You know I love music.  For some reason that I fail to understand, there exists a subset of artistic people - whether musical or otherwise - that have some kind of strange aversion to sport in general, and really love to make their disdain known. Fear not, I'm not one of those people whose interests are so limited. I enjoy all sorts of different stuff, and some of that stuff, well, that includes many forms of sport.  I happen to especially love baseball. I've written here about baseball before.  No, really, I have.  Last year, I ranked my favorite ballparks.  (Click here to read.) I love going to games.  I love watching games on television.  I love reading about baseball.  I love playing fantasy baseball.  It's fair to say that I have a deeper emotional connection to baseball than any other sport.  Why is that?

Part of that surely goes back to childhood.  I remember swinging plastic bats at plastic balls thrown by my grandfather and my father.  Playing catch with one's father is somewhat of a male American cliché, but it's cliché because it's true... I played catch with my dad for countless hours over many years. Baseball is a place where being left-handed is an advantage.

Consider this quote from the well-known 1989 motion picture Field of Dreams, said by a character played by James Earl Jones:

The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. 

America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It's been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But baseball has marked the time.

Now, I am completely uninterested in nostalgia as a tool of patriotism, and there is no part of me that yearns for past times when people who looked like me were publicly executed with impunity.  Wait, that still happens, let me rephrase... there is no part of me that yeans for a past when the greatest baseball player of all time was not allowed to play in Major League Baseball. That said, despite how much the game has changed, the basic tenets remain.  To quote another baseball film, "It's a simple game... You throw the ball, catch the ball, hit the ball.  Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, sometimes it rains."  I find that simplicity to be beautiful.

Despite the big picture simplicity, if you look closely, baseball has a certain level of complexity and is filled with infinite possibilities.  For example, there are nine (9!) ways that a batter can safely reach base.  Not all of them involve actually hitting the ball.  There are deep cat/mouse games between batters and pitchers. There are well-coordinated movements by the defenders for who backs up which base (I love watching catchers running down to back up first in their gear), for who the cut off man will be on a given play, whether a throw should even be cut in the first place, who covers second on a steal attempt, and the intricate dance of a run down play.

I don't quite remember what year it was when my parents decided to get cable, but I absolutely remember that TBS was one of the channels that we had.  The gentleman who owned that television channel also owned a baseball team, and did plenty of cross promotion with these holdings.  This meant that just about every evening, there was a baseball game on TV, and it was always the same team.  I watched a lot of games.  I became a supporter of this team.  The broadcasters who I listened to night after night - Skip Caray, Ernie Johnson, Pete Van Wieren, Don Sutton - they became my friends.  My favorite players were Murphy and Horner, Rafael Ramirez and Oberkfell and Hubbard... then Blauser and Andrés Thomas and Zane Smith... then Smoltz and Glavine and Avery and Gant and Justice and Pendleton. (As someone once said, at the end of the day, we support laundry.)  I watched so many games, that as an elementary school kid, I memorized the disclaimer that would be read on the air each game.  These days, I don't quite remember whether they would read it in the 3rd inning or the 4th inning, but I still remember every single word.  

This telecast is authorized under broadcasting rights granted by the Atlanta National League Baseball Club and is intended solely for the entertainment of our audience. Any rebroadcast, retransmission, or other use of the pictures, descriptions, or accounts of this game without the express written consent of the Atlanta National League Baseball Club is prohibited.

The Atlanta National League Baseball Club won the World Series this week, on Tuesday 2nd November. They are champions.  CHAMPIONS. The last time this happened was my senior year of high school.  This made me happy, albeit briefly.  I don't really do happy... but I freely admit that I am deeply emotionally connected to the Atlanta National League Baseball Club.  When I was young, they were horrid. They lost 106 games in 1988.  They very nearly lost 100 games again in 1989.  I watched the games anyway.  They unexpectedly won the pennant in 1991, going from last place to first place in a year, and lost a very exciting World Series in 7 Games to the Twins.  (I still haven't forgiven Hrbek.)  They were pretty good throughout all of the 90s, but only managed to win that one championship.  That is a championship I will never forget, in part because their opposition was a team from Ohio, but I think I'll remember this one for longer.

Of course, part of that is recency bias. Part of it is how this team managed to win.  Their best player blew out his knee halfway through the season.  One of their other major contributors turned out to be a terrible human being and domestic abuser, and was away from the team for that reason. There were several other injuries.  Of all the teams that made the playoffs in baseball this year, Atlanta was near-unanimously declared to be the worst of them.  Strange things can happen in small sample sizes, however, and baseball is decidedly odd that way.  Of course, you can never really know how all of these professionals are as people, but this group of players comes across as eminently likeable, and they never quit.  I kind of like how the article I link to in the previous paragraph puts it:

Atlanta completed a mathematically improbable journey to Tuesday’s champagne bath. The NL East champs didn’t have a winning record until Aug. 6, and they had the lowest win total of any team to reach MLB’s postseason this year, including the Wild Card clubs. The Braves are just the eighth sub-90-win team to win a World Series in a non-shortened season.

Improbable.  But the improbable happens fairly often in baseball, in ever-changing ways.  That's probably another reason I love baseball so much.

Plenty of folks don't use Twitter.  If you are one of those folks, you didn't see some brief songwriting thoughts I wrote over there earlier this week.  I feel like sharing those here.

***

I have been learning Fountains Of Wayne songs on piano recently, mostly due to my love and admiration for fellow bass player Adam Schlesinger and his work...  That said, for any songwriter, the catalog of songs written by Chris Collingwood and Adam Schlesinger is basically a "how-to" on the craft... Here are some things that I am taking note of as I work my way through learning the songs from across all of the Fountains Of Wayne albums.

The songs are simple.  The country song in the catalog has only 3 major key chords (keeping in mind the axiom about how many chords country songs need to be)... You won't find a great deal of suspended or diminished chords, not a lot of add9 or 13 chords... the occasional 7 chord yes, but it's mostly major and minor triads... Personally, I like messing around with more complicated chords when I write songs, and of course, there isn't anything wrong with that... but these songs are a good reminder that you can keep it very very very simple and succeed.

When there is a bridge, it is exemplary.  I would love to just take the Fountains Of Wayne bridge-writing skill and append it to my brain.

The leading chords into a chorus, back into a verse, and anywhere they need a turnaround... their choices with these are impeccable.

The tactic of changing the key for the last verse and chorus of a song... they don't go to that all that often, but when they do, it works perfectly.

Professional songwriting "experts" will tell you to not make specific references to locations or people in your songs.  Fountains Of Wayne does this as many times as they like. Places throughout New York and New Jersey are named clearly in their songs.  As a Midwesterner, I never had the experience growing up of driving over the Tappan Zee bridge, down I-95, on the LIE, riding the Acela, or being led into Penn Station. That doesn't matter.  I don't enjoy the songs any less.  The songs would not be better if those specific life experiences were homogenized or made generic.  Write what you know.  Write for YOU first.  They do this over and over again. "Hackensack" is a brilliant song, and someone not having visited it does not change that.

The lyrics have clearly been chosen with care.  There are interesting and non-obvious rhymes and near rhymes.  For the most part they are all sorts of conversational.

If you write songs, definitely re-visit these albums.

***

If you happen to use Twitter, I invite you to follow me on that platform.  You can find me here.

I've probably mentioned this before, but I write music first for myself... it's a way to deal with life and emotions and thoughts and such.  Sure, if I write something that feels decent enough to share, I absolutely want to share it, but my songs are usually for me first.    Music... this cathartic, moving, crushing, heartbreaking thing.  As I write, I sometime think to myself that I would like to evoke the same emotions in a listener that Cari Clara's songs evoke in me.  If you don't know this artist, let me introduce you.

Cincinnati's Eric Diedrichs is responsible for Cari Clara.  He was previously the lead singer of power pop specialists, Simpletons.  (An aside:  I can't find my copies of the two Simpletons albums.  If anyone has them, please reach out.  Seriously.)  I remember talking to Eric at a show when he had announced that Simpletons was not going to be a thing much longer, and I was somewhat dismayed at losing such great songs and solid performances.  He told me that I would definitely not be disappointed in his next project.  He was not lying.

Eric Diedrichs kept the poignant lyrics, the pop songwriting sensibilities, the great hooks, and added a triple shot of melancholy, yearning, wistfulness, and occasionally slightly overwrought singing, then started making records all by himself.  The first few Cari Clara albums don't have the slick production and sonic sheen that the songs deserve, but the songs are all so good that it doesn't matter.  Here is an example from the 2004 album Miniature American Model Society.

"Release Me"

If you don't mind a serious hook that'll stay with you for half a day, here are two examples from It's Our Hearts They're After:

"The Bright Lights"

"Hold. Hope."

Maybe you're wondering what Cari Clara was like when they played live.  They were outstanding.  This was the first band I had ever seen that had two drummers - something that Radiohead has been doing a lot of the last decade plus - and that really amped up the sonic texture of their shows.  Layered guitars, multiple vocalists, and keyboards.  Eric made the albums on his own for the most part, but they really came alive on stage with an ensemble of performers.

The last Cari Clara album is Midnight March, and I think it's the best of them.  The songs are great, which is standard, but the production is kicked up a few notches.  I have very fond memories of heading down to Cincinnati to be there for the release show.  My favorite song from the album is this one:

"Story in the Stars"

On the Bandcamp page for this album, you'll find the statement "Eric Diedrichs should be famous".  I find nothing to disagree with here.  As a songwriter, arranger, and lyricist, his work has always spoken to me, and although you probably can't hear it in my music, I consider him to be a strong influence on my sound. This is a talented gentleman with plenty of things to say, and if he's done making music, well, Ohio and the world are both worse off for it.

This show was a long time ago.  How long ago?  This long ago:

$12.50 for two bands on a national tour! I kind of miss the prices from back then. 

The capitol of Ohio, Columbus, has changed quite a bit since 1999.  The part of town where this establishment was located is the Brewery District.  It used to be a very frequented part of town with bars and restaurants and such... then Columbus got a hockey team with a fancy new arena, and a new entertainment district  sprouted forth around it.  This spelled doom for many businesses in the Brewery District, and Ludlow's was one of these.  Alas, it is no more.  I remember it as a cozy place to see a show. Ugh, I miss cozy shows.

This particular night, both bands on the bill were from the state to the north.  At some point in the evening, I struck up a conversation at the bar with a gentleman who turned out to be the bass player from Papa Vegas.  Many of you have surely never heard of that band.  They were excellent.  As I write this blog post, I've revisited the album that they were touring to support at the time, called Hello Vertigo.  I still have it on CD.  The songs are still catchy, I still remember the words even though I haven't listened to these songs in at least a decade (!), and the album holds up. 

