Indy is Danica Patrick’s Booty Call

There’s this really hot girl that you used to date. You thought that the two of you had a good thing going, until she tells you “we need to talk.” She says that she has met someone else, and she thinks it’s time to move on. The guy for whom you’ve been thrown over is a slack-jawed idiot that may look good, but doesn’t have anything of substance to offer. When that guy doesn’t give her what she wants the most, she gives you a call at 10:30 and asks if she can come over.

That’s what we like to call a “booty call”.

This is exactly what Danica Patrick is doing with the IRL.

When she first started racing, I was all about Danica. She had what it took to become the first female Indy 500 winner. In her rookie year, she qualified and finished fourth. She was poised and seemed to have the focus to do anything that she wanted. She came across as Rick Mears with breasts.

Then Danica became a celebrity. She’s been a Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue regular, the Go-Daddy girl, and garnered more endorsements than she had Indy Car wins. She was the star of the Indy Racing League.

Everybody panicked when rumors circulated late last season that Danica was going to leave Andretti Motorsports for the money pit known as NASCAR. I tried to assure everyone that she would never leave the IRL until she conquered that yard of bricks. She had said on more than one occasion that it was her dream. Danica proved me wrong by signing a huge NASCAR deal, mostly for the money and the opportunity to have more endorsements.

While some IRL fans and insiders were calculating the loss of Danica, I thought about her actual accomplishments. In her IRL career, she has won one race, and has one top three finish at Indy.

So did Kevin Cogan.

Now, it’s almost as if she called Indy at 10:30, wanting to know what it was doing, and asked if she could come over. She’s now back in an IRL car because she wants the one thing that NASCAR can’t give her…the chance to slug milk out of a glass bottle and have her mug slapped on the Borg-Warner Trophy.

We’re now supposed to be grateful that she is taking time away from the good ol’ boys to slum it with the open-wheelers. She really hasn’t done anything to warrant her superstar status, outside of being attractive and willing to take her clothes off for a Super Bowl commercial. (Side Note: She’s not even the most attractive girl named Danica. Let’s not forget about Danica McKellar…Winnie Cooper forever)

Since her first year, she has become a spoiled brat. She has a temper that rivals A.J. Foyt’s. A couple of years ago, she turned some heads when she marched down pit row to have a spirited chat with Ryan Briscoe after their collision in the pits knocked her out of the race. She was redirected to Gasoline Alley where she whined to the press about Briscoe not knowing what he was doing.

Danica Patrick is nothing more than Anna Kournikova in a fire suit. She wants to win at Indy, but she won’t…at least not this year. She doesn’t have the car, but more importantly, she doesn’t have the mentality. If she ever wants to win the 500, she needs to be the focused driver she was her rookie year, and govern her passions.

She was booed by the Indy faithful after her pathetic qualifying attempt. It wasn’t because of her effort; it was because she whined about her car’s set up. Unless your name is Foyt, you can’t get away with that at Indy.

I’ve written some pretty harsh things. On the off chance Danica has clicked on this piece, she has more than likely stopped reading (she doesn’t take criticism very well). However, if the message is getting through to you, Danica, here’s some advice as to how you can get back in our good graces. Put on some clothes, fess up to mistakes you make, shut the hell up and drive.

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(Back Home Again in) Indiana

There are several times during the year I miss living in Indiana. This coming weekend is one of them.

I’ve been to the Indianapolis 500 twice (1986, 1987). Traditions at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway have changed a bit since my last pilgrimage 23 years ago. The start of the race changed from 11 AM EST to 1PM EDT (due to Indiana adopting Daylight Saving Time, one of the five pillars of evil), and this year, qualifying was only one weekend. However, my favorite tradition has survived…the singing of “(Back Home Again in) Indiana.”

Since 1972, Jim Nabors, backed by the Purdue All-American Marching Band, has belted out this traditional Hoosier-land tune. In my estimation, that performance is the official start of summer. Of course, Nabors’s annual performance isn’t the only one worthy of mention. For many years, Louis Armstrong and his All-Stars would open their shows with the song. Both interpretations are unique, and shouldn’t be duplicated.

Through the years, “Back Home Again” has been misidentified as the official Indiana state song. That honor goes to the song “On the Banks of the Wabash, Far Away.” The song, written by Terre Haute native Paul Dresser, was originally published in 1897. Poor money management forced Dresser to sell the copyright to Maurice Richmond Music. In 1917, the new copyright owner gave up and coming songwriters Ballard MacDonald and James F. Hanley permission to use two bars of “On the Banks of the Wabash” for a their new song (which if you haven’t guessed, it’s “Back Home Again”). MacDonald and Hanley may have exceeded their permission.

