I love music. And I really love that by making it my career it has given me an opportunity to see so many things and meet so many people that I would never have gotten a chance to meet without it.
This week I have just returned from a work/fun trip to British Columbia to write with Canadian recording artist Bobby Wills. Bobby is a great combination of singing talent, work ethic and an analytical brain that wants to figure out the best way to do things for his career. He is careful and methodical about the moves he makes- the kind of man who listens and weighs advice carefully before deciding what he thinks about it.
Some years ago Bobby was lucky enough to meet Dayna. They became friends and she asked him to play at the wedding when she married her husband Jeff. Jeff is a litigator in the province of Alberta who has spent much of his career focused on representing First Nation peoples (the politically correct Canadian term for the native Indian people) in treaty matters and disputes. He has taken on the government in massive suits that have had dramatic results for the tribes and individuals he and his firm has represented. As a result, Jeff and Dayna have been blessed with much material success.
Jeff and Dayna and Bobby are business partners in his career, and as such, were interested in meeting me and my songwriting pal Mike Pyle recently since he, Bobby and I have been writing together. For this reason, we found ourselves at the Jeff and Dayna's lovely and isolated summer home estate in the Southern Gulf islands off of Vancouver for some writing, relaxation and general getting to know one another trip.
The islands of British Columbia (from what I have seen) are mountainous, lush with forest, and enjoyed by tens of thousands wishing to enjoy the beaches of dark sand and dramatic rock formations and scenery for swimming, surfing and relaxing, fishing or just getting away from the hustle and bustle of city life. The geography is uniquely northwest.
Getting there is not easy for those of us calling the southern US our home. We flew from Nashville to Dallas, Dallas to Las Vegas, Las Vegas to Vancouver and then took a ferry across to an island off of Vancouver. From there we took float planes to and from Tofino, which is an island on the eastern side of things where the great salmon runs happen. We spent 2 days on a fine fishing boat called the Linda Sue 2, skippered and guided by Bjorn. Bjorn is a fishing boat captain of Danish extraction who knows the area like a mother knows her child's face. He also has strong and interesting opinions on a variety of subjects and speaks with great detail about his love of woodcarving. He spends most of his months when the fishing is not peak creating art from woods that are indigenous to the Vancouver area islands.
Within 10 minutes of arriving where he said we would catch fish each day we had a hookup and the action rarely lulled for the whole time we fished. It was not a matter of catching fish but of catching the size and variety we wanted. Suffice it to say that I returned to the US with about 100 lbs of fine, fresh Chinook salmon that my family and my friends will all enjoy for some time.
Bobby, Jeff, Mike and I were joined on board by Jeff's pal Alan, the son of a taxidermist who sells mortgages, tends bar occasionally, is an avid hunter and loves to cook. Jeff seems to surround himself with other people who are enthusiastic about a great variety of things: all types of firearms, boats, sports and music. He speaks as excitedly about old days in the military and bar fights growing up as he does business, boat motors or Bobby's career path. His passion for adrenaline inducements seems surpassed only by the passion he and Dayna have for their 2 month old daughter, Georgia.
Our last night there we all gathered at their home for talk and a farewell feast. Jeff talked about local artists and Dayna talked about the unusual folks they had the great pleasure of knowing in their part of the world and Alan talked about what wine paired best with the splendid final night's meal he and Dayna prepared from our harvest from Mother Ocean- Chinook and Coho salmon, rockfish and halibut.
In the end, we sat on the helipad at their home and shared songs we knew. And I made new friends, saw new places in the world and learned things I didn't know. During our stay we sang on the patio, at sea and in the guest house writing new songs. Music was the reason I went there and the reason I had to leave: to go back to Nashville to meet a whole new set of friends- this set all being Swedish musicians, producers, photographers and business people who came to the US to find other music lovers to help them make a record for their fans in Scandinavia with elements of the sounds and vibe of Nashville and our soulful South. We charged headlong into 3 days and nights of hard work and fun. I made new friends and learned new things. Things like Stockholm has over 20 feet of snow a year and musicians the world over strive for excellence in the same ways in their art and "tack" is Swedish for thank you.
Did I mention? I love music!
