Sheep and Goats

Category: Musicians

  • Screening With the Barenaked Ladies

    If you don’t instill values into your kids, it’s not true that they will grow up free and beautiful and unencumbered, selecting their own values from the rich cornucopia of ideas….and thus escaping your stupid prejudices. No, all it means is that someone else will instill values into them. Moreover that someone else is not likely to have your kids interests at heart, at least, not to the extent you do. Heaven help you if that someone else is the entertainment media. That medium even pushes the percentages of Sturgeon's law, which informs that "90% of everything is crap."

    You have to shield the kids somehow. You can‘t quite do what the entertainment industry tells you to do….watch this or that show with your child and then discuss its values or lack thereof. This is just their ploy to double the audience. Maybe it was true in your household that adults had equal leisure time with the kids. It sure wasn’t true in ours. And what limited parent-child time I had…..I sure wasn’t going to blow it all playing “bad cop.”

    TV tickets might work. They did fairly well for us. You allot the kids so many TV tickets per week. Using them as they see fit, they would be able to watch 2 hours or so per week of commercial TV. (Public TV was unlimited. And we didn’t have cable….why torture them with unlimited channels they can’t watch?) I remember my son, at 6 or 7, telling someone how much he enjoyed TV….you learn so much. He actually thought that was its purpose. True, we found out years later that the kids had cheated around the edges a little….they’d found a way to counterfeit the tickets or whatever, but even so, it’s a policy I’d repeat in a heartbeat were I to come along with a second crop of kids, which Mrs. Sheepandgoats does not plan to give me.

    Or you might just flat-out do away with the television. That sounds a little drastic, but here and there you run across families that have done just that. True, it’s throwing the baby out with the bathwater, but it’s really not that great of a baby…it poops an awful lot and you can well survive without it. As a single person, I actually went through long periods without a television and to this day there are long running popular TV series deemed indispensable of which I’ve never seen a single episode. Ironically, I found not having a TV was a good way to acquire one. People would come visit and notice the gaping hole in your living room. They’d feel uncomfortable, even a bit sorry for you, as if they’d found you naked, or with empty cupboards. The next thing you knew, they’d buy a new TV themselves and give you the old one! I can’t tell you how many TVs I got in that way. I think I only bought one. The method still works. A pal just bought one of those new half acre TVs and gave me his old 25 inch one, a decided upgrade over our storebought 19 incher.

    The JW organization tries to help with tips for screening, not so much TV shows, but music. We all know that kids have unquenchable thirst for music, and the music industry fully conforms to Sturgeon’s law, and then some. So the Watchtower chimes in with tips as to how to look at a CD jacket, or what to make of a group’s name…..is it suggestive or even obscene? This way you can screen out the music that is inappropriate.

    Such advise works after a fashion, but it tends to filter out almost everything. The Righteous Brothers might sneak through, but most other groups will be tossed out on their ear. The kids are not going to want to exist on just Kingdom songs. Mine sure didn’t, anyway. Even worse, the system can admit stuff that really is offensive…..some uncouth slob, for example, who goes just by his birth name and has a CD jacket featuring  trees or bunnies (rabbits)….you know, things God made. Nothing obvious to tip you off! Still, I followed the system for a time. I mean, it’s very imperfect, just like the movie rating system, but it probably is better than nothing, or at least it’s a starting point.

    A group called the Barenaked Ladies rolled into town. They were giving a concert somewhere and my kids wanted to go. I consulted my system and it flashed red alert. Barenaked Ladies? What kind of a name is that? Surely these guys were up to no good. I mean, it’s not very modest a name. You can’t have bare naked ladies running all over the place. If bare naked ladies showed up at the Kingdom Hall, you’d tell them to cover up. I thundered my verdict throughout the house: “No kid of mine is going to any Barenaked Ladies concert!”

    Alas, it pretty well spelled the death of my system. It turns out that The Barenaked Ladies is just a good-times band….a fun, mostly  innocuous, wittier and weightier version of the Beach Boys or the Monkeys. Circuit overseers hum their music, for crying out loud…..songs like “If I Had a Million Dollars.” And who cannot spot the joke behind "I Love You Intermittantly," a song whose arrangements and vocals suggests eternal love, or undying love, but whose words say the exact opposite? It’s hard not to like these guys. And you can always just call them BNL, as newspapers often do, though doubtless for brevity’s sake, not modesty.

