Pearl Jam sucks ass

I once owned the soundtrack for Singles, on cassette. Pearl Jam contributed two songs to the movie soundtrack, and band members Eddie Vedder, Jeff Ament, and Stone Gossard made cameos, members of a fictitious grunge band, including Singles star, Matt Dillon. The band was called Citizen Dick. What many people don’t know is that the band had yet to hit it big prior to their movie appearance, and in fact still were known by their original name, Mookie Blaylock, their original name, named after the former NBA point guard. Pearl Jam’s members were all huge basketball fans.

In the early 90s, after Nirvana’s Nevermind blew things up for alt-rock, it changed the post-punk music context forever. Camps formed in the indie rock world, and bands like Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, and others, were now considered “sell outs” by the indie rock “purists.”
The heavier grunge sound would be coveted, sought out by major label A & R people, and a feeding frenzy ensued to sign the next Nirvana, spawning a host of lesser-talented sound-alikes, filling the airwaves of alternative radio stations.

At the time, I was doing a weekly radio slot at the low-power FM college station, WBOR (Bowdoin College). I was one of the handful of community members that they allowed slots for. I took a great deal of pride in my indie rock credibility, always trying to make sure my show was true to indie rock’s non-commercial values.

The DJ community at ‘BOR, made up mainly of fans of small label, indie rock, looked down their noses at bands like Pearl Jam, considering them to be sellouts. It never seemed to matter whether the band had at one time been relevant for ‘BOR’s playlist. Once they crossed an arbitrary threshold of popularity, there was no going back. They had become persona non grata to the Bowdoinanistas.

I’ve been thinking back to this mid-1990s period this week, mainly because Portland’s WCYY has been running through their top 1,000 songs, based upon listener’s votes. It’s been a great ride all week. So many of the songs I haven’t heard for years. Some of them have been quite evocative, bringing back memories (some great, some not so special) from a period of time that was much different than where I’m at right now.

It’s been awhile since I’ve spent this much time listening to radio of any kind, particularly alternative rock.

I’ve enjoyed listening to Robin Ivy’s morning drive time slot, and her Zodiac Zone. It brings back memories to the halcyon days of high school, almost 30 years ago, when the Cosmic Muffin was holding zodiac court, on WBLM, back when it was a freeform giant.

Mark Curdo, the station’s evening DJ is a hoot. His passion and knowledge of music is apparent. He’s the closest thing that ‘CYY has to the former indie rock freaks that made ‘BOR great in 94-95.

A musician friend of mine hates Pearl Jam. He sees them as the embodiment of all things that are wrong with music—corporate, mega-stars, and as he frequently says, “sellouts.” I wonder if he’s not feeling the same kind of jealousy I sometimes feel when I scan other blogs, and see 20 and 30 comments about topics that I don’t think are terribly deep, or particularly well-written. It’s probably partly driven by jealousy, and partly fueled by a sense of why them, and not me?

BTW, Pearl Jam has been making frequent appearances throughout the top 1,000.

Keeping the faith; LN Part II

The Night I Met Larry Norman

During the winter of 1985-1986, my charade as a Bible school student was finished. Three semesters of fundamentalist Baptist legalism was all I could take. Just shy of my 24th birthday, I was stranded in the middle of the country, another Hyles-Anderson washout, with a wife and young son.

Stuck in the middle of the country, 1,500 miles from our extended families, my wife and I were struggling to remain connected to any kind of organized practice of faith.

During that time, the only spiritual lifeline at all for me was my own personal study of the Bible. No longer tethered to the wooden, literal dictates of Hyles-Anderson College, which tried to regulate all aspects student life, I now was free to read the scriptures for myself. It was surprising how that freedom opened me up to seeing new things that I’d never considered before. In addition to my time studying the Bible, I also was beginning to read again, something I had no time for when my life was classes from 8:00 am to 1:00, dinner with Mary and Mark, and then off to work in Chicago. Saturdays were taken up with soul-winning, and then Sunday was church in the morning, time for lunch, study time, and then back to church in the evening. Not exactly a schedule that allowed much time to think, or consider much beyond the world of Jack Hyles.

Now that I was no longer in school, I felt like I had a life again. During that time, I was free again to listen to my own choice of music on my commutes to and from work. Most of what was playing in my tape deck was secular, as I was tired of the kind of musical drivel that passed for Christian music at Hyles-Anderson. The was also mixing in some contemporary Christian rock, including Larry Norman.

I don’t recall the exact circumstances, but I learned that Norman was going to be playing at a church in Palatine, Illinois, on a Saturday night in January. I really wanted to see him live, but given the distance—Palatine was about 100 miles northwest of where we were living, in Hobart, Indiana—and the fact that both of my cars were undependable at best, the trip seemed risky to make the trek in the dead of winter.