The band whose name is on the ticket is The Verve Pipe.  At the time, perhaps slightly to their chagrin, they had a massive radio/MTV hit single.  I owned and loved their album Villians.  For some reason, I don't have my copy of that CD anymore, which is a shame, because the version of the aforementioned massive hit song on my copy of the album is very different than the version that went to radio and MTV.  I remember picking up that album pretty much immediately after hearing "Photograph".  We did not know it at the time, but The Verve Pipe had another album on the way (The Verve Pipe), and they played a bunch of songs from it that were, of course, new to us.  The ones that jumped out and grabbed me at this show were "Hero" and "La La"... "La La" remains my favorite song on the album.  I will admit that I should have paid more attention to this album, which was their third... like Radiohead before them, they have a song on this album that is a reaction to their big radio hit.

Both bands were sufficiently entertaining that I was sure to catch them later that summer on the same tour.  I saw a ton of shows around this time of my life, and not all of them were all that great in retrospect... but this one... I still have fond memories of this one.

If you are familiar with my musical tastes, you know that there is a very special place in my heart for Fountains Of Wayne.  I listen to them and I think "this is what pop music is supposed to sound like"... plenty of hooks, vocal harmonies, solid songwriting.  A bonus with them is many of their lyrics are clearly meant to be a little humorous.  Back in the day, I don't think I associated Columbus, Ohio's rock band Go Robot Go with Fountains Of Wayne, but I really should have.  I listen to a GRG song, and I think to myself "this is what pop music is supposed to sound like"... there are plenty of hooks, solid songwriting, and plenty of light lyrics.  Let's talk about this band for a moment.

Something unique about Go Robot Go is their use of the vocoder.  On many of their songs, the vocal harmonies are sung through the vocoder.  The opening song to their album Convertible, called "see you on the radio", is a great example... Neal Havener's lead vocals are clean, and the harmony vocals sound robotic.  Sometimes they would change it up and put the vocoder up front in the song.  Have a listen to "shy (ee ii)" from the same album, and notice that the distorted vocals are there right at the beginning.  Of course, the frequent use of a vocoder might seem like a gimmick if the band members weren't actually talented musicians and songwriters... but they are, so while the vocoder is heavily used, I never found it to be distracting.

Some two decades ago, GRG was gigging around the state fairly often, and they played a lot of shows in Dayton.  I can think of at least three different Dayton venues at the time where I certainly saw them play, and if I think hard enough, I might come up with some more.  

The last album of theirs that I am familiar with is Wait 3 Days... Then Attack!   The cover looks something like this.

You might be thinking that the video game looks like it belongs in an arcade, and you'd be right.... they have a song on the album appropriately entitled "At The Arcade".   (The high score spells YOU.)  As an aside, it looks like there is some Arabic text on the video game, and I never noticed that before.  I wonder if Neal and the boys would be willing to tell us what that means.

Sadly, I kind of lost touch with this band in the early 2000s.  They released an album in 2007 called LIVE at the Zig Zag.  I am pretty sure that's a self-referential allusion to "marmalade 99".  There is also an album from 2014 called Good Vibes in Fashion Swimwear, and that one has a song about a certain intelligent cartoon lady in an orange sweater called "Ode to Velma in C Major".

I miss this band.  I've taken the opportunity recently to dip back into their catalog, and I am falling in love with them all over again.

Grab some beer, grab some snacks, and discover Go Robot, Go... warning though, these songs will get stuck in your head.

Baseball is back.  It was back in Taiwan and Korea a few weeks ago, and in those places, you can actually go to the game in person, but hey... I'll take empty stadium baseball on TV.  I love baseball.  (What, you thought I was all about music all of the time?)   One of the things my wife and I like to do is go visit different ballparks and watch a game.  I like to get to the park very early - basically right when the gates open - so I can stroll around and look at the architecture.  If the teams are taking batting practice, I like to watch batting practice.  I enjoy the atmosphere of the park on game day.  

There are 9 ballparks currently in use where I have seen a game.  In reverse order, from least favorite to favorite, here are my ballpark rankings:

9.  Rogers Centre, Toronto
Let the record show that I love the city of Toronto.  We have made some good friends there.  We have had outstanding dim sum there. That said, of all of the ballparks I have personally visited for a game, this is my least favo(u)rite.  First, the things I like here... there is a retractable roof on what used to be called SkyDome, so games really shouldn't be rained out.  When the roof is open, there's a view of the CN Tower from the ballpark.  The concourses here are all kinds of spacious, there is plenty of room to walk around.  The drawbacks... well, they aren't playing the games on real grass, that's too bad.  Also, it's a big round dome... even when the roof is open you feel a little like you're indoors.  The stadium lacks character.  That said, we have always very much enjoyed our visits here.  We have been to a few games here, and since we've had multiple visits, we've tried different seats.  We've had seats directly behind home plate, back a few dozen rows... and we've had seats way up high, like these:

The Rogers Centre (that's how they spell it in Canada) seems to be easily accessible with public transportation, but we didn't get to the games that way.  We've always stayed in hotels less than two or three miles from the ballpark, and we always walk here.

8. Great American Ball Park, Cincinnati
Let the record show that I do NOT love the city of Cincinnati.  Too many one way streets.  Public transportation isn't great.  Parking isn't the easiest to find, and it costs more than I enjoy paying.  Ok, that aside, maybe the park is nice?  Well, it has character... it's outdoors and a grass field.  The sight lines are ok, there aren't any bad seats... but I don't like the way the lower level has a long slope, it just feels strange to me compared to the other ballparks I've been to.  The way the architecture is done here, the higher decks feel quite far from the field.  Also, the food options here weren't great the last time I visited.  The Ohio River is quite lovely out there in right field, however.

7. Comerica Park, Detroit
The Tigers play here. You can't miss that when you come to Comerica Park, as there is a massive statue of a tiger out front.  There are other statues of other tigers pretty much everywhere.  After a bit in the park, I kind of got the feeling that they might have overdone this motif a little.  I mean, I guess I understand it... after all, there are some other large felines across the street, so maybe folks get confused.  I found it very easy to drive here and very easy to park, and those are positive things in my book.  Now, it's been many years since I've visited, but the thing I remember most about the concessions was the abundance of Little Caesar's pizza, which makes sense, as the ball club and the pizza company are owned by the same people.  

A brief comment on the Tigers fans.  This is an old franchise.  The Internet tells me it was founded in 1894. Some baseball legends have played for this franchise, although some of them were not particularly decent human beings.  (Looking at you, Tyrus.)  A proud and storied franchise, but they suffered many years of being quite terrible at baseball.  When I visited Comerica Park, the Tigers were coming out of a long period of being awful, but nobody knew that quite yet.  (These pictures are from 2006, and they happened to win the pennant that year.)  I remember sitting behind an elderly gentleman at the game... he had a spiral bound score book... it was clearly meant for the entire season.  He had been a season ticket holder for decades.  Now, maybe it had something to do with where I had chosen to sit, but I remember that the fans near me were particularly knowledgeable on this day, and since they were Tigers fans, they were clearly long-suffering as well.  They weren't quite a friendly as the fans in Toronto, because of course nobody is a friendly as Canadians, but I enjoyed their company.

6. Nationals Park, Washington D.C.
Other than Sean Doolittle, I don't have very much affection for the Nationals, as they play in the same division as my favorite baseball team. The park is ok though.  It's very easy to reach via public transportation.  If memory serves, it's right at the end of one of the city's subway lines.  You leave the station, and then it's just a brief stroll to the park.  Much like many of the more modern ballparks, there does not appear to be a seat with a bad view here. You can get a half-smoke at the ballpark, which you should do when you go to Washington.

5. Miller Park, Milwaukee
The people of Wisconsin are different.  I had never seen tailgating at any baseball stadium until visiting here, the land of beer, sausage, and cheese.  Yes, folks come out early to the game and hang out in the parking lot drinking and grilling.  One drawback to this ballpark is its location.  It's not really close to anything interesting in the city.  It's not easily accessible by foot or by public transportation.  Other than that, it's a lovely experience.  I had my first (and only) experience with Spotted Cow here. I don't remember exactly what we ate, but I am certain it was some type of sausage... I mean, it's Wisconsin.  Miller Park features a retractable roof, and we had the opportunity to see it in action.  It was a somewhat humid and sunny day when we got to the ballpark, and even with the roof open, I had the odd feeling of being indoors for some reason.  A weather system was going to move through, so during the game, the roof closed.  After the rain moved away, they opened the roof again, and we could see the clear night sky.  

4. Coors Field, Denver
When you watch baseball on television, folks always comment on how spacious the field is here.  Due to the altitude, the baseball travels farther in Denver when it is hit, so the fences are farther away from the plate than in the other ballparks.  You geometry experts out there can explain this better than me, but this results in a larger area of play.  Indeed, when we got to the park, I could see that the playing field is vast, easily larger than any I've ever seen.

In the first picture, look at the upper deck of seats.  Do you see what appears to be a purple line near the top?  Every seat in the rows there is painted purple (whereas the other seats in the park are green) to indicate one mile above sea level at that location.  The park is a thing of beauty, quite comfortable, very friendly staff, and it appears there are good sight lines no matter where you are.

There are plenty of beverage options here, though the most abundant are Coors products, which shouldn't surprise anyone.  There are plenty of great food options in this park as well.  I can't comment on how easily one can reach this park via public transportation, because we headed to see a game here immediately after getting off the airplane... we rented a car, drove straight to downtown Denver, parked, and strolled a mile or so down to the park.  (Parking was abundant and cheap, but that might have been because we arrived somewhat early.)

3. Citi Field, New York (Queens)
I am no fan of the Mets, who inhabit this place, but I very much love this ballpark.  First, it is incredibly easy to get here.  The ballpark is right next to a subway station, on line 7, more or less across the street from the tennis complex where the US Open is played every year, and quite close to the place where the alien crashed through the globe thing in the first Men In Black film.  The park is ten or eleven years old still very much has that new ballpark feel.  The Jackie Robinson Rotunda entrance is a glorious way to introduce yourself to City Field, and the abundance of brick brings some elegance.  

For both of my visits here, I sat at club level.  It's elevated, but the architecture of the stadium is such that there are seats on that higher level that have you closer to the action than lower level seats in many other ballparks.  (Looking at you, Cincinnati.)  I was amazed how clearly we could hear the ball pop in the catcher's mitt from the club level seats, just below where the broadcasters are located.  Another great thing about club level is that tickets there get you access to some restaurants and bars that are not accessible for every ticket holder.  These areas have comfortable seating, specialty drinks, good food, and delightful air conditioning... oh, and there are monitors everywhere, so you won't miss any of the game action.  If I blindfolded you and dropped you off in this area, you would have no idea you were at a ballpark.

