Already Gone

Seeing live music used to mean listening to the radio to find out when tickets were going on sale. You could look in the paper, but radio was much faster, since we were always listening to the radio anyway.

This was a cash economy. No teens I knew had access to a credit card (!!). There were no phone order, no secure websites. You had to go and buy the tickets at the arena. For a big show, you had to camp out. 

If it was a Dead show, you'd see DeadHeads from hither and yon (mostly New Yon) a few weeks out. Outside of the Dead, though, lines would form a few days, maybe a week before tickets went on sale. 

In fairness, there were ticket limits. Each buyer could purchase like twelve or twenty tickets. This created a fairly small aftermarket. 

If you didn't get your tix on the day of sale, you could scour the classified section of the local paper and call The Guy on his landline listed in the ad in the paper that you had to buy from the store. Last option, you could go day of the show and usually get tickets from a scalper. There could be a big or a small markup. There had to be a physical exchange of paper cash for paper tickets. No Venmo. No PDFs. 

I got my Eagles tickets using this last method. I was poor and pretty scheduled with school and work, but concert tickets were more like a necessity than an extravagance. I was limited by the money I had in my pocket. Definitely kept me on budget.

Scalpers were easy enough to find within a few blocks of the venue. Nobody would bother you--despite the illegality of the transaction--if you were decently subtle. 

We stopped and furtively spoke with a few "vendors." We found A Guy with tickets in our price range and, surprisingly, in a lower tier. Made the exchange and went into the arena.

Our seats were not obstructed view. Except they were behind the stage. In dozens of shows, I'd never seen seats sold with a view of the asses of the band. The norm was a wall of speakers behind the band and 60 or 80 foot long drapes billowing from the ceiling. 

I felt so stupid and so conned. UGH! And bad word. There were no jumbotrons for The Long Run tour. At least the stage was clear, and we could make out the backs of the musicians. 

About 2/3rds into the show the band stopped and, jumping in unison, turned around to perform Take It Easy for us. Best. Song. That. Night. After performing two songs for us suckers in the bad seats they turned their backs on us.

That's rock 'n' roll.

Yes, I'm already gone
And I'm feelin' strong
I will sing this vict'ry song
'Cause I'm already gone
Yes, I'm already gone
Already gone
All right, nighty-night 

Godspeed Glen Frey.

---

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Bam Ba Lam

"Oh, God!" said my high-school boyfriend.

Me: What?
HSBF: You know that song, 'bam ba lam'?
Me: Yeah?
HSBF: It came on the radio today and MY MOM WAS SINGING IT!!!

Oh. The, Horror.

It was a little funny, except that I never met his mom. So I didn't have much perspective. Come to think about it, I never met his dad. Or his brothers. In 30ish months of "going together," with our ancestral homes separated by about a mile, I never met his people.

My mom introduced me to the Beatles. She would play Meet the Beatles and Introducing The Beatles. She had a bunch of old records we'd listen to, like Limbo Rock. I grew up with people listening to music. People had records and also listened to music on the radio. And sang along.

My folks gave me my first AM radio when I was about seven. I used to listen to CKLW [the motor ciiitttttyyy] like church. Detroit radio introduced me to the Stones, Supremes, Little Stevie, Smokey, Aretha, Clapton/Cream/Stevie W/Traffic, Zeppelin, The Who, Kiss, Prince, George Clinton and GrandMaster Flash.

When I was ten, I got my first turntable. It also had a radio that included FM! I bought my first LP--Elton John's Greatest Hits. In high school I had a job in a record store. I always had music on--in the house, in the car, via my portable FM radio and eventually on my boombox.

On school mornings, I'd get up, pad into the kitchen and turn on the radio to eat breakfast. We'd listen to the AOR station (I'll be the roundabout). I guess my Mom listened. She didn't turn it off or tell us to turn it down. She'd be in the room, so I guess she listened or at least heard.

So, like who cares that your mom knows your song?

Maybe that's why I didn't know his mom and family. He cared that his mom knew his song. As if only we teens owned the public airwaves. As if it was unacceptable that his mom was part of that public. What if he was embarassed of his family? I didn't know them so maybe they were embarrassing. That said, they couldn't be much worse than mine, and he was over our house all the time. What if WE were the embarrassing ones--lacking even the most basic self-awareness that we were embarrassing?

I know that I resemble an embarrassment to my spawn. Rolling into the Boys and Girls Club after summer camp with Get Low blasting from the minivan is certainly cringe-worthy. Or when a millennial colleague caught me on my headphones and asked me what I was listening to. Don't judge an old book by it's cover, I say.

