Sluggo's Museum of Classic Pop Culture

Make Your Own Kind of Music...

2013-04-23T09:16:00.000-07:00

A few months ago, I became a late convert to the great show, Lost, which recently finished its run. One of the show's many themes is that of time travel. In one particularly moving episode from season 3, "Flashes Before Your Eyes," Desmond travels back to 1996, where he attempts in vain to salvage his relationship with Penny Widmore. The episode is incredibly haunting, as Desmond is tantalized by the surreal sense that he can change his own destiny, and the cruel realization he must live with his past mistakes.

Time travel makes for great romance, and also serves as a solid premise for contemplating a character's "what ifs." It's an alluring concept that has provided the background for some fantastic novels and movies: "Slaughterhouse Five," "The Watchmen," "Somewhere in Time," just to name a few. But when it comes down to it, most people brush aside time travel as a science fiction plot device - a fun gimmick that has little to do with reality.

The older I get, however, the more I start to think that maybe there's more to this time travel business than we may think. Most of us are so firmly entrenched in what we believe to be true about the world around us that we stop paying attention to our senses.

As I sit here now, typing, I'm listening to Bruce Springsteen live on New Year's Eve, 1980, at the Nassau Coliseum. The piano rings with a remarkable clarity; Bruce's voice sounds young, energetic, hungry. As the band launches into Hungry Heart, I'm suddenly back in sixth grade. I'm listening to Bruce on the transistor that I carried around next to my ear all through the late 70's and early 80's, battling static and the whims of the AM radio deejays to get whatever auditory glimpses I could of "the Boss"...

The I-Tunes shuffle function serves up its next offering: Gerry Rafferty's "Baker Street." It's the summer of 1978, and I can just about taste the orange soda. My brother and I are playing in the Fishers' yard, right behind our house. We've been playing baseball and tag all day, and we stop to rest on the front stoop that overlooks the huge expanse of grass, flanked by three great pine trees, that is our childhood playground. The bristly carpet on the brick steps needles the backs of my calves, and I enjoy the feeling of sweat trickling down my back. My mom calls out from the kitchen window, and I hear her through the trees - it's dinner time...

In the movie, "High Fidelity," Rob (played by John Cusack) arranges his record correction not alphabetically, not chronologically by release, but autobiographically - the order in which he experienced the music. Next up on my iTunes is Tom Petty's "Here Comes My Girl." This one was recorded in 1979, but the tension in this song's opening chords sends me, personally, back to late 1994. I'm in my third year as a teacher, and am living at home with my parents for a few months to save up for my wedding. It's a cold October night, and my high school buddies, Ted and Shawn, have invited me over to "jam." I haven't picked up my guitar in a few years, as my new status as an English teacher and responsible adult has taken priority; I've forgotten the thrill of rocking out in the basement, and when we launch into the song, it's magic...

The striking thing about these "time travels" is that they are more than just memories. I can feel the sensations, smell the smells, see the sights. These sudden "unstickings in time" are so unexpected and powerful that they might as well be accompanied by the violent flashes of white light that transported Sawyer, Juliet, and Jin on their wild journey through the ages.

What's even more remarkable, though, is that music can conjure memories that didn't actually happen. Last fall, I finally realized a lifelong dream of seeing Bruce Springsteen live. Near the end of the evening, the band surprised the crowd by playing "Sandy," a song whose tempo and feel differed from the overall feel of the show up to that point. As the haunting accordion strains danced around Bruce's tale of love, loss, change, and acceptance, I closed my eyes. The gentle October breeze felt as if it was carrying a light ocean spray, and the smell of hotdogs and beer contributed to the illusion that I was on the beach. I felt the pain of the song's protagonist as if it were my own; I saw the cops busting Madame Marie, and and experienced the story as if it were the story of my own life. And as if I had lived it hundreds of times before.

When I thought about it later, I felt kind of silly, getting all emotional over Sandy and the 4th of July at Asbury Park. After all, I didn't even know anyone named Sandy. And I'd never been on the beach at Asbury Park. But what happened to me (and I'm sure many others) that night at Giants Stadium is what author Stephen Dobyns refers to as "the authenticating act of memory": the idea that you can "remember" anything you've ever imagined, since your unconscious mind doesn't make a distinction between reality and imagination. The more times you hear a song, then, the more real its story seems, and the stronger the memory of having experienced it. And, because your unconscious mind, which deals in imagery rather than words, doesn't know the difference between what is real and what is imagined, a musical flashback is, for all intents and purposes, real time travel.

Music also feels timeless because of its ability to give the artist eternal life. Shakespeare's sonnets focus on the idea that, by creating some form of art - writing, painting, music, or even life itself through childbirth - you gain a measure of immortality. And this is true - we speak of Shakespeare in the present tense, and when we listen to recordings of Jimi Hendrix, he is alive enough to move us - physically and spiritually. Unless you were a personal friend or family member of Hendrix, he is as alive to you today as he ever was.

My wife always says, and I agree, that time, and time travel, are just a matter of perception. Maybe it's just a matter of closing your eyes, opening up your ears, and letting the music take you where (and when) it will...

* Best Words, Best Order by Stephen Dobyns. Palgrave Macmillian, New York, 1996. Probably my favorite theoretical writing book.

Great videos on the 4th dimension (time):
Carl Sagan Explains the 4th Dimension
Imagining the 10th Dimension

In the Garage

2013-02-18T11:55:00.000-08:00

On some level, each of us feels that our childhood is unique. At least, that is, while we are children. Even though we ultimately venture out into the world beyond our front lawn, enter the homes of our friends, and discover strange and wonderful worlds via our televisions (and even stranger and more wonderful worlds through our radios and i-pads), during our early years we are necessarily self-centered. This leads to a persistent feeling that the particulars of our upbringing are a one-of-a-kind combination.

Periodically, though, we are jarred out of this illusion when we encounter someone else's experience that mirrors our own with chilling precision. Recently, I was reading Josh Wilker's terrific memoir, Cardboard Gods, and came across this description of the author's room:

"As I write this, decades later, almost all the things that made that room my room are long gone...The poster of Ace Frehley, his silver-painted eyes clamped shut, using his guitar as a .... conduit for the infinite wonder of the cosmos. The magazine cutout of Cheryl Tiegs... All the various lint-covered objects made of Nerf. All the piles of hand-scrawled solitaire Strat-O-Matic scorecards. The only thing that remains is the heart of the room, the box containing all the baseball cards I ever brought home. The box I've carried with me through my life."

This hit so close to memories of my own childhood bedroom that I almost felt as if I had been "found out," as if someone had been spying on me as I, too, created my own secret Strat-O-Matic baseball world with only KISS and Farrah Fawcett looking on. But this sudden rush of vulnerability is also the thrill of shared connection, of realizing that I was not alone in my most treasured memories and "geeky" interests.
Somehow, I'm always surprised by these moments, and how excited I get about them, but I shouldn't be. After all, isn't that the true allure of literature and pop culture - the sense of being part of something bigger?

Sometimes, this goes beyond mere connection - and becomes vindication - when famous people admit to engaging in some of the more embarrassing pastimes of my childhood. When I was in 7th grade, there wasn't anything less "cool" than Dungeons and Dragons. My brother and I would play for hours on end. I loved being the dungeon master, because it was my first real chance to let my imagination run free in the process of creating something that felt real, that was real when we played the game. Sometimes, other kids in the neighborhood would come over and play, and we'd have a great time. Yet, there was almost this unspoken code: "Ixnay on the Agonsdray" - we'd never, ever refer to our gaming outside the confines of my basement.

That's why one of my all-time favorite songs from the grunge era is Weezer's "In the Garage." This one also speaks directly to my childhood experience, and in the chorus even gives a nod to the underground nature of the fun we had:

"I've got the Dungeon Master's Guide
I've got a 12-sided die
I've got Kitty Pryde
And Nightcrawler too
Waiting there for me
Yes I do, I do

I've got posters on the wall,
My favorite rock group Kiss,
I've got Ace Frehley
and I've got Peter Criss,
Waiting there for me
Yes I do, I do

In the garage
I feel safe
No one cares about my ways
In the garage where I belong
No one hears me sing this song

Notice, also, the Kiss poster connection. Posters like this one were as ubiquitous as I-pods back in the late 70's and early 80's, and a huge banner like this one hung on the cinder block walls of the basement where my brother and I spent some of our greatest times as kids. It was only a dank, musty, 10X10 cellar, but with a little imagination it became a hockey rink, a bowling alley, and even a WWF ring, as we converted the arms of a moth-eaten couch into head-rammable turnbuckles. We'd labor for days on model cars and ships, the dizzying aroma of Testors plastic cement hanging in the humid summer air as we listened to the limited rotation in our slowly growing record collection. Alive, Alive II, Billy Joel's Glass Houses and Chipmunk Punk spun endlessly on our Mickey Mouse turntable, each scratch and hiccup becoming permanently recorded in our mental soundtracks.

It was amazing, innocent, all-encompassing joy. And sure, we were geeky. But it's nice to know that Rivers Cuomo was, too.

Glockenspiel - The Secret Weapon of the E-Street Band

2012-06-05T15:52:00.000-07:00

Darkness on the Edge of Town.

Sometimes I wonder if there's something wrong with me. I'm 42 years old, and I can't listen to this without getting chills. Every time.

