Life Without Baseball

There’s a running gag in the movie Airplane! in which Lloyd Bridge’s character, stressed out by an impending airline catastrophe, utters “Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit smoking.” Throughout the film, he raises the ante, substituting “quit smoking” with “quit drinking” “quit amphetamines” “quit sniffing glue.” Fantastic.

At the beginning of the 2022 Major League Baseball season, I thought I might wind up in a similar state, as I had given up baseball despite the Milwaukee Brewers sprinting to a 32-18 start. 

Fear not, I thought. There’s still time.

And there was. In contrast to Lloyd Bridge’s character, it looks like I picked the right year to quit baseball.  After all, baseball quit on me and the rest of the nation in February and March, as spring training was postponed to accommodate whiny billionaire owners and whiny millionaire players while the rest of the country recovered from a hangover of COVID isolation, inflation, low-paid jobs, an attempted coup, disappearing lakes and rivers, and everything in between.

Good going, baseball! You are run by a bunch of morons.

In February, I wrote a blog called Baseball Digs its Own Grave and finished with the line, “Screw ‘em. I’m done,” uncertain if I would actually live up to the bravado of the sentiment. But I did. For the first time since I was a wee toddler, I didn’t watch any baseball except for a few game recaps and 5 innings of a White Sox game in early August solely to hang out with my daughter and partner who were looking for something to do on a balmy Chicago afternoon. I also checked out the box scores and standings a few times a week.

That’s it. Compare that to 2021, when I attended four games in Milwaukee (despite living 90 miles away) and watched upwards of 120 games via my now cancelled MLBTV subscription (after over a decade of loyal viewership).

In short, I followed baseball the way most sane people do: scanning a few headlines about the hottest teams and Aaron Judge’s historic home run pursuit.

I wasn’t sure I could do it, but as happened to so many people during the bleakest months of COVID isolation, it became very clear what I could live without. Not only could live without, but could happily live without. I did not miss baseball in the slightest. My evenings were spent playing music or taking walks or chatting with neighbors, and my visits to Milwaukee included record shopping with a friend, attending a lakeside beer garden, and enjoying a backyard barbecue. No $20 parking. No $13 beers. No frustration watching an anemic offense. No tearing out my hair as my team collapsed and failed to make the playoffs for the first time since 2017 despite uncharacteristically high expectations.

Sure, I was intrigued when general manager David Stearns traded Josh Hader away to the Padres, but this intrigue was squashed when a subsequent move to improve the woeful offense didn’t occur. And after reading this fine post about some of the boneheaded moves (or non-moves) of management this year, I’m thankful that I wasn’t subjected to such incompetence as a passionate participant. Instead, I was able to watch things from afar, with sensible detachment.

Now, I know that there’s a cost to detachment. I recall October of 2018, when I attended Game 1 of the NLDS and watched the Brewers edge out the Rockies as I maniacally cheered, waved my victory towel and downed beers. It was a great evening (less great was watching that same team lose twice to the Dodgers, once in Los Angeles, and once in Milwaukee for the decisive Game 7). I know that sports can lead to wonderful moments. And that’s what’s at stake here. The possibility of being elated. Of being overjoyed.  Of screaming up to the heavens when the Brewers finally, finally win a World Series. 

That overwhelming jubilation will be denied me even if the Brewers do finally win it all one day, because I will no longer be watching with the passion I once felt. I’m not saying that my baseball boycott will last forever. It might not even last more than one season. I don’t know. But I will no longer invest emotion into Major League Baseball. The most I’ll invest is a mild appreciation for the sport itself, and $100 or so to attend a game with all the fixings.

A couple of albums ago, I wrote a song called “Put You Away.” It’s a good one, and the lyrics perfectly capture how I’m feeling right now: 

I
I've got to put you away for a while
Someplace I'll one day say with a smile
Or maybe a tear
This is where I kept my heart from feeling
Cuz I
I can't bear to feel any more
This is so much worse than before

All those little heartbreaks when you're young
They don't compare to what feels like a ton
Of trouble taking me down
All my passions turn to sure disaster
And I
I've got to put you away in a drawer
And remember how it was before

How you opened up my soul
When all I wanted
Is to crawl back into a hole
You let my spirit soar towards a future
Paved in gold

I have visions in the night
It seems so close I almost toast the cup in victory
Could this be really happening?
Could this be really happening?

Oh, how you opened up my soul
When all I wanted
Is to crawl back into a hole
This hurts me more than words can say
And still I know no other way
Cuz this is really happening
Yes this is really happening to me

So long, baseball.  It was a good run.

