"50 Tracks That Tell the Story of the Stones" on the Rock and Roll Book Club Podcast

It's about 24 hours until The Rolling Stones take the stage in Columbus, OH. So if you haven't read 'Rocks Off: 50 Tracks That Tell the Story of the Stones' by now, it probably ain't happening. No worries, our pals at the Rock and Roll Book Club have you covered as they review and discuss this excellent Stones book written by Bill Janovitz. Click the link below and get your head crammed full of good Stones knowledge to get you primed for the show. 

Do yourself a favor and click here to give it a listen. on the excellent Rock and Roll Book Club Podcast.     

And click here for the best Rolling Stones story ever. Promise.

I Really Don't Care About the NBA, But Go Cavs! by Greg May

Honestly, I don't give a shit about the NBA. I like college basketball, mostly because of the NCAA tournament. which I believe to be one of the more compelling and pure sporting events each year. But the NBA bores me to tears. With that being said ... Go Cavs!  Call me a frontrunner, a bandwagoner or whatever you want. Just don't call me an NBA fan.

My reason for rooting for the Cavs is pretty simple. I have been a Browns fan all my life. I'm convinced that there is some kind of negative force field, hex, curse ... whatever you want to call it .. that is keeping the city down. And for some desperate reason I believe that if the Cavs win the NBA Championship the city karma will be equalized and all will be right again on the North Coast, allowing the Browns to stop sucking and Johnny Eightball to lead them to the playoffs this year. (What, no Super Bowl title, you ask? Even in a state of equalized karma the Browns just barely make the playoffs this year. Baby steps.)

So, go Cavs! And to be honest, I have actually enjoyed watching these games a lot more than I thought I would. LeBron has been clanking iron like a blacksmith, Kyrie's sitting on the bench, and yet the Cavs just keep rolling thanks to guys like Tristan Thompson, Matthew Dellavedova and of course J.R. Smith, who made a team record eight 3-pointers in game 1 of the Easter Conference finals, then explained after the game how difficult it is for him to pass the ball. You have to admit, his honesty is refreshing.

Speaking of J.R., here's a video I found that made me laugh so hard I tinkled in my pants a little bit. Go Cavs! #BallinWithLeBron

Attempted Suicide Stopped by the Rolling Stones. Listen to Ricki C. Tell the True Story on 614Cast

Hey gang, Colin here. As I've said many times, Ricki C. is my favorite rock n roll storyteller. In my humble opinion, everything he posts on Pencilstorm is pure gold, as good as any rock story you will read in ANY publication. But of all his great writings, I think his essay, "The Bathtub" could be on the short list of greatest rock stories ever told. It originally appeared on his old MySpace page, and in his former blog "Growing Old with Rock n Roll" and then Joe Oestreich made sure it was published in the footnotes/index to his acclaimed Watershed memoir, "Hitless Wonder - A Life in Minor League Rock n Roll". (In fact, just the footnotes to Joe's book are better than Butch Walker's actual books. Seriously, thumb through a copy and prove me wrong.)

Anyway, with the Rolling Stones coming to town, we decided to team up with the very cool and new Six One Four Podcast so Ricki C. could tell the story of "The Bathtub" himself. Please do yourself a favor and give it a listen. I promise you'll be glad you did.

Click Here to listen to Colin and Ricki C. telling the story of "The Bathtub" on the 614Cast. They start at the 27 minute mark after the excellent Eric Davidson interview. 

The Bathtub by Ricki C.

I was 13 years old in October 1965.  Eighth grade just was not working out.  I had been a shy, book-reading child, now hormones were kicking in.  I loved rock & roll but I just knew I was NEVER going to know how to talk to girls.  (This was years before I got a hold of a guitar.)  One really bad Saturday night I decided to kill myself.  I had it all worked out.  I’d seen a movie just that week about a guy getting electrocuted when a radio fell into the bathtub he was in.  (I was a very impressionable child.)

After everybody had left for the evening (my mom and dad were working their second jobs, my sister was on a date, my brother was at the bar) I went around the house and found a radio with a cord long enough to reach the bathtub.  I ran the bath, plugged in the radio, settled into the warm water, said a little prayer for forgiveness, and let the radio drop.  What I hadn't factored in was that although the cord was long enough to reach the tub, I hadn't filled it full enough.  Right when the radio hit the water the plug pulled out.  I got a nasty shock, I was seeing big purple and black blobs in my field of vision, but it didn't kill me.