    After that debacle, I changed tactics. I went with my boy to a couple of concerts at the Water Street Music Hall. He was thrilled to have the judgmental old man along. That’s how I came to hear Weezer, who I liked well enough allowing for generational differences……wait a minute….what are they “wheezing” from?…..it better not be marijuana smoke……but there was no sign of it. All they were was loud. At the lineup to get in, everyone held their hand out to get stamped, so I did too. “You don’t need a stamp” the bouncer waved me by, a little disrespectfully, I thought. (The stamp was to verify you were drinking age) “Aren’t there any grownups here?” I retorted. Yeah, the boy was real happy to have me along. But, as stated, the group really wasn’t that bad and I wasn’t displeased I’d come.

    I went to another concert later to see some other group whose name I have forgotten. These guys were a little less wholesome. I mean, they didn’t smash guitars or burn bras or anything, but their presence wasn’t quite as agreeable as the other group had been. After that, we both weaned off of concerts for awhile

    Years later, when the kids were grown and gone, did I throw in the towel by going myself to the Bob Dylan concert?                           

     

    **********************

     

    Tom Irregardless and Me             No Fake News but Plenty of Hogwash

  • And You Know Something is Happening But You Don’t Know What it is.

    When one year rolls into another, every blogger with even an ounce of social responsibility prepares a summary of the prior year‘s great events. Bloggers with more than an ounce actually wait until the year is over before posting their list, in case something happens during the final days of the old year. For example, the 2004 tsunami that took a quarter million lives struck December 26. Those impatient bloggers who just couldn’t wait and had to be the first ones out with their list missed it completely.

    We at the Whitepebble Historical Society positively reek with social responsibility. That’s why the final days of 2007 were firmly in the can before I posted my list, just in case something should happen in those last few days. As it turned out, nothing did.

    Now….the big Rochester event of 2007 is that Mr. Jones died, the same Mr. Jones that Bob Dylan sang about in Ballad of a Thin Man:

    You walk into the room
    With your pencil in your hand
    You see somebody naked
    And you say, “Who is that man?”
    You try so hard
    But you don’t understand
    Just what you’ll say
    When you get home
    Because something is happening here
    But you don’t know what it is
    Do you, Mister Jones?

     

    Turns out that Mr. Jones was a real guy and he lived in Pittsford, not ten miles from my house. I had no idea. Until I read it in the Democrat and Chronicle Nov 13th, that is, and found that  Jones was a dorky kind of kid back then, a know-it-all most likely, and probably from the suburbs, ill-prepared to interview the inscrutable Dylan, yet given exactly that assignment by Time magazine back in 1965 at the Newport Film Festival. The young intern probably pitched a lot of  pseudo-hip questions at Dylan, and Bob threw it all back in his face the way he likes to do or at least used to.

    Mr. (Jeff Owen) Jones went on to do a lot of things, the D&C reported, even working at that newspaper for awhile.  All his relatives said nice things about him at the funeral, how he was a regular guy and all, and how he finally settled in as a film professor at RIT (I wonder if he was at the concert) before he died of cancer at 63.

    Regarding Dylan’s 40-year-old portrayal of him as an over-educated fool, the stuff music critics were made of back then (and now?), Mr. Jones had long been philosophical. After all, he reflected, Dylan was right enough: something was happening back then and no, he didn’t know what it was. Dylan appeared with electric guitar the next night at the folk festival, roughly the equivalent of farting in church. Wasn’t it just after that he released Like a Rolling Stone, the greatest song of all time according to Rolling Stone Magazine? Besides, Mr. Jones wasn’t even that uncool. He drove a Volkswagen. And he played the harmonica himself, just like Bob!

    Jones’ death can’t be good news to the singer/songwriter. Weren’t they around the same age? And aren’t I not too far behind them? Bob is conscious of his mortality. Aren’t we all?

    I see people in the park forgetting their troubles and woes
    They’re drinking and dancing, wearing bright colored clothes
    All the young men with their young women looking so good
    Well, I’d trade places with any of them
    In a minute, if I could……..

    The sun is beginning to shine on me
    But it’s not like the sun that used to be
    The party’s over, and there’s less and less to say
    I got new eyes
    Everything looks far away

    Highlands, from Time Out of My Mind, 1997

    After putting this mortality interpretation on Dylan’s words, I came across a source in which Bob denies that’s what he meant. Rats! It reminds me of that scene from Up the Down Staircase (the book) in which a kid gets an ‘F’ for misinterpretting a poets’ words. He tries hard to change his grade, but to no avail, even when he brings the poet himself to school and the poet says yes…the kid was right, that is exactly what he meant by his line! The kid’s only bittersweet consolation is to know he’s changed school policy; from then on the school only asks questions about dead poets.

    And so I too am going to leave my interpretation right where it is. You’d think a songwriter would be able to interpret his own songs!

