Eric French hosted an "all-music" edition of All Sides on WOSU 89.7 on August 30th. Colin is the first guest followed by Little Rock owner and musician Quinn Fallon. It was a really entertaining show. Click here to give it a listen.
What's Bobby Brown's Name Again? - by Jimmy Mak
I recently heard "Don't Be Cruel" by Bobby Brown on I guess what would be called the Oldies station now. Anyway, it got me thinking – what is Bobby Brown’s obsession with his own name? For those of you who don’t know who Bobby Brown is … I envy you. God, how I envy you. Anyway, he was the old New Edition kid who went on to have a string of crappy pop tunes in the late ‘80s. And in almost every one of these crappy pop tunes he mentions his name. I mean, this guy REALLY wants to make sure you know what it is. It’s Bobby. Brown.
It starts off kind of subtle really. In the song (can we really call it that?) cleverly entitled Humpin’ Around, he lets us know “My name is Brown, that’s what I’m called.” OK. Got it. No big deal really. I mean, I already knew his name was Brown but little reminders never hurt anyone. (If you actually have been hurt by a little reminder I apologize for misspeaking.)
Then we move to the more popular Don’t be Cruel where he states “… to be with me, Bobby B.” OK, so he’s using the first letter of his last name to represent his last name (which if you missed it before is Brown.) I won’t fault him that. He also tells the girl to whom he’s singing “Now you know my name …” Now, if she didn’t know his name before, that means she never really knew him, and that means he’s acting like a psycho-stalker and she has every right to be cruel.
OK, you’re thinking, “yeah, he’s a little weird about his name, so what?” Well that brings us to the song Every Little Step. Forget the fact that he dresses like Olivia Newton-John in the video and basically does the Electric Slide the entire time. Instead let’s focus on the “rap” section of the song (and I apologize to 50 Cent for using the word “rap” to describe what Mr. Brown does here.) Right away he gives us an order. He tells us “When I’m on the mic, don’t you dare call me Freddy.” Now, I wasn’t going to call him Freddy, were you? Was anybody? Does he have some nemesis who knows that his weakness, his Kryptonite, is being called Freddy while he’s on the mic? We don’t have time in the song to ponder this too much because he then goes right into “My name is Brown.” So we’re forgetting the first name here and going for the tougher sounding moniker of the last name (like “MacGuyver” or “Garfunkel.”) But wait! He then goes immediately to “That’s what they call me.” So … they call you by your name? Good. But wait! In case you’re a little slow, he draws it out for you.
“Broooooooowwwwwwwwwwwnnnnnnnnnnnnnn.”
It’s so nice of Bobby to help people who can’t say words learn his last name. Alright, so now I think the boy has a serious issue with people learning his name. But I figure he made his point. Imagine my consternation, then, when he ends the rap with “My name is Bobby, not Uncle Sam.” So, it’s not Uncle Sam? Or Freddy? Can I call you Freddy when you’re not on the mic? So many questions. But I do know this. His name is Bobby. Bobby B. Brown. Brooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwnnnnnnnn. And that’s what I’ll call him.
Oh well, I guess the only thing worse than Bobby Brown obsessing over his name is obsessing over Bobby Brown obsessing over his name. But it’s my prerogative. I can do what I want to do. (I need help.)
Watch at your own risk:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P0FKzPfsxA4Jimmy Mak is the head writer for Shadowbox Live, the largest resident theater company in America. He would also prefer not to be called Freddy. Learn more about Shadowbox by clicking here.
Your Life Is Closer To Over: The Occasional Review by Brian Phillips
Let's Get This Out Of The Way First
Um.... I'm seeing lots of stuff regarding the Miley Cyrus thing.
A. Don't care.
You want to talk about women making actual music instead of spectacles? Here you go:
I could go on.
Well We've Seen This Show Before
We're about to bomb the shit out of another Middle Eastern Country. Some thoughts:
In jolly old England the whole question has been debated, and Prime Minister Dave Cameron tasted the back of Parliament's glove Thursday. How quaint. Elected officials in the old country actually had their say. Check out this exchange. I almost cried.
When asked by Labour leader Ed Miliband whether he would promise not to circumvent parliament and authorize military action, he (PM Cameron) said:
"I can give that assurance. I strongly believe in the need for a tough response to the use of chemical weapons, but I also believe in respecting the will of this House of Commons.
"It is very clear tonight that while the House has not passed a motion, it is clear to me that the British parliament, reflecting the views of the British people, does not want to see British military action - I get that and the government will act accordingly."
Do not expect the same here. Congress is on vacation after all! There's no way Obama has the votes either and he knows it.
And now I have a few questions of my own.
A. Do we have iron clad proof that Assad used chemical weapons? I'm sorry there Washington but in my mind you guys burned up your credibility a long time ago on such questions. I'd like the UN inspectors to do their work.
B. Syria has turned into quite a party. Militants who I swear were our enemies a month ago are pouring in there for another round of holy war. We want to supply weapons to only "moderates...." I imagine they'd like us to think of them as George Washington sorts, fighting for freedom and democracy. That's all well and good, but tell me how we keep our weapons out of the hands of the wrong people. And what if Assad is overthrown? Who's going to secure his stash, chemical and otherwise? I'll wait.