So I'm thinking about HSBF's mom, enjoying music. And hope that she looked like this:



And for the record, these Black Betty induced memories were triggered as the Big Guy blared it from his phone, followed by some Creedence. He ain't no fortunate son. He came by it honest.

---

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Not Again

Oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I hate the Internet.

Seriously.

I get up this morning and do what I have avowed to do. I am NOT looking at my phone first thing.

Okay. Well I always technically blow that vow since my phone is my wakeup device. In truth, first thing, I "tap to snooze." That's looking at nothing so I'm not breaking my rule.

After ten minutes when the clarion revives, I swipe right. But I'm not looking--other than to verify that it is indeed time to get up. I grumble. The numbers are big, so I'm not engaged. Therefore, I maintain that I'm not looking at my phone first thing.

I used to immediately look at email, glance through Facebook and hit up the @Twitters. That translated into significantly wasting much of the activity part of my morning. Time when I should be walking the dog, prepping breakfast and making beauty. So, I stopped the morning Internet. 

Except since summer has passed, I look at the weather. 

Oh, come on! Don't be so exacting on my pledge. You know that the weather has been crazy. Shorts on Christmas Eve? Followed by sixteen degrees for the dog walk just one week later? Who would know what to do absent a quick glance. I maintain that doesn't count as looking at my phone first thing, either. 

So I get up and check the weather and pad downstairs. I bundle up against this morning's sub-freezing temps and take the dog for a working walk. It wasn't so bad and there was coffee.

I check my phone and I see an email headline about David Bowie. Not a surprise given all the noise about his new LP and freaky video released last week. Except it actually was a surprise. He moved on to the next world after an 18 month bout with cancer.

And I hate the Internet for all the RIPing posts. And I hate the Internet for interrupting my just fine morning with news that another part of the soundtrack to my youth is gone.

And then I love the Internet because I found this. 

"I,
I wish you could swim
Like the dolphins,
like dolphins can swim"

Bang a Gong

There is ritual at the chemo bar. Like any neighborhood joint.

You heard about the place. It has it's own je ne sais quoi. The first time you walk in there are a bunch of regulars. You think they are looking at you, especially since you are obviously--in your mind--new. Do you go up to the bar? Sit down? It's not a really big deal, but you hesitate.

Then someone always takes care of you, and you get an idea of the rhythm.

No idiots. No bombs. No shooters. No specials. No politics.
Relax. Drink. Be cool. Behave.

My chemo bar is full of alot of regulars, but the bartenders nurses do their best to make you at home.

There is never any rush at the chemo bar. You choose your seat and someone brings your specialty mix. People are lined up around the perimeter in their heated chairs, some with companions, some alone. Some come in to get a shots or advice. Those are the seats away from the windows.

At first, it seems like a melancholy joint. There's sick people getting sicker to get better. (Yes, chemo is like being hit by a truck.) And while this is an exclusive guest list, nobody wanted to be waived in.

You wonder if you're supposed to make eye contact? Nod? So you try it. You start to recognize other folks who recognize you. People nod back. Some smile. You see how the bartenders nurses not only support the patients, but each other. Folks cut up. A little. Okay, some folks cut up.

When you have your last chemo infusion at my chemo bar you can bang the gong. I have seen it done. There is a sense of #winning when someone who has been through grueling treatment is done. Some people are there every week for a few months. Many of them following surgery and maybe radiation.

My last of three chemo treatments was Monday. My former Vegas EMT and current biker chick bartender nurse said I could bang the gong. But I have surgery next. I am not done yet. I didn't want to make the gods angry by taking an early victory lap.

But, I am glad to have the infusions behind me. I'll be back for bloodwork for the next few weeks. But under my breath so as not to offend the powers, I will be singing this, since it somehow makes sense.

Well you're dirty and sweet, clad in black
Don't look back and I love you
You're dirty and sweet, oh yeah
Well you're slim and you're weak
You've got the teeth of a hydra upon you
You're dirty sweet and you're my girl.

Yeah. Teeth of a hydra. Bring it on. Bang a gong.

White Guy Can't Rap

To the category of over-developed sense of importance I would like to add the white guy who wrote about how if he didn't buy those hip-hop joints with bad messages, then hip hop would clean up. You know, less guns, less drugs, less 'hos and the n-word all because he--and other influential white folk--are going to stop buying it.

Hey, Dude, you didn't invent the Internet, either!