I grew up listening to (and sometimes living through) Bruce Springsteen. I loved The Wild, the Innocent and the E Street Shuffle, Born to Run, and the huge live triple-album that came out in 1986. I also always loved Prove it All Night and Badlands, but for a long time I largely dismissed Darkness as too slow, too serious, and not as much fun as Born to Run. And Darkness is a more difficult album in terms of its tone and subject matter. I'm pretty sure it was rock critic Dave Marsh who once wrote that "Born to Run represents the dream; Darkness on the Edge of Town represents the reality." As a 16-year old just discovering the Boss' music, the energy of the early albums perfectly reflected my naive, idealistic exuberance. I just wasn't ready to recognize that Darkness captures, better than any other record I can name, captures the delicate tension between despair and hope that characterizes life in modern America.

And yet, for all that has been written and said about this masterpiece, I've really never heard anyone address what I feel is the album's most significant musical paradox - innocence vs. adulthood. Lyrically, the songs chronicle characters who struggle from day to day, struggle to survive, struggle to find hope in a bleak existence. These characters are adults who face adult problems and adult disappointments.

Musically, however, almost all of the songs ("Adam Raised a Cain" stands as a notable exception) on the record feature an almost childlike, magical quality. The crystalline piano tones and shimmering glockenspiel chimes dust songs like "Something in Night." "Badlands" and "Candy's Room" with a layer of exuberant, youthful optimism that threatens to burst through the thick tension sitting just above it. The lyrics may set the songs in the dry, dusty, heat of August in the Utah desert. But the record sounds exactly like Christmas-time - no matter what the weather outside, I can smell the crisp December air, see the light snowflakes floating downward, and best of all, feel the excitement and anticipation in my gut. It's a visceral reaction that can cut through moods, disrupt reality.

Another key element on the record, of course, is Clarence Clemons' playing - on this album, he does some of his most memorable work - the solos are anthemic. I recently watched "The Promise," and was astounded to discover that Clarence only plays for a minute or two on the entire album. I guess, on some level, I had known that, but his presence is so tremendous on his songs that he leaves a giant-sized imprint on the experience. Take "The Promised Land" - a song about struggle and the fear that dreams will never come true - but Clarence arrives on the scene, just in time, with a mighty voice that lifts the listener right out of the struggle and toward transcendence. It's the massive contrast between sound and subject matter that create this sense of liberation. Check out this live performance of the song, and I'm sure you'll hear (and feel) what I mean: 1980 - Capitol Centre - Promised Land.

Back to School

2011-09-02T05:18:00.000-07:00

When I was growing up, Labor Day was "The Day the Earth Stood Still." It wasn't so much because Labor Day signaled the start of the new school year, but because for one day, the Jerry Lewis telethon monopolized the airwaves. No Gilligan's Island, no Brady Bunch, no Little Rascals or I Love Lucy - just Sammy Davis Jr. and Dean Martin yukking it up and singing show tunes.

But back then, for me, television was tightly wound into the fabric of summertime. In the days before playdates and rubberized playgrounds, we (the neighborhood "gang") would spend sunny days roaming free, walking through the woods, playing baseball and tag, drinking Kool-Aid and playing Payday on the neighbors' deck. Rainy days, we spent as captives of the television, devouring the daytime and early evening lineup on non-network New York stations - WNEW and WPIX.

So it was a particularly cruel irony that, on the precious final day of every summer break, my favorite shows were ripped away from me to make way for the monotony of the telethon. I remember complaining to my parents that I had to go back to school, and arguing that I could learn just as much by watching television.

So, this year, as school approaches, I thought it might be fun to take a look at what would have happened if my wish had come true, and I had been able to attend "TV Land Academy." Here's a sample from the TV Land Academy Course Directory. I've provided YouTube links, when available, for those of you unfamiliar with these classic scenes

Latin 101. Instructor: Mike Brady taught us, Caveat Emptor - let the buyer beware. Mr. Brady dispensed this priceless piece of Latin wisdom when Greg went to buy his first car. The eldest Brady boy (and lead singer of the Banana Convention) was so bent on picking up a new set of "wheels" that he allowed fast-talking Eddie that the screeching engine sound is "the idle, man -- it's the idle." When Greg gets home, though, Mike sets him straight, pointing out that the car sounds like "a flock of geese heading south."

Introduction to Shakespeare. Instructor: Harold Hecuba. When the "famous director" lands on Gilligan's Island, the Castaways decide to stage a musical production of Hamlet. It always amazed me how, on this tiny island with only 7 characters, elaborate costumes, a proscenium stage, and musical accompaniment could simply materialize out of nowhere. Nonetheless, this was certainly my first introduction to Shakespeare, and I often wound up with this musical version stuck in my head while studying "Hamlet" in high school and college.

Advanced Cryptology. Instructors: Batman and Robin. No other show in history would even dare to attempt to plug canyon-size plotholes the way that this series did, usually with uncanny mental acrobatics from the Dynamic Duo and their bungalo-sized computer. My all-time favorite was episode in which the pair figure out that they are looking for a caviar factory, based on the obscure clue, "Ghoti Oeufs". "Gh" as in "rough", Batman coolly reasons; "o" as in "women", and "ti" as in "motion." Put it together and you get "fish oeufs" - fish eggs, or caviar. Holy Deus Ex Machina, Batman!

Health. Instructor: Lucy Ricardo - Lucy's Vitameatavegamin commercial is commonly recognized as one of the top 10 TV comedy moments of all time. It also was the first time that I had ever seen a "drunk" person. Do "health drinks" still contain 23% alcohol?

Driver Education. Instructor: Marcia Brady. Marcia manages to fail her initial drivers' exam by mistaking the ignition key for the windshield wiper control, but she rebounds nicely, thanks to some advice from the usually neurotic Jan, to show older brother Greg a thing or two about chauvinism. Only the Bradys would set up an actual driving obstacle course to settle such a score; I also love how they always put up chores as a wager.

Biology. Instructor: Potsie Weber. Back in the mid-late '70's, ABC provided two of my favorite things on television: Happy Days and Schoolhouse Rock.One particular episode of the sitcom combined them into perfect package. Potsie, branded a failure by his biology professor (was that Larry King?), makes up the corny but catchy "P-P-P--Pumps Your Blood" to help him learn how the circulatory system functions. By this time, the middle-aged Fonz was having trouble pulling off the James Dean act, and Richie's "Bucko" insult had definitely lost what little "Gee Whiz" shock value it may have packed.

Home Economics. Instructors: Ricky Ricardo and Fred Mertz. When "the Boys" attempt to prepare dinner, they reveal a complete inability to read the side of the box, and create a Blob-like rice monster that fills the kitchen. Bobby Brady committed a very similar error while washing his clothes after rescuing Pandora, the cat, on the refreshingly innovative Brady Bunch.

Project Adventure. Instructor: John Locke. No, "Lost" wasn't on television when I was a kid. At least not in this life. But the show (especially season 1) captures the spirit of what it was like to grow up in the '70's - running, exploring, chasing, and even fighting, with minimal intervention from established authority. At least in contrast to the structured, sterile upbringing of today's kids, my generation's childhood was tinted by a degree of "Lord of the Flies." The season one incarnation of Locke is a superhero of the natural and supernatural - a man who seems to know the solution to every problem. Don't tell him what he can't do!

Do you have any suggested "instructors" for additional courses? Please join in the discussion and share via the comments!

Friday - A Tipping Point?

2011-03-24T08:03:00.000-07:00

You've heard it. I've heard it. We've all (unfortunately) heard it. Rebecca Black's assembly-line abomination "Friday" has swept the nation over the past week with a ferocious, wildfire intensity. In case you haven't yet discovered it, it's the most ill-conceived, nonsensical, juvenile piece of fast-food pop "music" ever created. It also represents all that is wrong with society today. And, most painfully, despite all of that, I find myself like Odyseuss tied to the mast, unable to resist listening to this piece of garbage time and again.

But I have no intention of writing a lengthy rant against this affront to our senses and sensibility. Plenty of others have already assumed that mantle on Twitter, blogs, and YouTube. The video has received a proportionately overwhelming number of "dislikes" on YouTube, and the song has been called the "worst of all-time" by many. The "artist" herself has also been the object of many hateful attacks. And while I in no way endorse such bullying, I am fascinated by the intensity of the reaction, and what it represents.

It is my belief - and my desperate hope - that this incredible backlash represents a tipping point - the final straw for intelligent music fans who have finally had enough, for those who refuse to accept the insulting idea that this soulless trash can be passed off as music. If my theory is correct, we have crested the wave set in motion by the Jonas Brothers and Hannah Montana, and are about to be rewarded with several years of a return to great music.

Before you dismiss this theory as foolish optimism, realize that there is a precedent for such a revolution. In the late 1980's, kid-bands such as New Kids on the Block and slick, high-production/low substance acts like Milli Vanilli had taken over the music world. For me, the low-point of this era was January 28, 1991 - the night that Vanilla Ice was given an American Music Award for "Best New Artist." I remember watching the awards and feeling sick to my stomach; was I the only one who could see that Vanilla Ice was neither a musician nor an artist?