I lifted the radio out and laid there in the water a few minutes to let my head clear.  I got out and ran some more water in the tub until I was certain I had the right water level for the job at hand.  I plugged the radio back in and what was playing?  "Get Off My Cloud" by The Rolling Stones.  I stood there naked – dripping & chilly, eighth-grade skinny – and listened to the entire song.  Right at that moment I quite literally loved that song more than I loved life itself.  And then a thought came very clearly into my head: "What if the next Rolling Stones single is even BETTER than this one, and I never get to hear it?"

I set the radio down on the sink, got back in the tub, took a bath and went to bed.  If "Danke Schoen" by Wayne Newton or "Roses Are Red" by Bobby Vinton had been playing at the moment I plugged that radio back in I'd be dead now.  Long live The Rolling Stones.  So began a life of rock & roll.  Thanks Mick, Keith, Brian, Bill & Charlie.

© 2005 Ricki C.

Thank You For Your Service and Sacrifice

Just this past week, my son went on his eight grade Washington D.C. trip.  He won an essay contest about patriotism & sacrifice and was chosen with three other students to lay a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier at Arlington Cemetery.  It was a once in a lifetime honor and I’m an extremely proud father.  Not just because he did this, but more so because he understands the significance.

As I watched video of my son laying the wreath on the Tomb, I thought about the soldier in that Tomb.  No one knows his name or where he’s from.  But also - somewhere there’s a father, mother, son, or daughter who is wondering if that is the remains of their Loved One in that Tomb.

The servicemen & women who have died for our country have given us a tremendous gift, but the loved ones that they’ve left behind have also sacrificed for the Red, White, and Blue.  They are wives who’ve struggled to raise a family as a single parent. They are sons and daughters who don’t have a father to cheer for them on the sidelines of a soccer game or a mother to nurture them and hold them when they cry.  They are dads who don’t get to walk their daughters down the aisle and moms that don’t get flowers from their sons on Mother’s Day.

There are families that have been able to bring their Loved One home and honor them in a military burial.  But there are those who have lost that have never recovered any remains.  All they have is a memory and the hope that one day, they’ll be found.

So this Memorial Day, before you baste that first chicken-wing with BBQ sauce on the grill, before the friends and family come over, and even before you ice the beer in the cooler - drop your head for a moment and remember our fallen soldiers.  Say a little thank you for their sacrifice.  And remember those that they’ve left behind.

Wal Ozello is the author of the science fiction time travel books, Assignment 1989 and Revolution 1990 and a frequent customer at Colin's Coffee.  He’s never served in the military, but is extremely grateful for the men and women who have served.

Reflections on The Who Turning 50 by Pete Vogel

Listening to you / I get the music

Gazing at you / I get the heat

Following You / I climb the mountain

I get excitement at your feet

- Tommy (1969)

These four lines pretty much sum up my feelings about The Who as they celebrate their fifth decade in the music industry. From the first time I heard them back in 1978, to the 50th anniversary concert that took place 5/15/15 in Columbus, I am continually reminded of their genius, their passion and their relevance.

As a middle-aged musician—I’m as old as the band—who still struggles in the “minor leagues” (to borrow a phrase from Joe Oestreich) these four lines are passages that I revert to whenever I’ve “lost my way” in this ever-changing, ever-frustrating music biz. These lines are a reminder of why I still do what I do, even though sometimes it feels like it’s in vain.

Pete Townshend was very different than most songwriters coming out of UK in the mid-60s. While his peers were penning songs about teenage love and girls named Angie, Townshend was writing tunes like “The Seeker.” While his contemporaries were writing political and folksy songs about Vietnam, he was penning operas about pinball wizards. Townshend was—and still is—in a class by himself. He took a look at the state of the world in his era and got “in tune with the straight and narrow.” As he penned in his song “Pure and Easy”: “There once was a note / Pure and easy / Playing so free / Like a breath, rippling by.”

For those who craved more meaning to life than suburban sporting events, pop music and movies approved by The Catholic Times, The Who represented a shift from this stifling worldview and expanded hearts and minds to embrace a faith in something bigger. That’s what drew me to them in the first place—they re-examined spirituality in general and how it related to manhood in particular. For males reared in the 60s and 70s, with the specter of Vietnam ever present in their psyche, The Who paved the way for a new vision of what it meant to be a man: “Imagine a man / Not a child of any revolt / But a plain man tied up in life.”

