — and peppered with lyrics, speculations, footnotes, and regret.

Vanessa

I started listening to good music before I could drive and before my parents thought I should be allowed to go to shows. I missed out on so much. Bands came and went before I could see them live. I'm a little bitter about it still. Not that every missed opportunity was their fault, but they are responsible for a good chunk of my unhappiness in this regard. Other instances of missed opportunity come from poor birth-timing. It just didn't work out. Here are the top ten bands I wish I could have seen way back when:

10. The Who

I love their energy. No one can compare. When I heard "A Quick One ... " in Rushmore, I almost died.

9. Operation Ivy

They were a Gilman St. pseudo-ska punk band from the late 80's and early 90's. I adore them. I loved how fast they played. They were so political, and yet so fantastically fun. I actually made my own Op Ivy jacket and my life was forever made better when I found an Operation Ivy button in the parking lot of a Salvation Army. I just knew some punk kid had left it there for me. When I was old enough, Rancid was the new thing. Sorry, Jack. You know I hate Rancid.

8. Green Day

I'm happy for these guys. They made a career out of being best buddies and staying together in a band. But, they suck so much now. I adored Kerplunk and Dookie (who didn't?) but never really had the chance to see these fellas before the cheeze set in.

7. The White Stripes

Around Get Behind Me, Satan I realized that the White Stripes were going to fall apart. I felt stupid for waiting so long to see them. Then, this guy at work said that he had tickets to see them at The Masonic Temple. But, he only had two — one for me and for him. He was 57. I didn't go.

6. Buddy Holly

This man and I could have been best friends, I'm absolutely sure.

5. Neutral Milk Hotel

I wish that I could have been old enough around the time of In the Aeroplane, I probably would have stalked them.

4. Hole

When I learned about Cobain's death, I started an unrequited friendship with Courtney Love. And, with that, her band. But after Celebrity Skin, I found other loves.

3. Fiona Apple

Really, she shouldn't be on this list. I thought she was done with music when I first got the idea for this post. It has been seven years since her last record. And I'll be darned if she isn't putting out a new one and I'm going to see her this month.

2. Otis Redding

Everything I love about music can be found in his music. Sorrow, love, familiarity, truth, peace, sexiness. God bless his soul.

1. Cat Power

This was an easy No. 1 pick. I love Chan Marshall and will love everything she does until she's dead. But I wish I could have seen her back when she drank and smoked too much. Cat Power completely defined who I am and how I think about the world. Too bad I couldn't see her back when she had important things to say.

Kyle

Top three, since I've never been a concert junky:

3. Billie Holiday

I don't know what people did when Billie performed; whether they sat at tables in tuxedos sipping cocktails or danced a slow foxtrot across a gymnasium floor, but whatever it was, I know I want to do it.

2. The Animals

'cause Eric Burdon's evil face mesmerizes me.

1. Dire Straits

The speed — the enormous leap across an unimaginable distance — by which this band went from cool to suck astounds me. Their first self-titled album rings with just that laid-back, slick and soothing, tongue-in-cheek, lyrical quality that would wonderfully occupy my mind for an evening. All successive albums, and especially whatever catastrophe included "Money For Nuthin'" would cause me to walk out. I would pay money not to see that.

P.S. — David Bowie. He transcends my list.

Jack

I tried to think of bands that would be physically impossible to see now (i.e., death or permanent dismemberment). Especially since it seems like now bands are getting back together, it seems, to make some quick cash without actually writing any new music. (giving you the stink-eye, Pixies!)

Of course, one band that came to mind immediately was Uncle Tupelo — a group still alive and playing their instruments just fine. (I hope ... Mike Heidorn, what's your status? Let me know.)

Anyway, I think they would have been fun to see in the early 90s when they were still playing dank basements of St. Louis bars and playing songs like this to drunken singalong revelry.

A few others that would have been fun to see in their heydey include Joy Division (pre-Ian Curtis hanging), Fugazi (you can hear basically every show they ever played right now, they've been releasing all of their concert archives ... they have no setlists, so the shows were probably just lots of punk dudes shouting out song requests and moshing before getting yelled at by Ian MacKaye to stop moshing) and Black Flag. Just so I can say I punched someone at a VFW Hall somewhere.

Finally: The White Stripes. I'm sure Jack will someday decide to reform them again, because he does whatever the hell he wants these days, but I had the chance to see them at St. Andrews before they got massive. I still kick myself for not going.

Mark

Sam Cooke
Presented without comment. Or Otis. Either.