“On the Banks of the Wabash”

Oh, the moonlight's fair tonight along the Wabash,

From the fields there comes the breath of newmown hay.

Through the sycamores the candle lights are gleaming,

On the banks of the Wabash, far away.

“(Back Home Again in) Indiana”

Back home again in Indiana,

And it seems that I can see

The gleaming candlelight, still shining bright,

Through the sycamores for me.

The new-mown hay sends all its fragrance

From the fields I used to roam.

When I dream about the moonlight on the Wabash,

Then I long for my Indiana home.

This is flat out copyright infringement. The jury would take 12 minutes to deliberate, and Ballard and MacDonald would have lost all rights to the song. It would be in the same league as George Harrison’s “My Sweet Lord”, Vanilla Ice’s “Ice Ice Baby” and Coldplay’s “Viva la Vida” (admit it you talentless hacks, you ripped off Satriani). However, the copyright laws in 1917 were a little vague, and threats made by the Dresser Estate to sue were never followed up.

Regardless of the history and the obvious theft, “(Back Home Again in) Indiana” is still the most beloved song about Indiana. While other songs written by proud Hoosiers such as “Going Back to Indiana” by the Jackson 5 and “Back to Indiana” by the Elms share the sentiment of missing their home state, they will never garner the same popularity as the song that was ironically written by a non-Hoosier (MacDonald was from Oregon).

When Gomer sings, and 33 engines simultaneously ignite on Sunday, I will once again get chills.

I will long for my Indiana home. 
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Seriously? This is an outrage?

There has been a lot of press coverage in the last several weeks about the lack of privacy on Facebook. It’s even the cover story on Time Magazine. Time used 1,295 Facebook profile pics to create a mosaic for the front cover…because showing photos of Facebook users on a national publication isn’t a privacy concern. But it is on Time, so not that many people will see it.

All of this stems from Facebook changing its privacy settings which gives people the option for non-friends to view your Facebook profile.

Note the operative word…option.

There is a very simple solution to the privacy problem, and it’s not Facebook revamping its site. This is not a “Facebook issue”; It’s a “you issue”. You are not required to post any personal data on Facebook. There is no gun to your head. You can keep your profile void of information. You can even control your own privacy settings so that only friends see your page.

This is akin to people blaming the microwave manufacture for a faulty machine because their houses burned down while they were microwaving a fork. These are the same people who need a disclaimer on a gas can that reads “Warning: Do Not Use a Match to Look In Gas Can.”

YOU control the stream of information going out. I have friends that lie about their birthdays. Some choose not to put any personal information. Don’t post that you’ll be out of town and have your address on your profile. If your mother has her maiden name on her profile, don’t point out that she’s your mother (it sounds cold…but come on).

Anytime I fill out any form on line, I give a friend’s birth date and a false address…1060 W. Addison, Chicago, IL 60657 (which if you don’t know, it’s Wrigley Field). I got that idea from the Blues Brothers. Judging by the effort the Cubs are giving this year, I’m guessing all my junk mail isn’t the only worthless things showing up at Wrigley this year (sadly).

As my old theater director used to say, “Be smarter than your shoes.” It’s not a government plot, it’s a website.

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“Ride the Tiger”: A Tribute to Ronnie James Dio from a Non-Metalhead

Let me start off by saying that I’m not a huge fan of power metal, but I respect the hell out of it. While I have to really be in the mood to listen, I understand the musicianship that goes into the creation of a metal song. No other contemporary genre (with the possible exception of Jazz) demands more comprehension of music theory. It’s based in opera and it’s very complex.

Please do not confuse this with the cheese metal of the ‘80s. You can’t honestly say that bands like Poison, Motley Crew and Guns and Roses are in the same league as Black Sabbath, Judas Priest and Primal Fear. Sorry Axel, but you just aren’t Ozzy. Cheese metal was nothing more than a watered down version of a prog rock, and it was a pathetic attempt to infuse the music into the main stream.   

Metal got a bad rap as being “the devils music”. Then again so did early rock and roll, jazz and blues. The only difference is that some metal bands seem to embrace this idea. This branding prevented others from taking metal seriously. That suits members of “the metal family” just fine, as some of them subscribe to an “us against the world” mentality.