Luckily, redemption was only a few months away, and arrived in the form of an auditory shotgun blast known as Nirvana's "Nevermind." The album's lead track, "Smells Like Teen Spirit," ripped its way across MTV and radio stations with tidal wave force, and by the end of 1991 a full-scale musical revolt had taken place. Record stores at the time reported record numbers of returns following the holiday season; kids were returning Michael Jackson's "Dangerous," which they'd received for Christmas, and exchanging it for the raw, Seattle grunge of Nirvana. The King of Pop had been supplanted by a "new" form of music that represented a return to the dark, heavy, gritty sound of early "heavy metal" (early Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, Motorhead.)

Of course, this wasn't the first (and wouldn't be the last) time that music made a sonic retreat two decades into the past. In fact, this is a general trend that has repeated itself time and again. After the electric, psychedelic explosion of the late '60's, early '70's pop featured lush harmonies and singer-songwriters (James Taylor, the Carpenters, BJ Thomas, the Partridge Family) that recalled the doo-wop and Brill Building sounds of the late '50s and early '60's. The mid 1980's saw a brief return to late 1960's sounds and fashion (tie-dyed T-Shirts became stylish, the "Monkees" TV show was shown in heavy rotation on MTV, and Prince presented himself as a Hendrix re-invention). Early 90's grunge was a return to the sounds of 1970's guitar rock, and the 2000's of course gave us an overdose of boy bands and divas combined with an over-produced sound that emphasized machine over human - much like the late 80's.

So, what's next? With any luck, we'll see a horde of new bands trying to sound like Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, and Rage Against the Machine. That will be music to my ears - as long as they can lay off of the auto-tune!

A Very Brady Surprise

2011-02-10T14:39:00.000-08:00

Anyone who knows me well knows that I have always been a fanatical Brady fan. In college, I took great pride in impressing my floormates with the most obscure Brady trivia, and took any possible opportunity to convey the extent of my all-consuming Brady obsession. I can't look at applesauce without blurting out "Porkchops and Applesauce" in the voice of Peter as Humphrey Bogart, and I can't count the times I've admonished my oldest son: "mom always said don't play ball in the house!"

I may have been an expert on Brady minutiae, but I certainly was not unusual in my cult-like worship of the program. The Brady Bunch was one of the first prime-time network shows to be syndicated nationally during after-school hours. During the mid-late 1970's, almost every elementary schoolkid in America came home every day to watch an hour of the Bunch. The show's warm, fuzzy vibe and innocuous plots combined with the relief of being released from the drudgery of spelling tests and dittoes (remember them) to create an hour of daily utopia. I've read many accounts of kids who grew up in troubled homes, and wishing they could live at 4222 Clinton Way. And even for those of us with happy childhoods, it was easy to get caught up in the fantasy world of silly problems that were solved in 20 minutes.

But over the years, I started to lose touch with the show. In the rear-view mirror of my memory, the show began to appear corny - a colorful, dated relic of the "groovy," "far-out" early 70s. In the cynical 90's and 2000s, it became easier and more fashionable to make fun of the show, laughing at it rather than with it. 1995's "The Brady Bunch Movie," while really funny and terrific in its own right, reminded all of us just how out of touch with reality the Bradys - and by extension, their die-hard fans - were.

Just a few months ago, I admitted to a friend that the Partridge Family was actually superior to the Brady Bunch - it was edgier, funnier, and more sophisticated went my argument. But during the week after Christmas this year, Walmart was running a special sale on Brady Bunch DVD's. For just over 5$ a season, I thought it would be worth reliving some of the childhood nostalgia, although my expectations weren't too high. I figured they'd be good for a viewing or two, and for a few laughs at the show's expense.

Two months later, though, I'm still watching the DVDs every day! My family and I have been through the entire series several times now. Not only has the show retained every bit of its after-school charm, but I was actually amazed to discover that it's also a good show. Sure, the plots are a little bit silly - but those kids can act! Or maybe it's not that they are even acting; maybe they were just very well-cast kids being themselves and having fun in the process. But whatever the case, somehow the Brady Bunch, against all reasonable odds, gets you to suspend belief for twenty-four minutes, and to accept that patchwork family as real.

Here are a few things that surprised me the most upon re-visiting the series:

1) The kids weren't perfectly behaved. Bobby acts like a real brat when he realizes he's the only one who didn't win a trophy. Marcia screams and throws tantrums, most notably when she's kicked out of the school production of Romeo and Juliet, and when she's mistakenly blamed for creating insulting drawing of her teacher ("Mrs. Denton, or a Hippopotamus?") Bobby, Jan, and Marcia all sneak out in the middle of the night. Peter wears a fake mustache to impress an older woman. Greg smokes, drives recklessly on the freeway, and brings the FBI to the house with his UFO fakery...

2) Alice was genuinely funny. Ann B. Davis made some terrific faces. It's like watching a skilled vaudevillian actress - every facial muscle is constantly acting and reacting. Sure, here jokes are hokey, but they fit the character, and Davis' hard work and artistry help to turn the corn into actual humor.

3) The soundtrack music was like an extra character on the show. There seemed to exist dozens of variations on the main theme...clunky, slunky, mischievous, serene, bright, groovy! On the DVD pilot commentary, Sherwood Schwartz mentioned that music director Frank DeVol could "make the music do anything." Watch just one or two episodes, and you'll see that he's absolutely right.

And a few things that weren't so surprising:

1) The show takes a laughably generic approach to pop/rock music! Greg is all bummed out when he gets grounded and can't take Rachel to "the rock concert." Whenever the kids listen to "groovy music" on their huge AM radios, you can hear what sounds like the Dating Game theme blasting out. When Greg becomes Johnny Bravo, his agent works for "Big Hit Management Company." And Davy Jones is portrayed by Bobby and Peter as a guitar-wielding rock god.

2) The Brady's all live a charmed life. When Marcia loses her diary, Desi Arnaz jr. (the subject of many of her diary entries) shows up to return it. Greg's math teacher, Linda, just so happens to be dating Dodgers' first baseman, Wes Parker, who just so happens to stop by after school when Greg is getting extra help for math. Davy Jones honors a form-letter promise and sings at Marcia's prom. Alice has an identical cousin. And Joe Namath stops by to pay Bobby a deathbed visit, but agrees to play football in the yard after he finds out Bobby's faking...

Most importantly, though, I came to realize that there was no need to view my childhood love of the Brady's as a guilty pleasure. Maybe it's because, amidst the backdrop of the current recession and political turmoil, we all need something happy and safe, like the Brady Bunch. Maybe it's because I'm too old to care about what's cool. Or maybe it's because we Brady fans really had great taste all this time...

Rosalita

2010-11-17T08:53:00.000-08:00

Media usually works on us in subtle, gradual ways. We hear a jingle so many times that it gets stuck in our head, and over time we become convinced that Oscar Mayer wieners are a superior brand. We watch 100 episodes of "Friends" and, after a while, start to actually believe that our lives should also be that easy and frivolous. Ultimately, the things we see and hear on TV can affect how we feel about ourselves, our goals, our lives -but it happens so slowly and imperceptibly that we usually don't recognize it.

But, there are also those media moments that transform us instantly. Many people around my age talk about this happening when they saw Star Wars for the first time, as young children. The world, after they left the theater, somehow looked different, more exciting and more alive, and full of more potential, than when they had walked in.

And in the movie, Almost Famous, there's a terrific scene near the beginning of the film, just after young William's sister leaves home. She tells him to check for something she's left him under the bed, and he finds a satchel full of her vinyl record albums. He sits, awed and open-mouthed, running his fingers over Led Zeppelin II, Wheels of Fire, and Axis Bold as Love as if they are holy relics. She also leaves him a note scribbled on a slip of notebook paper: "Listen to 'Tommy' with a candle burning and you'll see your entire future." And there's no question that young William's life will never be the same.

My "Almost Famous" moment happened in 1983, courtesy of MTV - back when MTV actually used to play music! Now, I had, of course, heard of Bruce Springsteen before. I'd heard "Born to Run" and "Hungry Heart" on the radio, but at the time I kind of lumped Bruce into the same category as other radio-friendly bands, like the Cars and REO Speedwagon (as embarrassing as that is to admit). Anyhow, one afternoon Martha Quinn introduced a "new" (actually recorded in 1978, on the Darkness on the Edge of Town tour) Bruce Springsteen video. I couldn't believe what I was seeing and hearing. The music, the performance, the audience frenzy, the girls mobbing Bruce onstage, were so over the top, so thrilling, that I couldn't keep my mind on anything else. For weeks, I'd camp next to the television, waiting for the next time they'd play Rosalita.

Not only is Rosalita a fantastic song, but this performance also captures, absolutely, everything that makes Springsteen great. Springsteen is unabashedly melodramatic, beyond the point of corniness, yet at the same time completely cool. The only way he pulls this off is by being 100% committed to his music, his performance, and the spirit that inspired it. And in indulging so completely himself, it gives the rest of us permission to lose ourselves in the music, as well.

As an awkward 9th grader struggling with my image, this video suddenly opened my eyes to my own potential possibilities. Bruce Springsteen was cool and I wasn't, but listening to (and vicariously living) his music made me instantly feel more worldly, more adult, more hip. My friends had regular names like Mike, Ted, and Cathy. Springsteen's characters were much more colorful: Jack the Rabbit, Weak-kneed Willy, and Big Bones Billy. Even the people in his real-life band were larger than life - the Professor, the Mighty Max, and of course, the Big Man. I longed for the boldness and wit to have sidekicks with such monikers.