The Who
Imagine the last five Super Bowl halftime performances as various regions in Dante's Divine Comedy. Madonna would be one of the milder levels of hell. The virtuous pagans, say, or Francesca and Paolo would be doomed to watch Madonna's plastic self bolstered by various tolerable Top 40 acts over and over again. It'd be unpleasant but tolerable. The Who's performance would be significantly deeper. Perhaps the heretics in the 6th circle would be subjected to Roger Daltrey's ancient goatish voice (no offense meant, Jon) and Pete Townshend's creaking approximations of rock guitar.

The Black Eyed Peas have the 9th circle LOCKED. DOWN. Judas Iscariot is watching these morons make their already-awful songs sound even worse for eternity. We'll say Tom Petty goes in Purgatory — I've still got a childhood soft-spot for him (YA SO?!??). Meanwhile, The Boss is crotch-sliding through Paradise.

So the Who were bad, but the performance was not, in and of itself, completely horrible. Unlike the Black Eyed Peas, the Who did not make me embarrassed to be part of the human race. Still, while the Peas were terrible to a greater degree than expected, I knew they were going to be very, very bad.*

So the Peas were a travesty of Top 40 Pop — Rebecca Black before Rebecca Black was a twinkle in the Internet's eye — but the Who's performance was Greek tragedy. It's the difference between Adam Sandler continuing to make shitty movies† and Dana Carvey falling from "Gerald Ford dead today" to The Master of Disguise. It's not so much the bad performance as the fall from grace that gets you.

Looking back as we must through a haze of CSI opening credits and overplay of their most mediocre hit,° it's hard to realize how badass these guys were. The Who revolutionized music. They coined the term — though didn't really invent the form — "power pop." You don't get the Flaming Lips without the Who. You can argue that the Who — even more than the Stones — pushed the Beatles from teenie-boppers to rockers. And — a more ambiguous legacy — they invented the death growl.

My uncle saw the Who at a music festival at some point in the 1970s. A Montgomery boy through-and-through, Uncle Woody (no identity protection here) had a taste only for country and rockabilly and such — until that scream at the end of "Won't Get Fooled Again" instantly converted him into a fan of rock 'n' roll. Incidentally, that scream also made me beg my parents to buy a Nissan Maxima for a week or so — until I saw one in person and lots my faith in advertising.

Then time took its toll. Vanessa asked us to write about bands we wish we could have seen "before they broke up/died/got not-so-cool." Though I'm open to counter arguments, I'm willing to argue that the Who are the most distinctive foursome in rock history.ª In a sense, then, the Who died with Keith Moon in Harry Nillson's Curzon Place flat in 1978. John Entwhistle's 2002 cocaine-and-hooker fueled death made the Who even more unrecognizable.

But the Super Bowl performance puts the Who in Vanessa's final category too. I still like Pete Townshend. He seems like a decent guy. But he and Daltrey have gone from legendary rockers to sad old men. All flesh is like grass.

---

*Has a group as bad as the Black Eyed Peas ever been this popular for this long? There is quite literally nothing redeemable in their entire catalogue. Not even in a hipster-ironic or guilty-pleasure or love-to-hate-em or winking-contrarian sense (crawl in a hole and die Slate).

†I liked lots of Sandler's movies in middle school and high school, and I still like and laugh at those movies — but doing so involves tapping into my adolescent idiocy. They are funny to the remnants and memory of my adolescent self, not to my present adult self. Similarly, a friend we'll call "Kyle" (to protect his identity) and I put an instrumental version of "Let's Get Retarded" on our varsity basketball pump-up mix — a moment of youthful embarrassment on par with crying in front of the (flag) football team and being pictured in an elementary-school yearbook picking my nose. The difference is that I'll still laugh at Happy Gilmore, but I grimace even to think of that stupid, uncatchy song.

°Clearly I wish blogger had footnotes. Alas. Anyway. Part of me wishes Louis C.K. would have picked a better track, but then isn't "Who Are You" the perfect dadrock track? Furthermore, if you ignore the sissy, Steve-Miller-Band-knock-off chorus, the rest of the song still rocks.

ªIt's true that Lennon, McCartney, and Harrison are untouchable, but Moon brought a helluvalot more to the Who than Ringo Starr ever did for the Beatles.

Jon

This one was a little hard for me to think through, so I set aside difficulty determining whether an extant band has become lame and assumed that, for each entry on my list, I would see each band at the height of their capability and cultural relevance. With that in mind, I have a list:

10. The Smiths
9. Sonic Youth
8. The Clash
7. Captain Beefheart and His Magic Band
6. The Books
5. Black Sabbath
4. Bob Dylan
3. Pixies
2. Neutral Milk Hotel
1. The Doors

Chase

I'm only going to be writing about one group, one that I thought was both unpopular and long gone.