While you can listen to hip hop, that doesn't mean you make it. And while your $16 for a CD adds to the bottom line, hip hop don't need you. You need hip hop--for whatever has been drawing you to it for the past 20 years.

Stop whining about the fact that your 3 year-old can't listen to your IPod. Duh. It makes sense that you listen to music--see movies, read books, and partake in other adult activities--that you wouldn't share with your children. You are the grown up.

Did you hear Nickelback's Rockstar? It follow the classic, formula rock song about the dreamlife of drugs, big cars and houses, and easy women. But you don't classify that as a problem--why is the problem rap not rock?

Is it okay because white people are not susceptible to "bad" music messages aimed at them? Are whites only immune to the plight of poor, urban African Americans? Don't we also ignore poor whites, Latinos, Asians and, of course, Native Americans?

Here you go, that's the way you do it!



Practically, did you know that most artists don't make money on record sales? The record companies do. The artists make money on tour and from merchandise. So you can put away your white man's wallet and skip the CD and not make a penny's worth of difference to 50 Cent's bottom line.

BTW 50 has decided that the market is too hot for "hard-core" joints, with the Don Imus thing and all. So he released the "softer" Curtis CD. You know more family-friendly songs like "My Gun," and respectful lyrics like "We got to share the same b*tch, okay I go first."

White Guy, it's okay for you to buy--or not buy--whatever you like. It's okay for you to be offended by music you like. I, too, have cringed at lyrics that escape my lips. But you can probably do more to make a difference in your community by doing a good job doing your job--don't sweat the music, and good luck.

Deep Cuts

NYT threw me back in time to my second job ever. At Music Stop.

We were the discount record store. Not quite as hip and not as big a catalog as Peaches--but we had the top selling LPs at the best prices. And I was introduced to music beyond Foreigner, Kansas, Led Zepplin, and Foghat.

I did the weekly inventory--mostly because I worked on Mondays, was able to work the order book, and really liked flipping through the bins and bins of records and seeing which records were missing from last week. Why didn't anyone buy those Robert Palmer records? The album art looked promising. Why did the white jazz artists get filed under ROCK and the black jazz artists under R&B? And wow! did that Cars record take off.

What I learned was that sometimes the whole was greater than a sum of it's parts. The concept album--from Beatles to Pink Floyd to OutKast--told a story, ran a gamut of feelings, said more about the artist, more about me.

I must say that I love ITunes, and I loved Napster in the old days.

I also love a great pop single. But buying the album--or CD using current terms--gives a bigger view of the artist. If you heard the chart topping Lose Control from Missy Elliot's Cookbook but missed the marching band at the end of We Run This, you really missed. Yes, I'm sorry I bought the weak Dangerously in Love for the best single of that summer, but delighted to have all of Late Registration (Sorry Mr. West is gone).

Now record stores are gone, and artists are being signed for deals on singles--not LPs. I am not smart enough to know what the market will do, but I do miss the bins, and the album art, and getting a paper cut when you slit the record for the first time.

We were at Kemp Mill records a few years back, and I tried to impress the boys with my coolness.

ME: You know I used to work in a record store.
The 15-year-old (at age 9): What's a record?

Who's Image Anyway

David Stern, that iconic sport executive "genius" of the NBA, continues to rework the reputation of pro-basketball.

NBA playas were all chained out--baggy pants hanging significantly south of waist and over sized tees accented by platinum chains. All bling, a la the most gansta of urban chic. It was good for the NBA--the younger, hipper pro sport. Ticket sales and TV ratings up, up, up!

We had athletes choking coaches, throwing naked wives into the snow, and punching fans in a stand-clearing brawl. People started getting uncomfortable with this marriage of elite hoop stars and the hood stars. Got the cool, but would this turn off the wealthy, white fans? Ratings and sales potentially down, down, down!

Solution? Make the ballers wear suits, and have Wayne Newton bring his geriatric Elvis, Mr. Vegas revival to the NBA All Star intro-show.

15 year-old: Who is that guy?
12 year-old: Is his face real? He looks like wax.
Me: Michael looks less real.
15 year-old: Was that guy famous? For what?
Me: (no answer)

Where was Beyonce and her girls remaking The Star Spangled Banner? John Legend jumping on his piano?



Not a way to attract fans for the future. And--much as I love Xtina--the music and show was old.

I came for the music, not the game. Boo!

Rock and Roll Dead--Really

The actual demise of "rock n roll" can be evidenced by one single event this week.

The Grammy Nominations.

Okay, you say. The Grammys [suck, are dumb or old, don't represent, whatever]. How could they identify any trend???