Mary knew I wanted to go, and she encouraged me to attend the show. Plus, it was my long weekend from my job at Westville Correctional Center, where I was working as a med tech.

I spent Saturday morning going over my ’68 Impala—I checked the tire pressure, made sure my oil was topped off, and had a spare quart on hand. The Impala burned a quart of oil per week, but I was fond of her land yacht qualities on the highway, which is why I chose to take her on my journey, instead of my 1974 Plymouth Scamp.

Saturday night was bitterly cold as I hopped in my Impala and headed to Palatine. I had several Larry Norman cassettes for the ride, and my directions in tow.

The non-descript church in Palatine was one of those contemporary styles, with the cookie-cutter design, surrounded by a sea of asphalt. There were just a few cars parked near the entrance, signifying I was an early arrival.

The mercury was hovering near zero, too cold to sit in my car until more people showed up. Gathering my courage, I headed across the lot and entered the main foyer. I was greeted by a young girl, probably from the church’s youth group. Sweet, and wearing a perpetual smile, she welcomed me to “Palatine Bible Church” (I honestly can’t remember the name of the church, but it was one of those generic non-denominational church names that were just becoming popular). A gracious hostess, she directed me to a table with freshly brewed coffee, and donuts and pastries, with the charge of “make yourself at home.”

Filling a cup with coffee, I was interested to see what was happening in the auditorium, as I could hear the muffled sounds of amplified music leaking into the lobby. I asked if I could head into the auditorium and she said, “sure.”

Cup in hand, I made my way into the darkened auditorium, and sat in the back. I saw Larry Norman and band down front, swathed in stage lighting, working their way through “Why Should the Devil Have All The Good Music?” as part of the band’s sound check.

Alone in the dark, I got my own personal pre-concert lasting about 20 minutes. Norman looked just as I’d seen him on tape cases, album covers (I had once owned several of Norman’s records before unloading my vinyl as part of my fundamentalist purging of the “devil’s music”), and PR photos. Weathered, with a soulful face, and his signature long blond hair—yes, that was Larry Norman down front, on stage, and I was there to see it!

He seemed to be having a good time, long before the show started. He joked with the band members, made some suggestions between stops, and brought a genuine warmth and genuineness to the practice set that I’d again witness later, when he poured his heart and energy into that night’s performance.

When I ventured back out into the light of the church entranceway, people had begun arriving. There was now merchandise, more food, and a mix of mainly young fans, and a smattering of older fans.

The show was phenomenal. Norman’s band, the Young Lions, were tight, with a punk rock look—spiked hair and a Mohawk were on parade—and all about 15 to 20 years younger than Norman, who was pushing 40 at that time.

His guitar player opened the show with a couple of acoustic numbers. Then out came Norman and the crowd went crazy. A duet followed, and then it was time for Norman and Company to crank it up and rock out for Jesus.

I’ve been to many rock shows since, both smaller shows, as well as the arena rock variety. Norman’s show that night stands out as one of the top five I’ve ever attended.

The band rocked for over an hour, mining liberally Norman’s older and better-known material, with a newer song thrown in here and there. The band then broke for an intermission for snacks and for some of the smokers to “fire one up” outside in the parking lot.

Wandering about the lobby, I was shocked when I saw Norman come through the auditorium doors and greet some people he obviously knew. Rather than hide out backstage and chill, here was this Christian rock legend, interacting with his fans. This was not something I’d ever seen, as performers of a certain stature and level of popularity tend to distance themselves from the “little people.”

It wasn’t long before he made his way over to where I was standing. He walked over and said, “hi, I’m Larry Norman.” I told him a little about my background and he was very genuine when he told me that “many of us get burnt by the Church.” This was obviously true for him, as the Church had been shunning him and his music for almost two decades, at that time. We chatted a bit more, and he thanked me for coming.

What impressed me the most was how “real” he was in person. He obviously didn’t have to take the time to talk, and connect with people at his show. It was obvious to me that this was part of who he was.

After the break, Norman was back on stage, this time however, alone at the piano. For 30-40 minutes, he treated us to his quieter material, extensive in its own right. Between songs he talked, and ministered to the crowd. Both storyteller, and street preacher, rolled into one, Norman had a way of making you laugh, reflect, and look deeper into your life. He didn’t do this in the typical preachy, “I’m holy and your not” schtick common with most preachers in three-piece suits common to the Xianity I had come out from.

The show was already approaching the two-hour mark when Norman brought the Young Lions back onstage and they tore through a 45-minute set of material from Norman’s newest album, “Stop This Flight.”

Afterwards, standing in the lobby, towel draped around his neck, Norman shook hands, hugged friends, and posed for photos. He also spent time praying with some people, as his capacity to minister to others was evident to me, watching him interact with others.