One of these guys was Ronnie James Dio. The “devil horns” was popularized by Dio during his days with Black Sabbath. However, the symbol was not a tribute to Satan as some had theorized. As told in the documentary Metal: A Headbanger’s Journey, Ronnie discussed the origins of the gesture. It was something that he picked up from his very Italian grandmother. She would use that hand sign, known as “mal occhio” (literally “the bad eye”), as protection against evil forces. 

The news of Dio’s death on Sunday hit some of my friends pretty hard. For them, they didn’t just lose a musical pioneer; they lost a very important member of their family. It’s a loss that to which I can’t relate. I just don’t have that kind of attachment to any artist. When Springsteen and Tom Waits join the choir invisible, I’d be a little upset, but not devastated. Truthfully, that makes me a little sad that I don’t have the same connection with my musicians as my metal brethren. 

I’m not well versed in Dio’s catalogue, and I won’t pretend to be. In fact, my knowledge of his non-Sabbath work extends to only one song. “Holy Diver” is the title track to Dio’s first album, and one of the most well known. The video helped give power metal its enduring image of guys in black with long hair wielding swords. Ronnie James was re-introduced to a new generation on the spelling bee episode of “South Park”.

Ronnie James was power metal. In the grand scheme of things, his passing ranks (or at least should rank) on the same level as Elvis’s, Michael Jackson’s, Kurt Cobain’s and John Lennon’s death. Dio’s absences will leave a void for every single Metalhead, and at least one non-Metalhead.

Goodbye, Ronnie James Dio. It should have been Bret Michaels.     

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“It’s Just a Shot Away”: Gimme Shelter by the Rolling Stones

Every aspect of life can always be divided into two factions. Republicans and Democrats. Yankees and Red Sox fans. Whiskey and Scotch drinkers. In music it always comes down to Beatles and Rolling Stones loyalists.

Ask any music fan, “Who was better?” and he/she will not hesitate in giving their answer. There is no deliberating in this debate.

I’ve always belonged to the Rolling Stones camp. While the Beatles were cashing in on their innocent boy band of the ‘60s image, the Stones were earning their keep. Early in the game, the Beatles wrote about holding hands (“I Wanna Hold Your Hand”) and teenaged puppy love (“She Loves You”). In the same era, the Stones mocked conformity and advertising (“Satisfaction”), told tales of suburban pill popping (“Mother’s Little Helper”) and described the rage and devastation of a man whose lover has died (“Paint it Black”).

As the cynicism of the 60s progressed, the Beatles took LSD a couple of times and became hippies. The Stones already had contemptuous street cred and was ready to match the mood of a country that was still mourning JFK and mired in the Vietnam War.

The Stones upped the ante and put together their war protest song, “Gimme Shelter” from the classic album Let It Bleed. The lyrics are a dramatic and powerful way of saying “make love, not war.”

War, children, it's just a shot away
It's just a shot away
I tell you love, sister, it's just a kiss away
It's just a kiss away 

The guitar intro mixed with Merry Clayton’s vocals create a feeling of dread and despair in anticipation of something horrible. Clayton’s voice is at such a fever pitch, her voice cracks three times.

No other song conveys the horrors of war more than “Gimme Shelter”. Its dark image of what was going on in Southeast Asia is filled with anger and optimism for the alternative.


Beat that, Ringo!

The song is now miscast and associated with the mob, thanks to Martin Scorsese. It has appeared in three of his films, Goodfellas, Casino and The Departed (oddly enough, the song isn’t a part of Scorsese’s documentary about the Stones, Shine a Light). Sure, the Stones were high a lot during this era, but it’s not a drug song. 

  

In the late ‘80s, the American Red Cross used the instrumentation of this song as the backdrop of one of their PSAs. Sad to say, this was my introduction to the song. However, every time I hear the intro of the song, I flash to this memory. 


AUTHOR'S NOTE
I got an e-mail a couple hours before post time, and I wanted to share it with you. Think of it as a shameless plug for some old friends of mine.


Cheers,
Ian


The much-anticipated Exile On Main Street deluxe re-issue hits stores today, and we're going in-depth with Mick, Keith and Charlie for insight into one of the most significant albums in rock history.  Tune in for theRolling Stones Exile On Main Street Radio Special from 7pm-8pm tonight (5/18) on 92-3 WTTS. 
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“The minor fall, the major lift”: Hallelujah by John Cale

Back in February, my Chicagoland counterpart, Kingsley Tang, wrote a great blog post that focused on the Leonard Cohen song “Hallelujah”. He also mentioned some of the greatest covers of that song. I noticed that he had excluded my favorite version, the one performed by John Cale. When I mentioned this to Kingsley, he said that Cale’s version never really did anything for him, but he was curious as to why I liked it so much (by the way, read his blog. It’s very well done).