Well, they do. For example, the ridiculous increase in the number of categories (duo or group vs. duo or group who don't usually sing/rap together and in fact don't really sing/rap together but just get mashed up in production. This is really important when one of them is already DEAD] says something about what folks are listening to.

Anyway, speaking of dead, the Rock Singer Category nominees include 2 singers from the 60's, one from the 70's, and one nominee is singing a song from the 40's. And there aren't any chicks doing rock-n-roll. I guess this shows there ain't nothing new in rock-n-roll. (Sorry Beck!)

Go Mary J.

Heard Archive

Random Songs that were rolled off Heard On Sirius

• Love Lockdown, Kanye West
• Steady As She Goes, The Raconteurs
• Season of the Witch, Donovan
• Paper Planes, M.I.A.
• Put On (feat. Kanye West), Young Jeezy
• State of Massachusetts, Dropkick Murphys
  
• American Idiot, Green Day
• Bleeding Love, Leona Lewis
• American Boy (feat. Kanye West), Estelle
• Paralyzer, Finger Eleven
• Superstar (feat. Matthew Santos), Lupe Fiasco
• Kiss Kiss (feat. T-Pain), Chris Brown
  
• No One, Alicia Keyes
• Low (feat. T-Pain), Flo Rida
  
• Merry Christmas Baby, Bruce Springsteen & the E-Street Band
• Please Come Home for Christmas, Aaron Neville
• Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, The Pretenders
• Cyclone (feat. T-Pain), Baby Bash
• The Good Live (feat. T-Pain), Kanye West
• Sweetest Girl (feat. Akon, Lil Wayne), Wyclef Jean
• Do You (remix feat. Mary J. Blige), Ne-yo
• Get Buck in Here (feat. f. Diddy, Akon, Ludacris, & Lil Jon), DJ Felli Fel
• Can't Tell Me Nothing, Kanye West
• Shut Up and Drive, Rihanna
• Hey There Delilah, Plain White T's
• Rehab, Amy Winehouse
• Umbrella, Rihanna (feat. Jay-Z)
• We Takin' Over, DJ Khaled (feat. Akon, T.I., Rick Ross, Fat Joe, Lil Wayne, Birdman)
• Give It To Me, Timbaland (feat. Nelly Furtado and Justin Timberlake)
• New Friend Request, Gym Class Heroes
• This Is Why I'm Hot, Mims
• Walk It Out, UNK
• Mama Kin, Aerosmith
• My Love, Justin Timberlake (feat. TI)
• I Love Rock n Roll, Joan Jett & The Blackhearts
  
• Smack That, Akon (feat. Eminem)
• Fergalicious, Fergie
• Hallelujah Chourus, Minnesota Orchestra
• Deja Vu, Beyonce, feat. Jay-z (I so love Beyonce's B-day CD!)
  
• Ring the Alarm, Beyonce
  
• 18 Dummy, Federation
  
• It's Goin' Down, Yung Joc (feat. Nitti)
  
• Salt Shaker, Ying Yang Twins
  
• 'Ridin', Chamillionaire (feat. Krayzie Bone)
  
• Promiscuous, Nelly Furtado (feat. Timbaland)
  
• Drops of Jupiter, Train
• Ms. New Booty, Bubba Sparxxx (feat. Ying Yang Twins)
  
• I Don't Wanna Know, Mario Winans
  
• Be Without You, Mary J. Blige
  
• 1 Thing, Amerie feat. Eve
  
• Temperature, Sean Paul
  
• Used to Love U, John Legend
  
• Touch It, Busta Rhymes
  
• Check On It, Beyonce
  
• Overture, Lawrence of Arabia, Maurice Jarre/London Philharmonic Orchestra
  
• Frontin', Pharrell (feat. Jay-Z)
  
• There It Go (Whistle Song), Juelz Santana
  
• Run It (REMIX), Chris Brown (feat. Juelz Santana)
  
• Grillz, Nelly (feat. Ali, Paul Wall, Gipp)
  
• If I Ain' Got You, Alicia Keyes
  
• White Christmas, The Drifters
  
• White Christmas, Bing Crosby
  
• White Christmas, Ella Fitzgerald
  
• Wild Wild West, Kool Moe Dee
  
• Shoop, Salt N Pepa
  
• Gold Digger, Kanye West (feat. Jamie Foxx)
  
• Steal My Sunshine, Len
  
• Ohio (Come Back to Texas), Bowling for Soup
  
• Wait (The Whisper Song), Ying Yang Twins
  
• Tennessee, Arrested Development