The evening was a magical one for me, and something I have not forgotten.

Over the next 20 years, my own faith would fizzle, and was eventually usurped by doubt and skepticism, primarily because for every Larry Norman I’d encounter along life’s highways and byways, I’d find hundreds, if not thousands of so-called believers that had no pulse, warmth, or conviction of sincerity.

A Solid Rocker Leaves the Stage

[This is the first of several installments that are part of a lengthy essay I’ve written about Larry Norman, Christian musician, street preacher, and someone who influenced the way I saw the world at the time, and still helps define my current worldview.—JB]


A Solid Rocker Leaves the Stage

Larry Norman was a righteous rocker. He was a pioneer. Like others who come first and open up a brand new channel, the fruits and spoils of fame often end up in the laps of those who come after, and more times than not, pay little or any price, or make little in the way of sacrifice.

Norman passed away back in February 2008, an event that unfortunately slipped by me. I only recently found out about it, as I sorted through my CD collection, looking for music to assuage the grief of losing a dog that I loved dearly. I happened to grab Norman’s CD, “In Another Land,” to hear a couple of songs that had personal meaning to me, and seemed to connect with my sense of loss at that moment.

My own history with the “father of Contemporary Christian (Xian) Music,” has been varied. I first came to know his music back in 1981, right after I had become “born again,” to a new life in Jesus (or so I thought). A friend (and fellow believer) gave me some of his cassettes of a new kind of music I was unfamiliar with—Christian rock. There were a variety of artists I’d never heard of before—Phil Keaggy, Degarmo & Key—and some guy named Larry Norman.

Norman’s music spoke to me. It was raw, passionate, and his language was both familiar and strange to my ears. When he sang a song about the church (and society) being messed up (“The Great American Novel”), it made sense to me. As a new believer, I was aware of the cosmetic quality of faux kindness, and that measured piety that later would drive me away from the fold. I was also cynical about politics and the world around me. When he sang, “Why don’t you look into Jesus, he got the answer,” it made theological sense to me, at the time, and also seemed immediate, in a way that most church practices weren’t.

The life of Larry Norman never did fit the churches of his time (and probably not any other time). A child of the 1960s (actually, he was born in 1947), so technically, he was a teenager of the 60s, but let’s not quibble. Norman’s cred came from the streets and clubs, not the manicured suburban enclave characteristic of American Xianity, the kind that required you had to wear a three-piece suit, a fancy dress, and drive a certain kind of car, to attend.

His song, “Why Should the Devil Have All The Good Music,” Norman offers listeners an autobiographical sketch of how he was being treated at the time by so-called Xians that had issues with his long hair, his rock and roll, and his supposed “wicked” lifestyle that allowed him to interact with those who might never set foot inside their “perfect” sanctuaries (more often resembling mausoleums).

It’s hard to imagine in 2009 how controversial and polarizing Norman was for the church in the early 1970s, but he was. His flowing mane of long blond hair was one of the issues, and as a result, lies were circulated about Norman; that he was a “fallen Christian,” a homosexual, a tool of the devil, etc.

For those readers who don’t know the inner workings of the Church, all Christianity is viewed as basically the same, and the thought is that all Christians (or my preferred styling, of Xians) merge together into one big family. The reality is that if Xians are all part of “one big family,” then it is one really fucked up one. In fact, my experience with Xianity is that rather than “one big family,” Xians are more often than not, engaged in one big internecine battle of doctrine, practice, and shades thereof.

NPR ran a brief clip about Norman's death, with clips of a couple of songs, and some commentary from his brother, Charles.

Here is a tribute to Norman that was posted at YouTube.

[Coming soon; The night I met Larry Norman]

The mayor has left the manor

Bernie
Feb. 1995-May 2009

Bernie, our winsome Sheltie, who occasionally graced a blog post here at Words Matter, has gone whereever dogs go when they leave this mortal coil.

Since his stroke back in January, all of us knew he was on borrowed time, but like everything connected with Bernie, he put on his best face, and continued to provide joy for us on a daily basis. Unlike me, Bernie never had a bad day, or almost never. Saturday, and then Sunday, the day he died, he was obviously not himself. His usual morning perkiness was absent, and he didn't even bother to lift his head in our bedroom, when I got up early Saturday morning to write. Normally, he'd have followed me into my office across the hall, and slumped down behind my chair, where he could keep an eye on me.

[Bernie discovered how great couches and pillows were late in life]

My wife and I were crushed Sunday night when he expired in our dining room, dying with dignity, and minimal distress. Yesterday wasn't much better, and sitting here typing this post this morning finds my emotions still very close to the surface, and my eyes swimming with tears.