In the interest of full disclosure, I’m a huge Velvet Underground fan After listening to the solo projects of both Cale and Lou Reed, I quickly figured out that Cale was the true musical force behind the VU. I love Lou Reed, but he lost his fire after Berlin (1973). However, that’s not the reason why Cale's cover is my favorite.

By 1984, Leonard Cohen had abandoned his distinctive acoustic centric folk sound for a synthesized motif. The problem is that he didn’t change his folk style lyrics. So you have this weird blend of 80s pop music with Bleecher Street lyrics. Thus is the back story of “Hallelujah”. Cohen’s biblical lyrics over an aggressive bass line changed from studio version to multiple live performances. The song was potentially beautiful, but really a mess.

On the 1991 tribute album, I’m Your Fan, John Cale became the first to cover “Hallelujah”. Cale dropped the background choir and just played the piano. By playing the piano, the hypnotic melody of the song (which was hidden in Cohen’s version) is brought to the forefront. Cale didn’t re-write the song, but it was a noticeable change.

Cale’s vocals make you feel that the song really is a “Hallelujah!” Don’t get me wrong, I love Jeff Buckley’s version of the song, however he has more than a hint of pain in his voice. While it’s beautifully articulated, I just don’t feel that it fits the lyrics of the song.

Cale’s cover was the inspiration of Buckley’s version. If you listen to the guitar, Buckley focuses on the same melody that Cohen buried and Cale brought to life. Buckley also uses the same lyrics that John Cale selected from the 15 pages of original verse.

Basically, if John Cale didn’t cover this song, Buckley, Rufus Wainwright (whose version is identical to Cale’s) and the countless others probably wouldn’t have bothered.

Why is Cale's the best? Because the others weren’t covering Cohen…they were covering Cale.

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“We Are All in Some Way or Another Going to Reseda”: Screenwriter’s Blues by Soul Coughing

I was working on some admin stuff for Praxis Magazine in a coffee shop Friday night. As I was waiting for a couple of files to upload, I looked out the window and saw snow falling. Snow in May is nothing new in Minneapolis. However, after not having any snow in March (the first time since 1876) and April, it was a little jarring and disappointing. I’m not ashamed to admit it; I kept thinking “I should have moved to LA when I had a chance.”

I’ve never publically admitted this until now; it almost happened.  Much like the Lakers and the Vikings (oh, it will happen), I was an angel’s breath away from lifting anchor in the City of Lakes and heading west. While D was living in the OC, there was a major upheaval at Brown, and a vital member of our team was laid off. I was angry and ready to quit. While ranting to D over the phone, she said “Whatever you want to do, I’m behind you.” It was her way of telling me that she was willing to stay in SoCal and I could move in with her, as opposed to her relocating to MSP (which had been a long brewing plan). 

I decided to stick it out after my boss (who had correctly guessed that I was about to bolt) called me into her office and talked me off the ledge. She talked about how I was part of the future of the school and I had unfinished business with the on-line radio station. Then 18 months later, I was laid off.

Oddly enough, no song makes me think about that decision more than Soul Coughing’s “Screenwriter’s Blues” from their debut CD Ruby Vroom. Mike Doughty’s beat poet like vocals backed with a jazz progression outline a cynical tale of a shallow society built on self aggrandizing and aesthetics. Even though these are attitudes that I hate, the song makes me long to be a screenwriter, sitting at a Starbucks with 17 other screenwriters, choking on smog.

Los Angeles beckons
the teenagers
to come to her
on buses;
Los Angeles loves
love

LA is the prime example of style over substance. The city, much like the majority of its inhabitants, are beautiful, yet soulless. As Dennis Miller once put it, “it’s a town where 'let’s do lunch' actually means ‘you’re dead to me’.” The unemployment rate in SoCal is near 13%, and has no shortage of writers and celebrity wannabes (which is really all I’m qualified to do). There is a possibility that Radio Radio wouldn’t have been finished if I moved there. I wouldn’t have met some great people, and I wouldn’t have accomplished all that I did at the VBC.

So why would I even regret not moving there?

Because it doesn’t snow in May.

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“It was just that the timing was wrong” - Romeo and Juliet by Dire Straits

Mark Knopfler wrote “Romeo and Juliet”, Dire Straits’ first release of the ‘80s, after his breakup with Holly Vincent, lead singer of Holly and the Italians. The song’s narrator, “Romeo”, goes to visit his Juliet and calls out her name from a street light. Juliet responds by telling him that her boyfriend is there and not to come by unannounced. Romeo laments that he is still in love with Juliet and, in spite of how he has been treated, he’d still “Do the stars” with her anytime.