12 Months of Live Music

When things started opening back up in 2021 after fifteen months of living in a cocoon, I was chomping at the bit. I purchased concert tickets left and right, many from bands that probably wouldn’t have made the cut in 2019, but in my newfound freedom seemed like necessary luxuries. Twelve months later, I look back on a year’s worth of live music. It was a great run. All but two of the acts I had never even seen before. You can read below for details, but Joseph and Sammy Rae & Friends win my two best shows of the year. The War on Drugs earns my worst. Nearly everyone else gets high marks.

September 18, 2021.  Black Pumas, preceded on different stages by Poi Dog Pondering, Moon City Masters and Sheila E.  Sheila E. proved to me that she kicks ass even in her 60s, putting the rest of us aging schlubs to shame.  I was unhappy that I had to leave the end of her show to ensure my attendance at the beginning of the Black Pumas concert, though they were terrific too, easily one of my three favorite bands of the past half a decade.  Sadly, they’ve cancelled shows for the latter half of 2022, leading to questions about the long-term health of the band.  Hopefully they’ll release more music soon.

November 13, 2021.  The Fixx, preceded by Fastball (the acoustic duo version of the group).  The Fixx was fantastic, one of two bands I had seen prior to 2021.  They are in my mind one of the most underrated bands of the 80s and 90s, achieving a level of musicianship and lyrical content that surpasses most of their contemporary and more-popular brethren.  Fabulous.

November 21, 2021. Sammy Rae & The Friends.  I’ve written about this band before, but they are ridiculous.  Sammy Rae’s voice is out of this world, and she really sings, eschewing the vocal shouting that appeals to the masses on shows like American Idol and The Voice.  As gifted and as ebullient a performer as you’ll ever see grace the stage.  One of my top two concerts of the past year.

January, 2022.  Pinegrove.  Postponed due to COVID.  Stay tuned.

January, 2022.  St. Paul & the Broken Bones.  Postponed due to COVID.  I eventually got my money back, but fortunately got to see the band in August at the Sacred Rose Festival.  Stay tuned.

January 15, 2022.  Nate Bargatze.  Not a musician, but a fabulous comedian who manages to be hilarious without resorting to the low hanging fruit of vulgarity and profanity.  Not that I’m a prude, but comedians like Jo Koy assault the audience with F-bomb after F-bomb, and it becomes tiresome.  Bargatze takes another path.

February 27, 2022.  Ralph Covert.  Formerly of acts like The Bad Examples and Ralph’s World, this local Chicago musician played for 2 hours and 45 minutes!  I shit you not.  Playing as a trio for most of the night, Ralph told stories and played selections from throughout his career.  Terrific.

March 27, 2022.  Bright Eyes, preceded by Christian Lee Hutson.  I took a chance on this one.  I only know that band’s final two albums and really dig them, but my dabbling into their earlier efforts has left me mostly unimpressed.  Fortunately, the band brought it with a crazy number of musicians on stage, including at times a mini choir and orchestra.  Led by Colin Oberst, the band clearly has its fanatics, as illustrated by the woman behind me who sang every lyric to every song…loudly.  Admittedly, I was kind of annoyed, but also impressed!  And I didn’t feel that I – a minor fan at best – could possibly bitch to someone who was clearly more passionate than I was.  Great show.

April, 2022.  Spoon.  Cancelled by me due to double-booking.  Damn.  This one hurts a little, as I rank their latest album among the best of 2022, and it looks to have been a great show.

May 4, 2022.  Aimee Mann.  Postponed due to COVID.  To date, this hasn’t been rescheduled.  I haven’t seen Mann perform since Til Tuesday opened up for Tom Petty in 1985!

May 5, 2022.  Steve Hackett.  Performing a short set of solo stuff followed by the entire Seconds Out Genesis album, this was a kick to see live, especially with my son.  Such a high level of musicianship, and I finally got to see Supper’s Ready live!

June 25, 2022.  Again with my son, this was the first time I saw Billy Joel since 1990, and he really surpassed my expectations.  Sure, he played it extremely safe with the setlist, but damn, I can’t argue with the quality of the tunes, and I was impressed with Joel’s vocal ability at such an advanced age.  He seems very at ease in the elder statesman role, probably happy to be alive and still performing for appreciative fans.

July 15, 2022.  Adrian Belew.  I kind of went to this one on a lark, unsure if it was worth the hassle.  It was.  The show cost all of $35, and it was sparsely attended, so my friend and I could stretch out in relative isolation during a high-COVID time.  Belew was fantastic, playing the guitar as no other with an unbelievable bassist and drummer to fill out the trio.  The music is weird and not always in my wheelhouse, but he was fun to see live, and I’m thankful he performed “Three of a Perfect Pair,” a favorite of mine.