C. So.... bombing the shit out of Syria will do what? Probably nothing except kill a ton more innocents. Democracy is not coming to Syria, or anywhere else in the region. Can we please disabuse ourselves of this fantasy. If they want something just like the British Parliament they'll have to overthrow their version of the ..... British.... and make their own.
D. Doesn't it frighten you just a bit that despite the fact that 91 percent of the American people are against our involvement they're likely going ahead regardless, and without congressional approval? Here's what's gonna happen.... When we bomb Syria, Hezbollah will lob missiles from Lebanon into Israel. Iran backs Hezbollah. Can you see where this is going? Yay! Bibi Netanyahu finally realizes his wet dream of war with Iran. Have fun everyone it's a Neo-Con dance party!
As we wait for all this to play out, sans congress, the UN Security Council, Nato, The Super Friends, or anyone else here are a few other links if you are so inclined. These will hopefully stimulate thought, and knowledge! I know right!
The Independent asks if the President knows we're on the same side as Al Qaida.
Great take down of our media from Salon.
Asia Times columnist Pepe Escobar has an outstanding idea. Instead of Tomahawk Missiles, how about we airlift in $200,000 Ferrari California models and let loyalists all ride off into the sunset! Everyone wins! (You should read Escobar. Smart dude, very funny.)
And the Associated Press reports our intelligence community ain't so sure about who did what. It would be nice to think they learned a thing or two from the "slam dunk" days of Iraq. I'm sure the CIA for one doesn't want this dumped back in their lap.
Chemical weapons are abhorrent. This we can all agree upon. What to do about this though? I don't know. I'm depressed now. Grabbing a beer.
Meanwhile In New Zealand
I've written quite enough I suppose about my concerns for privacy and the constitution in our country. They're having the same debate in New Zealand. Oh wait, did I say debate? Yeah that's over.
And In Wisconsin
Sports!
Rolling Stone Has Put Boston Bomber and Boston Shooter On Cover Now. Boston Strangler Taps Foot Impatiently
If you haven't, read Rolling Stone's piece on incarcerated ex-Patriots tight end Aaron Hernandez. It's tragic. It's thought provoking, and the authors are about to have to go into hiding from all the angry Ohio State, Florida, and Patriots fans. Hell the UConn faithful may even jump in. I will says this: College towns like Gainesville sort of work this way. They shouldn't, but hey that's college sports! Speaking of which....
Johnny I'm Going To Count To Three! One, Two.... Etc....
The old rule of of thumb for giving your kid a time out is one minute for each year of life. By that measure I suppose the NCAA's 30 minute banishment of Johnny Manziel is excessive by ten minutes. By any other measure this week marks the end of the NCAA as an effective governing body for anything beyond fencing and water polo. The giant schools have called their bluff. Enforcement will be cursory at best. It can be no other way for President Mark Emmert and he knows it. Any more hard ball from his office and the big boys and all the money will leave and form their own organization promoting healthy, amateur, inter-collegiate athletic competition. Raw raw raw shish boom bah.
NFL Settles Concussion Lawsuit For Not Much In NFL Money
The league doesn't have to admit anything, just like when the big banks are fined for laundering Mexican drug lord money. Hopefully the men who need medical care and financial help will get it. Oh and their brain injured lawyers too.
Next The Players Should Sue Over Pre-Season
Half the league is out for the season after this year's preamble. Thursday the Giants lost running back Andre Brown. That's why you shouldn't draft your fantasy team until week eight.
Entertainment!
Well Canada I hope you're cool with Canadian bands, because new fees imposed on foreign artists make it almost impossible for all but the biggest names to tour up there eh.
Kinks Muswell Hillbillies Deluxe Edition Coming
Man what a great record. Can't wait for the new version.
Independents Day Taps New Bomb Turks/Lydia Loveless
One of my favorite local fests... Cool setting. Great tunes. Perfect weather!
And Finally Tonight
This Essay Doesn't Rock - by Joe Oestreich
Originally published in Barrelhouse
Magazine, 2006.
This Essay Doesn’t Rock
You may be tempted to argue otherwise. After all this is an essay concerning sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll—that archetypal trinity of a certain kind of “rocking” lifestyle. But the mere appearance of these three classic indicators of “rock” does not a rocking essay make. In fact, rocking essay is an oxymoron. Essaying—the crafted attempt to weigh a certain issue in order to gain a deeper understanding of it—by definition does not rock. I say this not because I have access to some specific definition of what rock is, but instead because I think I have a pretty clear sense of what rock is not. Rock is not crafted. Rock is not calculating. Rock is not honed and edited and revised. It is not logical or cohesive or polite—at least it shouldn’t be. Rock is not trying to get you to think. Rock doesn’t care what you think. And although rock may be heavy, it certainly does not weigh anything, at least not anything that approaches significant societal import (it often does, however, weigh the relative merits of rock itself, i.e., whether one should or should not rock—or be rocked—longer or harder or louder or like a hurricane).
Rock is a slippery concept, subject to varied and often contradictory interpretations. To my grandparents’ generation, rock is what one does in an unfinished wooden chair U-hauled home from Amish Country. Baby Boomers used the verb to rock to mean “playing rock ‘n’ roll music” or “living the rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle” (read: sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll). The word, like the music itself, suggested urgency, shamelessness, a need to run counter to the suit-and-tie establishment, and a general tendency to not give a good-goddamn about anything but the here and now. But as rock music and its original, boomer audience have aged, the word rock has aged with them. In twenty-first century America, rock has been watered down to mean something benign like really, really great, a little better than awesome, or maybe a slightly more ass-kickin’ kick-ass. In this form rock is less a verb and more a verbal—a verb that does the work of an adjective.[1] Rock/rocks would fit toward the right on a continuum of “good” and “bad.”
