It's one of the oldest tricks in the entertainment industry: a well-liked performer needs to pay the bills. So many are "working actors" and you find them in something that might be, to someone's personal eye, beneath their talent. During the predictable trashing of a review, a critic will add "and poor ________, she/he deserves better!" Because, of course, the person didn't audition or approve doing the role, and went through the whole production. How does a person in either a large studio movie or airing TV series "deserve better?"
I don't know. I also don't know why this phrase can only apply to actors and actresses. Why can't it apply to people in my world...my place in society (such as it is)? Hell, why can't it apply to me?
The possibilities are endless:
Look at Trip in his beat up, old Saturn. Sure, it still runs just fine, but why drive such an old car? He can't use outdated safety methods these days! He deserves better! Get him a Mercedes!
Looks like Trip is sweating through another hot Summer day. Why hasn't he found the right house yet? Get him somewhere that has central air instead of window units. He deserves better: temperature control at the touch of a button. End his private hell!
Yes, that is a stylish 70's beer stein Trip is drinking from, but it IS a bit unwieldy. It's a chore to properly clean as well. He deserves better! When will today's fine ceramic beer mug makers create something for such a man?
Writing those phrases, let alone reading them aloud, looks stupid. Just as stupid as demanding "better" for folks who make more in one episode than I'll make in months.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Thursday, October 24, 2013
A Bitter Pill for Halloween '82
(Editor's Note: With Halloween around the corner, Trip Darvez releases another old column from the defunct L.A. Reader. This story is from October 28th, 1982)
Here at the Thrifty Drug on Magnolia Blvd., the kids are going through the usual paces: looking at the costume accessories, ogling the candy, staring through the glass case at the ice cream. In that respect, nothing is new. But ask their parents, or go a few aisles over, and you'll get a different story.
A handwritten sign is on shelves on both sides of Aisle 9: "PLEASE ALERT US IF YOU SEE ANY TAMPERED MERCHANDISE." And while people are telling store manager Mike Cristofano "They'd rather just have a headache than die." he thought he'd only have to deal with Asile 9. But as Halloween approaches, the parents are out in full force. Not just with Tylenol, Bufferin, Anacin, and the like...but with Brach's?
A mother, Julia, says "See...these don't have anything on the label." So what? "Anyone could put something in the candy. Pins, poison, whatever." Couldn't 'they' do that to anyone? "Yes. That's why we're having a party instead." That idea was brought up to the kids who couldn't have disagreed further. "No! We're going out trick or treating." said one whose name I can't print, lest he get caught. "I am. We already have our route. I'm going as Pac-Man. He's (a friend next to him, also nameless) going as an LA Ram. Hey, what did my Mom say?" I wasn't going to get into the middle of this, but each side made their point.
Most people giving out candy (if you're lucky to have a house...for now) didn't seem to care if kids ate it or not, but it turns out I was shopping at the wrong time. At the Lucky market a mile or two down the road, a housewife was stocking up. "I can't, in good conscious, hand out those fun-size treats." She, too, was afraid...almost of herself. "I don't want to accidentally poison someone." Her response was to make and hand out snacks that kids would eat off paper plates in front of the house. "I found an apricot cheesecake recipe in Family Circle. Let's see, I need unflavored gelatin." Aren't parents stressing that kids not take unwrapped candy this year? "Well, I would never...are you saying that kids won't..I don't know why..." She pushed her cart away.
It appears that Sunday night will tell us how much the hysteria hits the actual kids - about 2/3rds told me they eat the candy while trick or treating, thus less to carry down the road. Their one complaint of all the adults making changes this year: raisins as a substitute. "My mom won't let me take apples because of razor blades in them, you know? But raisins suck." I hope they don't go to Ramona's house: she was stocking up on raisins when I met her. "Kids have enough candy as it is. It's safer to give them raisins now. Who's going to poison raisins?" Why stop there? Why not just pour from a big bag of rice? How about samples of linoleum...or maybe a pack of smokes?
One other aspect worth reporting was the merry pranksters of the high school set, but the lone response I received seem to sum up the whole experience. "Halloween...it's on a Sunday, so...man, this year I'm just gonna get drunk."
Here at the Thrifty Drug on Magnolia Blvd., the kids are going through the usual paces: looking at the costume accessories, ogling the candy, staring through the glass case at the ice cream. In that respect, nothing is new. But ask their parents, or go a few aisles over, and you'll get a different story.
A handwritten sign is on shelves on both sides of Aisle 9: "PLEASE ALERT US IF YOU SEE ANY TAMPERED MERCHANDISE." And while people are telling store manager Mike Cristofano "They'd rather just have a headache than die." he thought he'd only have to deal with Asile 9. But as Halloween approaches, the parents are out in full force. Not just with Tylenol, Bufferin, Anacin, and the like...but with Brach's?
A mother, Julia, says "See...these don't have anything on the label." So what? "Anyone could put something in the candy. Pins, poison, whatever." Couldn't 'they' do that to anyone? "Yes. That's why we're having a party instead." That idea was brought up to the kids who couldn't have disagreed further. "No! We're going out trick or treating." said one whose name I can't print, lest he get caught. "I am. We already have our route. I'm going as Pac-Man. He's (a friend next to him, also nameless) going as an LA Ram. Hey, what did my Mom say?" I wasn't going to get into the middle of this, but each side made their point.
Most people giving out candy (if you're lucky to have a house...for now) didn't seem to care if kids ate it or not, but it turns out I was shopping at the wrong time. At the Lucky market a mile or two down the road, a housewife was stocking up. "I can't, in good conscious, hand out those fun-size treats." She, too, was afraid...almost of herself. "I don't want to accidentally poison someone." Her response was to make and hand out snacks that kids would eat off paper plates in front of the house. "I found an apricot cheesecake recipe in Family Circle. Let's see, I need unflavored gelatin." Aren't parents stressing that kids not take unwrapped candy this year? "Well, I would never...are you saying that kids won't..I don't know why..." She pushed her cart away.