Romeo claims that he and his star crossed lover couldn’t get it together because “the timing was wrong,” although Juliet’s cold remarks about her Romeo tend to suggest otherwise. She tends to regard him as a small footnote in the book of her love life with the line “Romeo, yeah I used to have a scene with him.” (This is a reference to an interview Vincent gave, stating that she had a scene with Knopfler, and he couldn’t handle it.) The song has been covered by The Indigo Girls and The Killers since.

I honestly had no intention of writing about this song on this blog, as I have plans for it down the road. However, I did a 180 when I heard Matt Nathanson’s cover version of it on Pandora last week. I also realized what time of year it was. As much as I wanted to save this song for a long form essay to be featured in the future Anthology book, I feel that the time is right to post this now.



In an earlier post (“Good Luck, Goodbye”) I wrote about my short time with “The First Bobby Jean”. I had also made mention that she was one of only two women to make a mix CD for me. The live version of “Romeo and Juliet” from On The Night was one of the first tracks on the second side. She said that she put it on the tape because it was one of her favorites. The song, however, was a thinly veiled hint that our time together was not going to be a long lasting one. She said goodbye, and left Bloomington 13 years ago this week. I always find myself listening to this song a lot in the first part of May.

Was it that the timing was wrong? At first, I believed that it was. However, over time I’ve come to realize that the timing was right. Had we met at any other time with different circumstances, things may have turned ugly; making it difficult for us to remain friends over the years. We got the most out of that time, and frankly I wouldn’t change a thing. I still think very fondly of her, and I am happy that she has found the right man for her, as I have found the perfect woman for me.

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Swim Until You Can’t See Land by Frightened Rabbit

I’m not much for prime time television, but there is one show that stands out to me--NBC’s “Chuck”. This isn't a save “Chuck” post, and I won’t bother writing one. Clearly, NBC couldn’t care less about my taste in TV shows (a possible subject for a future post). Besides, I don’t catch the show enough to be completely invested in it. However, I like the story line of a dork turned cool, hard ass actor Adam Baldwin (from “Firefly” fame) and the smokin’ hot blonde (which is saying a lot, since I’ve always preferred brunettes and redheads). But this is not why I really enjoy the show.

The most compelling part of "Chuck" for me is the music selection. In the past, I’ve been blown away that a prime time network show would feature music by bands such as Glasvegas and Bon Iver. No other show (with the possible exception of "Scrubs") had a better grasp of music and its involvement in the story.

A few months ago, I was watching Chuck with D. At the end of the show, as Sarah and Chuck were seemingly separated forever (again), this haunting tune sung with a Scottish accent played.

“Do you know who this is?” D said excitedly.

I hadn’t heard the song before. “No.”

“It’s Frightened Rabbit.”

I’m not ashamed to admit it, this was a huge turn on (by the way, D’s also a brunette). It was just more evidence that I married the right woman. Slowly but surely, I’ve been turning her into an audiophile. The student had become the master.

After absorbing the song on the show, I bought the CD, The Winter of Mixed Drinks. I’ve been obsessing over this band ever since. Although “Swim Until You Can’t See Land” may not be my favorite of their songs (the clear leader is “Keep Yourself Warm”…also featured on “Chuck”), but it is the one that has stuck with me the most.



The song is inspired by a Ben Kingsley film called The Wackness. Kingsley attempts suicide by swimming in the ocean so far, that he would eventually drown. He changes his mind and swims back to shore.

The song is about recovering from a horrible time. According to lead singer Scott Hutchinson, “It's about losing your mind in order to reset the mind and the body. Forget what's gone before and wash it out.”

The sea has seen my like before though it's my first
And perhaps last time.
Let's call me a baptist, call this the drowning of the past
She's there on the shoreline
Throwing stones at my back

Outside of getting married last September, the past 18 months or so have been a struggle. My wife and I have endured a layoff, health issues, family drama and a precarious personal financial future. As it says in the song, “now the water's taller than me, and the land is a marker line.” It’s easy to feel overwhelmed with the stresses that have come to pass.

The best line of the song is the hook of the song, “are you a man, or a bag of sand.” It’s sink or swim. Do you have the strength to make it to the next day, or are you too tired to fight the tide?

Am I a man or a bag of sand? Sometimes, I wished to God I knew.

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