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
What's Next
For a couple of years I have been unhappy. It's a combination of things at the root of it. But one of my main reasons for discontent is the feeling that I am working hard writing songs but not writing much that I really love. This is magnified by the fact that I have gone through a tough divorce, cancer, falling in love like a kid and a big heartbreak. Seems like my world should have been fertile ground for some songs that were important to me but I just haven't been able to sift through it all like I need to.
I think from the moment I left the laidback way of making music in Muscle Shoals and tried to integrate into the "you write from 10-4 everyday" world of songwriting on Music Row 7 years ago I have struggled a bit. It has made for a disingenuous kind of song for me. I am so jealous of writers who just turn it on and off and don't seem to wallow in the uncertainty of what we do.
A month ago, after two years on the market, I finally sold my house. It is too big and I have never felt at home in it. Living in it was supposed to be quick and temporary after my divorce but we were victims of the economy and the housing downturn. I have felt like I was a guest in someone else's place all this time.
And so: the next issue. My parents are now 86 and 81 and in poor health. They still live in the Shoals. The simplest tasks are too difficult for them now and they anguish until I or someone can get by to help them. My first thought was that I would buy a new place somewhere between Nashville and Muscle Shoals and commute both places. I found places I liked in Spring Hill, Tn. and it's less than an hour and a half back home from there. I could drive down and back in an evening after work if they needed me.
But the reality of living 35 miles from my job and making a 70 mile a day roundtrip commute began to sound pretty awful. Traffic, gas prices, wasted hours of my life....
Out of the clear blue I was contacted by my friend Dr. Bob Garfrerick who heads the Entertainment Industry department at the University of North Alabama back home to see if I might consider a 1 year position teaching audio and midi classes with them. It suddenly sounded interesting. I saw an opportunity to get back to a more casual environment for my songwriting and a chance to be there for my aging folks. I'd still be just 2 hours away from Nashville so I could drive up a couple of days a week just like I did for 25 years when I was writing songs I liked a little better. It might be a great little break from the grind and the right decision for the next year of my life. I must say, I miss that river there, too. I have a little boat I still keep down there and I have wished I could be on it a whole lot more.
I imagined myself in a little bungalow that was old but cool- a place a writer should live. I thought it should be quirky and have lots of stories milling around in it and my kooky art and music things should look just right in it. It's nice to know all about a town so you know things like where those houses might be.
Two friends sent me a picture of the same little stone cottage that was for sale when they heard I was moving back. The realtor I had contacted had already sent me pictures of the same place. When I went on my first house shopping trip it was my first stop.
I really liked it but it was the first place I looked at and I was not ready to make an offer without seeing a few houses. It sold 3 days after I looked at it.
Two weeks later I heard the contract had fallen through and I arranged to go back for a 2nd viewing. By now I had kind of imagined myself living there. It had a big back yard with a garden but I have wanted some blueberry bushes since we had some years ago and I got spoiled with fresh blueberries. I imagined in my mind exactly where the bushes would go and how I would arrange everything to suit me inside and outside the place.
When I got there for the 2nd viewing the owners had planted two blueberry bushes in the part of the yard I had imagined mine would be. I hadn't said anything to anyone.
There are times when the universe whispers to you. And there are time when it grabs you by the hand and points to where you are supposed to be. I'm really looking forward to a big adventure for the next year writing soul songs in Muscle Shoals, looking in often on my folks, teaching college students what 35 years of real world experience has taught me, bobbing around on the Tennessee River now and then and eating blueberries. Who knows how long a year might last?
I think from the moment I left the laidback way of making music in Muscle Shoals and tried to integrate into the "you write from 10-4 everyday" world of songwriting on Music Row 7 years ago I have struggled a bit. It has made for a disingenuous kind of song for me. I am so jealous of writers who just turn it on and off and don't seem to wallow in the uncertainty of what we do.
A month ago, after two years on the market, I finally sold my house. It is too big and I have never felt at home in it. Living in it was supposed to be quick and temporary after my divorce but we were victims of the economy and the housing downturn. I have felt like I was a guest in someone else's place all this time.