    Other things happened in Rochester last year too, at least I think they did, but the reason I led with Dylan is because I have learned that if you want readership to go off the charts, you mention him. At least that’s what I discovered in October when I went to his concert at the Rochester Institute of Technology’s Gordon Field House and posted about it afterwards. One of those Dylan fan sites picked up the post and I got over 1000 hits in a day. The only other time I even came close to that was when some anti-Witness forum site latched on to my blog and all participants had to take several looks and bat it around for days on end. Only, whereas feedback from my Dylan post was positive, feedback from the sorehead site ran more along the theme of  “can you believe this jerk!?”

    I told Moristotle about my findings and he promptly put it into practice, sprinkling Dylan throughout his posts, whether it fit or not. I did the same for awhile, referring to Richard Dawkins and Bob Dylan, Ronald Reagan and Bob Dylan, Pope Benedict and Bob Dylan, and so forth. And now I’ve allowed him to top my 2007 great events list. Will lightning strike twice?

  • At the Bob Dylan Concert

    The machine spit out two tickets.  The Dylan concert was just one week away. “Wow, these are awesome seats, “ exclaimed the attendant. “I don’t know how that happened.” 

    I did, of course. It was on account of clean wholesome living. But why rub her nose in it….just one individual person? I kept my mouth shut. Better to post it all on the internet later.

    I don’t go to many concerts. My wife, Mrs. Sheepandgoats, made me go to an outrageously priced Josh Grobin concert a year or two ago, but other than that, I can’t remember the last time I went to one. A couple of times with the kids, maybe, when they reached the age where they wanted to see this group or that group and I wasn’t real happy about it so I thought I would go along myself to hear what they were listening to, much to their embarrassment. That’s how I found myself listening to Weezer at the Water Street Music Hall. Wasn’t I the only grown-up there? Oh, and there was that Ani DiFranco concert a few years back that I attended with my daughter and son-in-law. Is Ani the next Bob Dylan? She’s every bit the poet and innovator he was at that age. Her lyrics are a bit cruder, but then….it’s a cruder age, isn’t it?

    Also, free concerts don’t count, such as the ones the city sponsors each year for the Lilac Festival. This year it was Maria Muldaur.

    Bob Dylan is not a kid anymore. He tours a lot; his calendar lists 98 gigs in 217 days in Europe and North America. Doesn’t he also host an XM radio show? I’ve never heard him live, not even last year when he made the rounds of minor league baseball stadiums, a cool idea if ever there was one. (Frontier Field in Rochester) His body of work is pretty broad by now, so I figured the time was right. I went with my son. Gordon Field House on the RIT campus. The attendant was right; ours were good seats, center stage, 5 rows back. I could have hit Dylan with a shoe and knocked off his hat had I wanted to.

    For some reason they also let in the Democrat and Chronicle music critic, whom I haven’t trusted ever since he trashed Alanis Morrisetteonly because Alanis wouldn’t give him an interview. Had she paid her dues yet, so that she could snub The Critic? There was venom in his consequent review, so it seemed to me.

    Sure enough, he trashed Bob Dylan as well, trying to make me mad. Dylan growled through his songs, he asserted. They were “incomprehensible.” People tolerated his old songs well enough, he groused, but got impatient with the new material. Actually, I  (5 rows back) hadn’t noticed that. Frankly, the old & the new sound pretty much alike. Dylan doesn’t have much range in his voice anymore, and he’s rewritten his old material so he doesn’t need range. That he can do so & get away with it (he did, handily) is testimony to his versatility. Seemed to me that everyone was pretty enthused and got more so as the night wore on. But if you came with your old Dylan records under your arm, looking forward to sound-alikes, you might have been bummed.

    Furious, I came to Bob’s defense, and told off that Critic on his own blog. But to my chagrin, some sorehead bloggers also chimed in to agree with him. Ah, well…

    I was slow to warm up to Dylan’s music. Highway 61 Revisited, with its Kafka-like lyrics, logically loose yet emotionally tight, did nothing for me until I revisited it years later. Then, the more I learned of Dylan, the more interesting he seemed. Any number of times he changed genres, without regard for what role he was “supposed to” play or who might be put off. He started as a folk singer, and the folk singing crowd soon imagined they owned him, so he was roundly booed when he first appeared with electric instruments. And you should have heard the born-agains when he released Slow Train Coming. He’d been saved! But by next album or two it was clear it had all been a ruse, or a short lived fad at best. He just wanted to play with that kind of music! Some of those born-agains tossed him right back into hell.