Anyone who has ever lost a close canine friend knows how hard it is to bid them "adieu." Bernie was unique, and we miss him terribly.

Mark, our son, put Bernie's passing and life into context, and brought a bit of joy to a day that was pretty joyless, and a challenge to get through. Here are some of his thoughts on man's best friend.

This morning has been tough. I read mom's email on the bus and was crying. The people around me must of thought I was going to blow up the bus or something.

I always knew it was going to be tough when Bernie passed, but I wasn't sure why. The past day or so I've been thinking it over. I think it comes down to dogs being anything you want them to be. They have needs, but these needs are minimal, and for most part they keep their agendas to themselves. Bernie was something different for everyone. Whoever came up with 'man's best friend' hit it right on the head. Bernie was everyone's best friend despite everyone having a different idea of what a best friend would look like. For mom he was her style, fashion, and cooking assistant. For Dad he was his best editor and walking partner. For me he was something of a silent baseball coach or brother who didn't know anything about baseball, but would put in hour after hour, despite not knowing what he was putting in work for. He never asked, "Why do you keep hitting the ball after I get it for you? Your advancement of the ball is a net worth of zero." Basically, the reason why he was so great was because he couldn't say 'No.' He's the friend that always wanted to hang out and do whatever you wanted to do. Sure, there were times when he'd try and sneak off and eat out of the compost or lie under the tree and rest and not chase the ball anymore, but if I hit the ball he'd go get it. Dogs in general are amazing in this sense because mostly they portray a blank slate with little opinion and it's almost up to whoever they're with to create the personality and voice for them in their own mind. And I think what's so special about this is that despite Bernie passing we each carry that personality of who he was to each of us in our own minds and he can live on.

I'm hoping to add a bit more context in the next day or two about Bernie, the loss of a dog, and one of my favorite books on the subject, over at Write in Maine. Look for it.

This is not a college baseball blog

There are other sports and championships taking place in New England besides the Bruins, Celtics, and of course, the 162-game drumbeat of the Red Sox.

The D3 Regionals are taking place across the U.S., with eight regional tournaments, including the New England Regional, in Mansfield, CT, hosted by Eastern Connecticut State University. The Pine Tree State is being represented by perennial participant, the University of Southern Maine Huskies, and a newcomer to regional play, the Husson Eagles.

USM, which occupied the #1 ranking nationally, prior to losing their conference tournament, are an at-large bid. They beat Husson 5-4, in their opening tilt and play the defending national champs, Trinity College, this morning. The Huskies, coached by longtime coach, Ed Flaherty, boast a powerful offensive lineup, highlighted by major league prospect, Anthony D'Alfonso. The 6'4" 235 lb. masher hit .435 on the season, including setting a single season record for RBIs, with 71, and continues to pad that total, including three more in the opening game against Husson. One of Trinity's top hitters, Ryan Piacentini hails from Portland, Maine, and both he and D'Alfonso logged considerable at bats in Maine's Twilight League, a former focus of mine.

I spent a very cold three days in Mansfield back in May, 2003, when my son's college team, Wheaton College, participated in the regional that year. As a freshman, he spent the tournament on the bench, huddled in his Wheaton warmup jacket, while dad and mom froze in the bleachers. Foolishly, I failed to pack anything resembling warm clothes, thinking that May in CT would be balmy. I've never been so cold in my life. Oh, and Mansfield isn't exactly a metropolis, either.

The next three seasons, Wheaton would qualify for the tournament two out of the three years remaining for my son (his junior and senior seasons), and the games were on the Cape, in Harwich, a much better place for families to spend the long weekend. In 2006, Wheaton won it all and headed to Wisconsin.

Best of luck to Maine's contingent. I'm sure the mercurial Flaherty has been putting on a show for the fans in Mansfield, as well as getting some ribbing from the ECSU fans in attendance, as both clubs have a long history of antics, especially Coach Flaherty and their fans.

While I've been able to get excited again about baseball (after taking last year off, basically), I miss those weekends devoted to watching my son play for Wheaton. It's always special for families and friends at tournament time, and I hope this upcoming weekend is full of many positive memories for everyone involved, win or lose.

Speaking of losses, where are all those Bruins' fans predicting a Stanley Cup for the team back when they were riding high, winning 10 in a row, at the end of December? Probably now the same group whining in the comments section, and calling in sports talk shows complaining about the coaching, the officiating, or making some other excuse for Carolina being the better team.

I'm still hoping for a Celts win in Game 7, on Sunday night, and also that Tito moves Ortiz down in the order, or sits him down for a few games. If you failed to see yesterday's line on him, it was brutal; 0 for 7, 3 Ks, and 12 men LOB. Hell, I could have done that and saved the team some cash.