And so: the next issue. My parents are now 86 and 81 and in poor health. They still live in the Shoals. The simplest tasks are too difficult for them now and they anguish until I or someone can get by to help them. My first thought was that I would buy a new place somewhere between Nashville and Muscle Shoals and commute both places. I found places I liked in Spring Hill, Tn. and it's less than an hour and a half back home from there. I could drive down and back in an evening after work if they needed me.
But the reality of living 35 miles from my job and making a 70 mile a day roundtrip commute began to sound pretty awful. Traffic, gas prices, wasted hours of my life....
Out of the clear blue I was contacted by my friend Dr. Bob Garfrerick who heads the Entertainment Industry department at the University of North Alabama back home to see if I might consider a 1 year position teaching audio and midi classes with them. It suddenly sounded interesting. I saw an opportunity to get back to a more casual environment for my songwriting and a chance to be there for my aging folks. I'd still be just 2 hours away from Nashville so I could drive up a couple of days a week just like I did for 25 years when I was writing songs I liked a little better. It might be a great little break from the grind and the right decision for the next year of my life. I must say, I miss that river there, too. I have a little boat I still keep down there and I have wished I could be on it a whole lot more.
I imagined myself in a little bungalow that was old but cool- a place a writer should live. I thought it should be quirky and have lots of stories milling around in it and my kooky art and music things should look just right in it. It's nice to know all about a town so you know things like where those houses might be.
Two friends sent me a picture of the same little stone cottage that was for sale when they heard I was moving back. The realtor I had contacted had already sent me pictures of the same place. When I went on my first house shopping trip it was my first stop.
I really liked it but it was the first place I looked at and I was not ready to make an offer without seeing a few houses. It sold 3 days after I looked at it.
Two weeks later I heard the contract had fallen through and I arranged to go back for a 2nd viewing. By now I had kind of imagined myself living there. It had a big back yard with a garden but I have wanted some blueberry bushes since we had some years ago and I got spoiled with fresh blueberries. I imagined in my mind exactly where the bushes would go and how I would arrange everything to suit me inside and outside the place.
When I got there for the 2nd viewing the owners had planted two blueberry bushes in the part of the yard I had imagined mine would be. I hadn't said anything to anyone.
There are times when the universe whispers to you. And there are time when it grabs you by the hand and points to where you are supposed to be. I'm really looking forward to a big adventure for the next year writing soul songs in Muscle Shoals, looking in often on my folks, teaching college students what 35 years of real world experience has taught me, bobbing around on the Tennessee River now and then and eating blueberries. Who knows how long a year might last?
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Look Away
One of my favorite musical artists to work with over the years has been Kate Campbell. She and I have very similar viewpoints on life and I always have fun writing and working with her. We have tackled subjects like early air flight pioneers, Henry Ford's failed plan for a working rubber plantation in Brazil called Fordlandia, going back to the moon (since it felt like we only stayed long enough to plant a flag and hit a golf ball) and many stories about growing up Southern and what that means.
Kate's unusually humorous perspective of life comes from being raised the daughter of a Baptist preacher and fusing that experience with an educational emphasis on Southern American literature. She has the ability to relate stories with the realness of Eudora Welty and the twinkle of Rick Bragg.
I am keenly aware of my southern roots. They are probably the most important element in the chemistry of who I am. I can slide easily between conversations with the old uncles and male cousins in my family about hunting or the delicate differences in barbecue or grits. I speak southern. I feel southern. I am southern.
Having said that, I am also one of those folks of my generation who struggles to reconcile that pride with the historical smudges on the southern record. I know slavery happened and I know that people died to change that. But it is so hard to compare that with my experience of the south.
The south that I grew up in was full of lovely and courteous people who wore their geographical legacy with great pride. My south smelled like magnolias and wisteria and fresh cut grass. It was hot and full of fun and commenced at a pace I could keep up with. There were a lot of dogs and I mostly knew all of their names.
One of my favorite songs I wrote with Kate is called "Look Away" and it is all about this very thing: our view of a world we grew up in compared to how others saw it. It began with a discussion about an old mansion in my hometown that burned when I was young. It was called The Forks of Cypress and I visited it often as a child. It was an important antebellum home that was reduced to ashes when lightening struck it one night.
These are the lyrics to that song. I hope it expresses the struggle my southern friends and I have had our whole lives...