    He broke the three minute song rule with impunity; he’d write songs however long he wanted to write them, sometimes five minutes, sometimes ten, sometimes more. He’d put ten syllables where there was only room for three, and get away with it. The media people would pound him with prying questions. He’d feed them nonsense, but they wouldn’t find out till later it was nonsense. When they complained he was being uncooperative, not answering their questions, he protested. He was cooperating; it’s just that they were asking the wrong questions.  In this way he was able to raise a family in relative peace, and you get to know him through his work, not by what silly entertainment writers say about him. He fares well that way, for his lyrics paint him as a modest guy who values what is right. Has he ever penned anything mean-spirited?

    Even now there’s some report about his treating his grandson’s kindergarten class to a live show, just for fun. The boy brings him there for show-and-tell, I guess. I think I would ask him to do the same were I the teacher. “Hey, why don’t you bring your grandpa in for show and tell?” But the classmates don’t quite know what to make of him. A source told the New York Post newspaper: “The kids have been coming home and telling their parents about the weird man who keeps coming to class to sing scary songs on his guitar”

    Usually artists on stage will banter with the audience. Dylan didn’t say a word to anyone. That’s not to say he wasn’t obliging. When they brought him back for an encore, he let loose with, not one, but two numbers, on top of an already generous concert. And then he appeared once again with the whole band to acknowledge applause, swaying back and forth himself. A few months after his concert, he again made newsin Rochester, in a roundabout sort of way.

    Streaming out of the gymnasium onto the parking lot, we all had to make way for the Bob Dylan bus; actually two buses, the first towing a trailer. Headed to the next gig in Pittsburgh, getting an early jump.

    Update here:

    Dylan

    >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

    What Good Am I,  by Bob Dylan

    What good am I if I’m like all the rest,
    If I just turned away, when I see how you’re dressed,
    If I shut myself off so I can’t hear you cry,
    What good am I?

    What good am I if I know and don’t do,
    If I see and don’t say, if I look right through you,
    If I turn a deaf ear to the thunderin’ sky,
    What good am I?

    What good am I while you softly weep
    And I hear in my head what you say in your sleep,
    And I freeze in the moment like the rest who don’t try,
    What good am I?

    What good am I then to others and me
    If I’ve had every chance and yet still fail to see
    Bridge: If my hands tied must I not wonder within
    Who tied them and why and where must I have been

    What good am I if I say foolish things
    And I laugh in the face of what sorrow brings
    And I just turn my back while you silently die,
    What good am I?

  • Maria Muldaur and the New York State Bush

    It was a proud day for Rochester. Our own purple bush, the lilac, was designated New York’s official state bush! Actually, the deed was signed into law last year, but only now are they getting around to setting up a plaque or something in Highland Park, home of 1200 lilac bushes and the annual Lilac Festival, which started May 11.

    Of course, these heady days were not just for us. Somewhere in the state, someone is hoohawing over the new state reptile (snapping turtle) and state saltwater fish, (striped bass) which join the already established state flower (rose), tree (maple), insect (ladybird), and bird (bluebird, though it ought to be robin).

    Only the Whitepebble Religious Institute was less than ecstatic. Its very own Tom Pearlsandswine was named state religious nut. Former member Tom Barfendogs was named state sorehead. Is this a great place to live or what?

    It actually is a great place to live, notwithstanding local cynics who so ridiculed city officials’ slogan “Rochester: Made for Living,” substituting “leaving” for “living,” that said officials had to dream up a new slogan. Still, Rochester ranks high among metropolitan areas for quality of life. Some thinktank in Virginia just gave our town 6th overall place. (Pittsburgh was #1) The job picture is distressed and the weather is an abomination, but other areas look good.

    Each year the Lilac Festival heralds, if not the beginning of summer, at least the day when you can, with reasonable confidence, put away the snow shovel. It’s been around as long as I can remember and each year becomes more popular. Highland Drive bisects the park into one area devoted to lilacs, gardens, and the reservoir, and a second devoted to concerts, food tents and vendors. It’s really too early weatherwise for an outdoor festival, but since it’s tied to the lilacs, what can you do? It’s not as though you can tell them when to bloom.

    This year the weather has been glorious, and as always, I’ve made it down there for some of the concerts. Different musicians are featured all day long, from high school talent on the weekdays, to upcoming local talent and national acts on evenings and  weekends. Herman’s Hermits appeared a couple years ago, Teddy Geiger last year, John Sebastian and Sally Taylor (talented offspring of James Taylor and Carly Simon) in years before that.