However, after a nominal amount of research I've discovered that Eiffel 65 may remain uncool, but they are most certainly not dead. Well, not technically. I'm sure most of us can remember their two hit songs from our grade school days, "Blue (Da Ba Dee)" and "Move Your Body," songs that appeared on the first album I ever owned, Europop. Both did well on music charts across the world, the former hitting No. 1 spots in at least eight countries, not to mention No. 3 in Italy (their birthplace) and No. 6 in the United States. They had other hits throughout the early 2000s, but nothing noticeable since the abysmal showing in 2004 upon the release of Eiffel 65 2 (apparently a sequel to their original self-titled album?).

They remained dormant throughout the rest of the decade, until late 2010, when they announced a new album to be released ... soon. First they said we'd get a listen that same year, but then postponed it until 2012 (I hope you all are spinning and crying as much as I am over this news). For what it's worth, I remember loving the "beats" in their songs while growing up, and the music became an introduction to techno music for me. In fact, they probably had a role to play in me coming into contact with my Italian pen pal, Andrea, who would send me mixtapes (via cassette tape) all the way from Turin, Italy, then the techno music capital of the world (side note: Andrea and I still keep in touch). I remember hearing about Benny Benassi long before any of my American friends. Anyway.

I'd love to see them live just because they are absurd and it would be a blast. Their music is still catchy, and some of their lyrics are hilariously strange (read: total gems), even if they are losers in the musical world:

'Cause all that i want is a silicon girl,
With silicon lips and silicon hair.
Sha la la, la la la
you're my silicon girl
So come into my silicon world

lolwut? So whether they're singing about silicon girls or The X-Files, or Sony Playstation, or just the color blue (.. .da ba dee) ... I would find it impossible to pass on seeing a show of theirs should they come through the United States. Though, for any other star-crossed Eiffel 65 lovers out there, we'll just have to commiserate together, because I think the only thing they're doing these days is a mini-Australian tour. Boo.

Jane

I envy Americans born in the 50s. I wish I would have had the classics as my high school soundtrack instead of embarrassing shit like Bright Eyes and Dashboard Confessional. If I could go back in time and make it all right, I would have made sure to see Parliament-Funkadelic sometime in the late 1970s, after both Mothership Connection and Funkentelechy Vs. The Placebo Syndrome were released.

I've seen P-Funk twice in the last couple years — even danced on stage and gotten a guitarist's digits! — and the band still plays a mean live show, but P-Funk was undoubtedly their best in the late 70s. The funk dream team were all together then: George Clinton (of course), Bernie Worrell (synth/keyboardist) and Bootsy Collins (also bassist for James Brown) were in the line-up, not to mention Gary Shider and Maceo Parker. The band was also at the height of their creativity for live entertainment; the late 70s featured wonderfully ridiculous spandex get-ups and elaborate plots to the theme of recent albums. In fact, the band played several shows that involved an enormous spaceship containing Dr. Funkenstein (Clinton, naturally), whose arrival marked the proliferation of funk to the audience.

The Mothership has since been lost somewhere, but a replica is being made for the new Smithsonian's Museum of African American History and Culture. The Smithsonian curators and I apparently share some thoughts about P-Funk: this music had much cultural significance as an expressive tool during the post-Civil Rights Era.

(Also, fun fact: Worrell's synth line in the song Flashlight is played an octave below the normal range of human hearing, for added funk.)

Econ

Bruce Springsteen

I would probably enjoy a Springsteen show today, provided that he were to stick to his early catalog, but even then, something about Bruce's persona just grinds my gears now. Also, Clarence Clemons died about a year ago, so it's sort of double whammy on this one.

J Dilla

I started listening to his work a year ago, which was about one year after I first heard of him, which was about four years after he died of a rare disease.

Modest Mouse

I don't know if I'd go so far as to say they've gotten lame. Good News for People Who Love Bad News was great, and We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank was alright, and I haven't listened to much of anything they've done since. But I wish I had seen them in 2002-03, in their prime, touring for Moon and Antarctica. Also, tickets were like eight bucks.

I'd also say: the White Stripes (split up), Weezer (lost interest), Wilco (lost interest), and the Beastie Boys (future uncertain with recent death of MCA)

Tony

I'd love to be able to be brief with my answer, offering no explanation and just putting this out there: Rage Against the Machine.