Look Away
I can still recall the night that lightening burned the mansion down
We all stood in out pajamas on that hallowed southern ground
When the flames had turned to ashes only blackened bricks remained
And sixteen stately Doric columns there beneath a veil of gray
chorus
And it's a long and slow surrender retreating from the past
It's important to remember to fly the flag half-mast
And Look Away
I was taught by elders, wiser "Southern by the grace of God"
Never saw a cross on fire, never saw an angry mob
I saw sweet magnolia blossoms, I chased lightening bugs at night
Never dreaming others saw our way of life in black and white
chorus
And it's a long and slow surrender retreating from the past
It's important to remember to fly the flag half-mast
And Look Away
Part of me hears voices crying, part of me can feel their weight
Part of me believes that mansion stood for something more than hate
chorus
And it's a long and slow surrender retreating from the past
It's important to remember to fly the flag half-mast
And Look Away
Kate's unusually humorous perspective of life comes from being raised the daughter of a Baptist preacher and fusing that experience with an educational emphasis on Southern American literature. She has the ability to relate stories with the realness of Eudora Welty and the twinkle of Rick Bragg.
I am keenly aware of my southern roots. They are probably the most important element in the chemistry of who I am. I can slide easily between conversations with the old uncles and male cousins in my family about hunting or the delicate differences in barbecue or grits. I speak southern. I feel southern. I am southern.
Having said that, I am also one of those folks of my generation who struggles to reconcile that pride with the historical smudges on the southern record. I know slavery happened and I know that people died to change that. But it is so hard to compare that with my experience of the south.
The south that I grew up in was full of lovely and courteous people who wore their geographical legacy with great pride. My south smelled like magnolias and wisteria and fresh cut grass. It was hot and full of fun and commenced at a pace I could keep up with. There were a lot of dogs and I mostly knew all of their names.
One of my favorite songs I wrote with Kate is called "Look Away" and it is all about this very thing: our view of a world we grew up in compared to how others saw it. It began with a discussion about an old mansion in my hometown that burned when I was young. It was called The Forks of Cypress and I visited it often as a child. It was an important antebellum home that was reduced to ashes when lightening struck it one night.
These are the lyrics to that song. I hope it expresses the struggle my southern friends and I have had our whole lives...
Look Away
I can still recall the night that lightening burned the mansion down
We all stood in out pajamas on that hallowed southern ground
When the flames had turned to ashes only blackened bricks remained
And sixteen stately Doric columns there beneath a veil of gray
chorus
And it's a long and slow surrender retreating from the past
It's important to remember to fly the flag half-mast
And Look Away
I was taught by elders, wiser "Southern by the grace of God"
Never saw a cross on fire, never saw an angry mob
I saw sweet magnolia blossoms, I chased lightening bugs at night
Never dreaming others saw our way of life in black and white
chorus
And it's a long and slow surrender retreating from the past
It's important to remember to fly the flag half-mast
And Look Away
Part of me hears voices crying, part of me can feel their weight
Part of me believes that mansion stood for something more than hate
chorus
And it's a long and slow surrender retreating from the past
It's important to remember to fly the flag half-mast
And Look Away
Friday, March 11, 2011
Cowboy Pals
My friend Mike used to live and work playing music in Colorado. He has introduced me some of the folks he is close to from his years there and I feel fortunate to have gotten to know them, too.
Mike lived in a small town outside of Vail. I have always sort of thought of that place as a playground for the rich. It's a place where you will see Prada ski jackets and carefully manicured nails. And that's just the men. The women have so many after market parts they sometimes resemble femmebots or lab experiments. If Aspen is Beverly Hills in the Rockies then Vail is Aspen lite.
It is an unusual town in that it was built specifically to be a ski resort. It did not grow up out of an old silver mining town like so many resort areas in the west. American military troops training for battle in the european Alps discovered it's beauty and later led the development of the area as a playground for skiers from all over the world.
When you drive just a few miles out of town you find the real Colorado again. It is the land of real cowboys and cowgirls. These people are inexorably connected to the land. They ranch and hunt and fish and ride snowmobiles in the winter and 4 wheelers in the summer.