Having grown up in a patriarchal family—with a father who was influenced by no-nonsense role models like Woody Hayes and Bobby Knight—The Who taught me about the softer, gentler side of manhood, what Rabbi Michael Lerner calls “The Left Hand of God.” The Who showed me that you don’t have to be a bully, brute or jerk to get your way in the world, perhaps love can truly reign over everything.

While it’s true that The Who is considered a “masculine” group—and have always appealed to men more than women—the Daltrey/Townshend duo are, to me, the Yin/Yang balance of masculine and feminine energies. Daltrey’s rugged voice and hardscrabble working class persona, coupled with Townshend’s meek tenor and art-school upbringing, address the duality between testosterone-laced impulsivity and feminine reflection. We see this played out so brilliantly in Quadrophenia, the rock opera about the conflicting desires within its main character, Jimmy, who wanted to be both a lover AND fighter for the Mod cause. He realized, at the end of his journey, he had to decide between the two—he couldn’t be both. Would love reign, or would he seek to be the Ace Face?

The Who has always struck a beautiful balance with its frontmen, and it’s a marriage that hasn’t been lost on its fans. Whether it’s expressed in the raw emotion of “Won’t Get Fooled Again” or the melancholic sensibilities of “I’m One” we’ve come to realize that we’re all Jimmy: straddling the fence between selfish, violent whims and the desire to transcend it all.

As for the show last Friday (sadly, they didn’t pay homage to 5/15 by playing that song) it was thrilling to see the band—or at least half of them—perform in front of 20,000 screaming fans at their respective ages of 69 (Townshend) and 70 (Daltrey). Sure, there was a stoop in their walk, and they both wore sunglasses that looked more like bifocals than hipster specs, but their passion was still intact. They started off the show with their seminal, 50-year-old classic “I Can’t Explain” and didn’t let the foot off the gas until the final crescendo of “Won’t Get Fooled Again” two hours later. Most of us walked away with a feeling of awe and respect—they obviously still “got it.” Even those who didn’t enjoy the show (my friend’s son said: “It would’ve been cool to see them in the 70s”) they still left the venue with an understanding of what made The Who special for so many years. Fifty years, in fact. Half a century. Playing music to millions of fans. Still. To me, for The Who to generate that level of enthusiasm—as they approached their seventh decade on the planet—is nothing short of miraculous.

The music business has changed dramatically since The Who first stepped onstage in 1965; Townshend professed this inevitability in his ditty “Music Must Change.” But I wonder if he foresaw the events that are taking place today? The industry has become—more or less—a diaspora of the talent pool and a dumbing down of the medium. Steady radio play featuring new talent has all but disappeared—Clear Channel saw to that. The Internet has generated tens of thousands of new bands, yet it’s impossible to keep track of them. Youtube, Facebook and Soundcloud have created a mass market for songwriting but it’s now a free indulgence—royalties have all but disappeared. Ironically, it’s harder to make money in this ubiquitous industry because competition is stiff, the market is endless and opportunities are widespread. There are too many venues, too many bands, and not enough paying audiences. In fact, nobody wants to pay for music anymore—it’s expected to be free. Artists hand out their CDs like business cards.

It’s nearly impossible for an original, modern act in the spirit of The Who to come close to selling out a Nationwide Arena at $100 a pop—unless your name is Swift, Timberlake or Spears. And you won’t hear songs like “Join Together” or “A Quick One” at these shows either—one can’t afford to take those kinds of risks in the digital age.

As a musician I sometimes despair over the state of our medium. It seems like the least original, least inspiring and least talented acts have risen to the top while the rest of us struggle in the minors. It saddens me that some of the most talented, original, and inspiring acts in this town are playing to fifteen people at a local bar for five bucks a head. It saddens me that a whole generation of folks will grow up in a world where Nicki Minaj is regarded a “viral success.”

That’s when I crank up Tommy as loud as I can and chant those four lines, over and over and over again. Rock is dead. Long live rock.  Pete Vogel 5/16/15

Pete Vogel is an accomplished artist, educator, and musician. He also wrote and directed the documentary "Indie". Learn more by clicking here,