Also, Shake Shack.  Yes, I know that this is a chain now, and they're expanding everywhere, but that wasn't always the case.  My first Shake Shack experience was here, and I very very much dig.  Also, you can get one of David Chang's delicious Momofuku fried chicken sandwiches, and you will not regret it. Really the only drawback is the proximity to La Guardia, so you hear planes overhead pretty much all of the time.  That's a small price to pay for a great game day experience. 

2. Marlins Park, Miami
I have been to Paris (the one in France) twelve times... maybe thirteen, I have lost count.  I have been to Florida (the one in the United States) exactly once, and it was to go to Opening Night at Marlins Park a few years ago.  If you are into baseball, you're probably thinking that nobody goes to games here.  Yes, that's pretty much true, and for me, that's part of the charm of Marlins Park.  We went on Opening Night, and the game wasn't sold out.  If you're not going to sell out on Opening Night, you're probably never going to sell out.

It's really a shame that people don't go to games here, because this is a beautiful park.  As typical with modern baseball venues, there does not appear to be a seat here with poor sight lines.  The park and its surroundings have a ton of pastel and bright colors, and you can see they're really leaning into being located in Miami.  Just about everything inside the park is labelled in two languages, as you would expect for a stadium in a multilingual city.

What a unique place.  When we visited, they still had the home run sculpture, which many people found to be "hideous", but I thought it was a quirky, interesting large piece of bric-a-brac.  Well, the new ownership didn't like it, so it's gone.  The park also used to have fish tanks behind home plate that contained live fish, but I'm not sure if they are still there.  From the outside, Marlins Park looks sleek and futuristic, perhaps like a spaceship parked in the neighborhood.  Marlins Park also has a retractable roof, which is necessary to combat the high heat and humidity of South Florida (as well as the pop-up thundershowers).

If you can figure out how to navigate the bus system in this town, you can probably get to this park easily.  That wasn't the case for us, we had some transportation adventures in the city, but managed to get to the park eventually.  The food options here are solid, and it's Miami, so there is plenty of Cuban fare in the park.  Whenever it is safe for us to travel again, I strongly recommend taking a brief baseball vacation here.  Tickets are cheap because demand is low.  In future baseball seasons, check the schedule for when your favorite team is playing in Miami, and head on down there to see them.  You won't regret it.

1. PNC Park, Pittsburgh
When you visit Pittsburgh to see a game, I recommend that you stay in a hotel downtown, within a few miles of PNC Park.  On game days, many of the streets in the immediate vicinity of the park get closed to vehicular traffic, and become pedestrian-only means of ingress to the stadium. Walk across the Allegheny on the majestic Roberto Clemente Bridge,  and pause when you get to his statue to take in the atmosphere of game day. 

If you don't happen to stay downtown and get yourself to the game under your own power, no worries, despite the pedestrian-only streets in the neighborhood, it's a friendly place to drive and park as well.  Once you get to PNC Park, you'll notice that there are great views of the field from everywhere.  I've been to enough games here that I've sat close behind home plate, I've sat in the highest level, I've sat halfway up on the first base side behind the dugout, and a few other places.  The views of downtown Pittsburgh and the action on the field are great from just about everywhere.

As far as keeping yourself hydrated and fed, well, on many of my visits there was a particularly LOUD vendor who you could hear from several sections away shouting "LEMONADE!"... I hope he's alive and well.  In a nod to the Eastern European immigrants in the area, you can find tasty pierogi at a few of the concession stands.  There is a pierogi race once a game between innings, similar to the sausage race in Milwaukee and the president race in Washington.  You can also get a fantastic Pittsburgh staple, a Primanti Brothers sandwich, and wash it down with an ice cold Iron City. (Yes, it's an expanding chain now, and there is even a franchise near me, but I refuse to go.  A visit to Primanti Brothers is one of the things that makes visiting Pittsburgh special for me, and I don't want to spoil it.)

***

That's it.  That's my list.  There are some other ballparks that I have walked around (Petco Park in San Diego), or driven by on the highway (Fenway Park in Boston), or strolled by with friends (Wrigley Field in Chicago).  Currently on the list of places I wish to go visit for baseball:  Target Field in Minneapolis, Kauffman Stadium in Kansas City (which will be accompanied by a trip here), T-Mobile Park in Seattle, and Oracle Park in San Francisco.

Once upon a time, in a far away and mysterious land called The Nineties, there was a band called Failure.  The much younger version of me discovered them somehow, via their single "Stuck on You".  That song came with a very cool music video that was clearly inspired by the opening montage from a James Bond movie. That song came from the album Fantastic Planet, which I did not hesitate to procure, and that was my first experience with a concept album.  Alas, Failure broke up before I could see them live.  I bought their other two albums (Comfort and Magnified), I bought everything Ken Andrews released with his solo project On, I listened to the Greg Edwards project Autolux... and time passed.

After much time passed, the gentlemen of Failure - Ken Andrews, Greg Edwards, and Kelli Scott - literally got the band back together.  They discovered that people out there still loved Fantastic Planet very much.  They went on the road to play music.  This was my chance to see them... and see them I did, almost exactly six years ago.

I flew to Atlanta to see them at The Masquerade.  As is my custom, I got to the venue very early, well before the doors opened.  I was expecting most of the concert attendees to be my age or older... after all, this band had vanished for seventeen years.  I was surprised to see some young folks in line waiting for the show.  Then I remembered, that there are some younger artists who dig Failure, and other well-known bands who aren't so young who dig Failure, and maybe that's how a different generation came to discover them.

They couldn't have picked a more appropriate song to open the show.  I mean, it was the TREE OF STARS tour, they had to play this one:

Notice how perfect and pristine their sound is?  You're probably thinking that they sound this way because this is a controlled studio environment in the video.  Yes, this is... but this is EXACTLY what they sound like in a less-controlled concert environment.  This band... they are obsessive about their sound.  Due to their lengthy career and changing gear, in order to replicate all of the sounds on their albums, they use fractal technology.  I am not an expert, so I can't explain all that well how it works, but if you really want to know, Ken Andrews can tell you.  What I do know is that Failure concerts are the best-sounding shows I have ever attended.  (Side note:  Even if you don't want to watch the entire last video I posted with Ken talking about fractal audio, at least watch the beginning.  He films himself rehearsing after ten months of not having done any singing.  He sounds great.  He essentially used his engineering experience to mix the vocals and the guitar out of the recorded song, and is playing guitar and singing along to the rhythm tracks.)

When I was young, there was a great deal of jumping around and jostling at a loud rock show.  I'm too old for that now of course, and was just a tiny bit apprehensive once Failure got into the groove onstage.  They have plenty of songs that aren't as laid back and restrained as "Another Space Song".  Well, there was no jumping around at this show.  No jostling.  No shoving.  There was some singing along, but barely even anyone nodding their head.  I looked around at the audience, and I immediately understood.  Most of these people were about my age, and none of us ever thought we would see this band play live.  We were all just in too much shock at what we were seeing. I kept watching in awe, trying to figure out how to play songs that had come out of my CD players over and over again by watching Ken's hands. I was also rather transfixed by watching Kelli Scott's drumming in person, especially on their song about Virginia Woolf, "Wet Gravity".  

They didn't disappoint.  They played something from all of their first three albums.  I mean, this setlist, wow.  When they played "Dirty Blue Balloons", it made all the sense in the world hearing the audience sing "I've waited so long without you/ I've waited too long for you"...  Indeed, indeed we had.

This is a question I have been asked many times.  After all, bass is not an instrument that lends itself all that well to solo performance, unless you happen to be Victor Wooten.  (I am not Victor Wooten.)  The role of the bass in a band is to help the drummer with the rhythmic foundation, whilst also lending some bottom end support to the rest of the music... sometimes, some melodic stuff, but generally, the role is a supporting role.  Bass players are usually the people in the band whose name everyone forgets (with a few exceptions), standing in the back by the drummer (I see you Colin Greenwood), holding it down without recognition.  That's ok, I dig that role.  Why do I dig that role?

Well, think about when you used to drive around in your car listening to music.  What did you turn up to really get your head nodding? (I'm going to guess it wasn't the treble.)

I think back to some of my favorite songs on the albums I used to listen to back in the early nineties.  On Nevermind, it was "Lounge Act", especially the first ten seconds.  On Foo Fighters, it was "For All the Cows", with those fantastic slides. How about Superunknown?  "The Day I Tried To Live".  Dirt? "Would".  Notice something in common?  SO VERY MUCH GROOVE.  The bass makes those songs what they are.

Here's what really made up my mind though.  This video, right here:

Be still my heart.  I was in high school, and still remember thinking this was one of the coolest musical performances I had ever seen.  Listen to how much the bass moves around, but never gets in the way.  Hear those awesome bass slides in the turnaround?  They're so much more groovy than the guitar slide sound.  In the second chorus, wow, look at the bass gentleman's fingers, looking like a person briskly walking.  Ooooh, then the break down.  Not only could this gentleman play, but he also sang harmonies!  Check it out:

This gentleman's name is Rob DeLeo.  He plays bass.  He sings.  He also wrote most of the best riff-tastic parts from this band's catalog.  A bass player that writes songs, how about that?  He also made playing bass look cool, even though nobody ever looks at the bassist.  I mean, look at his outfit here, in what is admittedly, a delightfully cheesy music video:

In summary, Rob DeLeo was the factor that made teenage me decide to learn bass.  Now, I'm old, and have lost all concern about looking cool, because whatever, just listen to my music.  I still like singing harmonies though, even though I'm not good at it.  I still like playing bass, finding that groove.  I still like writing songs.  I also still consider Rob DeLeo to be one of my favorite musicians.

Making an album is a long journey.  The time spent writing and re-writing, then re-writing again at home.  The arranging, which often requires another re-write.  The demos.  The gathering in the studio to discuss and plan.  Session after session after session with a whole bunch of really talented people.  Take after take after take of singing, repeating the process if you're a little sharp or a little flat.  The listening to studio bounces over and over and over and over.  The mixing.  That's my process and my journey at least.  Many musicians probably have it easier.  For me, it's a long journey, and it's hard work, and I wouldn't be able to do it without the help of a great many people.

I'd like to celebrate a little more than a year spent working on Anxious Inventions & Fictions by means of a photo blog entry.   