Their homes are often an homage to that world: mounts of beautiful elks, mule deer or bears and native American paintings or relics side by side with an old branding iron or saddle or spurs. Many of them are made in western lodge style from indigenous trees and materials. They all seem to know where the elk herd was last seen and where the best place to view them from is. They are a weathered looking people. The altitude, dry mountain air and summer sun and winter wind makes their skin as tough as the horse they ride and the boots they wear.
I have also noticed they are all very close to their animals. They all seem to have lots of dogs and they are as important to them as their family members. There are a lot of border collie mixes- presumably for their excellent cattle herding capabilities.
Mike met Wendy when he lived there and she became a fan of his music. She has done well for herself in real estate and became his business partner in his pursuit of his musical dreams. Wendy has been my hostess for quite a few days and nights now and is a gracious and giving one. Her home is beautiful and she opens it completely to me when I am there. She loves to entertain and is a fabulous cook, too. In the mornings when I am there I wake up, hit a button on the wall and watch the automatic shades over the massive picture windows slowly rise to reveal snow covered mountain ranges directly behind her ranch. I wander downstairs and find coffee usually made and drink the first cup of the day watching horses outside her window.
Mike's friends Ed and Eva always have us over for dinner and cook fabulous elk steaks. They are an outgoing and warm couple who love the Colorado outdoors with as much enthusiasm as anyone you can meet. There is a moose head and wolf mounted in their living room alongside elk and mule deer. The chandelier is made of antlers and the lamps are fashioned from a local artist who does fantastic work with metal and are western scenes.
Ed has old stagecoaches and a game room with a jukebox, pinball machine, pool table and even a mechanical cowboy who talks and moves. It is not uncommon to discuss how big the cut bow trout in Ed's pond or the way to dress game for the best flavor when you are having a conversation with him.
Alan is a career musician who has also been a rancher. In his and Debra's home there is not another inch in a closet or under a bed for another guitar or gun. Alan has a great collection of all kinds of cowboy and hippie guitars. He also has Winchester rifles from the old west in every room.
Once Alan was working on his ranch when a goshawk began to dive and circle him. The hawk would go away and then come back again and repeat the process. Alan finally followed the hawk to see if he could find out what the bird wanted. Eventually it dropped a lone feather that he walked over to and reached down to pick up. Lying by the feather was a beautiful ceremonial Ute arrowhead like the tribal shamans used. Big medicine.
These men and women laugh easily and give freely. They not only live in the mountains- the mountains live in them. I count myself blessed and very lucky to have met Mike and his friends. I know if I ever was in need I could call any one of them and count on them. It's nice to have friends in high places.
Mike lived in a small town outside of Vail. I have always sort of thought of that place as a playground for the rich. It's a place where you will see Prada ski jackets and carefully manicured nails. And that's just the men. The women have so many after market parts they sometimes resemble femmebots or lab experiments. If Aspen is Beverly Hills in the Rockies then Vail is Aspen lite.
It is an unusual town in that it was built specifically to be a ski resort. It did not grow up out of an old silver mining town like so many resort areas in the west. American military troops training for battle in the european Alps discovered it's beauty and later led the development of the area as a playground for skiers from all over the world.
When you drive just a few miles out of town you find the real Colorado again. It is the land of real cowboys and cowgirls. These people are inexorably connected to the land. They ranch and hunt and fish and ride snowmobiles in the winter and 4 wheelers in the summer.
Their homes are often an homage to that world: mounts of beautiful elks, mule deer or bears and native American paintings or relics side by side with an old branding iron or saddle or spurs. Many of them are made in western lodge style from indigenous trees and materials. They all seem to know where the elk herd was last seen and where the best place to view them from is. They are a weathered looking people. The altitude, dry mountain air and summer sun and winter wind makes their skin as tough as the horse they ride and the boots they wear.
I have also noticed they are all very close to their animals. They all seem to have lots of dogs and they are as important to them as their family members. There are a lot of border collie mixes- presumably for their excellent cattle herding capabilities.