It appears that Sunday night will tell us how much the hysteria hits the actual kids - about 2/3rds told me they eat the candy while trick or treating, thus less to carry down the road. Their one complaint of all the adults making changes this year: raisins as a substitute. "My mom won't let me take apples because of razor blades in them, you know? But raisins suck." I hope they don't go to Ramona's house: she was stocking up on raisins when I met her. "Kids have enough candy as it is. It's safer to give them raisins now. Who's going to poison raisins?" Why stop there? Why not just pour from a big bag of rice? How about samples of linoleum...or maybe a pack of smokes?
One other aspect worth reporting was the merry pranksters of the high school set, but the lone response I received seem to sum up the whole experience. "Halloween...it's on a Sunday, so...man, this year I'm just gonna get drunk."
Friday, September 27, 2013
Fanatics at the Gate
When it comes to the Dodgers / Giants rivalry, its apparent there are two sides now. You have the in-game baseball aspect, and everything else. The everything else is the problem, and the "rivalry" is becoming less and less about baseball.
Your writer spent years in Boston (pre-World Series victories) and saw a team with a desperate inferiority complex. Beyond that, there was a unifying hatred of the Yankees...really, the fact that the Yankees were a close (geographical) team that tended to not only win often, but defeat the Red Sox. There would be anti-Yankees apparel, and folks wearing Yankees clothing (purely to act as a shit-stirrer in public) would be booed and threatened. If you think it is & was limited to sports fans around the stadium or bars, you're wrong. I had an older, female teacher in a college class tell me (solemnly) that anyone wearing a Yankees cap would receive a lower grade. This was said along side the class curriculum and assignment workload. I was surprised, but would soon grow accustomed to the scorn.
The difference between that rivalry and the Dodgers and Giants is different, and the recent murder makes any sort of "progress" made all for naught. With the Brian Stow beating in the Dodger Stadium parking lot, the focus was on the out of control nature of the post-game LA fan. It was LA's problem (regardless of how a Dodger fan would be treated outside Telephone Park) and often used as symbolism of Frank McCourt's inability to be nothing but a moron.
But now, 2 years later, a Dodger fan (son of a stadium employee) is killed just outside the stadium. People wearing one team's apparel, someone wearing the other's confronts them...and then this. "This" (thankfully) doesn't happen often...but it's the same 2 teams, and here we go. "Words exchanged" - doesn't help whoever started the talk, but it's all the shit afterward. Or that there's any "shit afterward."
Folks, the Dodger and Giant teams are thankful for their fans, but that's where it ends. You can pay to see them in person, pay to eat their food, pay to wear their clothing. All they do in return is take your money. When I ended years of frustrated Cub fandom, I received no letter or phone call of apology from the team. They didn't notice. The Dodgers didn't notice I became a fan. So it goes.
And this is just a rivalry between two teams - there are entire groups of a team's fans who uniformly "don't respect" other team's fans because...they're "rivals." Who are? The fans? Does that make you the "Best Fans in the League?" Because you care more? Shit, on the streets of Beverly Hills this morning, I saw a woman wearing a New York Yankees cap. The odds would be good that, if pressed to name a starting pitcher for the team, she could not...or would say "Mariano Rivera?" But even if she did that, or did name one, or the entire rotation...who cares?!
You're a fan of a team? OK. You're a fan of a team that is a rival of my favorite team? My mind will reflex and claim to "not understand why you would" but there it ends. And that's all it should be, because you don't play, own, or even work for the team. As an excuse for anything beyond a "look" is apparently the state we in this state are in now...and there's no joy in Dealville.
Your writer spent years in Boston (pre-World Series victories) and saw a team with a desperate inferiority complex. Beyond that, there was a unifying hatred of the Yankees...really, the fact that the Yankees were a close (geographical) team that tended to not only win often, but defeat the Red Sox. There would be anti-Yankees apparel, and folks wearing Yankees clothing (purely to act as a shit-stirrer in public) would be booed and threatened. If you think it is & was limited to sports fans around the stadium or bars, you're wrong. I had an older, female teacher in a college class tell me (solemnly) that anyone wearing a Yankees cap would receive a lower grade. This was said along side the class curriculum and assignment workload. I was surprised, but would soon grow accustomed to the scorn.
The difference between that rivalry and the Dodgers and Giants is different, and the recent murder makes any sort of "progress" made all for naught. With the Brian Stow beating in the Dodger Stadium parking lot, the focus was on the out of control nature of the post-game LA fan. It was LA's problem (regardless of how a Dodger fan would be treated outside Telephone Park) and often used as symbolism of Frank McCourt's inability to be nothing but a moron.
But now, 2 years later, a Dodger fan (son of a stadium employee) is killed just outside the stadium. People wearing one team's apparel, someone wearing the other's confronts them...and then this. "This" (thankfully) doesn't happen often...but it's the same 2 teams, and here we go. "Words exchanged" - doesn't help whoever started the talk, but it's all the shit afterward. Or that there's any "shit afterward."
Folks, the Dodger and Giant teams are thankful for their fans, but that's where it ends. You can pay to see them in person, pay to eat their food, pay to wear their clothing. All they do in return is take your money. When I ended years of frustrated Cub fandom, I received no letter or phone call of apology from the team. They didn't notice. The Dodgers didn't notice I became a fan. So it goes.