The opposite of rocks is sucks. And to be blunt, the current usage of rocks does just that. The word has been commandeered by advertising agencies and cheerleading squads and other sloganeering types who assault us with an endless list of things that rock. We are told: Fruity Pebbles Rock! Westerville North Girls Volleyball Rocks! The Coast Guard Rocks! The Fourth Avenue Peace Coalition Rocks! We Rock! You Rock! Doesn’t this all just totally rock? Well, no. It doesn’t. But I’m not exactly being fair here. __________ Rocks! is not strictly the domain of pitchmen, political operatives, and high school hallway decorators. Even supposed “rockers” are guilty of this assault on the word.[2] I’d like to think the twenty years I’ve spent playing bass and singing in a rock band have taught me a little something about what rocks and what does not. And still, I find myself getting sloppy and saying ridiculous crap like, Ohio State’s Defense Rocks! all the time. But this horrendous corruption must stop. Right now. Because if Miss Mulcahy’s Third Graders Rock, then everything rocks. And if everything rocks, nothing rocks.
What’s really disturbing is saying something “rocks” has become not only an accepted way to describe things that patently do not rock, but worse, the word is often used to prop-up and make credible the same straight-laced, establishment-approved things that rock ‘n’ roll used to rally against. This became clear to me during the last Republican National Convention. Our burly codger of a Vice President saddled up to the podium with a half wave and a crooked grin, and the camera cut to the conventioneers on the floor. Right there, in the sea of Bush-Cheney 04 signs, floating above the chants of Four More Years!, on a large poster board with block letters that must have taken three or four Sharpies, it said:
DICK CHENEY ROCKS!!![3]
Now hold on. Dick Cheney does many things. He’s man of power and influence. He served in the Nixon White House. He was a five term congressman. House Minority Whip. He led the charge to invade Iraq. He possesses the nuclear launch codes. But Dick Cheney does not rock. Whatever you think of him as a man and a politician, surely we can agree on this point. I know. I know. The Republicans want to be the party of inclusiveness. They call themselves coalition builders. They are constructing a big tent in which we all feel welcome. But what would happen if a Keith Richards circa ’77 or a strung-out Johnny Thunders circa ’88 or even a neo-junkie like ex-Stone Temple Pilots frontman Scott Weiland circa now was to crash this little metaphorical tent party? My guess is that Dick Cheney would be choppered out like the fall of Saigon. Maybe this is an unfair scenario. The three above “rockers” all rock in a specific, old fashioned, snorting coke off the mixing board kind of way. But I know this for certain: Dick Cheney and Keith Richards can’t both rock. In order for rock to mean anything at all, we must choose.
But the choice isn’t between a Republican and a Rolling Stone. That choice is obvious and pointless. Everyone knows Richards rocks, and sane people know Cheney doesn’t. There is no universally agreed upon standard. We just know this intuitively. Much like Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart stating that he couldn’t provide a satisfactory definition of pornography, but that he knew it when he saw it, most of us can recognize rock when we see, hear, smell, feel, or taste it.[4] Does Keith Richards rock? Christ, just look at him. Sixty-odd years of rock are carved into his face. He’s a one man Mount Rushmore of rock, the (somehow still) living, breathing template for the rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle. And Cheney? Uh, no. Power Lunches at The Palm on DuPont Circle aren’t so much carved into his face as they are spilling over his shirt collar. Obviously the definition of rock can’t be so wide as to include Cheney, but it can’t be so narrow as to include only Keith. Rock can’t be limited to those who have copped heroin in Tompkins Square, but it also can’t include those who hold breakfast meetings with conservative Christian groups.
So if we all have some DNA-level knowledge of what rock is, how did we get to the place where even the stuff we know does not rock is still filed under rock? Society writ-large was once both fascinated and repelled by rock ‘n’ roll music and the antics of its practitioners. In 1969[5], the year I was born, Jim Morrison—the bloated, ex-film student and self-coronated Lizard King[6]—exposed himself to a Miami audience. This got him arrested, charged, and eventually convicted of lewd and lascivious behavior, but it also helped to create the persona that became a cultural fascination, and it certainly made the Doors a more popular band. Would anyone today notice, much less care, if Billie Joe Armstrong from Green Day—that heavily eyelined father of two and singer for the current biggest band in the world—dropped his drawers on stage? I suppose a few mini-van driving chaperones would write fiery letters to the daily paper, but it certainly wouldn’t cause a Morrison-sized stink. And my guess is it wouldn’t affect Green Day’s popularity either way.