Let's begin:

This is engineer extraordinaire Patrick Himes adjusting the boom for Eric Cassidy on June 2, 2019.  Eric sang harmonies on "Bright Ideas".  Ultimately, that song didn't make it to Anxious Inventions & Fictions, but it is out right now as a stand-alone single.  Please click here to listen to it.

Here's Eric Cassidy again, this time holding an accordion.  He played this on June 30, 2019, during the outro on "Pauline".  You can hear this song on Defacing the Moon, as the songs from that album were chosen from these sessions.

This is Dustin Booher, with me on June 29,2019.  He is a fellow Xenian, and we have known each other since we were five years old.  He sang on "Sunday (That Pill)", which is on Defacing the Moon.  He also lent outstanding vocals to "Never Let Go", which is the 4th song on Anxious Inventions & Fictions.

There is Dustin in the background... and here is Tim Pritchard on July 27, 2019, playing guitar.  You can hear his fine work on "I Am a Number" and "Promise".

This is Jackie and Brandon, who are half of Westerly Station. I met them in Austin at the CD Baby DIY Musician Conference.  (I wrote about that before.)  Brandon is a fellow Ohioan, and we even grew up in the same county.  It was quite convenient that they came from their Texas home to Ohio when I was in the studio, and they had the time to stop by.  Brandon played mandolin on "Sunday (That Pill)", and it sounds great.  

Hello there, Ken Hall.  Normally, you can find him seated behind a piano, a task he performs in Shrug and Human Cannonball.  I invited him to play a little trombone.  You can hear Ken play for about a second and a half on "Your Anthem", which is the first track on Anxious Inventions & Fictions.

This handsome fella is Kent Montgomery.  He is the lead guitarist from The New Old Fashioned.   He was kind enough to play guitar on "Never Let Go", "Won't Love You Anymore", "Run To You", and "Wapakoneta".  That last song didn't make the album, but I will release it at some point.  

Here I am with Nathan Peters, who I've known over 20 years.  You might recognize him as the lead singer and keyboardist from legendary Dayton band Captain of Industry.  These days, he fronts Lioness.  He was kind enough to come to the studio and play piano on "Goodbye".  I wrote the song on piano, but I don't have the chops to give it the recorded performance that it deserves.  Thanks to Nathan's work, it sounds so very good.

The most recent photo.  January 23, 2020.  As you can see from the wood floors and the walls, this photo was taken after the great Reel Love flood and subsequent remodel.  (Scroll up to the first picture for the old school look of the main room in the studio.)  This was my last day in the studio for work on the album.  There was a mixing session after this, so the official end date was in February, but I didn't need to head down for that.  Patrick's steady hand guided me through this process, as he has done so many times for so many other musicians.  He has a fantastic ability to hear the song behind my low-quality home demos.  I can tell him what I am trying to accomplish as far as the sound I hear in my head is concerned, and he can figure out how to get me there.  This gentleman is a multi-instrumentalist, great singer, and true professional.  

I hope you have enjoyed this brief photo journey through a year's worth of work.  There are plenty of behind-the-scenes photos that I haven't even seen.  I have 5 disposable cameras that came to the studio with me, and they are filled with photos.  If you are curious as to what might be on them, they are available as one of the rewards on my Kickstarter campaign to crowdfund pressing Anxious Inventions & Fictions to vinyl.  Why not head over to the campaign and help me press some vinyl?

Usually, I write these concert memories posts about a show from at least a year ago, and this one just happened in January.  However, it was such a fantastic couple of days that I couldn't help myself.

If perchance you have read my blog before, you know I have seen Elbow live before.  You also know I love them very much, ever since their first album came out. They released a new album recently, Giants of All Sizes, and are out playing shows to support it... as one does.  They only scheduled four (4!) shows in the United States, and quite sadly for me, they were all on the West Coast.  After careful consideration, I decided that this was something my wife and I could not miss, so we flew out to San Diego on a Friday.

San Diego.  What a lovely city!  Let's put that aside for the moment though.  We land rather late, and we get to our hotel.  We are in need of drinks and snacks, so we set out on foot to procure these things.  While walking down one of the streets, I see a gentleman who bears a strong resemblance to Craig Potter.  (Craig Potter plays keyboards and sings harmonies in Elbow.)  As we get within a few meters of this gentleman, I say "Hey, you're Craig Potter."  Call me captain obvious.  Just a few steps behind him, well, there was lead singer and lyricist Guy Garvey.  I had missed Craig's brother Mark, he was a bit ahead of them, and had managed to walk by us without me noticing.  We had a very nice chat with the Elboys.  (Pete was in the hotel trying to sleep off some of the jet lag.) 

If you're wondering if it was cool to meet them, I assure you that is most certainly was.  My wife and I couldn't stop giggling about it the rest of the night.

You see, over in Europe, these guys are rock stars.  They routinely sell out arenas.  They play before thousands of people at festivals.  They even played at the 2012 London Olympics.  Now, here in the United States, yeah, not so much.  For whatever reason, they aren't famous... which is fine, as it means they can walk through the streets of an American city without being mobbed.  (Craig told me that he and his brother and Pete can usually walk around without being recognized, but Guy can hardly be outdoors without people noticing him.)  The other benefit that we have in the United States to Elbow not being overwhelmingly popular is that they play rather small venues, which is really the best way to experience live music.

House of Blues.  That's where they played in San Diego. It's a small room.  The Internet tells me that the capacity there is 1000.  Yeah, that's a small room.  For you Ohioans, that's smaller than Newport Music Hall on High Street in Columbus, and it's smaller than Bogart's on Vine Street in Cincinnati.  Yeah, that's a small room.  That's where Elbow played.  

We showed up early to queue for entry.  We met some lovely people who also made a trek for the show. Cricket was the first person in line.  She's quite ebullient, and is from Seattle.  I don't even remember how many times she said she has seen Elbow, it was 14 or 15 or something insane. Cricket also coincidentally managed to pick the same hotel for her San Diego stay as the band did, and had breakfast with Guy Garvey that morning.  We also met a wonderful couple from New York, the tastefully named Mike and his wife Christine, who were there with a local friend of theirs also named Christine.  It became apparent that although the people who enjoy Elbow in the United States are not numerous, they tend to be passionate about the band and their music.

The show.  The show was great.  Jesca Hoop opened. She was wonderful.  She also contributes some harmony vocals to the first track from Giants of All Sizes, so she came back out to sing those after her set.  In case you are wondering what exactly Elbow played... well, here's a picture of their setlist, which California Christine was kind enough to let me take.

It's not every day you get to see some of your favorite musicians up close.

After the show, we're hanging out and chatting with the folks around us... talking about how great the show was, talking about music in general.  Our new acquaintances from New York tell us that the gentleman who is lead singer for The Verve Pipe was in attendance, and how they had seen him and talked to him at a New York show.  I asked to clarify... "you mean Brian Vander Ark is here"?   See, I love his voice.  Love.  He's a great songwriter, having written one of my favorite songs of the entire nineties.  I also went to a few Verve Pipe shows back in the day.  Christine was kind enough to introduce me.  Again, being captain obvious, I start off by saying "so... I am told you're Brian Vander Ark".... I've really got to get better at opening lines when I meet a musician I respect.  So, I officially meet Brian and his wife Luz.  They came out for the show all the way from Michigan... and Brian was surprised that so many people flew such great lengths to see Elbow.  (Once I learned he was there, I thought to myself that it made perfect sense.  As the kids say, game recognize game.)

All told, yeah, a pretty great weekend.

For Squirrels - Example

This album came out while I was in high school.  I loved the lead single, and remember watching its video quite a bit on MTV, but by the time I got my hands on the album and listened to the entire thing, there were six or seven songs I liked even more.  Front to back, this is an album I always loved.  

Tragically, a van accident killed the lead singer and bass player shortly before this album was released, so this band remains rather obscure.  I remember in my early twenties always being surprised when I would meet someone who also had this album.  Usually, if someone had it, they were just about as enthusiastic about it as I was.

Example reminds me of my youth, gone many years ago.  It reminds me of longtime friends,  many of whom are gone in different ways.  It reminds me of driving down 35 or 270 or 33 to go hang out.  It makes me wish I could write a song that makes someone feel the way that "Disenchanted" still makes me feel all these years later.  It makes me wish I could write something with the brilliant simplicity of "Eskimo Sandune".

Also, these lyrics from "Under Smithville" have taken on different meaning for me than they did back in the day:

"And I've been feeling so old / Tell me now who you think I am"

Boyz II Men - Cooleyhighharmony

This album came out in 1991.  I was in junior high school.  I remember that you couldn't get away from the two hit singles on this record.  The more upbeat of them, "Motownphilly", had a video that was on MTV all of the time... you know, back when MTV played videos.  Four young black men, well-dressed, and singing some tight harmonies over a hip hop beat.  I don't remember having heard anything like it.  The other ubiquitous single, "It's So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday", was sung a cappella in four part harmony, with finger snaps being the only percussion.  I didn't know at the time that this was a cover.  What a fantastic choice to do a rendition of this song like this and put it on the album.  Maybe the album doesn't go nine times platinum without this song.

To do my due diligence for this blog post, I went back and listened to this album again.  It sounds very much of the time period from where it came, but it still sounds good.  

Those of you who remember this album might think that I have forgotten to mention "End of the Road", which was another single that you couldn't escape from hearing.  Well, it wasn't originally on this album.  It was a single produced for a movie soundtrack, and it did so well, that the label put it on the re-issue of Cooleyhighharmony that came out in 1993.  (The re-issue contains a fantastic a cappella rendition of "In the Still of the Night", and I remember wishing I could sing like that.  I mean, check out the glory of the nineties in this video.)

Listening these songs again takes me back to wandering the halls of Central Junior High.  I am also reminded of my younger brother, who loved this group and this album.

I have a vegan sister-in-law.  As a present to her, I made reservations at Le Potager de Charlotte when we went to Paris in the spring.  Note that I am definitely NOT vegan... but this place is fantastic, and even if you are an omnivore, if you happen to be in Paris, I recommend you stop by.

First, it's a family run restaurant.  There are two of them... one is in the 17th arrondisement, and the other is in the 9th.  One of the co-owners greeted us at the door and was also our server.  I like to support small businesses, especially the kind where the folks who own the place put so much work and energy into their restaurant.

Second, the food is outstanding.  Here, have a look at the menu. Note that some things on the menu change, based on what kind of vegetation happens to be fresh and in season. 