And this is just a rivalry between two teams - there are entire groups of a team's fans who uniformly "don't respect" other team's fans because...they're "rivals." Who are? The fans? Does that make you the "Best Fans in the League?" Because you care more? Shit, on the streets of Beverly Hills this morning, I saw a woman wearing a New York Yankees cap. The odds would be good that, if pressed to name a starting pitcher for the team, she could not...or would say "Mariano Rivera?" But even if she did that, or did name one, or the entire rotation...who cares?!
You're a fan of a team? OK. You're a fan of a team that is a rival of my favorite team? My mind will reflex and claim to "not understand why you would" but there it ends. And that's all it should be, because you don't play, own, or even work for the team. As an excuse for anything beyond a "look" is apparently the state we in this state are in now...and there's no joy in Dealville.
Monday, August 26, 2013
No Amount of Preparation
I can read weather reports and try to remember the feeling...one that left my brain almost immediately. I can listen to old radio ads from the 1970's to "get ready" but it won't really help. I can try to remember where I'm going, but all I own are memories...fleeting at that. I likely remember the vibe of the Summer of '84, driving down France Ave, than I do "good restaurants." How the sam hell would I know? I don't, and even if I try to prep it won't make a difference at all.
I looked at the weather, and I swear to you this was the headline: "Record Heat Engulfs Midwest." That's wonderful! How about you just add some humidity for zest? Bugs, too...be sure to include a lot of flies and skeeters. We want to take outdoor enjoyment out of this visit. Folks, last Saturday I sat poolside, on a temperate Valley night, drinking a margarita, talking deals. This group concurred that any thoughts of leaving Goldville are shot down on nights like this. I'll remember that, having been told to "come outside, Trip" for the 50th time, swatting mosquitoes and pulling my shirt from my now-damp skin as I have to respond to "when I'm coming to visit again." Because, you know, I'm not right there in the moment.
Oh, activities could be planned, though mostly outside...but add weather to the new travelling companion and it is even tougher. I'm attempting to harness a young mind - how dare I expose her to such depravity? I'd love to loiter at a mall, but there's Smiley giving me a look and a fake-question, such as "You want to take her for a minute?" So, leisure, plenty of space...that's our preferred mode.
This makes the planned carnival even more intense. In the past, large amounts of unknowns wouldn't be an issue at all (except when you get cornered), but not anymore. My priorities lie in ol Puddin' Pop. Here are more randos wanting to look at you, poking and prodding. I bet you'll love that. Oh, you don't? I'm not surprised. "Trip, why is she upset? My friends from a Super 60's booze cruise want to meet her. Just bring her out...remember, they sent you the bibs?"
Long before the details were given to us, we agreed that we had to hit the Fair. Smiley needed to see the state condensed into one area. No words or descriptions will do it justice, and when you add the weather I mentioned above, I am anticipating...nay, demanding some MN oddities. Thankfully, we know the Fair will deliver.
And then...that's it. Finding and searching for time with those we haven't seen in years, those who we really want to see and enjoy? Sadly, the time might be limited to an hour. Some will understand, and some who don't will still be sympathetic. It's all we can ask. I can take someone, show them the battleground, and do as I wished someone would have to me 20 years ago: send em back to Goldland.
Not trying to sound harsh or above it, but if you knew the difference, you'd agree.
I looked at the weather, and I swear to you this was the headline: "Record Heat Engulfs Midwest." That's wonderful! How about you just add some humidity for zest? Bugs, too...be sure to include a lot of flies and skeeters. We want to take outdoor enjoyment out of this visit. Folks, last Saturday I sat poolside, on a temperate Valley night, drinking a margarita, talking deals. This group concurred that any thoughts of leaving Goldville are shot down on nights like this. I'll remember that, having been told to "come outside, Trip" for the 50th time, swatting mosquitoes and pulling my shirt from my now-damp skin as I have to respond to "when I'm coming to visit again." Because, you know, I'm not right there in the moment.
Oh, activities could be planned, though mostly outside...but add weather to the new travelling companion and it is even tougher. I'm attempting to harness a young mind - how dare I expose her to such depravity? I'd love to loiter at a mall, but there's Smiley giving me a look and a fake-question, such as "You want to take her for a minute?" So, leisure, plenty of space...that's our preferred mode.
This makes the planned carnival even more intense. In the past, large amounts of unknowns wouldn't be an issue at all (except when you get cornered), but not anymore. My priorities lie in ol Puddin' Pop. Here are more randos wanting to look at you, poking and prodding. I bet you'll love that. Oh, you don't? I'm not surprised. "Trip, why is she upset? My friends from a Super 60's booze cruise want to meet her. Just bring her out...remember, they sent you the bibs?"
Long before the details were given to us, we agreed that we had to hit the Fair. Smiley needed to see the state condensed into one area. No words or descriptions will do it justice, and when you add the weather I mentioned above, I am anticipating...nay, demanding some MN oddities. Thankfully, we know the Fair will deliver.
And then...that's it. Finding and searching for time with those we haven't seen in years, those who we really want to see and enjoy? Sadly, the time might be limited to an hour. Some will understand, and some who don't will still be sympathetic. It's all we can ask. I can take someone, show them the battleground, and do as I wished someone would have to me 20 years ago: send em back to Goldland.
Not trying to sound harsh or above it, but if you knew the difference, you'd agree.
Friday, July 26, 2013
The Perils of Programming: KCBS, July 20-21, 2013
Just how easy is it these days to program the weekends on a local station? Well, you can forget about having to schedule aggressively, or even concern yourself with anyone else. If anything, you'd be fighting a collective 6 share. Doesn't seem worth it, does it? And, as long as the FCC continues to let you do whatever the hell you want, well, you could just sit back and make money. How? I'm glad you asked.
I'm sure you've seen stations do this, but I hadn't seen such a give-up attitude from a network affiliate (let alone an owned network affiliate) than what KCBS put up this past weekend. CBS Sports offered no programming over the weekend, so KCBS just opened the grid and made it a paid programming festival.