More specifically, this video set in motion the chain of events that led me to start playing the guitar. Socially, I was too awkward to express myself in words. Rock music and the guitar gave me a way to do so with much more confidence and assurance, and helped me to find my real personality as an adult. Over the years, I've taken one very important cue from Rosalita - to put every ounce of energy into every performance, to get lost in the music and the message, and to forget about how I was perceived. That's a tough lesson to learn, but Rosalita was a great teacher.

The Fonz's Ravioli (AKA "15 Great Things About "Lost" - Thing #2")

2010-11-01T18:49:00.000-07:00

When I was in elementary school, Happy Days was my favorite prime-time show. With its then-unusual teaming of "nerdy" characters like Ralph and Potsie with the "all-American" Richie and the almighty Fonz (as corny as his character may seem in retrospect, he was very edgy and cool at the time), the show in its early years offered plenty potential for brilliant comedic situations. When you tuned into the show, you expected to laugh, and to be entertained in a very lighthearted, easy manner.

But there's one classic Christmas episode that stands out as one of the greatest Happy Days moments of all because it unexpectedly breaks from its established tonal pattern. The show begins with the Cunninghams celebrating Christmas Eve by decorating the tree in their living room. Mr. C grumbles that he just wants to have a quiet holiday at home with his family and no outsiders. But when the mechanical Santa on their front lawn goes on the fritz, Richie and his dad drive out to Fonz's garage, and see the "greaser" sitting alone in the dark, eating cold ravioli from a can. Contrasting with the show's dominant comedic tone and the Fonz's ultra-cool demeanor, this scene immediately establishes itself as a classic - touching, poignant, and real.

So, what does this all have to do with "Lost"? In my last post, I discussed the importance of ambiguity in the series, and in art in general. If ambiguity is an element that appeals to us intellectually; a story's ability to shift quickly and abruptly between moods and tones is its emotional analogue. Happy Days pulled off a remarkable moment with "Guess Who's Coming to Christmas," but "Lost" regularly navigates similar emotional extremes with shocking abruptness.

One of my personal favorite episodes is season 5's "Some Like it Hoth," which combines so many things I love: time travel, the 1970's, Star Wars. While driving around in the Dharma van, Hurley presses Miles about his relationship with his father; Miles insists that his dad was no good - he didn't care about him, and basically abandoned his family. Hurley, who is in the process of "pre-writing" "The Empire Strikes Back" (with a few improvements), lightens the mood by joking about how Miles should take advantage of time travel to "experience changing his own diaper." Suddenly, against this backdrop of light banter and camaraderie, the show drops one of its emotional bombs: while walking through Dharmaville to deliver a "package," Miles peers through the window of the house where he was born, and witnesses his father joyfully reading a storybook to his infant incarnation. I remember the first time I watched this episode: the moment was so touching, so unexpected, and contrasted so startlingly with the previously established mood, that I felt emotionally exposed. Damn "Lost," I thought - they got me again.

And that wouldn't be the last time that the show would surprise me. The funeral of the actual John Locke was a heartbreaking moment - some even saw it as evidence that Locke's faith had amounted to nothing - and Ben's surprisingly honest confession added to the poignancy of the scene. I'll admit that I got choked up at this point - and seconds later laughing out loud at Lapidus' "This is the weirdest damn funeral I've ever been to" comment. And the moment after that, I paused the DVD to take a moment and appreciate just what an incredible show "Lost" is because of these emotional mousetraps it springs on the audience.

One thing is for sure about "Lost" - you never knew what you would experience next. I'm still waiting for the deleted scene where Jim La Fleur watches the Fonz eating ravioli on his Dharmaville TV set...

15 Great Things About "Lost" - Thing #1

2010-10-02T19:44:00.000-07:00

Well, call me a "Lostie."* Two months ago I had never even heard the term, and had completely no idea what I had been missing.Quite honestly, I had always kind of thought that "Lost" was a dramatized version of "Survivor" - and those who know me well know how much I hate reality TV. What I didn't realize, until my work friends persuaded me through their all-consuming obsession with the show, was that "Lost" has almost nothing to do with surviving on an island. Well, I mean sure, it would appear that way at first. But once you scratch the surface of this fantastic phenomenon, you see that it's about so much more.

I started watching the series with Season 1, Episode 1 on August 17, 2010. It didn't take long to realize that "Lost" was the mass media equivalent of the potato chip; for the next 40 days and 40 nights, I watched episode upon episode, sometimes as many as five or six in a day. When my wife and I weren't watching the show, we found ourselves constantly talking and thinking about the characters and conflicts, and wondering about the show's mysteries. Before I knew it, I was beginning to view life through "Lost"-colored lenses. As many fans will tell you, "Lost" is a life-changing experience.

Yet, I've also found that it's very difficult to explain the show's powerful allure to the uninitiated ("Others," I now call them). Friends and colleagues who haven't seen the show cast smirking glances at me and my Lostie friends as we frantically debate the exploits of the smoke monster, the details of the Dharma Initiative, and the significance of the sideways-flash. This series of posts, then, is an attempt to explain the unexplainable: to analyze and describe 15** things that make "Lost" a masterpiece - and hopefully convert some doubters in the process. Here, I focus on just one of the 15 - stay tuned for more!

Thing #1. Ambiguity - Way back in 1995, I was privileged to attend a lecture given by the great Kurt Vonnegut. That evening, he presented a concept that has informed my appreciation of great literature and media ever since: the key to a great story is ambiguity. In a truly great work, he claimed, you're never 100% sure what to think or how to feel. While you might get a kick out of a movie like "When in Rome," the plot is predictable, and it's pretty clear how you're "supposed to" feel at the film's conclusion; consequently, there's not much to think about or discuss afterward. By contrast, the book/movie, "Of Mice and Men" leaves you thinking. In a practical way, George is free of the burden of watching over Lennie, and he probably gave his friend the most merciful death possible. But he's also left friendless, and must live with the memory and consequences of the decision he made. When I first read the book as a teenager, the ending stayed with me for weeks.

On the ambiguity front, "Lost" delivers in spades.While watching the first season, I'm sure most viewers were pulling for the survivors to find a way back to their old lives. But as the series winds on, it becomes difficult to believe, with any certainty, that they'd be any better off.

At first, the "Others" seem strange, menacing, sinister. By season 4, you begin to wonder who the real "Others" are. Ben's people? The Castaways? The freighter people? Everyone and anyone from the outside world?

And what happened to Sayid? Dead? Dead inside? Zombified? Possessed? Or maybe just being manipulated? Such haziness is one of the show's hallmarks, and perhaps the greatest ambiguity of all is its title. Does "Lost" refer to being stranded on an island? Does it refer to the fact that all of the castaways are missing something significant in their "real lives"? Does it refer to the way the viewers feel as they attempt to pin down the details of the island's time/space location?

When the show's network run concluded back in May, 2010, a fair number of fans felt that the finale provided a satisfying conclusion to the epic. A similar number responded angrily, outraged that the show had failed to "answer all of the questions" that it had posed. For instance, Jacob's explanation of the island as a "cork" that is the "only thing keeping the darkness where it belongs" (where the Darkness actually belongs, I might add, is on the Edge of Town, but more about that in November...) apparently didn't sit well with scientific-minded viewers who wanted a more concrete explanation. But what possible explanation could the show's creators have provided that would possibly satisfied such a need? And wouldn't doing so have robbed the rest of us the chance to do what we love doing so much: searching for answers?

"Lost", I am certain, will continue to fascinate and thrill new and repeat viewers alike. I surely hope that, years down the line, I'll still be trying to figure out why the frozen donkey wheel deposits its manipulators on Tattoine (er... in Tunisia, I mean) and wondering how Jacob chose his candidates. But without the ambiguity, the show would end up much like the seasons of "24" that I've enjoyed - shows that provided short term excitement and intrigue, but that I have no need to watch, or even think about, again.

* Contrary to popular opinion, "Lostie" and "Loser" are not interchangeable terms.
** I thought 10 would be more manageable, until my friend Cindy reminded me that "10" is not one of "the Numbers." But hey - 15 will be no problem; that's how great of a show it is! Just don't be surprised if I end up writing 23, or even 42, installments.

Zefirelli vs. Luhrmann

2010-09-09T08:04:00.000-07:00

Back in 1996, when the newer version "Romeo and Juliet" was in production, I was very excited about the concept of an updated version of the classic. I do believe that the story and characters are timeless, and felt that the play would work well in a modern setting. As an English teacher, I was also enthusiastic about having an interesting new interpretation to discuss with my students.

I remember sitting in the theater watching the opening prologue. It was amazing - maybe one of the most "epic" things I've ever seen on screen. "Wow," I thought - this is going to be really intense, really incredible...

And then the gas station scene. After watching this scene the first time (and I've probably seen it 20 times since, which has only served to confirm my opinion) it became pretty clear that the director and actors had no idea what was really happening in the scene. The actors are screaming and yelling for no reason. There's a difference between passion and screaming, but this scene (and many other parts of the film) fail to make that distinction. It also attempts to be funny, but only manages to be goofy. The scene is colorful, but distractingly so - shooting arcade style effects, lightning-fast editing, and a very strange mix of silly sound effects and sight gags all take away from the severity and gravity of the Capulet/Montague conflict.