This is not because our view of lewd and lascivious has changed (we still don’t cotton to the free-swinging of male genitalia—the almost guaranteed X-rating for a movie featuring a naked penis testifies to that, as does the Clinton impeachment trial). Instead it is our view of rock and roll (and rock and rollers) that has changed. Rock music has become so ubiquitous as to be invisible. As it moved from being a voice of the counterculture to being an integrated part of The Culture, it didn’t so much fall off the cultural radar, but it became so on the cultural radar that it is now the background noise that other, suddenly edgier cultural movements are made vivid against. Rock and roll is not any less dangerous or urgent than it ever was.[7] The difference is in how we perceive it. The fact is we no longer look to rock ‘n’ roll to fulfill our need to rebel or be shocked. Instead we are simultaneously shocked and fascinated by the “thug-lifestyle” glorified by ex-drug dealing rappers. We worry that our kids will be contaminated by “gangsta rap” videos that make violence look sexy and sex look violent. We can’t believe that our kids have access to bloody video games like the Grand Theft Auto series that allow them to virtually act out this sex and violence. And just like our own parents, and their parents before, we think back to a day when things were simpler: when kids liked baseball, and people wished they could buy the world a Coke, and the biggest danger at a rock ‘n’ roll show was that the drunken lead singer might unzip his pants.
Rock ‘n’ roll was rebellion, an act of defiance, a shaggy spit-in-the-face to Eisenhower’s high and tight America. But when the baby boomers took over America’s societal institutions, they commodified the rock and roll lifestyle. Suddenly the music of everyone from Dylan to Janice Joplin to The Stones was being co-opted by ad executives and used to sell luxury cars and computer software and silk lingerie. Sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll—the very weapons of the revolution—were used to sell bourgeois luxuries to the same people that once rocked in an act of rebellion against that bourgeoisie lifestyle. Today, many of those formerly shaggy parents encourage their kids to form rock and roll bands. Once a year I read a story in the paper about a couple of freewheeling suburbanites who have outfitted their garage with a state of the art PA system, space-age soundproofing, and digital recording gear so little Hunter and his buddies in the cul de sac can have a place to, ahem, rock-out. Forming a rock band is seen as a good, clean, parentally-endorsed alternative to other types of rebellion…at least until Hunter comes home with a dime-bag hidden in his amplifier. Everybody seems to want to rock but only up to the point when it becomes dangerous. But that is when rock truly rocks.
Maybe the problem is not that rocks has lost its meaning, but rather that it means too much. Either way, this climate in which anything somebody likes is said to rock provides an opportunity to construct some standard to help us gauge who or what is truly rocking and how hard he or she or it is doing it.[8] But you should also understand that attempting to codify rock by applying some fixed set of qualifications is probably the least rocking thing I can imagine.[9] Anyway, here I go. Back to the beginning.
Sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll.
That’s the standard. And why not? The thinking has already been done for us. Three easy-to-remember categories. Like most-things-rock, the beauty lies in the simplicity. Cheerleaders and Advertising Executives won’t even have to stop using the word to describe their wrestling team or F-150 trucks or whatever; they’ll just have to be more judicious in its use. Before spelling out Cardinal Wrestling Rocks! in Elmer’s Glue and glitter dust, the vernacularly responsible cheerleader will stop to consider how the wrestling team measures up in the three criteria. No sex? No drugs? No rock ‘n’ roll? Then no rocks.
But wait. As mentioned above, the standard must be broad enough to be useful, and insisting that the three categories are all-or-nothing makes meeting them far too difficult for people who aren’t in Mötley Crüe.[10] So I’ll propose a time-tested compromise: a minimum of two out of three. Sex and drugs. Rock and sex. Drugs and rock. This idea was inspired by Spinal Tap drummer, Mick Shrimpton. When he is asked what he would be doing if he weren’t in a rock ‘n’ roll band, he replies, “I suppose as long as I had the sex and drugs, I could do without the rock and roll.” Leave it to the fictional drummer of a fictional band to say something that captures the nature of rock perfectly. Mr. Shrimpton knows that with the sex and the drugs, the rock ‘n’ roll is superfluous. He wouldn’t need it; he’d already be “rocking.”
The SDR&R standard (with the Shrimpton addendum) seems like a reasonable way to measure rock, but let’s apply it to a test case and see if it holds. I would hope it would go without saying that Christian rock doesn’t rock—that rocking for God, however righteous or holy or commercially successful it may be, isn’t really rocking at all. Two generations of rock journalists[11] have pretty much established that the devil has the better musical acts in his corner (think: Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis, AC/DC, The Stones, The Kinks, The Clash, Zeppelin, Creedence, Nirvana, The White Stripes, on and on ad infinitum). But beyond that, much like the previous discussion of Dick Cheney, I just know that Christian rock doesn’t. I know it. But let’s see how Christian rock measures up to the SDR&R standard. Take the last criterion, “rock ‘n’ roll.” I might try to argue that Christian rock isn’t even rock music, that rock and roll itself should contain some element of sex and drugs to even be rock and roll, but that would get dizzyingly circular. Instead I’ll concede that Christian rock, because the bands generally utilize the classic rock ‘n’ roll instrumentation (electric guitar, bass, drums), is in fact rock music. Besides, most Christian rock is indiscernible at first listen from what Christian rockers call “secular” rock, until the lyrics sink in and you make out the not quite veiled references to a loved one who could either be a lover or the Almighty or both. So if it sounds like rock, maybe it is, and one element out of three is nailed.[12] However, I’m afraid Christian rock’s active stance against taking drugs and having indiscriminate sex prevents it from meeting the SDR&R standard. Christian rock might be rock music, but it doesn’t rock.