Saturday, 10-11AM, 11:30AM-4:30PM
Yes, folks, that's 6 hours of "I give up, just pay me" scheduling. (The bump in the road was a completely random rerun of NewsRadio at 11AM, ranking 3rd in the time period) How did it work out? Well, as long as someone is watching it means people will want to be on the station, particularly on a good time of day. Never mind that 3 of the 6 hours literally no one watched. Cash on the barrel.
KABC's kids coverage, a show called "Recipe Rehab" and tape-delayed coverage of the British Open registered up to a 2.4 rating. Outside of some tune-in of another Yankees-Red Sox game on KTTV, it was channel 7 or nothing for those not wanting to be outside on a summer afternoon.
This must have been KCBS's thought. There's no need to go dark - let's do it again!
Sunday, 9:30-11:30AM, 1:00-5:00PM
Out of Face the Nation, the run of paid programming continued. Lucky for them, Face the Nation's median viewer age hovers near 80, so the audience held a small percentage as they attempted to find the remote. However, with sister station KCAL airing the Dodgers/Nationals game, KCBS' interruption from dicers and hair growth systems was the solid gold movie "Back to School."
"Do you look at a menu and say 'O.K.'?"
It was enough to outperform the paid runs on independent stations KTLA and KDOC. Reality did begin to set in at 1PM, so as with the day before, half of this run saw no one watching. Beyond the Dodgers, the LA viewer was left to wander. "Doc told me to stay outta the sun, so I'm just flippin around."
The "give-up attitude" I mentioned above isn't so much an indictment to KCBS' blase-faire attitude as it is a clear view that, for them, the bottom line is the bottom line. Regulations get weaker and weaker, and on the weekend turning a profit is really the only goal. Of course, if you asked anyone at the station, they'd speak of their attempts to have a "TV-everywhere" app to play on all platforms...which is well and good until they realize no one will be watching "everywhere" either if there's nothing to see.
I'm sure you've seen stations do this, but I hadn't seen such a give-up attitude from a network affiliate (let alone an owned network affiliate) than what KCBS put up this past weekend. CBS Sports offered no programming over the weekend, so KCBS just opened the grid and made it a paid programming festival.
Saturday, 10-11AM, 11:30AM-4:30PM
Yes, folks, that's 6 hours of "I give up, just pay me" scheduling. (The bump in the road was a completely random rerun of NewsRadio at 11AM, ranking 3rd in the time period) How did it work out? Well, as long as someone is watching it means people will want to be on the station, particularly on a good time of day. Never mind that 3 of the 6 hours literally no one watched. Cash on the barrel.
KABC's kids coverage, a show called "Recipe Rehab" and tape-delayed coverage of the British Open registered up to a 2.4 rating. Outside of some tune-in of another Yankees-Red Sox game on KTTV, it was channel 7 or nothing for those not wanting to be outside on a summer afternoon.
This must have been KCBS's thought. There's no need to go dark - let's do it again!
Sunday, 9:30-11:30AM, 1:00-5:00PM
Out of Face the Nation, the run of paid programming continued. Lucky for them, Face the Nation's median viewer age hovers near 80, so the audience held a small percentage as they attempted to find the remote. However, with sister station KCAL airing the Dodgers/Nationals game, KCBS' interruption from dicers and hair growth systems was the solid gold movie "Back to School."
"Do you look at a menu and say 'O.K.'?"
It was enough to outperform the paid runs on independent stations KTLA and KDOC. Reality did begin to set in at 1PM, so as with the day before, half of this run saw no one watching. Beyond the Dodgers, the LA viewer was left to wander. "Doc told me to stay outta the sun, so I'm just flippin around."
The "give-up attitude" I mentioned above isn't so much an indictment to KCBS' blase-faire attitude as it is a clear view that, for them, the bottom line is the bottom line. Regulations get weaker and weaker, and on the weekend turning a profit is really the only goal. Of course, if you asked anyone at the station, they'd speak of their attempts to have a "TV-everywhere" app to play on all platforms...which is well and good until they realize no one will be watching "everywhere" either if there's nothing to see.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
...2-3-4
We're an American band, woooo hooo!
We're an American band, woooo hooo!
Yeah!
All right! Thanks. Can you guys hear us down there? Dyn-o-mite! Haha. OK, let me take a gulp of the Coors...thanks, Duane. What's next?
We could do "I'm not in love"
We should do that later, I think. Like, near sunset.
Yeah, man, but that's, what, 4 hours from now?
Aren't we going to have the Bar-B-Q then?
Yeah, but are we gonna play afterward?
How about BTO? "Ain't Seen Nothing Yet?"
Let's do "Hey You."
All right.
(3 minutes later)
Hey You, sha la laaaaa la
Hey You, sha la laaaaa la
Yeah!
All right! Now we're rockin'! We are gonna party! Hey, Janice, could you bring Russell a beer? Whatever...Olympia, Schlitz...
How about some Stones?
Yeah...do you know the the parts for "Bitch?"
Um...is it...wait, I could do "Brown Sugar."
Cool, man. I know that one. You ready?
Gimme a second. How does it start?
I'll do the part on guitar and then give you all the nod. You know, "naa naa na naa na nanna NA NA."
Right on.
OK...uh, 2-3-4...
Monday, June 17, 2013
Dogs & Butterflies
I have a greeting card that I mean to send to someone but always forget...it's one of those where an old 1950's picture has an out-of-context caption. A pie is being pulled out of the oven, the baker clearly showing off her goods to someone else, and it says "Funny, I don't remember asking your opinion."