Mike met Wendy when he lived there and she became a fan of his music. She has done well for herself in real estate and became his business partner in his pursuit of his musical dreams. Wendy has been my hostess for quite a few days and nights now and is a gracious and giving one. Her home is beautiful and she opens it completely to me when I am there. She loves to entertain and is a fabulous cook, too. In the mornings when I am there I wake up, hit a button on the wall and watch the automatic shades over the massive picture windows slowly rise to reveal snow covered mountain ranges directly behind her ranch. I wander downstairs and find coffee usually made and drink the first cup of the day watching horses outside her window.
Mike's friends Ed and Eva always have us over for dinner and cook fabulous elk steaks. They are an outgoing and warm couple who love the Colorado outdoors with as much enthusiasm as anyone you can meet. There is a moose head and wolf mounted in their living room alongside elk and mule deer. The chandelier is made of antlers and the lamps are fashioned from a local artist who does fantastic work with metal and are western scenes.
Ed has old stagecoaches and a game room with a jukebox, pinball machine, pool table and even a mechanical cowboy who talks and moves. It is not uncommon to discuss how big the cut bow trout in Ed's pond or the way to dress game for the best flavor when you are having a conversation with him.
Alan is a career musician who has also been a rancher. In his and Debra's home there is not another inch in a closet or under a bed for another guitar or gun. Alan has a great collection of all kinds of cowboy and hippie guitars. He also has Winchester rifles from the old west in every room.
Once Alan was working on his ranch when a goshawk began to dive and circle him. The hawk would go away and then come back again and repeat the process. Alan finally followed the hawk to see if he could find out what the bird wanted. Eventually it dropped a lone feather that he walked over to and reached down to pick up. Lying by the feather was a beautiful ceremonial Ute arrowhead like the tribal shamans used. Big medicine.
These men and women laugh easily and give freely. They not only live in the mountains- the mountains live in them. I count myself blessed and very lucky to have met Mike and his friends. I know if I ever was in need I could call any one of them and count on them. It's nice to have friends in high places.
Friday, February 18, 2011
A Grand Tradition Dies
And so an idiot named something or other from somewhere or another has put herbicides on the historic oak trees at Toomer's Corner in Auburn. I guess if there is any university in American capable of figuring out how to save the trees it would be Auburn. But it is said to be doubtful that they can survive the attack.
My reaction is layered. It was a stupid and shameful act for any human being to do- willful destruction of another's property. And what seems so incredible is that the man, a former Texas highway patrolman, was proud of the act- so much so that he called the biggest sports show in Alabama to claim responsibility for the act and gloat about it.
The man is obviously unstable. But the reaction to it by people has been unbelievable. Firstly, this man does not represent Alabama sports fans who have a healthy respect for traditions and history even when they involve our greatest team rivalry. Making that assumption is as false as assuming that he represents all Texas lawmen, the KKK represents all white people or the 9/11 bombers represent all Muslims. This is the saddest aspect of the entire incident. Those who hate do not represent others with their misguided acts.
To those who make this some unspeakable crime because he hurt old trees I share your love for the outdoors and find it despicable when people intentionally and thoughtlessly spoil the beauty of nature with no apparent consideration for the long lasting results. But I can tell you the story would not even be a footnote on the back page of the paper if they were just any trees anywhere. The point is that they were sacred trees to the Auburn fans. His act was the equivalent of bombing a mosque or destroying a temple. Otherwise, these trees- as old and beautiful as they are- would cause no more reaction than the 35 million that are hacked down each year for a three week job of being Christmas trees.
The guy is a misguided sports terrorist. But you tree huggers shouldn't try to jump on the band wagon and make that part of the issue. Stick to spotted owls and subjects you know something about. This guy attacked the holy of holies- not an old growth tree farm in Montana. Some ground and places are sacred even to a drunk crowd trying protect it from toilet paper attackers.
As an Alabama fan and a guy who has spent my time on the Tuscaloosa campus and the Auburn campus I can speak with some authority. There's not a whole lot in Auburn, Alabama. If the university were not there it is doubtful we would have ever heard of the little town. But it has it's timeless traditions. One of those has been for it's fans to gather at the little corner by Toomer's store and celebrate victories. It's rivals have made it their goal to try to figure out how to sneak in and roll the big trees with toilet paper. I really hate for the trees to die. But after all, they are only trees. What is really important is that a wonderful and historic legacy of sports tradition is gone. Those are things really worth hugging. A lot more than an oak tree.