    So far this year, the highlight for me is Maria Muldaur. Ms Muldaur is seen on the Bob Dylan DVD “No Direction Home” as a much younger performer in Greenwich Village, where Bob also hung out. She plays with some sort of washboard band, her hair parted in two absurdly long braids. I later discovered she was the artist behind “Midnight at the Oasis.” (1974)

    If you imagined she was a one-hit wonder, well….that makes two of us. But it turns out she has cut 31 albums since. And her “hit” is not typical of her overall music, it’s bland in comparison. Most of her material, at least what she played at the Festival, is more bluesy and vaudeville. The woman all but knocked birds out of the trees with some high notes. She walloped out a blues number that just wouldn’t end, interrupting herself for asides, for audience chit chat, for banter with the other band members, (great performers, all, the Scintillating Papas) in a performance bringing the audience to its feet. “I don’t know if you could tell, but I milked that one a little,” she conceded afterwards. Yes, these are pleasant days in Rochester. It’s not such a bad place after all. 

    Maria Muldaur and the Scintilating Papas - 2007
    Maria Muldaur and the Scintilating Papas in 2007 concert

  • Mormons and Jehovah’s Witneses on TV

    Dear WXXI:

    I am writing with regard to the Independent Lens documentary Knocking, which reviews the contributions to society of Jehovah's Witnesses. I had long supposed it would appear, in time, on WXXI.

    Tuesday I watched and enjoyed the excellent film The Mormons, and my memory of Knocking was jarred. But it does not appear that WXXI has scheduled the film, at least not for it's national airing date of May 22. That's too bad.

    Jehovah's Witnesses' District Conventions fill the Blue Cross Arena for three or four three-day weekends each summer. JWs are thus an active part of the Greater Rochester community and would like to hear their story told. Among the film's contents, I understand, is a review of 46 Supreme Court appearances by Jehovah's Witnesses over the years which have clarified rights of free speech and assembly with benefit to all. No other group has appeared more often before the Court. Knocking sports a long list of awards, highlighted at it's website www.knocking.org

    I urge you to schedule the film, if not in time for its national airing, then at least during the rerun season.

    Off topic a bit, you may care to know how we used WXXI while raising our kids. Like many parents, we were concerned with the corrosive effects of TV on children. We gave an allowance of  "TV tickets" to the kids. Using them as they saw fit, they could view a maximum of two hours per week of commercial TV. WXXI, however, was unlimited.

    Very truly yours,

    Mr & Mrs Tom Sheepandgoats

    <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

    I admit I've long had a soft spot for Mormons. Fundamentally, of course, we're poles apart, Jehovah's Witnesses rely on the Old and New Testaments; Mormons have an additional sacred book absolutely unique to them, in effect, a third Testament. Jehovah's Witnesses are politically neutral; Mormons are deeply involved in politics….both a Presidential candidate (Mitt Romney) and Senate majority leader (Harry Reid) are Mormons. Jehovah's Witnesses stress living simply; Mormons (I think this is fair to say) stress career advancement. This may account for the fact that half of all Mormons live in the United States, the mecca of career advancement, whereas only one sixth of Jehovah's Witnesses do so.

    Yet on a surface level there are many similarities, and they are good similarities. Mormons are upright and honest. They are the only group besides us in which religious affiliation alone is enough to convey trust. Sure, you can find the occasional clunkerin both groups, but they are clearly anomalies. And honest people can be found throughout the world's religions, without question, yet religious affiliation alone does not guarantee it.

    Both groups trace modern day roots to the 19th century United States, Both faiths enjoy unity. Neither faith has paid clergy. Both have highly organized and completely volunteer disaster relief functions; both were in New Orleans after Katrina and repaired homes, generally those of their own people, in no time flat, whereas federal and private agencies whose charter purpose is disaster relief are still fumbling around almost two year later.

    Both groups have a public ministry. Both will remove individuals who persistently and unrepentantly violate key tenets of the faith. Membership is about the same; Mormons count 12 million worldwide to our 6 million, yet we count as members only those with active public ministries. Our most heavily attended meeting, the Memorial of Christ's death, last year attracted 17 million.

    Both groups present their beliefs as the truth. This, in an era where most faiths have learned to offer beliefs al a carte; take them or spit them out according to your own tastes. This saves hassles. People don't accuse you of dogmatism. Instead, they praise you for enlightenment. But, at the same time, doesn't this stand place your beliefs on the level of pop psychology?

    Both Mormons and Jehovah's Witnesses even had a child superstar of the 1970's! Mormons had Donny Osmond. We had Michael Jackson. Alas, our guy got weirder and weirder, not like Prince, and in time, left the faith. But maybe he'll come back some day. I'd like that. He never really had a childhood. I always thought the child molestation charges against him unlikely. I mean, when you're going to court, you lead off with your most credible witness. The government used a kid whose family had made false allegations in the past, shaking people down for money.