But I can't. I have to come clean: R.A.T.M. is probably the band that I had the best chance of seeing live that I didn't — although I may be kidding myself to think my parents would have let me go before age 14, and that I could have survived in the mosh pit.

I was similarly caught off guard by the breakup of Sleater-Kinney. I thought I'd see them. And I'm still waiting for Modest Mouse and Cake — two bands that were on my must-see list in college, including during the time I vowed not to see any band for a second time before first seeing the must-sees. Yo La Tengo obliterated that rule.

I also want to point out a particular show I regret not seeing: the White Stripes and the Flaming Lips 2003/2004 New Year's Eve show in Chicago, which critics raved about, literally, for years.

And now, where I failed at brevity, J Dunn brings us home:

J Dunn

I wish I could have seen Benny Goodman in the 40s, Frank Sinatra in the 50s or the 80s, and Sublime in the 90s.

“The Politics of Competitive Board Gaming Amongst Friends”

noreply@blogger.com (Chase) — Sun, 01 Jul 2012 04:01:00 +0000

Lex Hives: new Hives record howls Swedish wisdom

noreply@blogger.com (Tony) — Tue, 19 Jun 2012 04:09:00 +0000

Just before buying the new Hives record, Lex Hives, we had a moment of hesitation. Staring at it on the best-seller shelves, Katie asked, "Do you think we'll still like The Hives as much as we used to?"

It's been five years since their last effort. Would their thrash wisdom still hold sway?

You see, I've learned a lot from The Hives and Howlin' Pelle Almqvist. For example:

:: "You wanna cut a piece of cake you gotto have a bit of blade"
:: "You dress up for Armageddon / I dress up for summer"
:: "You searched the globe for them perfect looks / And you searched for answers in all your books / And finally by diabolic ascent here I am / Said it's just a diabolic / Diabolic scheme
:: "This time you've really got something, it's such a clever idea / But it doesn't mean it's good 'cause you found it at the library / Yes, they were smart but they are dead / And you're repeating all that they said"

The new record carries on with songs against all those stuffed shirts and cautions against materialism. Being skeptical seems to be the howl of the Hives.

The record rocks, with a strong back half that really never lets up. They've included some small departures, including a heavier sound on "I Want More," that reminds me a bit of Jack White, some moments of looser production and thumping drums, and a little more clapping and grooving. Also of note, they've avoided one staple of every other Hives record: the experimental dud. There are two "ballads" (played Hives-style), but I think they work better than "Find Another Girl" from back on Vendi Vidi Vicious. But I guess that's not tough.

The record is too new for most lyrics websites to have all the songs cataloged right now, but I've pulled some of the latest advice, handed down on high from the Hives:

:: "I've got a thousand answers, one's gotta be right / Give me a thousand chances, and I'll get it right"
:: "When I speed through life like biblical locusts on a laser beam / Ain't gonna deserve nothing, no I just gotta have / I am a man of much importance to me, I'm a much important man"
:: "You say – "These kids they're all insane / that 'they got drugs instead of brains' / They drink blood at night, yes they do, not every one of them, but a few"
:: "When you don't wake up for nothin / Then nothing's all you get"

All told, I think they portray an enviable life outlook. Try hard. Don't be fooled.

Above: A crazy medley of covers includes "Hey Ya!"

Also, I've set up a link directly to a really magical moment from a recent live show. From what I can gather, Howlin' Pelle went out into the crowd, got everyone to sit down, and then, well, get up! Check it out: here.

We've written about the Hives before. Here.

Map Porn (and Our Constructed Reality)

noreply@blogger.com (Porter Perkins) — Wed, 13 Jun 2012 03:31:00 +0000

Pants off, fellow map porn enthusiasts. "How the world was imagined: Early maps and atlases."bit.ly/KIw0UL
— pourmecoffee (@pourmecoffee) June 12, 2012

Naturally this made me think of the Sad Bear. I suspect the particular collection shared by @pourmecoffee runs a bit ancient for sad bear tastes, but I love this stuff.

Some folks will look at these maps and see "how far we've come." For these people the collection tells the story of progress. The insufficiencies and inaccuracies of the map serve to solidify our superior reality--our more accurate, informed, and scientific sense of the world. I am not so interested in the shortcomings or imprecision of the ancient maps. Instead, I try to appreciate the different ways of imagining at work in mapmaking.