The very words, rock and roll, from their inception were a kind of code for sex; they even sound like sex or at least a description of sex. And until relatively recently, only heterosexual sex was overtly considered. But this brings me to an important caveat to the SDR&R standard: rock must continually confound our expectations. For example, cycles of strict heterosexuality tend to lead to a kind of testerone-fueled meat-headishness that simply does not rock.[13] This in turn creates a counter movement toward sexual ambiguity and at least a token acknowledgement of homosexuality. And this confounds our expectations. Listening to the lyrics of the rock and roll canon, we might expect heterosexual sex to rock harder than homosexual sex, but this is not a sure bet. In a climate of prevailing heterosexuality, homosexuality rocks harder. But as soon as this homosexuality plays like a blatant and conscious attempt to be perceived as rock (and sell a bunch of records), it doesn’t rock at all.[14]
This brings me to caveat number two: as soon as something self-identifies as “rocking;” as soon as it is conscious of its own attempt to rock; as soon as it is too obviously trying to convince you that it “rocks,” it almost certainly does not, regardless of the amount of sex or drugs or rock ‘n’ roll. A month ago I stopped by my friend Phil’s guitar shop to buy a couple packs of bass strings. As I reached into the rack to pull out my old stand-bys I noticed a new product from GHS string company called “Nickel Rockers”—“Nickel,” as in the metal the strings are made of and “Rockers,” as in either these strings rock or guitarists who play these strings will then rock. Now Phil has been playing, fixing, and selling guitars for a long time, and I’ve come to him often for rock and roll advice. But while paying for my strings, my question to him was this, “Hey Phil, what kind of self-respecting ‘rocker’ would ever buy strings called ‘Nickel Rockers?’”
“Yeah, I don’t know. It’s stupid,” he said.
“But here’s the thing,” I said, handing him my credit card. And I paused for a second because I knew I was about to use a word that is as offensive and hurtful as it gets in my circles. “If these strings were called GHS Nickel Faggots, then I would buy them in a second.”
“Yeah, it’s funny,” he said. “‘Rockers’ is gay, but ‘Faggots’ rocks.”
Here we see much of what is true and infuriating and confusing about rock. In this single statement we get the notion that a) rock is contradictory; b) it undermines our expectations; c) it shouldn’t be too blatant in announcing itself as rock; and d) as soon as it leans too hard in one direction it must reverse itself. Perhaps the most frustrating contradiction is that even as rock appears to make room for homosexuality, by conceding that “Faggots Rocks,” this is still a kind of ironic, wink-wink, empowerment that is undermined by the use of “gay” to signify the worst kind of not-rocking.
Make no mistake, in today’s rock climate, homophobia is prevalent. But this homophobia set the stage for my friends in The Fags (three straight guys from Detroit) to sign a major label deal with legendary Sire Records President, Seymour Stein. I’ve had many discussions with people who are offended by the name “The Fags.” Newspapers have refused to print the name in their concert listings. And sure, this band of heterosexuals is admittedly co-opting an ironic homosexuality and parlaying it into a major label record deal. However, by flying in the face of what is culturally accepted and by risking the wrath of both gays and gay-bashers—by calling themselves The Fags instead of something ambiguous and safe like, maybe, The Vines—these Detroiters are giving us a lesson in what rocks, for now.
But here’s the ultimate problem with trying to apply standards—be they my requirement for sex and drugs and rock ‘n’ roll or the 1950s-style standards of decency—to what rocks. Let’s say I could get everyone to agree to my SDR&R standard, with the Shrimpton addendum and the two caveats, and everyone from you and me to Extra’s Dayna Devon only used rocks in reference to people and things that meet the standard: Keith Richards Rocks, Johnny Thunders Rocks, etc. As soon as that was achieved, one ornery upsetter—maybe even little Hunter from the cul de sac—would surely announce to the world that all of us, with our sex and drugs and our ex-hippie parents and our standards and our addendums and our caveats were one-hundred-percent full of shit, and what really rocks, what really, really rocks is American Girl Place or Emeril Lagasse or hell, maybe even Christian rock. And you know what? He’d have a point.
Once the world had measured precisely what rocks, there would be, as Sammy Hagar sings, “only one way to rock.” And that way would be to do a one-eighty against everyone else. Hunter would rock by trading his guitar for a three piece suit, by quitting his garage band and joining the Debate and Forensic team. He’d rock by becoming an actuary for an insurance company. Or maybe he’d go into politics instead. Why mess around? The hardest rockers would step right up and join the Establishment. He’d become a five-term congressman, get a job in the White House, arrange breakfast meetings with conservative Christians.
So maybe Dick Cheney does rock.
Power and wealth are sexy. I mean, chicks dig rich, powerful guys, right? So, there’s the sex. And America’s presence in Afghanistan gives us access to most of the world’s supply of the opium poppy. There’s the drugs. Now the Veep has two out of three. But maybe he doesn’t even need the sex and drugs and rock ‘n’ roll. What if, despite my adherence to the SDR&R standard, the one true criterion for rock is simply the ability to convince somebody that you do rock. I suppose if Cheney can somehow motivate somebody, anybody—and perhaps most impressively a bible-banging Republican—to break open a package of sharpies and spring for $.79 worth of poster board with which to declare his rockingness for all the world to behold, then goddamn it. All I can say is rock on, Mr. Vice President. Rock on.
In addition to being the bass player for Watershed, Joe Oestreich is the author of Hitless Wonder: A Life in Minor League Rock and Roll. Find him online at www.joeoestreich.com
.
[1]Come to think of it, most of the corporate, stylized, focus-group-approved muck that currently passes for rock and roll music is also more adjective than verb—more a dressed-up modifier of something that once rocked than actual rocking itself.