I started with the chickpea and rice crêpes.  (A side note to the folks at Le Potager de Charlotte... I'm an anglophone, and personally, I think it sounds strange to call these "pancakes".  Sure, they're thicker than your normal French crêpes, but I feel that your English-speaking customers know what a crêpe is without needing to translate it.  Just my opinion.)  You can see a picture of this starter on their website.  That cashew cream filling... wow.  It tasted fatty and cheesy, and the espelette powder on it added just a small background spiciness.  This was outstanding.  As you can see in the picture, it was served on some mixed salad.  No complaints about this course.  For my second course, I had another entrée, the avocado.  This is where I wish I had taken a picture.  It was basically a riff on a hard-boiled egg... but this is a vegan place, so the avocado was standing in for the solidified egg white.  The substance that made up the "yolk" was a deep yellow color, no doubt due to turmeric... and also a creamy and fatty mouth feel... see, this is the challenge with vegan food to me... how to make up for the taste and texture requirements where animal-based fats traditionally exist in a recipe.  These folks were super successful doing so.

I had small tastes of what my wife and her sister had ordered.  One of them got soup.  It was good, but could have used more salt. I forget what the other one got... suffice it to say that every bite I had was delicious.  Again, let me repeat... I am NOT vegan.

As for dessert... well, the description doesn't do it justice.  The picture doesn't either, but here it is anyway:

Coconut whipped cream... and the texture was fantastic.  Roasted hazelnuts.  Beautiful flowers (yes, I ate them).  Chocolate powder.  Under all of that stuff was this substance that strongly resembled chocolate mousse... turns out they make that with avocado... they need the fat for the right texture... but you couldn't taste avocado, it tasted like chocolate mousse.  This dessert was delicate and flavorful, and I would eat it again any day.

Wonderful food aside, let me tell a brief story about our arrival experience in order to show just how great the folks were here.  The day we had this reservation was our first day in the country, and I made the reservation at a normal French dinner time (read: very late for your average American) in order to force us all to be awake and active all day so we could sleep well that first night and beat the jet lag.  Well, through no fault of my own, we were running quite late to dinner.  No worries, I called the restaurant and told them that we would be late.  See, the restaurants are small, so if someone misses a reservation, that costs them money... they combat this by charging your credit card if you don't show up.  Well, when I called from the phone of the apartment we had rented, I managed to call the wrong location.  They are a small enough business that they could handle this... the very nice lady who I talked to said she would pass the message along.

Fast forward.  We are late, and we take Métro line 12 to Notre-Dame-de-Lorette.  Now, I've been to Paris many times, and know my way around some parts of town very very well... well enough that on more than one occasion, I have been able to give directions to actual French people.  This part of town is not one of the ones I know.  I had never been to this Métro station, nor had I been to this part of the 9th.  When we exit the Métro... chaos.  It's one of those odd French intersections where multiple roads converge in a less-than-logical fashion.  On top of that, there is construction.  On top of that, the street signage leaves much to be desired.  We get lost.  I am not often lost in Paris, so this was frustrating.  We wander one way, and when that clearly is wrong, we wander another way... and then I decide to wander into a local hotel to ask for directions.  The folks in the hotel are not familiar with this restaurant, and are also not familiar with the street it is on... but I was able to point out to them on one of their hotel tourist maps where I thought it was, and they were able to tell us how to walk in that direction.  Ok, finally headed the right way... and from that point, it's only about 15 minutes to get to the place.  We get there, and we are so late... very much later than we had possibly foreseen.  We're so late that they have locked the front door, as they're not letting any more folks into the restaurant.. However, upon seeing us, they open the door and ask if I am Mike.  I say that I am and explain that we got terribly lost getting there on foot, and profusely apologize in the most respectful French I could summon.  The very kind co-owner gentleman who I mentioned before lets a sigh of relief and immediately shows us to the table that had been reserved for us.  We received a fantastically warm welcome.

To sum up... food outstanding, service outstanding, experience unforgettable, you should go here if ever you are in Paris.

Loud as a jet engine being fired up, while also dropping incredibly catchy earworms.  That was Mondolux.

I saw them many times... at Canal Street Tavern, at El Diablo (anyone remember that spot), in a tiny room upstairs at Southgate House.  They were my first live experience with punk-adjacent music.  I say "punk-adjacent" because the songs were generally hooky rock and roll with all kinds of pop sensibilities... just played really really loud and usually rather fast.  Also, recently, I was watching a video of The Clash playing live, and recognized many of the musician stances and mannerisms as something I had seen at Mondolux shows... these guys must have loved The Clash.

Alas, this band is no more... and you can't find a great deal of their music online.  Here is one of my favorite of their songs, called "Memphis Lung".  What's not to like here?  This one has a nifty little swagger to it, a fantastic groove, and Eric Purtle's charisma comes across just fine in this recording... but that's nothing compared to what it was like to see them do this live.

Here's a video taken from one of their live shows.

This song is "TJ Swann", and is on their last album.  A pop song.  Catchy, with the volume cranked.  That was Mondolux.

Elbow - Asleep in the Back

I talked about my most recent live experience with Elbow in a previous blog post.  This is the album that got me hooked on them.

A coworker of mine turned me on to this album in 2001.  This was one of the five compact discs I took with me on my spring 2002 trip to France.  The trip was mostly for a friend's wedding, but I managed to move around a bit while I was in Europe... I had a nice trip out to Chamonix for a couple of days, and also dropped by Bruxelles and Bruges.

I spent plenty of time alone with my thoughts and this record playing in my headphones.  On long train trips... on a lift up a mountain... strolling through the forest a short distance from the Arve.  Really, every time I hear these songs, my brief visit to the Alps comes rushing back.  My favorite track on this album was "Newborn"... and today it is probably a tie between "Newborn" and "Scattered Black and Whites".  Guy Garvey's way of painting a picture, evoking an emotion, harnessing a mood with his lyrics... that's a skill I am attempting to develop.

The first time I saw La Joconde was 1999.  (English speakers generally know her by a different name.)  She was small and dark, but out there in the open, and you could get as close to her as you wanted.  Things have changed... she is still small and dark, but is now protected by some thick glass and special lighting and a railing, and you can't get close anymore.

A couple of years later I wrote a song about her.  By this time, I had learned some rudimentary bass skills, and I wrote a lot of songs.  Most of them were garbage, and were discarded as such.  This one, I liked enough to actually type it and print it... and I wrote the chords on the sheet in pen.  The song didn't have a name at the time.  It disappeared.

Many many years later... in fact, I don't even remember when exactly... at least ten years had passed.... anyway, I was doing some cleaning, and I found this folded up piece of paper.  I unfolded it, and behold!  Lyrics.  Chords noted.  I didn't have a song title, and didn't even remember writing it... but I knew who it was about because I had included an inside joke for myself in the lyrics, calling her "mysteriously jocular", a play on words with her name.  There is only one person I would describe that way.

When I finally got around to making an album, I felt like this song had to be on it.  This is really what drove me to come up with a title.  Why is it called "Every Last Time Is like the First"?  Well, like the lyrics say, I have come around again and again, walking through those marble halls... and she's always there with that sly little smile, surrounded by dozens of people taking pictures with their flashes turned  off.  The last time I saw her was in April.  (This was the first time for my wife.)  I stayed at the back of the crowd, I had no reason to attempt to get close... I'll never be able to get as close as I did the first time I saw her.  But every last time I get some small measure of satisfaction from being back in her home, in her city.

This happened almost twenty years ago.  Mobile phones weren't ubiquitous.  No social media.  Cameras used actual film.  What follows is a verbatim excerpt from the travel journal I was keeping.  (To clarify, the "money problems" I mention are due to me leaving my wallet in a cab exactly one week prior.  I only had $15 US cash in there - which was not useful, as the currency one needed was francs - but I also had my bank card in there, and my plans to withdraw money from the ATM as needed took a big hit.  Also, at this point in the trip I was staying with some friends in Lyon, so had to travel to get to the show.)

***

MERCREDI le 27 Octobre 1999

11:04h  I'm up and preparing for the trip to Paris.  I am very much looking forward to the concert, I'll be able to forget about my money problems at least for a couple of hours.

19:29h At the concert.  Security temporarily confiscates my camera. It is like the Newport , but smaller, darker, no balcony.  I remember that Europeans don't mosh. I wish I had some cash on me, because this atmosphere is just screaming for a beer.  There is no opening act.  I met a guy on the crew.  Chris will play for ninety minutes.  I met some other Americans... girls from Wisconsin.  They had backstage passes... girls always get backstage passes.  The place is filling up... if it's not sold out, it sure is close.  This concert brought to us by OUI 102.3 FM, rock radio Paris.  They are doing a live TV appearance tomorrow on Canal+, according to the crew.

20:05h  The set list just got taped down.  

20:17h  It's on now....

Sunshower
Can't Change Me
Flutter Girl (key bass)
Mission (key bass)
Preaching...
Seasons (no keys 2 guitar)
When I'm Down
Pillow of Your Bones
Fell On.... (solo, for Kurt)
Moonchild
Sweet Euphoria  (for Paris, no drummer or bass)
Like Suicide
Follow My Way
-------
All Night Thing
Steel Rain

JEUDI le 28 Octobre 1999

07:29h  It's a six hour ride to Lyon, and I have to change trains in Dijon.  Hope that goes smoothly.  The good thing is that my railpass covers it.  I had expected to get more miles out of my railpass, but I have been rendered rather sedentary.  Last night's concert was great... the only thing that could have improved it would have been meeting Chris.  Chris kept up a good-natured banter with the crowd... in English.  Most of the younger crowd at the concert definitely understands English.  Highlights were the rockin' "Pillow of Your Bones", the crowd sing-along on "Fell On Black Days" and "Like Suicide", and the signature Chris Cornell scream/wail on "Steel Rain".  The crowd was very unfamiliar with the new songs, but they were very enthusiastic.  European concert goers don't heckle like their American counterparts.  And no moshing... everyone is in there all tight, and people kind of dance or headbang a little, but there isn't any real bodily contact.

***

So, those are the thoughts of the 21-year-old version of me.  Looking back, what a fantastic set.  Chris mentioned that he happened to be in that very building - Elysée Montmartre - when he got the news that Kurt Cobain had died, so he dedicated "Fell On Black Days" to Kurt.  He also remarked more than once that Paris is a very beautiful city, and dedicated "Sweet Euphoria" to the city and people of Paris.  As I mentioned in a previous blog post, I had been listening to the Euphoria Mourning album a great deal, so I was quite familiar with all of the new songs.  I would go on to eventually see Chris Cornell solo two more times... but this show topped them.  This is definitely one of the most memorable nights of music in my life.

Also, I miss Chris Cornell about as much as someone can miss a person who they have never met.