    But in Rochester, at least for the present time, those Mormons got "their" documentary on TV, and we didn't get "ours!" PBS affiliates are all independent, I'm told. They pick and choose. Only 75% have scheduled Knocking.

    <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

    From the website www.knocking.org:

    Anderson Cooper, CNN —
    "Riveting and illuminating. KNOCKING takes us inside the world of Jehovah's Witnesses in a way that is utterly surprising and moving.

    Lynn Schofield Clark, Director, Estlow International Center for Journalism and New Media, University of Denver —
    "Throughout the film, viewers are challenged to think about the relationship of religion, government, discrimination, family life, and civil liberties in unconventional and surprisingly human ways. This film will be useful for classes on freedom of expression, civic engagement and religion. Students will be surprised that Jehovah's Witnesses have played such a key role in establishing and guarding many of the civil liberties we enjoy in the U.S. today."

    Arthur Caplan, Chair, Department of Medical Ethics, University of Pennsylvania —
    "KNOCKING contains a wonderful surprise: It shows how science and religion, with worldviews that rarely overlap, can reach a common goal – the use of less blood in medicine – even if for very different reasons."

    KNOCKING was produced by Joel Engardio and Tom Shepard.

  • Prince Plays the Superbowl

    When NFL planners billed the eccentric artist formerly known as Prince and more recently known by an unpronounceable and indecipherable symbol and presently known once again as Prince for the Superbowl halftime show, they thought they were in for clear sailing. Ever since Janet Jackson bared her breast, they’ve been looking for entertainment more family friendly, yet not so family friendly that viewers switch the channel to check out other offerings. Since Paul McCartney never gave Ed Sullivan any trouble, and the Rolling Stones only gave him a little, they were booked for two successive years, to general satisfaction. But with Prince…..well, how could they miss? He is electrifying, young but not so young as to turn off the old boy beer and chips base, and best of all…..no worries about anything inappropriate since he became one of Jehovah’s Witnesses a few years back!

    Well…..um….uh…..ahem….it didn’t exactly turn out that way. I mean, the performance was riveting and all….easily besting the shows of those old guys mentioned above, but there was a controversy. Did he not, for one brief segment, use his electric guitar as a giant phallic symbol?! That’s the charge that was made, with regard to a backlit scene in which his profile was projected onto a screen!

    As expert in all things JW, people flooded me with requests for an opinion, or at least you never know when they may start. Did he or didn’t he, Tom Sheepandgoats, hmm? So I diligently reviewed the tape, just like referees review close calls on the field.

    Actually, I didn’t review the tapes. I didn’t have to. I haven’t seen a Superbowl in years, but I did see this one. And I didn’t see it just because our guy was playing. I didn’t know he was playing until halftime. No, some friends had invited us over for the game. And…..trust me on this….they didn’t know Prince was playing either. In fact, I’m a little surprised they knew the Superbowl was playing.

    So I saw the performance live. And, uh…..hmm….well….it’s like….that is….um, it did kinda look that way. But maybe I’m just a prurient pig with a gutter way of seeing things.

    Because not everyone agreed. Even rock music potheads who would love it that way conceded it might have been accidental. There’s a reason those 24 elders in Revelation chapter 5 are playing harps and not electric guitars! The way you strap on and hold an electric guitar always subjects you to the risk of seeming risqué, if viewed from a certain angle, especially via projected shadow.

    "If people want to be hypersensitive, they can be hypersensitive," says Rolling Stone’s Gavin Edwards. "Those trombones are phallic, too. What are you going to do?"

    I didn’t know that about trombones. I promptly threw mine in the trash.

    Many blog comments mirrored that of Scott Cohen, a self-described religious guy (Jewish) who tours with a band, and who ranks Prince concerts among his top favorites, and who has a music degree from Syracuse, and who is fed up with the phallic accusation with all its prudish and holier-than-thou implications. "Prince dedicates every show to Jesus Christ and anyone who knows about his current beliefs knows that he will no longer swear or perform songs like "Darling Nikki"…etc…..I thought the Superbowl performance was terrific…and didn’t notice any phallic nothing…" So there!

    Among the tunes Prince morphed into his show was Bob Dylan’s All Along the Watchtower in which he ignored the early verses to instead chime in with "all along the watchtower, Princes kept the view." Was he making a sly plug for his spiritual views in front of 90 million people, someone wanted to know?