[2] In fact, most of us in bands are the last to know what rocks, hence the pitch-perfect film This is Spinal Tap.
[3] Exclamation points in original. Exclamation points are a tremendously accurate indicator. Whatever precedes them almost assuredly does not rock. It is an inverse relationship: the more exclamation points, the less rock. Count on it.
[4] What does rock taste like? Something like that mouthful of warm beer from a can someone has been using as an ashtray. Unexpected.
[5] Getting sophomoric laughs from the number 69 does not rock. However, I’ve noticed that the Ohio Department of Transportation has erected signs on every interstate and US route that point out when you are exactly 69 miles from Columbus. Not 65. Not 70. Not 75. Sixty-nine. See for yourself.
[6] Giving yourself a nickname or acknowledging the nickname someone else has given you does not rock. But strangely enough a stage name (I prefer the term nom de guerre) can rock. Rock is funny that way.
[7] It is true that years of mergers and acquisitions and the steady process of vertical and horizontal integration have reduced “the music business” (and indeed the entire entertainment industry) to three multinational mega-corporations, Sony/Bertelsmann A.G., Time Warner, and Universal Music Group. Their need to answer to share holders puts a governor on any real “danger” we might find in the music we hear on the radio or see topping the charts. There is, of course, plenty of rock and roll that remains infused with the immediacy that once said, “rock,” but we have to look hard for it. “Little Steven’s Underground Garage” on Sirius Satellite radio is a good place to start.
[8] Rock is always measured in terms of hardness, just like actual rocks.
[9] Check that. The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is the least rocking thing I can imagine. The self-sanctioned institutionalization of rock and roll music may have been the death knell. That said, it’s a fantastic museum, and I have a great time every time I visit.
[10] The use of irönic umlauts and “devil horns” rocks when somebody who rocks does it. This is totally dependent on context.
[11] Christian rockers take heart: rock journalism doesn’t rock either. But rock journalists can rock. See Lester Bangs and Chuck Klosterman.
[12] But this sounds like rock quality is exactly what has so many people confused. And their use of “secular” to describe everything that is not Christian rock is a move meant to legitimize Christian rock itself. Christian rockers are very crafty.
[13] See Limp Bizkit. This engorged penis-rock also confuses people. It sounds like rock, and it is irrefutably “hard.” But it is far too predictable and unsexy to truly rock. Can you imagine having sex with someone who fucks like this music sounds?
[14] This is why Russian lesbian duo t.A.t.U do not rock, but Joan Jett and Ani DiFranco do.
Terrelle Pryor will be an NFL Quarterback
Originally published September 2011 but thought it was worth a second look with T.P. making his move with the Raiders and starting the final pre-season game this Thursday.. - Colin
Terrelle Pryor will be an NFL Quarterback (And he has a chance to be Ohio State’s most successful pro Q.B. ever)
When Terrelle Pryor committed to Ohio State, he was considered not only the top high school quarterback prospect in the nation, but regarded as the overall top prospect by many recruiting services. He was the MVP of U.S. ARMY All American Bowl and after enrolling at Ohio State he set a freshman record by throwing four touchdown passes in his first start against TROY, in only the third game of the season.
It was around this moment, as I was sitting in the stands with my 4 year old son Owen, I remember hearing the first of what would become a chorus of many Buckeye fans commenting, “You know, we should really consider moving Terrelle to wide receiver or.. tight end”
Huh? Come again?
My first reaction was thinking how embarrassing that would be to our coaching staff. Could you imagine Nick Saban, Pete Carrol or Urban Meyer (!) landing the #1 Quarterback recruit in the country and switching his position? No, of course you can’t, because that would never happen. See: Tim Tebow. Good luck recruiting the next quarterback-BTW
Certainly, TP was extremely raw coming out of Jennette, PA. In fact, I blame his middle school “mentor” for not correcting his 7th grade throwing motion because that’s when it should have been done. However, there is this thing called “coaching”, and it is supposed to make the players better. That’s why young guys pick Ohio State. Troy Smith had half the skills of TP yet somehow won the Heisman Trophy and ended up taking snaps on Sundays.
Forget my opinion. Place your eyeballs on the numbers.
Comp % Yards TD INT QB Rating
1 61.1 2636 15 12 131.70
2 61.6 2942 15 10 126.40
3 65.5 2772 27 11 157.9
4 61.6 2903 19 5 146.60
5 65.0 2247 15 3 152.30
6 59.2 1849 12 11 128.40
7 64.4 2746 30 4 172.40
8 61.9 3909 25 12 133.10
Hmm.. What do we have here? These are the junior year college passing statistics of 8 quarterbacks who are currently on NFL rosters.
Since Terrelle can’t throw, I guess he should be easy to spot…
Answers: 1) Tom Brady 2) Matt Ryan 3) Terrelle Pryor 4) Aaron Rodgers 5) Alex Smith 6) Vince Young (redshirted so this is his 3 year counting that) 7) Tim Tebow 8) Drew Brees
(Isn’t it interesting that the two guys with the highest college passer rating are both candidates to move to tight end? Tim Tebow and Terrelle Pryor. Denver traded 3 draft picks and gave Timmy 8.7 million guaranteed for the honor of snagging him 25th overall in the 2009 draft. Coach Josh McDaniels has since been fired for this move. The Raiders gave TP a cool $500,000 and used a 3rd round pick. Al Davis has not fired himself yet. *)
Oh, in addition to the gaudy passing stats, TP also ran for 756 yards averaging 5.6 a clip and 4 touchdowns that season. And.. He was voted MVP of the Sugar Bowl. It was his second straight BCS MVP award following his huge game against the Oregon Ducks the previous year in the Rose Bowl. Just so we are clear, these awards are voted on by impartial writers who sit and actually watch the game. They do not work for either school.