July 26, 2022.  Pinegrove.  My daughter turned me onto this band, and while I enjoy their output, I can’t exactly name a song by them.  But this was one of those tickets I purchased way back in the fall of 2021, figuring, “What the hell. Take a chance.”  Playing twenty-two songs almost uninterrupted, the band was tight, offering a multitude of changes of tempo and feel, with odd-metered output and crunchy guitar making this a feast for the ears.  I was glad to have the plugs handy!     

August 26, 2022.  St. Paul & the Broken Bones, preceded on different stages by Sierra Hull, White Demim, City and Colour, Punch Brothers, and afterward a half an hour of The War on Drugs.  A stellar opening day of the Sacred Rose Festival in Chicago, I was greeted with a variety of acts, all really good except The War on Drugs, who I found to be ponderous and overly sincere with songs lacking hooks.  Oh well.  St. Paul & the Broken Bones, on the other hand, were stellar, with lead singer Paul Janeway leading the way.  He especially gained my respect after thanking security for getting his “fat ass” back on stage after a romp through the crowd.  Anyone who can laugh at himself is cool by me.  Oh, he can sing too!

August 28, 2022.  Khruangbin (but it was not to be), preceded by The Infamous Stringdusters with Molly Tuttle.  Bad weather made this entire day at the Sacred Rose Festival precarious.  I got to see an abbreviated setlist with the Stringdusters and Molly Tuttle, who were terrific.  Alas, nearby lightening shut things down thereafter.  My friend was particularly distraught after waiting for two hours in the front row to see Khruangbin, only to be turned away.

September 9, 2022.  The Shins preceded by Joseph.  Such a score on this one!  I was a little unmotivated to see The Shins on a weeknight, concluding that I may have been a bit too zealous with my concert ticket purchases earlier in the year.  But then a few days before the show I discovered that Joseph were opening, another band introduced to me by one of my daughters.  I liked their output and wondered how they might perform live.  Wow.  I mean, wow!  Three sisters singing tight harmonies to nothing more than an electric guitar and an occasional MIDI kick drum trigger.  And they killed it!  One of my top two concerts of the past year. I came home and immediately ordered their acoustic album on vinyl.  The Shins came out and killed it as well, offering a lot more urgency and energy than on their studio albums, and singer James Mercer was in great form, nailing the high vocal parts that Mercer could have been forgiven for reworking to accommodate his aging voice.  But no, even on the powerhouse “Simple Song,” he hit those suckers perfectly.  Great show.

And so ended twelve months of live music.  Not too shabby.  At present I don’t have tickets to see anyone, perhaps needing to take a reprieve after such a breakneck pace.  But it was a helluva good run.

The Cheap Trick book, This Band Has No Past

It’s been a long time since my last post, but I’m ready to get things rolling again.

Last spring I wrote about Brian Kramp’s run-in with the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA), a short-sighted entity who temporarily shut down his music podcast, Rock and/or Roll. The silver lining in this fiasco was that it freed up Kramp’s time to complete This Band Has No Past: How Cheap Trick Became Cheap Trick, available now at Bookshop.org, Barnes and Noble, and other bookstores. I am not a die-hard Cheap Trick fan by any means, though I do think that Dream Police and In Color are nearly perfect power pop albums. Beyond that I’m a modest fan at best. Nonetheless, I found Kramp’s 300-plus-page read to be a delightful trip to the world of live music in the Upper Midwest during the 70s, and a meticulous record of how this band earned their success. If the book can capture the interest of a casual fan, I think that hard-core Cheap Trick followers will be ecstatic.

Kramp conducted more than eighty interviews for the book, including particularly insightful contributions from original drummer Bun E. Carlos and band manager Ken Adamany. The other original band members – Tom Petersson, Rick Nielsen and Robin Zander – didn’t participate, but their words are well-documented from past interviews, and I didn’t find their lack of direct input to be a drawback. If anything, it may have helped to keep the book focused and allow for more contributions from other players in the band’s history.

This Band Has No Past, a title taken from the mock-biography included in the band’s debut album, meticulously covers the origins of Cheap Trick from its modest roots in Rockford, Illinois, with forerunning bands such as The Grim Reapers, Bo Weevils and Fuse, to the recording of the wildly successful Cheap Trick at Budokan, the album that finally garnered the sales that eluded the band through their first three releases. You might be asking, “How the heck can a 300-page book only cover the band’s first few albums?” Kramp does this in a multitude of ways, all of which I found appealing.