When you miss somebody 
You tell yourself a hundred thousand times 
Nobody ever lives forever 
So you give it one more try 
To wave goodbye, wave goodbye

Well said, Chris.  Well said.

When I was in my early twenties, I stayed with a friend a couple of times in the 15th arrondisement in Paris.  Because I spent so much time in that part of town, I became familiar with an Italian restaurant there, and I would visit them on every return trip.  This was one of my go-to lunch spots in Paris.  I liked it because it was out of the path of the crowds of tourists... a normal neighborhood restaurant, and at no point had I ever seen any other Americans there.  It is, therefore, with just a little bit of sadness that I must admit this restaurant has been replaced.

On my spring trip to Paris, my corporate colleague Guido was kind enough to take the time to meet me for lunch one day near our apartment in the 14th.  (We ate at a Lebanese place, but that's a story for another blog entry.)  Guido lives in Paris, but he is Italian, from the north, near Lake Como.  I showed him a picture of the pizza I had consumed at the aforementioned Italian restaurant in the 15th.  Guido was disappointed in my selection.  He then recommended an alternative.  He said to go to Arrivaderci.  He's Italian.  I'm not.  He would know better.  

I dragged my wife and my in-laws with me to Arrivaderci on Thursday 11th April.  It's in the 5th.  We arrived near the end of lunch time, but managed to get there before the restaurant closed.  Upon entering, I was greeted with a hearty "Buon Giorno!".  I replied in kind, and then said that there were four of us in the best Italian I could manage.  Then, I immediately switched back to French and apologized for not speaking decent Italian.  

We were seated.  We were brought menus.  Dish names in Italian.  Descriptions in French.  Ok.  

I started with the salmon carpaccio.  THIS salmon carpaccio:

It was outstanding.  

The folks here take pride in their pizza, and an actual Italian told me that it was good, so I had to try it.  Mine looked like this:

Now, I've read about Neapolitan style pizza, mostly due to pizza enthusiast Keith Law.  This was my first experience with the real thing.  I had always wondered what the taste and texture was like when he would describe the center as being "wet"... well, now I know.  Also, LOOK at that char on the crust.  This was the best pizza I have ever had.  Not close.  So yeah, apologies to the folks in the 15th, but I won't be visiting you for pizza anymore.  This is my new favorite Italian restaurant in Paris.

We were there well after closing time, and we saw the staff leave one-by-one.  Some of them might head back to the restaurant for the dinner service, some of them perhaps had other jobs.  I apologized on our behalf for keeping them there well past when they would normally have closed up shop, began cleaning, and taken their afternoon rest.  Upon mentioning that I am a musician, Gaitano and Antonio immediately found my album and started streaming it on the restaurant speakers.  That was a very cool life moment.

I listened to the staff talk to each other... yes, all in Italian.  Antonio told me that the only ingredient they have in the place that is French (local) is the water... which comes out of the tap.  All of their ingredients, they import from Italy.  I totally understand why my colleague Guido comes here.  If he is feeling homesick, this has to be the spot.

There is no shortage of Italian restaurants in Paris.  There are surely hundreds and hundreds of places you can get pizza.  I strongly doubt you'll find a better one than here.  Outstanding food, very friendly staff.  I can't wait to go back.

I am nearly 100% certain that I first heard this band in 1997, driving home to Xenia from my call center job in Kettering.  On Sunday nights, one of the local radio stations had a local music program.  I recently wrote about another local band I first heard on this program.  Today, I write about Shrug.  One of the songs in rotation just about every week on the program was "Diary".  I didn't know it at the time, but that's the lead track to Shrug's second album, Everything Blowing Up Roses.

I found out that Shrug was going to play at show at Canal Street Tavern.  I liked what I had heard from them on the radio, so I went to see them play.  This was my first experience with live local music.  I don't remember all that much from the show... I can't tell you who else was on the bill.  I don't remember how much it cost, though if I were to guess, I'd say five dollars.  I don't even remember which songs they played... maybe I heard "Diary" that night, maybe I didn't.  What I do remember was meeting the three members of the band... Tod Weidner, Dan Stahl, Adam Edwards.  They were nice to me.  I wandered into a music venue alone, without knowing anyone, feeling slightly out of place, and was well received.  Between that and enjoying the music, I decided to see Shrug again.  And again.  And again.  Eventually, as is the case in a tight-knit music community when you see the same face a few times, the guys in the band remembered my name.

Fast forward to now.  On 6th July, Shrug will release their sixth studio album, Easy is the New Hard. This is the first time they are releasing music on vinyl, and this one will be a double album in that medium.  If you want to pre-order it, you could do that here.

Like the sticker says, Shrug has been a band since 1994.  There aren't many rock bands in these parts who have been around that long.  They have had their lineup changes, their instrumentation changes (at one point they didn't harm any electric guitars on stage), and of course we are all much older... but they still play like they mean it, and they're still nice to everyone.

Personally speaking, this band has had two major influences on my life in general.  First, I have been introduced to a great deal of music through Shrug shows that I otherwise might not have listened to.  They used to do a fantastic cover of "Dancing Barefoot" (please bring that one back), and that's how I discovered Patti Smith.  They would cover a few Elvis Costello songs, and this moved me to check out a few of his albums.  Their blistering version of "The Seeker" made me pick up The Who's greatest hits album.  Second, I might not have ever gotten around to recording my own music were it not for Shrug.  I clearly remember Tod saying this brief phrase at some point about folks who are timid about sharing their music: "if it sounds good, it is good".  I threw away so many songs over the years, but sometimes I would write something, and think to myself "that sounds pretty good"...  eventually, I gathered the courage to share my art with others.

Of course, since I consider the gentlemen in Shrug to be friends, it's hard for me to be objective about their music.  That said, sometimes they make artistic decisions that I don't necessarily like.  A few that come to mind are the Wilco-ization of "Age Nowhere" (does anyone else remember the original version of that song?), the disappearance of any of their original songs written before 2000 from their live shows, and the fact that I don't own a recording of "Cling", "Media Blackout", "Frozen Gasoline", or "Cosmonaut".  It's ok.  I still love them just the way they are.

Do you like your music to feature intelligent, carefully chosen lyrics?  How about a serious approach to songcraft?  What is your feeling about a sing-along chorus that gets stuck in your head?  If you like these things, go find Shrug's music.  You won't be disappointed. 

I bought tickets a few days ago to see Sleater-Kinney when they come to Columbus this fall.  I've seen them before, 19 years ago.

For a few years in my youth, I had a subscription to Rolling Stone.  That particular magazine helped me to discover a lot of bands that weren’t getting played on mainstream radio.  That’s how I learned about Sleater-Kinney. I seem to remember very favorable reviews of Dig Me Out, which was their third album.  I bought the album. I loved it. I then bought their first two albums, Sleater-Kinney and Call the Doctor. I was hooked. 

I picked up each new album as they were released… and then they went on tour in support of All Hands on the Bad One.  They were going to make a stop at Southgate House, which was my favorite venue at the time. (A brief aside about Southgate House.  It was a house built in 1812… no, not just a house, a big old mansion. The person who invented the Tommy Gun was born in this house. I don’t mention this to glorify firearms or warfare, just to point out that this is a genuinely historic building.  Shows were usually held in what was called “the ballroom”, but there were plenty of other rooms in the house where music would happen during the larger festival-type events.)

The show ended up being sold out.  I got to the venue incredibly early, as is my normal habit, and there was a line down the sidewalk out front of other folks waiting to get in.  I remember not knowing who the opening act would be... it turns out that the opener was a regional band from a few hours' drive up north on I-75... they were called The White Stripes. I was kind of surprised that there were only two of them when they took the stage... and I was a little dismayed because they didn't have a bass player, and you know, that's my instrument.  Then again, Sleater-Kinney doesn't have a bass player, and I liked them just fine.  That said, I was puzzled by the overwhelming simplicity of the drums, as I was used to Janet Weiss. I didn't realize at the time that the simplicity was the point.  I'll be honest, I wasn't all that impressed with the openers, but I thought it was interesting that they coordinated their outfits.  (When they were done playing Jack and Meg retired to the side of the ballroom - not backstage - and were just kind of by themselves for awhile.  If I had known what was going to become of them, I probably would have gone and made friends... then again, maybe not.)

Sleater-Kinney were great.  Here's the setlist from the show. Fantastic.

I watched this show from the balcony, and this was the first time I'd ever done that for an entire show at Southgate House.  The venue was small enough that being in the balcony still had you rather close to the stage, and it sounded great up there as well.  After the show, I made my way down to the stage, as I wanted to tell the ladies how much I enjoyed their show.  Now, I was a great deal younger then, and these days I know better than to bug a band full of strangers while they are trying to load out... but there I was over at the side of the stage... and Carrie Brownstein was headed in my general direction.  I will also mention that at this point, I hadn't been playing music longer than a couple of years, and I was still generally in awe of professional musicians, seeing them less as actual people than as otherworldly talented beings.  I expressed how great I felt the show was.  Carrie walked over, shook my hand, said "thank you very much", and asked for my name.  She was striking in person in a way that the pictures in the CDs do not capture.  I was kind of awestruck.  Looking back on it, she and her bandmates were quite busy, and she certainly didn't need to take the time to acknowledge me, but acknowledge me she did.  That's something I will always remember.

So yeah, Sleater-Kinney are back on the road, with a new album dropping soon, and I'm looking forward to seeing them again.

Aux amis et aux autres lecteurs francophones, je m'excuse pour écrire en anglais.

I begin by mentioning that in this blog entry, I will refer to the world’s most popular sport as “football”.  It is called this because it is played with a ball that is moved around by foot. If you happen to be from the United States and think that I should refer to this sport as “soccer”, perhaps you should know that the word “soccer” comes from a shortened form of the word “association” in the sport’s formal name, to wit, “association football”. 

The idea 

My wife and I were planning a long-overdue vacation to my favorite city, Paris.  I have been there enough times that there are few tourist activities that I have yet to experience.  We did our research, attempting to make some new memories. I knew that Paris has a football club that plays in its country’s highest league, Ligue 1.  The club is Paris Saint-Germain. If you are not familiar with French football, I will use a baseball analogy… you could consider this club to be the Yankees of Ligue 1.  They have won the most trophies, they spend the most money, they probably have the most fans. They were also playing a home match during our trip. 

Here was our chance to have a unique experience.  In the United States, football is not played at the same high level as in Ligue 1.  (Not that Ligue 1 is the world’s top league, but it is a higher level of play than we have here.)  This was a chance to see some stars in person who I’ve seen on television competing at the World Cup… Neymar, Cavani, Draxler, Mbappé.  The process to buy tickets was simple… the match was sold out, but tickets were available on PSG’s official website. It was kind of like using StubHub, but officially sanctioned by the club. 