Still, I have to listen to the local sports drive time radio hacks, (yes, I am a loser for tuning in) go on and on and on about how Terrelle Pryor is BAD and has NO SHOT of ever taking a snap in the NFL. Inevitably, our hosts “King Prong” and “The Jazz Singer” open up the phone lines and I’m subjected to Joe Shitpack from Grovetucky, “Woody wouldn’t let those guys have tattoos. I’d bet big money that we never beat Michigan again before Terrelle take a snap in the pros. They should move him to Tight End”
Maybe it’s the baseball fan in me, but I’m sorry, the numbers show that Terrelle Pryor ABSOLUTELY has a chance to play QB in the NFL. Look at the cold hard numbers won’t you? Add to that his pedigree, natural size 6’5” / speed 4.36 – 40, and it looks like a great value pick in the 3rd round for the Silver and Black.
But…..he was drafted by the Raiders who are one of the most inept franchises in all sports. (Bengals, Clippers, Pirates, Bluejackets**) This could prove to be TP’s biggest hurdle. Even Randy Moss in his prime, sucked when he played for the Raiders.
Still, comparisons between Pryor and Oakland’s historic bust Jemarcus Russell are way off base. Other than both being African American, they have almost nothing in common. Russell won a national title, was picked #1 overall, signed a HUGE contract, 31.5 million guaranteed, and then literally ate himself out of the league. He had no desire. His lack of work ethic became legendary.
TP’s selfish actions in college hurt his teammates, fans and coaches. His Jupiter sized ego and immaturity are legendary as well, but… TP was also a fine student (3.4 GPA) with a stellar work ethic and desire to be the best.
Hmm.. A selfish person + huge ego + good work ethic + freak physical talents = almost every great athlete. Jordon/TO/Barry Bonds/Kobe/Ray Lewis/Larry Bird/Brett Favre ....... so on and so forth..
Colin, seriously, do you really think Terrelle could be the Buckeye’s most successful QB in the NFL?
Why does my opinion matter? Why not just ask people who get paid big money and have a full time job figuring out the answer to just this question. (And I’m not talking about King Prong and The Jazz Singer on The Fan.)
OSU Quarterbacks in the NFL Draft:
Player-year-round taken
Terrelle Pryor -2011- 3
Troy Smith 2007- 5
Craig Krenzel 2004- 5
Steve Bellisari 2002- 6
Joe Germaine 1991- 4
Bob Hoying 1996- 3
Kent Graham 1992- 8
Tom Tupa 1988- 3
Jim Karsatos 1987- 12
Art Schlichter 1982- 1
Corny Greene 1976- 11
Greg Hare 1974- 8
Rex Kern- 1971- 10
Ron Maciejowski 71- 15
Frank Kremblas 1959- 23
So according to experts who get paid to be the judge of this sort of thing, Art Schlichter is the only prospect seen with more potential than Pryor. As long as T.P. keeps hanging at tattoo shops and not racetracks, he should be able to pass Art with ease. Tupa went 3rd round because of his exceptional punting and because he could be a serviceable 3rd string QB thus saving a roster spot.
Bob Hoying went round 3 too, but had three major advantages over Pryor:
1-He had a monster senior season. Dumbass Pryor screwed his up and never got the chance.
2-His offense had Eddie George, Ricky Dudley, Terry Glenn and Orlando Pace. All four won national awards for their position that year.
3-Bob had an actual quarterback coach in Walt Harris. TP had no such luxury.
At any rate, the “drive by” draft experts seem to have Hoying and Pryor in a dead heat.
If you ask me, Frank Kremblas was the one Buckeye who really got screwed on draft day. The Canton Bulldogs were all set to draft “Single Wing Action Frank” in the 16th round before the squad was disbanded after owner John Coshocton had the team’s locker room turned into a fallout bomb shelter for his family. “Special Action K” fell all the way to the Giants in the 23 round and spent his career backing up Y.A. Title. However, his signing bonus of 3 cartons of Lucky Strikes smokes was a record for a 23round pick at the time.
Pop Quiz:
Q: Who is Ohio State’s all time best NFL Quarterback????? (Post Eisenhower)
A: Mike Tomzack!
Mike, who was undrafted, ended up playing in the NFL for 14 years throwing for over 16,000 yards and 88 TD passes. He won his first ten starts for the Bears setting an NFL record and led the Pittsburgh Steelers into the playoffs in 1996. And also…. I’d pump out more stats but it’s really late, my wife is pissed and the beer…..just click below.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mike_Tomczak
So let’s rephrase the question:
Colin, do you really think Terrelle Pryor will have a better pro career than Mike Tomzack and become Ohio State’s most successful NFL Quarterback?
Actually, no, I don’t. But that may have less to do with TP and more to do with me living in Ohio. See, I find it impossible that ANY pro quarterback will succeed. Outside of Oakland, Ohio is the state where Professional Quarterbacks come to die. After watching the Browns and Bengals all these years, I have a hard time picturing any quarterback succeeding in the NFL. Let alone one from Ohio State.