In watching the Zeffirelli (1969) version, you get the idea that this conflict affects everyone in Verona - the woman crossing the street with her baby, the merchants selling produce on the street, the combatants who lose their lives in the fight. In the newer version, a gas station blows up, and maybe causes a traffic jam. True, this is flashier, but doesn't have the large-scale societal impact of the fight scene in the original version.

And speaking of fight scenes - the 1969 version is more "violent", really - characters hurt, rather than scream at, each other. The fight begins in an understated way, with characters joking and taunting each other, and escalates in a much more believable fashion than the fever-pitched 1996 opener.

Ultimately, the 1996 version doesn't give the viewers - young people, in particular, very much credit. It seems to imply that all dialogue must be screamed for anyone to pay attention, and that flash and style can make up for real acting. At the very least, the actors could have taken the time to understand what is actually happening, and why their characters were saying what they were saying.

I really wanted to like the 1996 movie, I really did. Hopefully, a new version will come along sooner or later that can breath some new life into this classic in a truly meaningful way.

Joltin' Joe, Hammerin' Hank, and the History That Ruth Built

2010-08-20T05:18:00.000-07:00

"Where have you gone, Joe Di Maggio, a nation turns its lonely eyes to you..." - Paul Simon

Lately, Paul Simon's words have begun to seem all too relevant. America is reeling economically, environmentally, and spiritually. Amidst massive oil spills, an ongoing war, widespread poverty and unemployment, and political polarization, mainstream news outlets continue to assault us with Kardashians, "Housewives," and the "Jersey Shore."

Back in the mid 1970's, America faced a similar state, as it dealt with the aftermath of Vietnam, a failing economy, the turmoil of Watergate, and a massive gasoline shortage. At least for a while, in the spring of 1974, baseball gave us a noble hero, whose honorable quest to break Babe Ruth's home run record gave us something to feel good about and distract us from our woes. This hero was Hank Aaron -- a quiet, humble, persistently skilled man who personified traditional American values and work ethic.

"There is something warming and elegant about Hank Aaron's long conservation of his powers, but lifetime records lack urgency. This was not a sudden prodigy, like batting over .400 or hitting sixty home runs in a single season. Babe Ruth was prodigious; Bad Henry is -- well, historic. " This excerpt from Roger Angell's "Landscape, With Figures,"* was written in 1974, shortly after Hammerin' Hank had etched his name into history as the greatest, and perhaps baseball's final, true home run king. Angell, in his usual elegant prose, hones in directly on the essence of the accomplishment - a lifetime of consistently outstanding performance. Note Angell's wording: "conservation of powers;" here, he isn't referring to power in the ESPN-era, in your face, highlights-only sense. By "powers", Angell likely alludes to health, consistency, and, ultimately, self-discipline.

Just look at a photo of Hank Aaron, and you'll see what appears to be a mere mortal - an ordinary man who has transformed himself into a hero through perseverance and dedication. It was not hulk-like biceps or self-aggrandizing pride that gave Aaron the power to lift American spirits; it was, conversely, his humanity that allowed the common citizen to identify with his struggle, and to find redemption in his success.

And that is exactly why, in the midst of our current national slump, it is impossible to find inspiration in baseball's latest "heroic" offering: Alex Rodriguez. Sure, A-Rod has hit 600 baseballs that exited various major league stadiums, and has occasionally delivered a timely hit in a big spot. But, at nearly every key juncture of his career, he has managed to distance himself from the ideals of the common man and the ethical standards that we expect of our heroes and role models. Whether slapping the ball out of Bronson Arroyo's hand in the 2004 ALCS, distracting an opposing fielder by shouting like a sore-headed little-leaguer, or preening across Dallas Braden's pitching mound, Rodriguez has demonstrated little awareness or concern for the spirit and tradition of the game, and has shown himself to be a braggart, a cheat, and a coward. And this is before performance-enhancing substances even enter the conversation.

Of course, when you consider the impact of steroids upon the historical structure of the game, the recent A-Rod milestone reveals itself as not only a false accomplishment, but as a destructive threat to one of the great pleasures of baseball fandom. Roger Angell wrote that "the statistics of baseball form the critical dimensions of the game", and that "the ballplayers on the field are in competition not just with the pitchers and sluggers of the opposing team but with every pitcher or batter who ever played the game, including their past selves." Comparing and weighing the merits of one's favorite players against those of other eras and generations is a time-honored pastime which has filled countless hours in the off-season, and served as fodder for millions of barroom debates. Such discussion, though, relies upon the strong foundation of baseball's rules, and the reasonable assumption that, because the game is still played today the way it was in 1927, a player's performance and ability can be gauged in terms of the numbers. Once you introduce steroids into the argument, however, the sacred numbers no longer offer a firm basis for comparison, and a necessary ingredient for true appreciation of the game as a tradition is destroyed. For this, we can thank A-Rod, Mark McGwire, almost certainly Barry Bonds, and ESPN, which has helped to create the culture in which the me-first mentality trumps concern for ethics.

It's not too difficult to understand why Paul Simon appealed to Joe DiMaggio for salvation, and he certainly wasn't the first to do so. In Ernest Hemingway's "Old Man and the Sea," Santiago feels a kinship with DiMaggio, partly because of his background: "They say his father was a fisherman. Maybe he was as poor as we are, and would understand." The old man also continually affirms the greatness of Joltin' Joe, placing faith in his hero and ultimately using his example of "playing through pain" to see him through his own ordeal at sea. A-Rod may have also transcended humble beginnings to find fame and fortune in the big leagues, but the similarities end there. While DiMaggio was known for dependability and cool under pressure, Rodriguez has, for the most part, left Yankee fans angry and frustrated at his failure in clutch playoff situations.

And that's why I find Yankee fans' reaction to the 600 homer hoopla so puzzling. Last week, when #600 occurred, several of my Yankee-loving colleagues joyfully whooped it up. The way I see it, though, a Yankee fan should be the last person to actually get behind Rodriguez, especially as he approaches the hallowed domain of a true Yankee legend, Babe Ruth.

If it's not already apparent, I'm not a Yankee fan. I am, however, a true enough fan of baseball to acknowledge the significance of the Yankees as a baseball institution. In many ways, the Yankees are baseball, and outside of the U.S., the Yankees are America.The pinstripes, the logo, the stadium, the monuments, the iconic players - all embody baseball's proudest and most accomplished franchise.

While I've often argued that being a Yankee fan is too easy, and that rooting for a team like the Mets or Red Sox is a better exercise in character-building, the Yankees and their fans do shoulder a different burden: the weight of historical reputation. Yankee fans are privileged to bear the pinstripes, and to see the best assemblage of players that money can buy, year after year. But they are also the guardians of baseball's greatest legacies - Ruth, Gehrig, DiMaggio, Mantle, Munson, Guidry, Rivera, Jeter. Alex Rodriguez has no business being listed with these immortals, and true Yankee fans should recognize that doing so soils the fabric of Yankee tradition. A casual baseball observer might be excused for getting excited about the number "600," but a Yankee fan should know better. If you love baseball, and all that it means and has meant as an American tradition, you should reject A-Rod and all he represents.

Call me an idealist. Call me naive. Tell me that the game has changed, and that it's all about the numbers. I'll just keep listening to Paul Simon and hoping that a true hero will emerge to give baseball, and America, what it needs the most right now.

* Excerpted from "Five Seasons: A Baseball Companion" by Roger Angell. Simon and Schuster, New York, 1977. A must-read for fans of baseball and writing.

Mary, Queen of Rock

2010-07-19T17:49:00.000-07:00

Rock music has a way of canonizing women's names. The Allman Brothers, for instance, have immortalized the wild beauty of Jessica, the haunting elusiveness of Melissa, and the romantic mystery of Elizabeth Reed. Fleetwood Mac have imparted Sarah with a tinge of occult mysticism. Just mention Roxanne and watch all of the thirty and forty-somethings falling over themselves to imitate Sting's wailing tribute.

No name, though, holds as sacred a place in rock music as Mary. Do a little bit of casual research and you'll find that no other name comes close to Mary in terms of the number of references in rock music.

But why the collective obsession with Mary? In a medium designed for the sole purpose of rebellion and the expression of rage, Mary is remarkably steady, pure, and establishment. Mary is the girl next door, not the exotic "Candy" whose room you can only visit in the mythical darkness on the edge of town. But maybe that's just the point. Invoking the name of a Mary in any song seems to lend it a sense of biblical reverence, of epic significance that exists outside the song itself. Even the Monkees, as trivial as their bubble-gum pop comes across, successfully capitalized on the power of Mary to create a song that remains powerfully singable today.

And, for the record, real-life Marys seem to hold up their end of the bargain. I've never met a Mary I didn't like; I've also never met a Mary who deviated all that far from the musical archetype. So, here's to Mary - a grand old name: the greatest "Mary references" in the history of rock.

5. Jimi Hendrix - The Wind Cries Mary. Ok, so I have no idea whatsoever what he's talking about. But it sure sounds awesome, doesn't it? Try any other name in place of Mary - it just doesn't work.

4. Jim Croce - Salon and Saloon. I bet you don't know this one. And that's a shame, because it's quite a haunting, beautiful song, which isn't hurt by the Jim Croce mystique, either. (Croce died way before his time in a plane crash. As a result, his songs, which might have gone down as pleasant little ballads, now sound as if they are sung by a ghost with tons of unfinished business).