If you ever get through this stage of life (and maybe you have) there are folks who have been down that road before, and they dispense advice. Some of it is noteworthy, but more often than not it's re-assuring. That's really what anyone needs. But then there are others, desperate for a new life, who would love to take over yours. They'd like you to know what they would do if they were you. Because you'd immediately do it, right? You'd take unsolicited "advice" and just run with it?
We shun man-made tripe around these parts...either with un-returned messages or polite smiles and then we leave the area. It's because in a world that we let become complex, I continue to crave simplicity.
All we were doing was sitting in a park. There were cares, of course, but we knew it was a window with no cares...and we just laid out there. Under a tree. And we looked up...and that was it.
"Look at all this stuff up there. What do you think of all this? That's a pretty big tree. You know, sometime soon, you and me will plant a tree. And you'll get bigger. And you'll start to think that the tree will never get as big as you. Then one day you'll come home and see the tree is much bigger than you. Someone did that when I was young, and you can do it. Isn't it nice they did that? We get to sit under this big tree."
This description was met with odd vocal sounds, hopping legs, and giggles. I can only hope she understood what she can considering the circumstances. We saw the doggies...we saw butterflies...sitting in the shade. I couldn't ask for much more without it becoming complicated and expensive. Too busy living it up to wonder what people think we "should be doing" today.
And hell, I got a t-shirt from Smiley that said I'm more fun when I'm drunk.
When you're in Dealville, it's all about finding gold as you know. But it's what you do with it that makes the difference.
If you ever get through this stage of life (and maybe you have) there are folks who have been down that road before, and they dispense advice. Some of it is noteworthy, but more often than not it's re-assuring. That's really what anyone needs. But then there are others, desperate for a new life, who would love to take over yours. They'd like you to know what they would do if they were you. Because you'd immediately do it, right? You'd take unsolicited "advice" and just run with it?
We shun man-made tripe around these parts...either with un-returned messages or polite smiles and then we leave the area. It's because in a world that we let become complex, I continue to crave simplicity.
All we were doing was sitting in a park. There were cares, of course, but we knew it was a window with no cares...and we just laid out there. Under a tree. And we looked up...and that was it.
"Look at all this stuff up there. What do you think of all this? That's a pretty big tree. You know, sometime soon, you and me will plant a tree. And you'll get bigger. And you'll start to think that the tree will never get as big as you. Then one day you'll come home and see the tree is much bigger than you. Someone did that when I was young, and you can do it. Isn't it nice they did that? We get to sit under this big tree."
This description was met with odd vocal sounds, hopping legs, and giggles. I can only hope she understood what she can considering the circumstances. We saw the doggies...we saw butterflies...sitting in the shade. I couldn't ask for much more without it becoming complicated and expensive. Too busy living it up to wonder what people think we "should be doing" today.
And hell, I got a t-shirt from Smiley that said I'm more fun when I'm drunk.
When you're in Dealville, it's all about finding gold as you know. But it's what you do with it that makes the difference.
Thursday, May 02, 2013
And the hits just keep on comin'
I was there in Hollywood on Tuesday to see the sun break through clouds and shine down on Shotgun Tom Kelly as he received a star on the Walk of Fame. In a long radio career, it was another validation of his success. And yet I couldn't help but think that this would be the last star on the walk of fame for any radio talent.
There were days were a personality would entertain you between songs, and the talent and style ran the gamut. If they were good enough, you stayed listening to the station even if the song playing was not your favorite. But that style and theory left the business long ago. When the Telecommunications Act of 1996 went into effect, and the corporations began buying stations at a furious pace, they realized staff would have to be reduced to turn a profit. The most expensive staff at a station is the air talent...one of the two main reasons a person would listen to a station.
Of course, listeners would tune in for the music as well, but without the personality you're left with just a song. Said corporations would run study after study to find what songs were recognizable to play it safe. All the while, on-air talent had two choices: try to go elsewhere and suffer the same fate, or watch the actual talk time reduced to 30 seconds before an 8-10 minute ad break. "Stay tuned! I've got Van Morrison and Chicago coming up next!"
Time marches on, and now it's 2013. You have a generation who's had no need to listen to the radio to hear the songs they like...the airwaves cluttered with stations playing the same songs they did a decade ago just to keep those who remember radio (hint: 30+) around. It's the bed congress and the corporations made for themselves, a mattress of diminishing returns.
But what of the talent? The jocks? Some went into other forms of entertainment. Some went into production. Some, voice-overs. (The "celebrity voice" trend of ads makes it harder to find work) But many were there to salute Shotgun, exchange pleasantries, but really talk of the old days. Yes, I was successful, it really worked out. Thanks a lot. Now...well, I've got a few things I'm working on but...
It was Shotgun's day, though, and it was celebrated in his style. We dined on hot dogs and toasted a man who just wanted to play the hits. He's been doing it for decades...and instead of grandiose dreams of others (some realized, some not) he has an afternoon drive shift, a top floor apartment, frequent trips to Hawaii and a lifetime of memories. THAT is success in broadcasting by anyone's measure...and it's Solid Gold.
There were days were a personality would entertain you between songs, and the talent and style ran the gamut. If they were good enough, you stayed listening to the station even if the song playing was not your favorite. But that style and theory left the business long ago. When the Telecommunications Act of 1996 went into effect, and the corporations began buying stations at a furious pace, they realized staff would have to be reduced to turn a profit. The most expensive staff at a station is the air talent...one of the two main reasons a person would listen to a station.
Of course, listeners would tune in for the music as well, but without the personality you're left with just a song. Said corporations would run study after study to find what songs were recognizable to play it safe. All the while, on-air talent had two choices: try to go elsewhere and suffer the same fate, or watch the actual talk time reduced to 30 seconds before an 8-10 minute ad break. "Stay tuned! I've got Van Morrison and Chicago coming up next!"