To be clear, I am not so much stressing how impressive the maps are within their various historical contexts. That's true enough, and it's a point I constantly make to my middle schoolers: you have to examine things, so far as possible, in their own historical contexts rather than your own. Judging an action or assumption "stupid" simply because the actor did not have access to the same information as you is, well, stupid. True as that is, it is not what I find most compelling here.

These ancient and early modern maps can and should upend our assumptions about the way things are. They have the potential to expose our own models of reality for just that--models. We construct these models to explain the world to ourselves, but we often forget that our models are not reality itself. They often become synonymous in our thinking with the reality they attempt to portray, such that we forget and sometimes simply deny the creative and constructive activity required to form the models. We look at the model and see it as reality itself.

The world, however, is not a map or even a globe, no matter how accurate, precise, and detailed it may be. Maps--just like models of atoms and molecules, just like mathematical formulas, just like grammatical schemes, just like historical works--fundamentally rely on the constructive power of human imagination. Alternative imaginings like those found in some of these maps can expose the invisible bonds between model and reality, can show us how clearly our imagination is at work shaping reality into something intelligible and legible.

Consider Anaximander's map (on the top left). I'm not interested in accuracy or inaccuracy but in the work of imagination evident here. It seems to my eyes as though Anaximander has twisted or stretched our map 45º clockwise (besides leaving out the Western Hemisphere, of course). Asia has migrated down and right. And then compare this to the T and O map (bottom right), which inverts that motion to my thinking.

While we might be tempted to scoff at the rudimentary imprecision and obvious failures of "realism" in both of these maps, we should also note how arbitrary our assumptions about maps are. Why is north always up, east always right? Given that question, I am actually surprised by how many of the maps reflect those assumptions about orientation.

My Google search for "world map upside down" led me to wonder, of course: what makes this map upside down at all?

Joe Pesci research

noreply@blogger.com (JHitts) — Fri, 01 Jun 2012 14:00:00 +0000

There's a bit in the new Aziz Ansari standup special (which, BTW, is fantastic) where he refers to meaningless Wikipedia surfing as "Joe Pesci research." I can't find the bit online yet, but here's the gist at the end of this Letterman clip:

That got me thinking about my own meaningless internet searches. I went back into my history for the past couple days just to see what sort of dumb stuff I search for. Here's a slightly abridged history, starting with the most recent:

aziz ansari youtube
aziz ansari joe pesci
joe pesci research
russel westbrook (sic)
waterloo blackhawks
USHL
bemidji state beavers
wauxobda bulldogs
big pimpin
iso sensitivity
conan on letterman
maggie q
baseball night in america
bemidji pioneer iphone
bemidji pioneer app
bemidji pioneer
grandmas boy
james lipton

As you can clearly see, the Internet was created by Satan for the sole purpose of making us waste time looking up dumb stuff.

Police Reporter: Right Man, Wrong Look

noreply@blogger.com (Chase) — Thu, 10 May 2012 16:44:00 +0000

Check out this piece by David Simon on The Baltimore Sun night editor, David Ettlin.

"His great sin is that he never looked the part:

The ruddy complexion and the insubordinate hair and that godawful mustache that should never have belonged to anyone with more solemnity and poise than an East Baltimore Street pimp, drunk and luckless, down to his last working girl.

The wardrobe was disastrous. He made the rest of the slumming metro veterans look almost plausible. His laugh was a cackle, employed liberally against the farts and foibles of the important and famous. From humanity, he expected farce and scandal at all points, adoring an absurd, senseless murder most of all. He never lost at Scrabble, he had 10 different ways of saying anything in print, and yeah, if he acted as if he'd seen it all without ever leaving a newsroom, it was only because he had.

David Michael Ettlin taught me to be a reporter at The Baltimore Sun, which is to say, I love the man for everything he is, and everything he isn't."

Read the story here.

A Thursday in May

noreply@blogger.com (Chase) — Thu, 10 May 2012 16:11:00 +0000

I'll be working a few night shifts this upcoming week, an altogether different pace when it comes to newsrooms. But aside from leaving late at night to check warrants at the jail before returning home, these shifts mean I have a good portion of my afternoons free. Such was the case this afternoon. This playlist was a result:

A Thursday in May by Chase on Grooveshark

01. "I'm Yours and I'm Hers" - Johnny Winter, Johnny Winter
02. "Turtles Have Short Legs" - Can, Cannibalism 2
03. "Anything Could Happen" - The Clean, Anthology
04. "Sour Times - Portishead, Dummy
05. "Paranoid - Black Sabbath, Paranoid
06. "Panda" - Dungen, Ta det Lugnt
07. "This Will Be Our Year" - The Zombies, Odessey and Oracle