    The most vehement criticism came from that subset of religious folk who can’t stand Jehovah’s Witnesses! I mean, a lot of folks don’t really care for them…..after all, we wake them when they’re sleeping in late. I’m not talking about these people. I’m talking about the smaller bunch who positively loathe Jehovah’s Witnesses, some of them ex-Witnesses themselves who went sour, guys like Barfendogs. Their comments took the form of "gotchas" and they gloatingly anticipated seeing Prince disfellowshipped [!] and if he wasn’t…. well, that would just prove (to them) JW hypocrisy. But you can’t pay these soreheads any attention. These are the same people who lambaste Witnesses for being mind control cultists who forbid personal expression.

    Say what you want about Prince, with or without the phallic tempest. He certainly did express himself, didn’t he?

    Do not be overrighteous, neither be overwise— why destroy yourself?    Ecclesiastes 7:16  NIV

  • Rolling Stones Play China

    The Rolling Stones played a concert in Shanghai this past April. Before 8000 in a small arena. Leery Chinese officials were opening the door to rock n roll, but they weren’t opening it very wide. Perhaps imagining they could spare themselves the West’s moral rot, they banned several Stones songs, among them Let’s Spend the Night Together, Beast of Burden, and Brown Sugar. Thus, Mick Jagger was forced to dig into his repertoire of wholesome songs.

    He led off with Bitch.

    He also tried to put nervous officials at ease with this comment:

    I am pleased the Ministry of Culture is protecting the morals of expatriate bankers and their girlfriends. [only they could afford the ticket prices]

    Two lessons can be drawn here.

    1.  There goes the neighborhood

    2.  Big as he is, don’t you think Mick could think of something gracious to say, something that just might result in his being invited back again, or some other rock n roll group?

    Sheepandgoats is especially agrieved by this development, since he kinda likes the Stones’ music. Too bad the Chinese will never hear it again.

    On the other hand, the Stones could have just rolled over as did Google, agreeing to anything  so as to get their foot in the door. Maybe Mick deserves some credit after all.

    ……………………………..

    The NBC censors also had problems with Let’s Spend the Night Together. Thus when the Stones played The Ed Sullivan show in 1967, they were told it had to be Let’s Spend Some Time Together. The versatile Mr. Jagger, unwilling to comply but also unwilling to cave, sang "let’s spend smnxc ndtmmd" together, slurring words at the critical moment as any self-respecting rocker can do.

    Jim Morrison of The Doors was less accomodating. He not only wouldn’t change his lyrics (girl, we couldn’t get much higher), but lobbed an f-bomb at Sullivan personnel! (not on the air) F-bombs are common as raindrops today, but it was not so then.

    The Beatles presented no such problems for Ed Sullivan or NBC. Their most provacative lyric "I want to hold your hand" was deemed acceptable to the 1964 viewing audience. The most-watched TV show ever up to that point, and still pretty hefty, was the Beatles’ first American appearance on The Ed Sullivan show. They didn’t hurl any f-bombs at all, they reportedly got along well with Sullivan, and the latter introduced the group one year later when they played Shea Stadium.

  • Alanis Morrisette and New York Rock and Roll

    Although the staff of the Sheepngoats IntoWishen Research Institute is mainly comprised of eminent theologians, such as Tom Weedsandwheat, best known for his groundbreaking, if plagiarized, research on the exothermic nature of hell, we do have a few slackers. Sheepngoats doesn’t have the heart to sack them as he should, yet you cannot get them to write about God to save your life. So we have learned to value them for what they are able to contribute, which usually means articles about contemporary music. Mack Slickbottom is an example. Back in the 70’s, you may recall, Mack was lead singer of the group Mack Truck and the Bulldozers, so he really knows his stuff when it comes to music:

    ……………………………

    When Alanis Morisette came to town, she didn’t give an interview to the Democrat and Chronicle music critic. It just wasn't what she did, explained her agent.

    It was a mistake. The critic savaged both her and her concert. One suspects that the venom was aimed not so much at Alanis the musician as Alanis the upstart snot who dared snub the Music Critic!

    Now, Ms Morisette is not the most potent musical force of our time. Her clunky lyrics and utter disregard for syllable accents positively invites ridicule. Nonetheless, she has endured. Her arrangements are gritty, grabbing and original. And how many have played the character she got to play in her first movie role? Even some of her awkwardness must be overlooked, since she achieve stardom at …what…19, or so?…. What were you doing at age 19?

    So I wasn’t happy to see her savaged by our critic. She deserved better.