The stadium 

PSG plays home matches at Parc des Princes.  This stadium is in southwest Paris, the 16th arrondisement, and is easily reached via Métro.  Well, let me clarify… the nearest Métro stop to the stadium is easy to reach.. .the stadium, not so much.  We arrived early on the day of the match because our tickets were in a section deemed to be “free seating”.  Now, all of the tickets have a row number and seat number, but this is apparently not enforced unless someone in attendance insists... so in practice, you can sit wherever you like, and your chances of sitting where you like increase if you arrive early. 

The route to the stadium from the Métro stop was circuitous.  We were routed through a residential neighborhood, along with thousands of other people who were headed to the match.  On the way, we noticed a great deal of security folks… some of them appeared to be employed by the club, and some were the armed national police.  The approaches to the stadium and the entry gates are not well marked, and we had some trouble finding the correct entrance for our section. (This was different than my experience going to baseball games in the United States, as you can generally enter the stadium anywhere you wish.) The problem was exacerbated by the club crowd control staff, from whom we received conflicting vague instructions. 

We eventually made our way inside and to our section. The stadium was much smaller than I was expecting.  The Internet tells me that the capacity is 47,929. That’s awfully tiny. For any readers who do not live in the United States, I say this because the university American football stadium in the capital of Ohio seats more than 100,000 people, and NFL stadiums also tend to be larger than 47,000 capacity.  That said, our seats were rather comfortable, given that we were probably in the least expensive part of the venue… and it’s not like we sat in them very much anyway… at kickoff, everyone is on their feet. 

The sight lines were glorious.  There didn’t appear to be any obstructed seats.  The design of the stadium is simple, there appear to only be two decks, and it’s a bowl shape.  The ends of the stadium behind each goal are farther away from the pitch than the seats on the sides… there is a great deal of empty un-used space between the stands and the goal.  The pitch was immaculate and the stadium lights made the bright green really pop. 

The atmosphere 

Briefly, French football fans are insane. 

Each end of the stadium - the cheaper seats - is filled with the more rowdy supporters.  Thankfully for us during our first experience, the side opposite ours was definitely rowdier, as it seemed to be the home base of a few supporters clubs.  Well before the match began (even as we were outside attempting to make our way in), groups of supporters were cheering, singing, chanting, banging on drums and other noise-makers, and putting up all kinds of ruckus.  I was thinking that these locals were enthusiastic and amped up… and that’s when the visiting team’s supporters began to arrive. 

The folks who supported Strasbourg either took a train across the country from the East, or live locally, but perhaps generally hide their support.  There is one section that appears to be reserved for visiting fans, and it is rather conspicuously separated from the cheap home seats by a fence and a few dozen security staff members.  (It told me a great deal about our section that PSG felt the need to fence off the visitors from our section of the stadium, but not from the section on the other side.) Every time another group of visiting fans arrived, they would be mercilessly harangued by the more rowdy people in our section… chants consisting of some words that I won’t repeat, chants made up of some words that I’m glad I didn’t know, and all sorts of obscene gestures from a variety of cultures, just to make sure the point got across.  Now, I’ve been to Strasbourg, and it’s a lovely city with lovely people, and I didn’t support that kind of abuse… really, nobody deserves that kind of treatment. Good-natured ribbing about sports is one thing, and abuse with threats of violence is something completely different. However, as the visitors filled their section, they seemed to collectively gather strength and hurl shouts and gestures back toward the Parisians. 

The stadium video boards (quite small by the standards to which I am accustomed) showed inspiring highlights from earlier matches in the season.  The players were warmly cheered every time the camera showed them on the pitch during their warm-up session… and then came the introductions… the stadium announcer hypes up each home player, shouting the player’s first name, and allowing the crowd to shout back the player’s last name.  When it was time to introduce the lineup for Strasbourg… well, I couldn’t hear any of the players’ names, as they were drowned out by the whistling and booing. 

The jumping and shouting and general craziness increased until kickoff… at which point it continued through most of the match.  The folks at the opposite end zone from ours were the loudest, starting cheers and chants that would then be picked up around the stadium… waving flags of all kinds.  For all the enthusiasm of the home folks, supporters of the most successful football club in France, they were outdone by the visitors. The visitors, outnumbered and confined to one small wedge in the stadium, never sat at any point during the match.  Not only did they never sit, they never stopped chanting, singing, cheering, jumping, clapping… even when the match was not going their way. (More on this later.) For most of the night, they were led by a portly gentleman who thought it prudent to not wear his shirt even though the temperature was probably 11 degrees (Celsius) and falling.  This gentleman stood down front of the visitors section with a megaphone in hand, and was, quite literally, a cheerleader. I don’t think he saw much of the match, as most of the time he was facing his fellow Strasbourg supporters, or occasionally gesturing toward our section. I have never seen anything like this level of crazy at a sporting event… I mean, I stood the entire match as well, but I didn’t pogo and scream for two hours.  I don’t know where these people find the energy. 

All of us - even those of us in the group who do not speak French - learned the main cheer.  It helps that the words are written on the inner stadium façade. “Ici C’est PARIS!” In order for this to sound authentic, one should first shout “Ici C’est!” and then wait for another party to shout back “PARIS!”... if you happen to be from Ohio, well, it’s just like the “OH!”, “IO!” cheer. 

By the way, “La Marseillaise” is not played before Ligue 1 matches, which is another difference from sporting events in the United States. 

The match 

PSG is the stronger club.  My dear friend Priscille, who accompanied us, told me before the match “Strasbourg n’est pas trop fort”.  Some of the PSG stars were missing. Neymar was injured with some kind of foot issue. Cavani and Di Maria weren’t around, and I still don’t know where they were.  Mbappé was there in warmups, but he started the match on the bench, as did Draxler. Hey, I get it… PSG were about to wrap up another league title, and figured that they could probably accomplish that while getting their stars some rest.  Strasbourg had other ideas. 

PSG players looked faster and more capable on and off the ball than the visitors.  Strasbourg apparently only had one striker on the pitch, and he looked very tall for a footballer, but incredibly slow.  (Note that I am not a football expert by any means, so take any of my observational analysis with lots of salt.) However, he seemed to get plenty of opportunities on the ball, because PSG didn’t appear to be that interested in playing defense.  They were awfully sloppy. 

After relentless attacks, PSG put one in the net down at the opposite end of the pitch.  1-0, home team. The sloppiness would come back to bite them rather quickly though.  Strasbourg kept looking to counter-attack when PSG would make errors in the midfield… and on one of those occasions, if memory serves, they had a 2 on 1 against the keeper on our side of the pitch and put the ball in the net to equalize the match.  The player that scored immediately ran toward the wedge of visiting fans to celebrate, and the group of white-clad visitors went even more berserk. As the kids say, “it was lit”. 

The home team managed to mess up a sure goal at the other end… one player had beaten the goalie, and the ball was going to go in the net, but a second player apparently wanted to tally the goal in the book and tried to touch it in… and he missed, and managed to allow the visitors to clear.  Strasbourg kept the pressure on with some more counter-attacks, and scored a second goal off a corner where the ball bounced around a bit. This player also ran toward those folks in the corner of the stadium, and they were going out of their minds. As for the home crowd, their energy completely dissipated.  The ultra supporters on the opposite end were still waving their flags and chanting, but the rest of the stadium seemed stunned. Strasbourg led 2-1 at the half. 

Fifteen minutes into the second half, PSG apparently decided to stop messing around, and sent Mbappé and Draxler into the match.  These guys no longer had a day off. PSG’s attack improved immediately. Let me talk a bit about Mbappé… I was aware of him before the World Cup from playing FIFA Mobile on my tablet… he’s fast… and then at the World Cup, he showed casual football viewers around the globe how talented he truly is.  You could almost see defenders quiver in fear if he had a chance to run at them in the open. I enjoyed watching his contributions to France’s World Cup victory last year, and he was so impressive to watch on television, but that is nothing like seeing him in person. Saying that Mbappé is fast is like saying the sun is hot… you’re understating it.  I was amazed to see this young fella easily run right past other people, all of whom are also professional athletes. There was no question that he was the best player on the pitch. Every time he touched the ball, it felt like PSG were in danger of equalizing the match. 

PSG attacked in our direction for the second half… and once the substitutions were made, they spent the vast majority of the time in possession and applying pressure on Strasbourg.  The match was almost tied by a bicycle kick (this looks incredibly athletic and near impossible in person), but the ball hit the bar. Our entire section thought it was going in. A few minutes later, PSG managed to level the match on a header… the header was a result of a corner won by Mbappé, taken by Draxler, and finished by Kehrer, who was the 3rd substitute.  I don’t know PSG, maybe all of these guys should have started the match? 

PSG missed a couple of very close opportunities as the match drew to a close.  It ended in a 2-2 draw. At no point did the visiting fans stop jumping and making noise… and when the match ended, they kept right on cheering.  For them, a draw was a great and unexpected result. For the hosts, they would have to wait for another match to claim the league title. 

The conclusion 

This was a fantastic life experience.  The crowd was energetic, the match was entertaining, and I have memories that will last a lifetime, as well as a plastic souvenir cup.  If you ever have the chance to catch a professional football match in Paris, I strongly suggest you go.

Does anyone remember 1996?  That was the year I graduated from high school.  Shortly after that, on 17th September to be specific, I wrote what you see in this image:

I always intended for most of the things I wrote to end up as song lyrics... but at the time, I didn't play any instruments.  

Fast forward to spring 2017.  I had just finished my first album, and I was getting it ready to release.  However, when you write songs, you can't stop writing songs.  I started looking through some of my older writing to find something that would make a little pop song... and I found this.

So, I had to change the name.  "Television Love Obsession" became "Little Light".  I had to update some of the references.  "Letters" became "email"... and, well, you can compare the current lyrics to the old ones by watching this video.

I wouldn't visit the studio with this song until 20th January 2019.  On that date, the lovely and talented Jeremy Raucci was kind enough to play the guitar for me, community drummer Brian Hoeflich knocked out all of the drums, and all tracking and mixing got knocked out in an eight hour session at Reel Love Recording Company.  (Shout out to Uncle Patrick.)  The end result is a slightly creepy pop song.  Please click the link above to listen and watch the lyric video if you haven't already.