"Strange we should meet here
Seeing off our friends
It's hard to draw the line between
Beginnings and ends
Oh, Mary, Mary, must you go so soon?
We must be a sight to see
Salon and Saloon
I'll look you up soon
Maybe sing you a tune"

I love the contrast between Salon (the urbane Mary) and Saloon (the grizzled singer). She could be a Diane, but Mary makes her, and the song, much more accessible.

3. Steely Dan - Rose Darling. Of the dozens of bizarre inside references that characterized the Steely Dan's music, the mention of "Snake Mary" in Rose Darling is my favorite. It's so cool because it presents the listener an enigmatic puzzle - how to reconcile the the two opposing images. Bonus points for the Michael McDonald background vocal, too.

2. The Beatles - Let it Be. Who uttered the immortal "words of wisdom"? It wasn't Paul McCartney - it was Mother Mary, of course. To me, this song is just as spiritual as any church hymn, and has become part of the way I deal with life's setbacks. I'm sure others have similar feelings about it, and have taken comfort in the image and words of Mother Mary.

1. Bruce Springsteen - Thunder Road. Could there be any real question about #1? I mean, at least in terms of the artist? It must be Bruce. Somewhere along the line, the Boss must have met a Mary who really got stuck in his consciousness. There's Mary's Place - the bar that pulses with the glorious sounds of gospel vocals and big band horns. There's Mary Queen of Arkansas. In "The River," Springsteen relates the story of how the protagonist and Mary met in high school, and how the economy took its toll on their relationship.

But it's the Mary of Thunder Road who best embodies the dreams and frustrations of everyday Americans. The Mary who, like the girl next door, can't truly suppress the fact that even she is Born to Run.

Can't believe I didn't include Proud Mary? Have other Mary songs you feel should be on the list? Share them in the comments!

A Voice Like Chocolate

2010-07-02T18:10:00.000-07:00

I've always been intrigued by the interaction of the senses. For years, I've been visiting and revisiting sections of Diane Ackerman's "A Natural History of the Senses," and I'm consistently fascinated with her explanations and insights. I'm also taken with the concept of synesthesia - the idea that we can hear colors, or see sounds. I've always experienced music this way, especially in terms of colors. In my world, most jazz tunes are bright red or muted yellow; the music of Bruce Springsteen is blue and violet; the Saturday Night Fever era Bee Gees, a bright purple.

I was recently reading up on Joni Mitchell's beautiful 1974 hit, "Help Me," and I was struck by this quote from the "Page a Day 365 Tunes Calendar": "It simmers on the verses, an on the bridge --when Joni an her backing singers repeat 'Didn't it feel good?' -- it erupts into a convergence of guitars, woodwinds, and sax that hits your ear like Pop Rocks in your mouth, tangy bursts of tonal color fizzing around everywhere." It's an amazing description that perfectly captures the essential experience of the song across multiple senses.

Some musical elements are best described in terms of sound. Tom Waits' voice is raspy, Sade's smooth and mellifluous. Trumpets blare, and a Les Paul through a Marshall amp sounds pretty much like a buzzsaw. Other sounds, though, defy description through auditory means alone.

Cat Stevens is a great example of this. I guess it would be fair to say that his voice is pretty, or emotional, passionate, and rich. But, at the most intense moments, it cracks and crackles imperfectly; I'd imagine that a voice teacher would attempt to iron these wrinkles out of Yusuf Islam's vocal quality. And, on "Father and Son," you can hear him struggling awkwardly, almost comically, at the upper end of his range. With all of its flaws and inconsistencies, though, Cat Stevens' voice can really reach beyond your ears and into your soul, triggering emotional longings you didn't even know you had. That's why I like think that Cat Stevens has a voice like chocolate - dark chocolate. Like dark chocolate, it's bitter, it's sweet, it's good for you, but if you consume too much of it, you'll feel the repercussions in the pit of your stomach.

Do you have any musical flavor comparisons? Feel free to share them in the comments.

When Celebrities Actually Had Talent

2010-06-02T17:02:00.000-07:00

A few years ago, I rediscovered, on DVD, one of the great shows from my childhood: The Muppet Show. I purchased the DVD to show my son the full-scale magic of Jim Henson's creativity in its most extravagant form - the elaborate musical and comedy numbers that comprised the weekly "vaudeville-esque" series.

I wasn't disappointed. The color, excitement, humor and just pure fun of the experience were all still there. And the whole phenomenon translated very well to my son, who quickly became a huge fan, as well (ironically, his favorite season 1 episode is the one featuring Mummenschanz - the bizarre Swiss pantomime group that gave me nightmares as a third grader).

But there was something about the show that I had forgotten, something that really took me by surprise this time. Each episode was "hosted" by a guest celebrity, who would become the focal point of the various skits and musical productions. And each and every one of these guest stars, ranging from Sandy Duncan and Ethel Merman to Vincent Price and Ben Vereen, was multi-talented. They could sing, they could dance, they could tell a joke, or play the "straight man" to a blue-skinned, impossibly-beaked puppet with an ease and grace that could only come with the training provided by a life in "show-biz." It dawned on me that these people, who I'd actually taken for granted as a kid, were actually true entertainers. They worked at their craft with passion and precision, and possessed true skills and talents that made them extraordinary.

And this wasn't just true on highly produced programs like the Muppet Show. I used to enjoy watching the Mike Douglas show on CBS - it aired immediately after school. It was low-keyed, relaxing, and you really got to know the various show-biz stars who appeared. Sure, they'd sit there and shoot the breeze on the couch for awhile, but you also never knew what you were going to see. Maybe Telly Savalas would sing a song, or Tony Randall would challenge the host to a push-up contest. John Lennon and Yoko Ono co-hosted for memorable week in 1972, and showed areally hokey, corny, and very human side of themselves that might have gone otherwise undiscovered. No matter what, though, you always had a sense that the people who were on the show were on the show because they had accomplished something, or were capable of doing something that most people couldn't.

I realize I risk painting a naively rosy picture of the 1970's and 80's in this blog. I don't mean to. In reality, the celebrities of the time were far from perfect. Like today's crop of famous-for-being famous celebrities, they also had drug problems, personality problems, and relationship problems, I'm sure. I'm also sure that many were "badly behaved." The difference, of course, is that their bad behavior wasn't their vehicle for achieving fame.

Ode to a Partridge - A Sonnet

2010-05-31T15:29:00.000-07:00

Twixt Partridges and Bradys there's no doubt
That Shirley's gang has claim to greater fame
But without Danny and Reuben's verbal bouts
Both family bands might seem equally lame

The Partridge clan did boast a lovely sound
Of honeyed harmonies and dulcet tones
Though Bonaduce acted like a clown,
The day was saved by Keith (and Shirley Jones)

But all in all, one can't forget this fact
That proves their top hit records were all fake
Although they tried to put on a brave act
They leave this vivid image in their wake:

It's Danny Partridge with his freckled face
So ignorantly strumming on his bass.

5 Huge TV Letdowns

2010-05-28T09:42:00.000-07:00

Given the recent glut of series finales that have enjoyed great hype and anticipation but left legions of confused, disappointed viewers in their wake, I thought it would be a good idea to put things in perspective, and travel back to the late 70's for a few minutes.

Seven channels. That's all we had to choose from. One of them, PBS channel 13, was nothing but drab, gray cultural programming outside of a few hours of Sesame Street and the Electric Company. Three others (WNEW 5, WWOR 9, and WPIX 11) were great for Hogans Heroes reruns or Met/Yankee games, but during primetime usually showed low-budget films (ironically dubbed the "Million Dollar Movie" on one of the stations) peppered with extra commercials and bad editing.

And that left only three channels - the big networks - to provide us with the thrill of exciting new programs that we could anticipate for weeks. And because of the built-in "captive audience" factor, the networks' hype machines were always in full gear. ABC really capitalized on fast-paced editing and the dramatic effect of its deep-voiced announcer (check out this short promo), while NBC relied more on heavily orchestrated theme music and animated logos. Whatever the method, these promos, like the Pied Piper, successfully hypnotized an entire generation of elementary school kids into weeks-long daydreams about upcoming shows and specials. I clearly remember frantic conversations on the schoolbus and in my classes about the next episode of CHiPs, Fantasy Island, and The Incredible Hulk. Every so often, a TV show would appear on the horizon whose potential was so alluring that it couldn't possibly live up to a 9-year old's expectations.

Here are the biggest five TV disappointments of my childhood:

1. KISS Meets the Phantom of the Amusement Park - There's a fine line between Superheroes and cartoon characters. And this is where the line was obliterated. My friends and I had really started buying into the urban-legend fuelled hype surrounding the otherworldly origins and powers of the band members. This horrible, low-budget, ill-conceived, 4th-grade play acting-filled disaster made my heroes seem like nothing but hacks, and exposed them as paper-thin media creations. To this day, the band members avoid any discussion of the film. The "plot" featured a ride-designed turned mad scientist with a Dr. Evil-esque lab beneath Magic Mountain who zombified the park's patrons by sticking some type of transistor on their necks. Monosyllabic Space Ace to the rescue.