Time marches on, and now it's 2013. You have a generation who's had no need to listen to the radio to hear the songs they like...the airwaves cluttered with stations playing the same songs they did a decade ago just to keep those who remember radio (hint: 30+) around. It's the bed congress and the corporations made for themselves, a mattress of diminishing returns.
But what of the talent? The jocks? Some went into other forms of entertainment. Some went into production. Some, voice-overs. (The "celebrity voice" trend of ads makes it harder to find work) But many were there to salute Shotgun, exchange pleasantries, but really talk of the old days. Yes, I was successful, it really worked out. Thanks a lot. Now...well, I've got a few things I'm working on but...
It was Shotgun's day, though, and it was celebrated in his style. We dined on hot dogs and toasted a man who just wanted to play the hits. He's been doing it for decades...and instead of grandiose dreams of others (some realized, some not) he has an afternoon drive shift, a top floor apartment, frequent trips to Hawaii and a lifetime of memories. THAT is success in broadcasting by anyone's measure...and it's Solid Gold.
Saturday, March 30, 2013
Aged give or take half a century
One of the complete surprises from the Thanksgiving Las Vegas swing was a liquor treasure chest. Folks from the North Country were on their way, and pounding the bottle is a common way to mask the pain. Preparing for the visitors meant taking stock of Big Ed's inventory...and even he had to admit he knew little of what he owned.
To everyone's surprise, the doors opened to show dozens of bottles of varying age. With wonder matching that of a junior high school-er opening dad's liquor cabinet for the first time, we examined the booty. Some bottles had sealed shut. Some had cracked, with mysterious shrapnel inside. We didn't lose hope, though, because each bottle became a comedic defense by Big Ed not knowing or remembering why he'd own such elixirs. Then, out of nowhere, this gem presented itself:
.JPG)
That's an unopened bottle of Chivas Regal, with a TAX STAMP. I'm old enough to remember when liquor bottles of all sizes had these red stickers. Then we view the tax stamp:
1966
Everyone was stunned, and even I had to ask: at some point, Big Ed (or someone) purchased this bottle. This bottle sat in his cabinet as he moved multiple times. It made the trip over a decade ago to Las Vegas. Packed and brought along because...he might need it for parties. It remained, and when I was asked if I wanted to take it home with me, the answer was swift.
Consuming it was another matter. It is a spirit...but does it go bad? (No, it doesn't) Does the extra age increase its value? (Apparently not: this isn't wine) Is it worth anything? (No takers) Well, I guess I'll just have to drink it.
Is it a special occasion thought bouncing around my brain, or casual nervousness? Whatever the case, I waited a handful of months until I decided to go for it.
.JPG)
Opening this sucker was not the easiest task...but with some prodding, it accepted its fate. A sniff test produced the expected: yeah, it's Chivas. Smells right. Color is fine. Nothing has settled. Into the glass...let the cubes cool it down. The taste?
It tasted...a bit thin. I wondered if, over time, it weakened. A quick glance at my report card shows that I enjoyed Consumer Chemistry in high school, but they don't grade on the chemicals I enjoy, so that was of no help as the glass was finished with ease. I ate some Cheetos and realized that I might as well have another. Poured #2, and it was a much smoother affair. Maybe things did settle somehow, someway. But over time, glass two was finished, and I was starting to think I was a better drinker at my age than I--
SLAP
"Good evening! My name is Chivas Regal, and I'm sorry it took me so long. I was stuck in this bottle forever. I am a genie of happiness and joy. Well, well...it appears you hit this pond a bit quick. This time it's my fault. I was asleep. Do you feel it now? Haha! I bet you do. Isn't that enjoyable? It's enjoyable for me, too. Thank you for bringing me back to life."
This conversation ended once Smiley came home, but even she couldn't detect what just occurred: this old friend was woken from a decades-long slumber, and it was ready to party. Every occasion is the right occasion as long as there's moisture in the bottle.
To everyone's surprise, the doors opened to show dozens of bottles of varying age. With wonder matching that of a junior high school-er opening dad's liquor cabinet for the first time, we examined the booty. Some bottles had sealed shut. Some had cracked, with mysterious shrapnel inside. We didn't lose hope, though, because each bottle became a comedic defense by Big Ed not knowing or remembering why he'd own such elixirs. Then, out of nowhere, this gem presented itself:
.JPG)
That's an unopened bottle of Chivas Regal, with a TAX STAMP. I'm old enough to remember when liquor bottles of all sizes had these red stickers. Then we view the tax stamp:
1966
Everyone was stunned, and even I had to ask: at some point, Big Ed (or someone) purchased this bottle. This bottle sat in his cabinet as he moved multiple times. It made the trip over a decade ago to Las Vegas. Packed and brought along because...he might need it for parties. It remained, and when I was asked if I wanted to take it home with me, the answer was swift.
Consuming it was another matter. It is a spirit...but does it go bad? (No, it doesn't) Does the extra age increase its value? (Apparently not: this isn't wine) Is it worth anything? (No takers) Well, I guess I'll just have to drink it.
Is it a special occasion thought bouncing around my brain, or casual nervousness? Whatever the case, I waited a handful of months until I decided to go for it.
.JPG)
Opening this sucker was not the easiest task...but with some prodding, it accepted its fate. A sniff test produced the expected: yeah, it's Chivas. Smells right. Color is fine. Nothing has settled. Into the glass...let the cubes cool it down. The taste?