First, he put the band’s evolution in context with contemporaneous events like the Vietnam War and the releases of Jaws and Star Wars, plus events that played tangential roles in band members’ lives, such as the details of the Richard Speck murders (which would inspire the song, "The Ballad of TV Violence") and the story of the plane crash that took the lives of Otis Redding and six others in 1967. As it happened, future band manager Ken Adamany owned the Madison, Wisconsin club where Redding was to appear that night, and Rick Nielsen’s band, The Grim Reapers, opened for what turned out to be somber occasion.

Second, Kramp’s devotion to details that other author’s may have deemed unimportant give the story its scope and vibrancy, such as the story of Chris Crowe, a graphic artist who created the band’s logo, the inclusion of setlists from various shows, and an in-depth analysis of which of the debut album’s sides was supposed to be played first (it’s not as obvious as one would think). Kramp scoured seemingly every publication that included even a passing mention to the band – the Racine Journal Times, the Rockford Register Republic, Estherville Daily News, etc. Seriously, I admire the efforts it must have taken for Kramp to amass so much information and portray it in an entertaining fashion. Hell, he included two pages worth of adjectives that various publications used to describe Cheap Trick, and another two pages of adjectives used to describe at Rick Nielsen. Kind of crazy, but really rewarding!

Which brings me to the third point: just as Kramp appears to have worked tirelessly to write This Band Has No Past, the book highlights just how hard-working the members of Cheap Trick and a multitude of other bands were at the time, playing show after show after show at tiny venues throughout the Upper Midwest, from bowling alleys to high school dances to clubs to festivals. The book serves as a time capsule of the gritty but vibrant live music scene during the 70s, a scene that modern day musicians can only long for. While most of the venues were foreign to me, I have to imagine that anyone from the area who came of age during the 70s is going to be thrilled with this trip down memory lane.

Most illuminating for me was the realization that Jack Douglas, the producer of Cheap Trick’s debut album, hand-picked the songs for that 1977 release, overlooking tracks that would later prove to be very important to the band’s success, most notably “I Want You To Want Me” and “Surrender.” And it’s mind-boggling to me that “Hello There” wasn’t chosen to open the first album; it would have rivaled other great debuts such as “Welcome to the Working Week,” “Let the Good Times Roll,” “Chuck E.’s in Love” and “Runnin’ with the Devil.” A fan of alternative history might ponder what would have transpired if these songs had been released earlier. Perhaps success would have come sooner, but perhaps Budokan wouldn’t have become phenomenon it became

Somehow it all worked out. And thanks to Kramp, much of it has been documented in an enjoyable read, and the book itself is an attractive, sturdy publication with color photos and appealing typesetting, making it well worth the price.

Life's Meaning and Selfish Pursuits

Speaking with my mother on the phone a few weeks ago, she lamented the aches and pains that she and her older friends have been experiencing lately, concluding that today’s elderly are dealing with issues that their parents never encountered because they’re “living too darn long.” While my mother is certainly still active and enjoying various activities, she feels like she’s no longer living a “purpose-driven life,” borrowing a phrase from Rick Warren’s best-selling book. Aside from doing some tutoring and volunteering at a hospital, she doesn’t feel like she’s truly contributing to society or the greater good.

I don’t know that one has to actively contribute to society to live a meaningful life, but I’ve been ruminating about this ever since our conversation. I too am wrestling with what a meaningful existence entails. Back in 2017, I wrote a few blogs that tackled this subject, and I seemed more assured of the answer than ever before. I wrote:

Learn. Explore. Volunteer. Start a hobby. Help others. Learn an instrument. Love, and experience joy with the ones you love. Learn a craft. Grow something. Learn a language. Have fun with friends. And perhaps most importantly, enjoy the little miracles around you every day. 

But for me, 2022 has been a year of saying “no” to things. I resigned from my two biggest volunteering activities: picking up food for a local food pantry and serving on my synagogue’s board. At the end of the summer I am leaving one of my bands, and I’ve also given up baseball this year, having watched not one game this season in person or on TV, an act of defiance which provoked the following response from an old friend of mine: “Oh shit, this is getting real.” It is kind of! I’m used to watching over a hundred games a year. This year I’ve probably freed up somewhere around 300 hours to pursue other things.

But what things, exactly? As a friend of mine once said of retirement: you can’t just retire from something, you have to retire to something. And if 2022 is the year for me to say no to some things, I’m also going to have to say yes to other things. 

So far, it’s a little unresolved, and I echo my mother’s thoughts that perhaps I’m not living a purpose-driven life. But the thing is, I’m happy to have walked away from a few of my volunteer activities. It was time. I’m at peace with leaving one of my bands. It was time. I don’t miss baseball in the least, something I couldn’t fathom saying a few years ago. But what will I walk towards?