2. The Star Wars Holiday Special - In the Greek myth of Pandora's Box, the protagonist, against all of the warnings and advice she's offered, opens an attractive-looking treasure box and unleashes all sorts of evil and mayhem into the world, along with one lone, beneficial side effect - hope.

The Star Wars Holiday Special, broadcast on CBS in November, 1978, arrived right smack in between the original release of Star Wars and 1980's The Empire Strikes Back. For the millions of us who lived and breathed all things Star Wars, waiting for this to air was almost like waiting for Christmas to arrive. Unfortunately, this "special" turned out to be George Lucas' own Pandora's Box. The "evil and mayhem"? Bea Arthur and Art Carney cavorting in a song and dance number in the Cantina amidst Krofft-ized space aliens; Chewbacca's lovable relatives, Itchy and Lumpy; and "live" performance by a holographic Jefferson Starship. The hope? A cartoon short that introduced Boba Fett to the world.

3. Any WWF match involving SD "Special Delivery" Jones - Back in the days before "Raw" and "Smackdown," the WWF TV shows were used solely to build up feuds between the good guys and the supervillains. "Matches" consisted of monsters like Nikolia Volkoff, Superstar Graham and Hulk Hogan tossing stiffs like Jose Luis Rivera around like rag dolls. Occasionally, as Vince McMahon monotoned his way through the closing credits, my brother and I would be informed that next week, SD Jones would be taking on ______________ (insert name of "over the top" WWF Villain here). Before we were old enough to know better (and maybe even after we should have been) we'd spend all week talking about strategies and moves that good old SD could use to pull off the incredible upset. And every single time, he'd find some improbable way to turn surefire, liberating victory into a humiliating, headshaking defeat. As soon as he'd get on a roll, and point to his head in an "I'm so brilliant - I've outsmarted this idiot" gesture, you knew he'd be on his back for the three count or "unconscious" on the arena floor seconds later.

4. Hardy Boys TV series - To this day, I'm not sure if this series was any good or not. But personally, it was my first experience with the "I read the book first" phenomenon. To be fair to the TV series, there was absolutely no way that Shaun Cassidy and Parker Stevenson (and ABC's cheesy production values) could ever stand up to the vivid characters I'd been building in my head, as a reader, since the first grade.

5. Rescue from Giligan's Island - Can you imagine a worse idea? Somehow, my entire spellbound generation missed the point that the whole show depended upon the castaways being stranded. Of course, they all end up back on the island anyway when Gilligan forgets to clean the rust off the compass prior the group's "reunion cruise." And no Tina Louise.

The "Mork From Ork" Principle

2010-05-23T16:29:00.000-07:00

One of the key principles I focus on in my Media Literacy class is the "Truth Effect" - known in psychology as the "Illusion of Truth Effect." Basically, the "Truth Effect" claims that we are more likely to believe things that we see and hear frequently. For instance, most people readily accept the idea that "diamonds are forever" (and therefore are an important symbol of love and matrimony) as if it was the eleventh commandment. Yet, this widely held "truth" is the result of a very clever and successful 1947 ad campaign by DeBeers. Over time, the slogan and associated images have become such a familiar part of our environment that the assumption they convey goes completely unquestioned. And this is what makes studying media literacy so important and so difficult at the same time - in order to really look at what we believe and why we believe it, we need a way to alter our perspective.

This is where Mork (of the TV series, "Mork and Mindy") comes in. An outcast from his home planet of Ork, Mork was sent by his supervisor, Orson, to live on earth. Mork's mission was to live among the earthlings and report back to Orson with his observations on human nature and culture. Because, especially in the first season, he has no real understanding of human feelings or psychology, he can only resort to objective descriptions of human behavior. This literal approach, of course, leads to plenty of humorous moments. For instance, the following dialogue (from www.imdb.com):

Mork: If Holly liked him so much, how come she punched him and told him he was weird.
Mindy: Boys and girls often punch or push or hit each other as a sign of affection.
Mork: Punching and pushing and calling someone names means you like them?
Mindy: Yeah, it can.
Mork: Then the cowboys and Indians are lovers?

While the childlike innocence of Mork's analysis may not shed much light on the motivation behind the silly things that Earthlings do, it does help to point out just how absurd they may actually be. And that's why being able to think like Mork from Ork is a very valuable strategy in understanding media and its effect on us. When we really are able to step back, remove ourselves from what we assume to be true, and look only at our actions, it lets us get beyond the lure of the "truth effect." So when we look at the tradition of buying diamonds for engagements, anniversaries, and so forth, from the perspective of a space alien, it suddenly just looks like Earth men putting shiny rocks on the fingers of Earth women. And then we can start to ask why.

So, while many of my students have never heard of Mork at the outset of my course, I encourage them to make use of the "Mork from Ork" principle when it comes to viewing commercials and even examining their own spending patterns. I've also found this exercise useful in my own life, especially when I start "sweating the small stuff."

What can the "Mork from Ork principle" do for you?

5 songs that sound as if the Partridge Family is singing backup

2010-05-20T05:54:00.000-07:00

Say what you will about the Partridge Family (bubble gum, fluff, fabricated pop) but whoever the singers and musicians actually were on those recordings really created some fun, well-crafted tunes. Other than Keith Partridge's excellent lead singing voice, probably the most distinctive characteristic of their sound was the lush, layered background vocals. I'm pretty sure they were all studio singers, but I swear I can hear Shirley in the mix. Anyway, use your imagination when you listen to these (titles link to YouTube):

1) Day After Day - Badfinger

2) Share the Land - the Guess Who (this one also sounds like Keith is singing lead!)

3) We've Only Just Begun - The Carpenters

4) Tequila Sunrise - The Eagles

5) Sun King - The Beatles

The Most Incredible Guitar in Rock History!

2010-05-19T05:24:00.000-07:00

In November of 1984, I got my first guitar. It was a black Cort Les-Paul copy that I had first seen advertised in the Sears Catalog. As cheap and imperfect as that instrument was, I loved it dearly, and practiced way into the morning hours, even on school nights. I became an avid student of the guitar, and hungered for any and all information I could find on how to unravel its secrets. Some of my guitar-playing friends were really into reading Guitar Player magazine, so I figured that would be a good place to start. Sometime in the summer of '85, I picked up the Eric Clapton issue, hoping to learn the solo to "Sunshine of Your Love.

The first thing that caught my eye in the issue was this beautiful guitar, hand-painted by the Dutch "painting duo" known as "The Fool." The caption indicated that it had once belonged to Eric Clapton during his "Cream" days, but that he had since sold it to Todd Rundgren. Two of my biggest musical heroes had both played this work of art, and the guitar instantly took on a mystic significance in my mind, aided no doubt by the whimsical, psychedelic artistry covering every part of the instrument.

I kept plugging away at learning rock guitar, and worked meticulously on the "Sunshine of Your Love" solo. All the while, I imagined myself playing that beautiful SG. As I listened to the record over and over again, I concentrated on the fact that Clapton was making those amazing sounds with the specific instrument I'd been daydreaming about.

As I graduated high school, I really started to discover the musical genius of Todd Rundgren. "Hello, It's Me" is my all-time favorite AM-radio hit, but I quickly realized that there was much more to Rundgren's music and sound. Underneath all the glam-rock fashion and pop melodies was an incredible rock guitarist with a unique style and sound. I always felt that his music connected with me on a very personal level, and this feeling was enhanced by the knowledge that he was playing the magic axe.

A few years ago, I was watching Todd Rundgren on the Conan O'Brien show. A few nights later, Jimmy Vivino of the Max Weinberg Seven suddenly held the spectacular SG in his own hands during a house band number. Thinking that maybe Todd had sold or given the guitar to Vivino, I emailed the Conan show, and was very surprised and delighted to hear back from Jimmy Vivino himself a few days later. In fact, the guitar was so famous that several high-priced replicas had been made, and Vivino had purchased one. It also turns out that Todd Rundgren had paid Clapton a mere $500 for the instrument, and consequently sold it for half a million years later.

As for me, I graduated from the Cort replica to a real Les Paul, and later a jet-black SG, as well. I love my guitars, but if I ever win the billion-dollar lottery, the magic SG is one relic I just might try to acquire.

Meanwhile, back at stately Wayne Manor.....

2010-05-18T06:35:00.000-07:00

The Batman TV series, which premiered in 1966, was so deliciously bad that you had to watch. And not in the way that some "reality TV" fans appreciate evil schemers such as Richard Hatch, or disasters-in-waiting like Danny Bonaduce. Batman was so meticulously crafted to reek of camp/kitsch (I'm not sure if anyone is sure which is more applicable here) that it's an absolute masterpiece of pop art and pop culture. Basically, the show was a hokey Silver-Age comic - including all of the visual color, contrived plots, and ridiculous dialogue - come to full, glorious life.

In both modern comics and films, superheroes have become increasingly dark and complex. Batman is certainly no exception. Starting with the Tim Burton production of 1989 and progressing through the recent Dark Knight, popular interpretations of Batman have chosen to focus on the psychology of the characters and the moral ambiguity of the worlds they inhabit, rather than giving us simple stories of good vs. evil. But, much like Silver-Age comics (see example on the left) the 1966 Batman show provided us with simple, cardboard heroes that espoused good and evil with a childlike simplicity. It also provided us with a boatload of laughable dialogue and horrible puns. And sometimes it's fun to forget about grim reality and just get lost in a world of colorful nonsense.