As for Pryor, I can’t say I have forgiven and forgotten, but the best thing for Ohio State and TP in the long run is to look to Cris Carter for an example. Cris was kicked out of school his senior year for taking money from an agent, which led to Coach Bruce being fired. Cris went on to being cut in the NFL by Buddy Ryan before turning his life and career around. Now when he comes back to Columbus, all we can remember are the good times we had watching him during his time at OSU and those amazing catches against Michigan and Texas A.M.
Wouldn’t it be great to see Terrelle Pryor, Coach Tressel and the rest of the 2010 Rose Bowl Champions standing on the field at halftime in the year 2029 celebrating their 20 year reunion?
O H I O
Colin Gawel has spent his whole life living less than 5 miles from Ohio Stadium and playing in the cult band Watershed featured in the novel “Hitless Wonder”, by Joe Oestreich. He writes things for Pencilstorm in between serving customers at Colin's Coffee. And once a year, he loses control and throws a Nerf football really hard at some inanimate object when the Buckeyes lose. (Football or basketball) Sometimes this results in damage and/or marital strife.
* Al Davis has died since this article was originally published
** Funny how all of those teams have improved so much in just two years
Secret Hidden Track
Secret Hidden Track!
To read a really good Braxton Miller article by a real life professional writer click here http://joeoestreich.com/2011/06/10/congratulations-you%e2%80%99re-an-ohio-state-quarterback-now-you%e2%80%99ve-got-a-project/
I Just Came From the Big Star Movie.....by Ricki C.
I just came from the Big Star movie at Colin and Brian Phillips' Reelin' & Rockin' Series at the Gateway Theater. It's a pretty great movie. You should go see it when it opens at the Gateway for its regular run, I think in September. (Johnny DiLoretto, a little help?)
Anyway, as I was driving home under a gorgeous full moon I was thinking about the parallels between Big Star's and Watershed's careers. They were both power pop bands from out-of-the-way locales. (Let's face it, when Big Star emerged in 1972, Memphis hadn't exactly been a hotbed of rock & roll since the mid-1950's heyday of Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis and Sam Phillips' groundbreaking Sun Studios.) Big Star's No. 1 Record came out in the middle of heavy-metal, prog-rock & the sensitive singer/songwriter boom of early 70's America, and was promptly buried underneath all that musical mediocrity. Who needed a cool Beatle-esque pop band with great lyrics and killer harmonies when you could gobble a handful of 'ludes and nod out to Led Zep or a 15-minute drum solo from Foghat. (As a matter of fact I heard Black Sabbath's "Paranoid" on the Newark oldies station on my drive home and thought, "Jesus, why couldn't this be "When My Baby's Beside Me" or "Thirteen" instead?) Watershed's Twister was released in 1995 as the Seattle grunge juggernaut was crushing everything in its path, with its lyrical themes of "Give up your dreams, kids, all is death & misery, kneel & listen as we pummel you with our ponderous fusion of heavy-metal & bad punk." That's not rock & roll.
Oddly, the very first conversation I ever had with Colin Gawel back in 1990 when I was a roadie for Willie Phoenix and Watershed was Willie's opening band at Ruby Tuesday's touched on Big Star. Watershed had just delivered a killer set of mostly new material - including "Rise," their first TRULY GREAT song - and I said to Colin, "So do you guys listen to Big Star, The Scruffs, The Records and all those other 70's power-pop bands?" (I knew Willie was producing the guys. I figured he had hooked them up with the bands Willie and I had bonded over back in 1978.) Colin just kinda looked down at his shoes and mumbled, "Uh no, mostly we listen to Kiss and Rush and Triumph." "Triumph!?!" I said/scolded, and that pretty much ended the conversation. (Years later, after I became a member of Watershed's road crew and recounted the conversation to Colin - which he had no memory of - in the band van, Colin admitted he had never even HEARD of Big Star at that point and that he only mentioned Triumph because he considered them an obscure rock name to conjure with.)
The most striking difference in the Big Star and Watershed stories, though, is how SAD the Big Star story turns out. The band descended from the lofty heights of 1972's No. 1 Record and 1973's truly sublime Radio City to the depths of Third/Sister Lovers in 1975, just two short years later. Three of the original four members have left this life, well before their time.
Watershed, however, have just kept plugging away in the 20 years since they were dropped by major label Sony. They made arguably their best album - 2002's The More It Hurts, The More It Works - 15 years into their career, and possibly their second-best, Brick & Mortar, just last year in 2012, 25 years in. Not a bad record (pun intended) of creative longevity for a rock & roll band. But nobody in Watershed has died, or had their careers cut short by drugs & alcohol, so no movie. The band's biggest casualty to date, drummer Dave Masica, screwed up his back working his day-job as a cook at a country club. Not exactly Gimme Shelter-level cinematic material.
I realize that some readers out there might find this incredibly self-serving, coming from a member of the band's road crew, but I was a Watershed fan long before and for many more years than I've been an employee of the group, and I just wanna say this: Thank you Colin, Joe, Herb & Dave (and Pooch & Joe Peppercorn) for the music and for the memories.
I just came from the Big Star movie, and while it vividly demonstrates that there is no justice in rock & roll, it also eminently demonstrates that there are many heart-loads of wonder. - Ricki C. / August 21st, 2013.