It tasted...a bit thin. I wondered if, over time, it weakened. A quick glance at my report card shows that I enjoyed Consumer Chemistry in high school, but they don't grade on the chemicals I enjoy, so that was of no help as the glass was finished with ease. I ate some Cheetos and realized that I might as well have another. Poured #2, and it was a much smoother affair. Maybe things did settle somehow, someway. But over time, glass two was finished, and I was starting to think I was a better drinker at my age than I--
SLAP
"Good evening! My name is Chivas Regal, and I'm sorry it took me so long. I was stuck in this bottle forever. I am a genie of happiness and joy. Well, well...it appears you hit this pond a bit quick. This time it's my fault. I was asleep. Do you feel it now? Haha! I bet you do. Isn't that enjoyable? It's enjoyable for me, too. Thank you for bringing me back to life."
This conversation ended once Smiley came home, but even she couldn't detect what just occurred: this old friend was woken from a decades-long slumber, and it was ready to party. Every occasion is the right occasion as long as there's moisture in the bottle.
Thursday, March 07, 2013
The Heart of Beverly Hills
Lunchtime. The sun shines, though a bit breezy, but it isn't stopping anyone. Even at work, they are dressed differently...dressed to make deals because of the location. Dressed to make you notice how they're dressed. Everyone except me, of course. But don't let that distract you (or them)...I'm a tourist from Sacramento for all they know. Just walking around.
"...was some show they're trying sell internationally, and..."
"...you have to send me that when you get back to work so I can look..."
"...did you hear that cab driver? He said "hope to see you again." Uh...no."
These aren't the grinders at the office park, heading en masse to Quiznos with coupons, wearing the same shirts. There are Bentleys, Rolls Royces, and even an old Camero. This is where deals are made, and they arrive each day in force. As an epicenter, it is an enjoyable show. What makes it even better is the attempts by everyone at making it look effortless. Hey, this is just our life. This is normal.
"OK...this is totally top secret; I shouldn't let this out. So, the script they're..."
"I've got one date at 7, and then another at 9:30...I know, I'm so bad."
Could these quotes happen anywhere? Maybe, though it would be a different setting. A backlot, or swanky restaurant. But the people (for the most part)? Yeah, they don't make these people where I grew up. That woman with the skirt that ends juuuuust below her rump? Of course she got out of that Maserati. The next table over? Don't question their tactics. They wouldn't be there by accident.
And then there's a roughed up Saturn. A wide collar, shades, and unmanageable hair. A laugh that, when spontaneous, is likely a bit too loud. The conversation can be about deals, but it can also be about Foosball. This dish cost $30? Fuck this place...we'll go the other Italian place. No, the other one...next to that one.
The conversation stopped when I sat down. Not because I don't belong, but that they were surprised to see that I do belong. What does it matter? There's a place at the table now. As I look at the freaks, the gems, the models, the dunces, and the gold? I fit in there somewhere. I could step up some material things, but the bell-bottoms? Sorry, they stay.
"...was some show they're trying sell internationally, and..."
"...you have to send me that when you get back to work so I can look..."
"...did you hear that cab driver? He said "hope to see you again." Uh...no."
These aren't the grinders at the office park, heading en masse to Quiznos with coupons, wearing the same shirts. There are Bentleys, Rolls Royces, and even an old Camero. This is where deals are made, and they arrive each day in force. As an epicenter, it is an enjoyable show. What makes it even better is the attempts by everyone at making it look effortless. Hey, this is just our life. This is normal.
"OK...this is totally top secret; I shouldn't let this out. So, the script they're..."
"I've got one date at 7, and then another at 9:30...I know, I'm so bad."
Could these quotes happen anywhere? Maybe, though it would be a different setting. A backlot, or swanky restaurant. But the people (for the most part)? Yeah, they don't make these people where I grew up. That woman with the skirt that ends juuuuust below her rump? Of course she got out of that Maserati. The next table over? Don't question their tactics. They wouldn't be there by accident.
And then there's a roughed up Saturn. A wide collar, shades, and unmanageable hair. A laugh that, when spontaneous, is likely a bit too loud. The conversation can be about deals, but it can also be about Foosball. This dish cost $30? Fuck this place...we'll go the other Italian place. No, the other one...next to that one.
The conversation stopped when I sat down. Not because I don't belong, but that they were surprised to see that I do belong. What does it matter? There's a place at the table now. As I look at the freaks, the gems, the models, the dunces, and the gold? I fit in there somewhere. I could step up some material things, but the bell-bottoms? Sorry, they stay.
Thursday, February 07, 2013
The Lion That Roared
The personalities that surrounded me were either indifferent or mirroring the weather: glum. Glum Glummington: The kind of thing where it's hard to find any get up and git. I'm a dealmaker, so I can't say I boogie to that, uh...ideal.
What's this? We're making the turn back to studio life and some of those surrounding the current zone don't like it? Of course not - it's change, and the adjustments these folks take at this aspect in life is their own while watching others move...who gives a fuck? The check is gonna clear, the doctor said I was healthy, and the changes that are happening to me, made by me, are all gold.
Then I was writing Dr. Gold an e mail and I wrote a sentence describing what I was had to do this weekend. (I neglected to include things like drink alcohol and check the lines for the Big Sky, but this would be redundant) I almost sent my own reaction because those are the moments, not when you're in the thick of it, but a random brain separation almost knocks you over. It's happened to me before (good and bad, mostly good) and I'm sure it's happened to you, too. If you stopped and looked backward with any regularity, everything you did that was different from before would seem "odd" or "a cautionary moment." But those of us in Dealville don't live life that way - we move forward. Onward.
There are people who spend time on a daily basis using phrases such as "When I worked at..." "Back in the '90s, I used to" "I remember when you used to have to" They are wading in the pool. We nod, smile, politely bullshit with "That must have been something" and shake our heads when we leave.