    But it’s not Alanis I’m writing about. It’s the New York Rock and Roll Ensemble! They were a favorite second tier group of mine, but nobody’s ever heard of them. I’ve always wondered why. They played a concert at SUNY Potsdam, right there on the back foyer of Merritt Hall. I’m still impressed. The band members were all Juliard trained and their music was a mix of rock and classical. Even mid-song they might switch from, say, electric guitar to oboe or cello. They released two albums: New York Rock & Roll Ensemble and Faithful Friends featuring this unique and pleasing blend of music.

    Their third album, Reflections (1969) was a collaboration with Greek classical composer Manos Hadjidakis. The latter wrote the music, the NYR&RE wrote the lyrics and performed. The album tanked in the States, but was popular in Europe. It was re-released in 2005 by the group Raining Pleasure….a hot band in Greece, they tell me, though I’ve not heard of them. (please comment, anyone who can update)

    I bought some of their (NYR&RE) records and expected them to catch on, but they never did. Rolling Stone reviewed their album Faithful Friends and savaged it just like our critic savaged Alanis. Did they too, snub the critic? Thankfully, that interview can’t be found via Google anymore.

    Maybe it’s me. Maybe they really did stink to high heaven, but being young, I didn’t recognize it. But I replay their music, which I’ve since transferred to tape and then again to CD. No, I still enjoy it a lot. It is still unique.

    It must be the name: New York Rock and Roll Ensemble. It’s unwieldy, as if Alanis named them. Had they named themselves an obscenity or some intimate body part, no doubt they’d be in the stratosphere today.

    ………………………………..

    Oh, and my very own Alanis Morisette song, as returned by my second link—to the Morissette lyrics generator:

    "I Think"

    I Think nerds are really a huge problem
    I Think nincompoops are too much on my mind
    I Think nutcakes have got a lot to do with why the world sucks
    But what can you do?

    Like a red rain, beating down on me
    Like a Bob Dylan line, which won't let go of my brain
    Like Balaam's ass, it is in my head
    Blame it on the neurotics
    Blame it on the neurotics
    Blame it on the neurotics

    I Think noises are gonna drive us all crazy
    And nonmentionables make me feel like a child
    I Think nastigrams will eventually be the downfall of civilization
    But what can you do? I said what can you do?

    Like a red rain, beating down on me
    Like a Bob Dylan line, which won't let go of my brain
    Like Balaam's ass, it is in my head
    Blame it on the neurotics

    Blame it on the neurotics
    Blame it on the neurotics

    Like a red rain, beating down on me
    Like Balaam's smile, cruel and cold
    Like a jackass, it is in my head
    Blame it on the neurotics
    Blame it on the neurotics
    Blame it on the neurotics

    Warning: Unless you are a trained blogger, do not attempt to use the Alanis lyric generator at home! You will notice for my result that “ass” clearly refers to a donkey. It may not do that for you! The Institute will not be held liable for any earthy returns on your part!

    [this site was submitted with the comment of 1/18/07:  http://myplanetb612.blogspot.com/  ]

  • A Bad End for Badfinger

    A favorite second-tier music group of mine is Badfinger, who cut some records in the 60’s and 70’s. First time I heard their music, I mistook them for the Beatles. In fact, Paul McCartney wrote their first hit song, and the group appeared on the Apple music label.

    I heard them on the radio again and became curious. Where are they today? I googled them.

    Wow, don’t ever do that! What a sordid tale! Fights with promoters, fights with critics, fights with each other. For a time, two estranged members both headed bands named Badfinger. Beaten down by legal and artistic hassles, one member hanged himself. A dozen years later, another member did exactly the same thing. You’d never guess these things from the music, which is catchy.

    Musicians don’t lead easy lives, and were it not too morbid, I would make my fortune marketing the Dead Musician Trivia Game. How did they die? I’ve yet to worry out all the rules, but I imagine the more dead musicians you could account for, the more points you would score.

    Once, in a while, musicians die honorable deaths…..George Harrison of cancer, for example…..and two or three of them have actually died from natural causes! All others, though, fall into one of the following categories: Plane crashes, drug overdose, suicide, with a handful of  sub-genres such as car crashes and murder.

    If it didn’t seem so morbid, I’d list them all. But it does seem morbid. So you have to do it yourself. Get out your old records albums and go through the groups. Use google if you have to. What a productive way to spend a rainy afternoon! Your Goth friends will be ecstatic.

    The solution, likely not too far away, is for Congress to require warning labels on all musical instruments, just as they do on cigarettes. Warning: regular playing of this instrument may lead to plane crash, drug overdose, or suicide. They love stuff like that up on Capital Hill. It gives the impression they are doing something.