I have friends whose purpose in life seems to be to enjoy life itself. Is that enough? It’s a self-centered pursuit for sure, but damn, they seem pretty happy, and after spending years and years doing what I thought I should do, I’m kind of enjoying just doing what I want to. I’m recording a new album that few people will ever hear. I’m playing in a few bands. I’m reading books more proactively. I’m tackling home maintenance projects. I’m reaching out to friends and family, attending concerts, enjoying food and taking walks with my wife and dog.

Is that enough? It isn’t noble. It’s perhaps not the life I can sustain for long before I tell myself to get back in the game and – as Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. described in his novel Dead-Eye Dick – stop living life as epilogue and get back to adding to one’s story. It’s tricky. My mom probably feels like her life is epilogue – that her life story is over now. I’m 29 years younger than my mom, and in some ways I’m living a life that’s “short on story and overburdened with epilogue.” But I’m enjoying it except for the part of me that feels guilty for enjoying it! 

For now, I’m going to try to give myself permission to pat myself on my back for twenty years of parenting and volunteering and say it’s okay to have a reprieve. To reset. To just breathe for a while and let my whims take me where they may. Eventually I’ll find something to say yes to, that excites me.

This meaning of life stuff is tricky, whether you’re 83 or 54. It really never gets any easier.

Archie Bunker and the Pentatonic Scale

Cooking in the kitchen the other day, I began humming the theme song to the classic 70s sitcom All in the Family, “Those Were the Days.” (TV theme songs constantly pop up in my head – they were good tunes!). In short order I recognized that nearly the entire song is comprised of the major pentatonic scale. Not until the B section, as Carroll O’Connor pines for the days when “girls were girls and men were men,” is the 7th of the scale introduced. Good stuff! It reminded me of my first introduction to the pentatonic scale as a child, when my sister taught me how to play a version of “Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater” using only the black keys of our piano. I didn’t know at the time that the five keys made up a pentatonic scale, but in retrospect I probably became innately familiar with the scale’s sound.  

Years later, when I played baritone horn in my school’s band, one of my favorite pieces was “Variations of a Korean Folk Song” by John Barnes Chance, a ubiquitous piece among band circles at the time. Nearly the entire composition’s melody uses a pentatonic scale, and the impact of the song’s climax is probably heightened because the melody is played over a low brass line that finally introduces the 7th and 4th degrees of the scale, surprising the listener who by that point has grown accustomed to hearing only the five notes of the pentatonic scale. Really lovely.  

Traditional Chinese music utilizes the pentatonic scale, something American composer Alan Menken tapped into when composing songs for the Disney film, Mulan. The A section of the opening track, “Honor to us All,” is comprised solely of the pentatonic scale.

When I was a junior in high school, after I’d saved up my dishwashing money and skipped my high school’s homecoming dance to purchase by buddy’s older brother’s Peavey T40 bass guitar, I learned the familiar beginning notes to “My Girl,” the Temptations classic. Not only does the opening guitar riff use the pentatonic scale, the melody of the entire tune is comprised of only five notes.

Somewhere along the line my piano teacher Fred Tesch taught me the blues scale, and probably even intimated its association with the pentatonic scale, but it wasn’t until I was older that I truly understood the relationship. When I first learned the intro to Supertramp’s “Bloody Well Right,” it finally sunk in that the blues scale is essentially a major pentatonic scale starting on the 6th degree (which is simply called a minor pentatonic scale), plus one additional “blue” note. When Supertramp pianist Rick Davies plays his fabulous intro on the Wurlitzer, he’s primarily jamming on a G blues scale, though the song is in B-flat. The same technique is employed in Stevie Wonder’s “Sir Duke.” When I doubled the riff in my horn band years ago, I was well aware that I was doing the same thing Rick Davies had done in Supertramp: playing a major key’s relative minor blues scale (in this case a G-sharp blues scale, though the song is in the key of B).

Over the years, I dutifully took note, and even now when I’m soloing, I’m hopelessly tied to the pentatonic scale (I’m a pretty good keyboard player, but creative soloing is not exactly my forte).

Irving Berlin is famous for (among composing many great songs) preferring to play the black keys of a piano, and he had a transposing piano built so that he could always play in the key of F sharp.  Here he is demonstrating the invention.

It would be wrong to conclude that Berlin only played the black keys – far from it – but it’s nice to know that as the younger me was pounding out “Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater,” I was playing the notes that Berlin favored. Not a bad way to begin a musical journey.