My reaction is layered. It was a stupid and shameful act for any human being to do- willful destruction of another's property. And what seems so incredible is that the man, a former Texas highway patrolman, was proud of the act- so much so that he called the biggest sports show in Alabama to claim responsibility for the act and gloat about it.
The man is obviously unstable. But the reaction to it by people has been unbelievable. Firstly, this man does not represent Alabama sports fans who have a healthy respect for traditions and history even when they involve our greatest team rivalry. Making that assumption is as false as assuming that he represents all Texas lawmen, the KKK represents all white people or the 9/11 bombers represent all Muslims. This is the saddest aspect of the entire incident. Those who hate do not represent others with their misguided acts.
To those who make this some unspeakable crime because he hurt old trees I share your love for the outdoors and find it despicable when people intentionally and thoughtlessly spoil the beauty of nature with no apparent consideration for the long lasting results. But I can tell you the story would not even be a footnote on the back page of the paper if they were just any trees anywhere. The point is that they were sacred trees to the Auburn fans. His act was the equivalent of bombing a mosque or destroying a temple. Otherwise, these trees- as old and beautiful as they are- would cause no more reaction than the 35 million that are hacked down each year for a three week job of being Christmas trees.
The guy is a misguided sports terrorist. But you tree huggers shouldn't try to jump on the band wagon and make that part of the issue. Stick to spotted owls and subjects you know something about. This guy attacked the holy of holies- not an old growth tree farm in Montana. Some ground and places are sacred even to a drunk crowd trying protect it from toilet paper attackers.
As an Alabama fan and a guy who has spent my time on the Tuscaloosa campus and the Auburn campus I can speak with some authority. There's not a whole lot in Auburn, Alabama. If the university were not there it is doubtful we would have ever heard of the little town. But it has it's timeless traditions. One of those has been for it's fans to gather at the little corner by Toomer's store and celebrate victories. It's rivals have made it their goal to try to figure out how to sneak in and roll the big trees with toilet paper. I really hate for the trees to die. But after all, they are only trees. What is really important is that a wonderful and historic legacy of sports tradition is gone. Those are things really worth hugging. A lot more than an oak tree.
Monday, January 24, 2011
The Greatest Show On Earth
The last time I was actually into video games was in the early 80s when Atari was the rage. I was a Space Invaders addict for a brief period of time. It was new and the challenge of what is new is always seductive. I can remember finally closing my eyes at 2:30 in the morning a lot of nights with rows of marching invaders descending in my head.
I no longer am a gamer but I have seen the kids playing in stores and various places. Call of Duty doesn't have much in common with those olden days. With the right gear to play on it is a virtual war game that pretty much puts you there.
It strikes me that most entertainment experiences have evolved in amazing ways in our lifetimes. Watching a football game may have started out with one camera on a 17 inch screen but it is now, in many ways, preferable to actually being there. Watching a game on a 60" flatscreen with onscreen markings where the first down marker is, overhead camera shots, color commentators and no dead air at all is pretty awesome. Going to the games themselves is also great- huge audio systems, fireworks, closed circuit fancams and cartoon character races all fill the moments that used to be boring to the ticket buyers.
I continue to go to movies and walk out saying "That was the greatest fx movie I've seen". Acting is no better and neither is writing but the technology of going to see Avatar in 3d as opposed to a sci fi flick from the 60s is laughable.
In every way the competition for our disposal entertainment dollar has made the products better- except in recorded music. Sonically, listening to inferior sounding mp3 files of stale, programmed music on earbuds or over cheap car stereo systems with so much bass the rest of the music is obscured is 10 giant steps back from the days when we all saved our money and bought great stereo systems and actually sat and listened to the music.
The value of music to consumers is now almost nothing. Only 10% at most universities (according to surveys) is actually paid for. People give it to others because they didn't pay for it themselves. It is legally free to hear on YouTube and many other sites. And in the meantime, the actual experience of hearing it is not better. While movies, cable choices, video games, sporting events and everything else has gotten bigger and better, hearing new music has not.