As such, we gotta a lot to do: move shit, assemble it, and begin anew...but this isn't starting over. 2013 means staring these deals for the first time.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
"The Record" that (seemingly) made all other Records
LA hardcore band Fear released their first album, The Record, in 1982. It is a culmination of their previous years' hard work in punk clubs all over the place. Their performance on Saturday Night Live on Halloween, 1981, continued to push them toward the forefront of what was left of the general population's interests in punk at that time.
The list of songs are, classically, hilarious in title alone. "I Don't Care About You" and "We Destroy The Family" are just the tip of the iceberg. It seemed, however, that the band was destined to be a one-album wonder. Members were interchanging with other bands (Flea had a cup of coffee as the bass player) and lead singer Lee Ving's acting career was taking off. Whether due to record company contracts or boredom, the band released More Beer in 1985. With Lee still fronting the band it is unmistakably Fear upon listening, but not at the heights of the previous album. I can't imagine (nor will I try) to guess what it was like for hardcore punk bands trying to not only release a record but tour in the mid-80's. Couldn't have been easy. But at the time of More Beer, Lee's acting career in full swing (he's in Clue as well as guest starring in two series in '85, a damn good showing for a punk singer a few years back). So, is this the end for Fear? Moreover, is it any kind of a telling sign that More Beer also included I Love Living in the City, a track from The Record?
The reason I bring this up is that Fear (Lee Ving and 3 other people) are the musicians in The Fear Record, Fear's "newest" album...inasmuch it's a re-recording of that famous debut. All the songs are here with Ving naturally sounding even more grizzled (which is good) and a much cleaner sound (which is not good). Another aspect: lyrics changed. Some of these things can continue to be made fun of...the Wilcox Hotel being one of them. But the filthy, raw edge of Fear slaying everything in society and confused meatheads taking them seriously is cleaned up here. Is that political correctness, or is it cherry picking to please someone?
Lee might be bored...he might need cash...or he might have simply wanted to record the same songs all over again and you can just eat shit. Maybe Lee still gets the Fear vibe in his brain but abandons the thought for a genuine comeback. It's not as though this is a unique phenomenon...look at any state fair: you find bands from the 1970's & 80's just churning out their greatest hits. The audience gets just what they're looking for, the band gets a nice check, and on it goes.
(And even if Lee didn't think they were a punk band but more what concert-goers expected a punk band to be, or whatever)...punk bands do this too, but when you know their ethics and mantra back then, it is a little off-putting years later. Your writer can quote Ms. Cervenka of X when she famously said "There's going to come a point when people say 'sure, they're desperate. I just paid $6 to see them.'" Well, even with the handy inflation calculator, $6 is $14.62 now...not $45, which was the ticket price to an X reunion show last decade.
So, is this kind of music truly of youth, or is that what we as listeners and fans remember? Just as comedians who drag their old jokes out of the mothballs are greeted with sighs, musicians re-recording their own songs is a curious plea for attention. Punk music just seems different, which it is: music created and reflected in its times. By making a "2.0" version of the original product, it continues the marginalization: a move you wouldn't expect from one of the genre's greats. Then again, if I said this to Lee, he'd just tell me to fuck off...and everything would be all right.
The list of songs are, classically, hilarious in title alone. "I Don't Care About You" and "We Destroy The Family" are just the tip of the iceberg. It seemed, however, that the band was destined to be a one-album wonder. Members were interchanging with other bands (Flea had a cup of coffee as the bass player) and lead singer Lee Ving's acting career was taking off. Whether due to record company contracts or boredom, the band released More Beer in 1985. With Lee still fronting the band it is unmistakably Fear upon listening, but not at the heights of the previous album. I can't imagine (nor will I try) to guess what it was like for hardcore punk bands trying to not only release a record but tour in the mid-80's. Couldn't have been easy. But at the time of More Beer, Lee's acting career in full swing (he's in Clue as well as guest starring in two series in '85, a damn good showing for a punk singer a few years back). So, is this the end for Fear? Moreover, is it any kind of a telling sign that More Beer also included I Love Living in the City, a track from The Record?
The reason I bring this up is that Fear (Lee Ving and 3 other people) are the musicians in The Fear Record, Fear's "newest" album...inasmuch it's a re-recording of that famous debut. All the songs are here with Ving naturally sounding even more grizzled (which is good) and a much cleaner sound (which is not good). Another aspect: lyrics changed. Some of these things can continue to be made fun of...the Wilcox Hotel being one of them. But the filthy, raw edge of Fear slaying everything in society and confused meatheads taking them seriously is cleaned up here. Is that political correctness, or is it cherry picking to please someone?
Lee might be bored...he might need cash...or he might have simply wanted to record the same songs all over again and you can just eat shit. Maybe Lee still gets the Fear vibe in his brain but abandons the thought for a genuine comeback. It's not as though this is a unique phenomenon...look at any state fair: you find bands from the 1970's & 80's just churning out their greatest hits. The audience gets just what they're looking for, the band gets a nice check, and on it goes.
(And even if Lee didn't think they were a punk band but more what concert-goers expected a punk band to be, or whatever)...punk bands do this too, but when you know their ethics and mantra back then, it is a little off-putting years later. Your writer can quote Ms. Cervenka of X when she famously said "There's going to come a point when people say 'sure, they're desperate. I just paid $6 to see them.'" Well, even with the handy inflation calculator, $6 is $14.62 now...not $45, which was the ticket price to an X reunion show last decade.
So, is this kind of music truly of youth, or is that what we as listeners and fans remember? Just as comedians who drag their old jokes out of the mothballs are greeted with sighs, musicians re-recording their own songs is a curious plea for attention. Punk music just seems different, which it is: music created and reflected in its times. By making a "2.0" version of the original product, it continues the marginalization: a move you wouldn't expect from one of the genre's greats. Then again, if I said this to Lee, he'd just tell me to fuck off...and everything would be all right.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)