Here are eight things to love about the original Batman series.

1. Two episodes per week - When the show hit the air in 1966 it was a monster hit. It ran two nights a week on ABC during the first season. The Wednesday night show would end with a cliffhanger - the dynamic duo strapped to a slot-machine controlled electric chair or tied beneath a meteor that's about to drop from the ceiling - and the Thursday show would wrap it all up with some miraculous escape and improbable detective work by Batman.

2. Utility Belt - A Swiss-army knife on steroids, this belt contained an improbable number and variety of cool gadgets that made the caped crusader look like McGyver (actually, more like MacGruber). Included "Batarangs" and the "Bat Goo Gun."

3. Ostentatious Villains - Bad guys who advertised their criminal nature with every available resource - maniacal laughter, garishly bright costumes, and old-school WWF wrestling gimmick names.

4. The Batcomputer - In the classic short story, "The Secret Life of Walter Mitty," Walter (who has little real-life experience with anything mechanical or technical) daydreams about a hospital machine featuring "many tubes and wires" and "a row of glistening dials." The Batcomputer is essentially a Walter Mitty invention - as a 5-year old watching this show on TV, I was fascinated by the complicated machine and daydreamed all the time about creating my own.Whenever we'd get a new fridge or dryer, my brother and I would get our magic markers and try to turn it into some high tech spaceship or helicopter. The Batcomputer was always the prototype for what the control panel would look like, though.

5. Guest Stars - Everyone from Milton Berle to Vincent Price. Apparently, celebrities were begging for guest spots on the show, as it was incredible sensation during the first season. My favorite is Alan Hale, the Skipper from Gilligan's Island, playing the part of "Gilligan," the owner of "Gilligan's Diner" on an Egghead episode.

6. Awesome Action Figures!!

7. Onomatopoetic violence

8. Not available on DVD - Which makes this show even cooler by being elusive. It's also tough to find this on TV these days, so the memory of the show starts to take on a life of its own.

70's Horror Commercials

2010-05-14T06:59:00.000-07:00

Just imagine...it's just after dinner, and you're settling into the couch to watch Gilligan's Island or the Partridge Family reruns.You've finished your spelling and multiplication homework, and life is good. You're relaxed, you have a snack, and you feel totally safe and secure in your childhood cocoon. And then, after the opening credits of your favorite sitcom, you see this: Horrifying tv ad #1

The Suspiria ad really captures an essential element of growing up in the 70's: having to deal with terrifying shocks like this that would keep you away from the TV for weeks. No wonder we spent so much time outside playing baseball and manhunt!

This ad is very typical of the time period, in that you really couldn't tell that it was going to be a horror trailer in the first few seconds. It might have just as easily been an advertisement for shampoo or perfume. And the curiosity hooked us all just long enough to get burned.

Horrifying TV ad #2

The "Magic" commercial really screwed me up. The first time I saw it, I thought it was some kind of new toy or game. About 10 seconds in or so, I remember getting a gut feeling that something was amiss - but again, I had to look. For the next month or so, I had recurring nightmares in which the TV set would continue to power itself on, despite my vain efforts to unplug it.

Maybe the creepiest commercials of all, though, weren't even for horror movies. 1970's public service announcements were often sadistically frightening. This one starts off bright and sunny, but sours pretty quickly. Check out the way the music and lighting conflict with the voiceover to create a sense of panicky tension: Trauma-inducing TV ad #3

In many ways, the 1970's was a more innocent and (at least it felt this way) safer time to grow up than today. But these commercials really hit us where it counted - the safety and comfort of our TV couches.

5 Classic Toys (That Weren't Allowed in My House)

2010-05-13T11:44:00.000-07:00

I don't want to give anyone the impression that I didn't have toys as a kid - my brother and I had plenty of them, and we had a great time. But there's a reason why "A Christmas Story" resonates so clearly with so many people; I'm sure we all had toy requests that met with unreasonable and forceful opposition. Here are my top five:

1.) Squirmles - My mom insisted that this was "a pipe-cleaner on a string" and thus we were never allowed the luxury of a Squirmles toy. The absurdity of equating Squirmles with a pipecleaner struck me as I watched friends on the schoolbus, magically weaving their "pets" in between their fingers and around their shoulders. I remember puzzling over just how I could accomplish such fluid and graceful movements with a pipe cleaner.

2) The "Ready Ranger Backpack" by Aurora. Well, this one was allowed in my house, but very quickly became the focal point of my personal "Ralphie" moment.

Christmas, 1974. I had longed for this toy for months, after seeing the commercial, in which kids about my age and size used all of the cool gadgets and dials on this backpack to climb mountains, spy on each other, and survive in the wilderness. That black hose you see the kid talking into on the left was the backpack's "communication system" and the single feature that I was most excited about.

Well, X-mas arrived, and the backpack sat under the tree. I tore it open, and within seconds was ready to try out the bullhorn. I had my brother put other end to his ear, and then I proceeded to scream into the mouthpiece. Upon witnessing this, my horrified mom warned me that I'd "rupture my brother's eardrum" with this toy, and disconnected the hose. Minus the "communication system," this awesome gadget very quickly began to look just like what it was - a hunk of cardboard and plastic.

3) The Inchworm. Everyone, it seemed, had one of these in the 70's, but for some reason my dad was convinced that this innocent-looking riding toy was a deathtrap. I'm still mystified by this one...

4) Micronauts - These were the greatest toys ever! Colorful, plastic, and had interchangeable parts. Basically, the precursor to the Transformers, and they also had great space-age sounding names like Biotron, Gammaron, and Phobos.

My favorite aspect of these toys was that each had a spring-loaded launcher somewhere on its "body." The launcher would propel red plastic "torpedoes" with a rubber ball at the end. In order to be allowed to have Micronauts, my brother and I had to convince our parents that we would be vigilant not to accidentally launch the torpedoes into each others' mouths.

5) Sea Monkeys. Described by my mother as "crap." Good call, mom!

The Origins of Squidward

2010-05-12T06:30:00.000-07:00

A few years ago, thanks to my son, I really started to appreciate SpongeBob Squarepants. In the mold of many classic cartoons, it's colorful and silly enough to appeal to kids, but also offers plenty of sophisticated humor and allusions for teens and parents.

One thing I realized right away, though, was that Squidward seemed somehow very familiar. As an English teacher, I recognize that archetypes are present in all forms of storytelling, but Mr. Tentacles seemed to remind me of other characters in very specific ways. The nose, the eyebrows, the overbearing manner, and the fascination with minutiae that most people would find dull.

I couldn't help but be reminded of Bert, that paper-clip collecting, pigeon-dancing curmudgeon. Could that bulbous nose and those scrawny arms, coupled with the killjoy attitude, just be a coincidence?

Or maybe it wasn't Bert, after all, who inspired Squidward. A few months ago, I somehow found myself watching a Golden Girls marathon on TV Land, when another connection occurred to me: Bea Arthur. The character of Dorothy, played by Arthur, is described by Wikipedia as "strong, sarcastic, sometimes intimidating" - and who can deny the physical resemblance?

Do you have any other Squidward connections?

Where it all Begins

2010-05-11T16:10:00.001-07:00

It all starts with the Brady Bunch. For those of us who grew up anywhere in the mid-70's - early 80's, the Bradys were our extended family. Back in elementary school, my brother and I would get off the bus around 4:00, grab some pretzels, and sit on our olive green carpet in the living room, watching WNEW-TV in New York.

The first hour of after-school viewing always featured back to back Brady episodes. Given that we followed this routine for at least 5 years (X 180 school days per year), that would be 1800 Brady viewings during my time at White Rock Elementary School. So, let's face it - we saw more than our share of repeats. But somehow that didn't matter. In fact, that was part of the fun. My brother, Dave, and I would try to see how many seconds it took for us to identify each episode from the little opening sequence.

All of this nonsense actually became valuable during my freshman year away at Rutgers. I was surprised (and pleased) to discover that the peculiarities of my childhood weren't so peculiar at all - the place was crawling with Brady fans. And, because I knew that Billy Garst was the "most popular boy" to Jan's "most popular girl" and that Johnny Dimsdale's father owned the recording studio where the Brady 6 cut the puberty record, I became the official Brady Trivia King of Clothier Hall, floor 2.

5 Classic Brady Moments:

1) Ooh, my nose. When we finally got a VCR, my brother and I had a field day showing rewinding this scene again and again. The ball missed her by at least a foot!

2) Buddy Hinton. I'm sure you wanted to knock his tooth out, too!

3) Thurston Howell pays off his pool debts in chewing gum when Bobby destroys him in a tournament.

4) Joe Namath completes a "bomb" to Bobby in the 10X10 backyard.

5) Greg and Marcia get scolded for calling Bobby a "Stinker" - Carol: "Now kids, you know I don't like that word"!

What are your favorites?

Welcome to my World

2010-05-11T11:03:00.000-07:00

For as long as I can remember, I've been carrying around a brainload of what my friends call "useless information." Yet, somehow, I've never been fully accept the fact that knowing the last name of Alice the Maid and Sam the Butcher, the lyrics to every Bruce Springsteen song, and the complete lineup of every 1978 National League team is without its uses.

Here, on my blog, I will attempt to finally make some meaning of the millions of fragments floating the "primordial pop culture soup" in my mind. I hope you enjoy the experience.