The song is called "You".  That's the first  I heard of Real Lulu, late at night, driving home, listening to the radio.  Catchy, and those were some really high notes sung there at the end.  Eventually, I got the album on CD... this one:

We Love Nick, released in 1996, which was before I had started going to local shows.  When I did get around to attending local shows, I made sure to go see Real Lulu as often as I could.  In these days, Jim Macpherson was the drummer accompanying Kattie Dougherty and Sharon Gavlick.  (You might know him better from his other band.)  There weren't very many bands in the area fronted by a woman, let alone two... this made Real Lulu unique among their contemporaries... and really, it's too bad that's notable. The songs are hooky and punchy.  My favorite of their songs to hear at the shows was always "Bobcat", probably because of the bass part.  I also really love "Let Me", which ended up on a movie soundtrack.

Alas, Real Lulu are no more.  I am fairly certain they released another album, but I don't have a hard copy of it, and couldn't find it after a cursory search on Spotify.  Perhaps there may be a reunion some day.  In the mean time, do try to find this album and give it a listen... also, check out Kattie's current project, Somersault.

Hey, here’s another new theme for a series of blog entries.  This is the first Songwriting Story, in which I open the curtain and let you peek into my songwriting process.  Now, I won’t do this for every song, as some artistic ambiguity is sometimes something desirable, but on occasion I’ll share some information about how a song came to be.  Today we start with “North of Sixteen”, which is track 7 on Echo in the Crevices. 

This is a song I wrote a dozen times, several dozen times.  I had words, I would discard the words. I had music, I would discard the music.  I wrote this song over and over again, year after year, and eventually, this particular iteration stuck.  I tried to write a bass line cool enough to obscure the sadness of the lyrics… indeed, this is my favorite bass line on the album.  Do people even pay attention to the lyrics anyway? 

March 1995.  My junior year of high school.  I was 17. Like many high schoolers my age, I had a part-time job… I worked at a grocery store.  The store wasn’t in my hometown, so many of the teenagers who worked there attended different high schools in the area.  At that age, you spend a great deal of time with your coworkers… four or five days a week, a few hours a day… longer on weekends… it’s natural that you develop some camaraderie and bond with them.  As I recall, I got along well with all of the other high schoolers who worked with me… the public school kids, the private school kids… we all spent plenty of time socializing at work. 

Susan went to a high school in a neighboring town.  Cheerleader. Honor Roll. Student Council. Exemplary. Intelligent. Talkative. Friendly. Sixteen. She was part of a group of coworkers who I was especially fond of… we’d take the 15 minute work breaks together when we could… there would be laughing and stories and jokes… sometimes about school, sometimes about life.  I think one of the interesting things for all of us was the chance to interact with a bunch of peers that you wouldn’t see the next day at school. Below is a picture of her that I found online. Mind you, this is not necessarily the way I remember her, at least not this particular dress… but the smile is exactly the way I remember her.  She always had that smile. 

For safety reasons, one of the male employees would walk the female employees to their car if the shift ended at night.  We all did this for all of the young (and not so young) ladies that we worked with, but I seemed to end up walking out with Susan somewhat regularly… in fact, it was often enough that if she arrived at work after I did, she would try to park next to me, or at least tell me that she tried to park next to me.  She would tell me “I parked next to you again, guess you have to walk me out”. 

You came to me on a cool March night like any other 

I don’t remember what day of the week it was.  I remember it was March, and it was before the suicide, and I was at work.  I was, specifically, outside at work. See this particular grocery store had a carport where the customer’s groceries would get sent through a conveyor.  We young guys liked to work in the carport loading groceries into cars, because we got tips that way. This particular day, it was my turn to be outside. It was late enough to be kind of dark outside, this was before daylight saving time started back up.  Susan came to the store with her folks… they were going shopping. She walked over to where I was standing outside to chat. 

Your laugh for me was just a mask to hide the maelstrom 

At the time, I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.  Ah, the power and clarity of hindsight. We had a nice conversation.  She smiled the same smile as always, and laughed at my occasional awful joke (usually of the self-deprecating variety).  I asked if she had to take care of anything work-related, and she said she might run into the store for a few moments, but that she had come specifically to see me.  I remember being quite flattered, because teenage boys feel flattered when intelligent, pretty young ladies say nice things to them. We talked about an upcoming Cranberries show that I was planning to attend… the show would be in April.  She expressed interest in joining my group. When I balked at that - not knowing how exactly to set that up - she made an offhand comment about maybe not seeing me ever again. Again, I didn’t attach any significance to this… until… you know. 

Didn’t hear what you meant to say 

She talked about feeling sick… like a cold was coming on.  I told her to keep her chin up and repeated the old adage about chicken soup.  She said that was probably a good idea. Looking back, this conversation was her way of saying goodbye… but it was also a cry for help.  I would like to think that I would notice that something was wrong if we were to have a similar conversation today. I would like to think that I’ve learned a bit more about reading people and empathy.  This is not to say that I wasn’t empathetic then, but I was 17, I was surely not emotionally equipped to do what I have always thought should have been done. Anyway, when she had to run into the store, she gave me a hug… she came out a few minutes later with her parents, and I ended up loading groceries into their car.  As they were pulling away, she turned and waved to me from the back, and I shouted “chicken soup!” in the general direction of the car. She flashed that smile in response. This was the last time I saw Susan alive. 

Bathed in exhaust / closed your eyes and went to sleep 

I found what I think is an archive of a newspaper article online… 1995 was so long ago that there isn’t much on the Internet about these kinds of things from that time period.  It’s not like I need any of the personal details, I remember all of those, and don’t think I could ever forget. It’s haunting. No, I wanted to look up some of the facts… find something official.  The article I found is here. This is an excerpt: 

The vibrant and popular Fenter, an honor roll student herself, placed frozen shrimp on the counter to thaw, fed her cat Dusty and walked into the garage. She then climbed into her car, turned the ignition and read a suicide prevention pamphlet she received at school. Three hours later, Barbara Fenter pulled into the driveway, opened the garage door and smoke billowed out. She found her daughter slumped in the driver's seat, dead of carbon monoxide poisoning - the pamphlet by her side. On her bed, next to a list of "final things to do," Susan left a suicide note. 

Since I didn’t go to the same high school as Susan, I didn’t hear the news during my day.  I found out when I got to work. I was actually up in the upstairs break area, early for my shift, and about to start.  My dad found me (he worked in management there at the time) and asked me “did you hear about Susan?”, but he had THAT look on his face… the one that speaks of no good.  If you read the article I linked to, you’ll notice that there was another suicide of a student in her school earlier in the week, and that story had gotten plenty of local media coverage, so it was on everyone’s mind, and when dad asked me that question with that look on his face, that conversation Susan and I had came flooding back and I KNEW.  I knew. I said “suicide”? Dad nodded and left the room. It’s hard to describe what that felt like… punch in the gut, kick to the ribs… something like that. My first reaction was angry. Anger at her for not asking for help, then quickly anger at myself for not realizing that she asked for help and also said goodbye. I punched a wall. My hand hurt for a few days afterwards. 

Somber day at work.  Grocery store where much of the staff was kids.  Everyone knew. It was on the news. Work was so perfunctory.  The customers noticed. The really regular customers knew she had worked with us.  Several of my coworkers spent most of their shift in tears.  I can’t describe how work itself felt for my coworkers, but for me, work felt completely pointless.  I wanted to scream with rage, I wanted to break things, I wanted to cry… but no, I went ahead and bagged those groceries and mopped those floors and faced those shelves and was polite to the customers.  As I talked to my coworkers, it became clear that Susan had carefully planned this. For instance, she had called someone earlier in the week to cover her weekend shift. She didn’t plan on being alive when the weekend came around.  Several of my coworkers had similar stories about getting visits… and when we compared our stories, the thing they all had in common was that air of finality. 

The article I mentioned previously has a sample from her journal. 

"My life is just one big nightmare. I can't get over how stupid I am," Susan wrote five months before the suicide. "Maybe I'm book smart, but I sure can't handle the things I feel inside....I think I'm going to die of a broken heart....No one can understand how I'm feeling...I can't deal with this anymore, with this pain and hurting I feel." 

That’s not the Susan I knew.  Ok, that is the Susan I knew, I just didn’t pay enough attention.  We were teenagers, we were all broken and messed up in our own ways.  Some of us still are.  I always thought that she had stuff figured out.  It happens that she apparently thought the same of the rest of us. 

I wrote “North of Sixteen” so many times… so many words, so many names.  This song you hear today is the one that made it, a testament to the profound and crushing guilt I have felt for more than 24 years now.  What could I have done? What should I have done? What if? This song comes from a dark and painful place.  Lyrically, it is as honest as anything I’ve ever written. Musically, it’s in a minor key… that’s appropriate. 

Never could you find your way north of sixteen.

Time to fire up the wayback machine again, and indulge in another concert memory.  Feast your eyes on this well-loved ticket stub. 

Fifteen years ago this week.  Saturday 24th April 2004. Muse.  This was just after the release of their third album, Absolution.  The album had come out in late 2003 over in the UK, but in the United States, it came out in March 2004.  By this time, Muse were already selling out arena shows in Europe, being seen by thousands of people… but they hadn’t blown up on this side of the Atlantic yet, and they were playing rather small venues on this tour.  At Top Cats, I got to see them with about 300 other people. To the credit of the good folks of Southwest Ohio, this show sold out in a matter of minutes. One of my close friends was standing at Ticketmaster right when tickets went on sale, and he bought a supply for our group. 

There are probably only a couple of shows in my life that I was more excited for than this one.  I really loved the first Muse album, Showbiz. I thought the second album was good as well, though I didn’t have quite as much affection for it.  By the time of the show, Absolution was on near constant rotation in my collection. This was before Muse went on their Queen-influenced big grandiose rock star stadium strutting journey… I mean, the band they are now was surely in there somewhere, but they seemed somewhat more down to earth then…still tight and loud and melodic, and there were only three of them. 

I remember how the crowd was packed into the venue.  Moving around was quite near impossible, let alone trying to fight one’s way to the bar for a beer.  I remember the booms for the microphones resembling a futuristic erector set. I remember that opening riff to “Sunburn” being played on piano as it should be, when I had seen it played on guitar the previous time I had seen Muse live.  I remember a light show that seemed way too advanced for a tiny venue like this. I don’t remember a song called “The Groove”, but the Internet surely does, and when I watch this video, I try to find myself and my friends.  (Also, not a mobile phone in sight.)  I mean, look at this video.  Doesn't seem like the same band, does it?

The setlist spanned all three of the albums they had released to that point, heavily leaning toward the most recent one, of course. This was a great rock and roll show from a great rock and roll band, arguably at the height of their powers, and in a venue that was too small for them. 

Matthew Bellamy sang during the show opener, “I’m breaking out / I’m breaking out”... truer words were rarely spoken.