Nevermind the songs, musicianship or artistry. I tend to think there are great examples of all those out there. I just don't think a new record coming out is an event to not be missed like it was when I was younger. We knew the release date of the new Stones record and went there to buy it- the same way people lineup when a blockbuster movie comes out or go and preorder the new Guitar Hero music pack.
Yesterday I went to the Barnum and Bailey's circus that came to town. The ticket, with an easy to find discount, was $11. They no longer are "under the bigtop". It is now a huge and elaborate production that plays big arenas from town to town. There was all of the charming stuff I saw when I last went to a circus (probably 20 or 25 years ago) like elephants and tigers and trapeze and highwire acts. But the whole thing was made more spectacular by huge video screens running with big music and amazing, colorful acrobats, clowns and ringleaders. The effect is dazzling and spellbinding to "children of all ages".
It is easy to sit and cast blame for the stagnant music industry state today: radio is bland, record companies are unimaginitive and artists all play it too safe. To me, the truth is that we have not kept up with the technological evolution other industries have used so well. I have seen films and tv series and video games and now circuses that were new, exciting and spectacular. Meanwhile, kids go buy Led Zeppelin as frequently as they do new music because the new stuff is just not sonically or artistically better.
If someone out there knows how, please make a record that makes our jaws drop like Call of Duty or a Ringling Brothers' circus. I guarantee people will pay for something that amazes them.
I no longer am a gamer but I have seen the kids playing in stores and various places. Call of Duty doesn't have much in common with those olden days. With the right gear to play on it is a virtual war game that pretty much puts you there.
It strikes me that most entertainment experiences have evolved in amazing ways in our lifetimes. Watching a football game may have started out with one camera on a 17 inch screen but it is now, in many ways, preferable to actually being there. Watching a game on a 60" flatscreen with onscreen markings where the first down marker is, overhead camera shots, color commentators and no dead air at all is pretty awesome. Going to the games themselves is also great- huge audio systems, fireworks, closed circuit fancams and cartoon character races all fill the moments that used to be boring to the ticket buyers.
I continue to go to movies and walk out saying "That was the greatest fx movie I've seen". Acting is no better and neither is writing but the technology of going to see Avatar in 3d as opposed to a sci fi flick from the 60s is laughable.
In every way the competition for our disposal entertainment dollar has made the products better- except in recorded music. Sonically, listening to inferior sounding mp3 files of stale, programmed music on earbuds or over cheap car stereo systems with so much bass the rest of the music is obscured is 10 giant steps back from the days when we all saved our money and bought great stereo systems and actually sat and listened to the music.
The value of music to consumers is now almost nothing. Only 10% at most universities (according to surveys) is actually paid for. People give it to others because they didn't pay for it themselves. It is legally free to hear on YouTube and many other sites. And in the meantime, the actual experience of hearing it is not better. While movies, cable choices, video games, sporting events and everything else has gotten bigger and better, hearing new music has not.
Nevermind the songs, musicianship or artistry. I tend to think there are great examples of all those out there. I just don't think a new record coming out is an event to not be missed like it was when I was younger. We knew the release date of the new Stones record and went there to buy it- the same way people lineup when a blockbuster movie comes out or go and preorder the new Guitar Hero music pack.
Yesterday I went to the Barnum and Bailey's circus that came to town. The ticket, with an easy to find discount, was $11. They no longer are "under the bigtop". It is now a huge and elaborate production that plays big arenas from town to town. There was all of the charming stuff I saw when I last went to a circus (probably 20 or 25 years ago) like elephants and tigers and trapeze and highwire acts. But the whole thing was made more spectacular by huge video screens running with big music and amazing, colorful acrobats, clowns and ringleaders. The effect is dazzling and spellbinding to "children of all ages".
It is easy to sit and cast blame for the stagnant music industry state today: radio is bland, record companies are unimaginitive and artists all play it too safe. To me, the truth is that we have not kept up with the technological evolution other industries have used so well. I have seen films and tv series and video games and now circuses that were new, exciting and spectacular. Meanwhile, kids go buy Led Zeppelin as frequently as they do new music because the new stuff is just not sonically or artistically better.
If someone out there knows how, please make a record that makes our jaws drop like Call of Duty or a Ringling Brothers' circus. I guarantee people will pay for something that amazes them.
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