That's right. I'm still selling this band.
Sunday, December 30, 2007
From the Massingberd-English dictionary:
As quoted in The New York Times:
“Convivial”: Habitually drunk.
“Did not suffer fools gladly”: Monstrously foul-tempered.
“Gave colorful accounts of his exploits”: A liar.
“A man of simple tastes”: A complete vulgarian.
“A powerful negotiator”: A bully.
“Relished the cadences of the English language”: An incorrigible windbag.
“Relished physical contact”: A sadist.
“An uncompromisingly direct ladies’ man”: A flasher.
COLUMN: The Running of the Gauntlet in Mexico
By Tobin BarnesWe decided to do the resort thing down in Los Cabos, Mexico.
Had never gone somewhere primarily to sit around a pool and walk along a beach before. Had never been to Mexico. Thought we’d give that stuff a try. Maybe find some other resort-kinda stuff to do, also. Experience a little local culture perhaps. It was like, what the hey?
Cashed in points we’d been hoarding to get “free” lodging at what looked like a swank place and bit the bullet on some over-priced plane tickets.
So allow me to tell you about our adventures.
Got up at 3:30 in the morning, and before noon, we were in sunny Mexico, down at the bottom of Baja California. Took a long time to get through Mexican customs--winding back and forth through a serpentine barrier--but no big deal there. Pretty much expected and delivered.
It was after we got through the luggage scanners that we got our first taste of Baja. Before us stood a phalanx of what at first appeared to be twenty or so chamber of commerce greeters, out in full force. Regaled with I.D. tags and similar shirts, they literally bumped into each other, trying, it seemed, to be the first of their multitude to welcome our arrival.
“Holla, senor. Do you have transportation?” the first competitor asked.
“No,” I responded, somewhat bemused. “We were just going to take a shuttle or taxi.”
“You can arrange that right over here,” he said, leading me to where he wanted me to be.
“Over here” was a seemingly endless row of well-manned cubicle counters. We were quickly turned over to an associate who broke out an arcane sheet of information that seemed overly complicated for a plain-old taxi ride--and with good reason.
I quickly deduced, having no straw in MY hair, that this was actually the beginning of a sales pitch. But for what, as yet, I had no idea. The broken English was a definite impediment to fully comprehending my fate.
Having been forewarned of the sales acumen of Mexican entrepreneurs, I, with difficulty, detached myself from the gentleman, looking again for a simple way to jump in a cab and head for the hotel, as though I were in control of the situation.
It was not to be. “Simple” just wasn’t done there.
Before we’d gotten ten feet away from the row of cubicles, we were almost literally collared by another greeter/bull-dogger.
“Do you need a shuttle or a taxi? I’ll pay for your ride to the hotel and back again to the airport when you leave.”
(The above is an admittedly vague interpretation. The meaning could have been more or less, actually. Again, as with all the “greeters,” I was getting about half of what was communicated.)
Highly dubious about such an unwarranted blessing of free rides--it couldn’t have been my good looks--I asked the guy what we had to do to get this.
“Just come to a free breakfast, and we’ll pay for the taxi to get you there.”
But what do I have to do? I continued to insist. Ah Chihuahua! Tell it to me straight, por favor.
“Just listen to a presentation while you have breakfast. Man at a podium talks while you eat breakfast. Hey, maybe we’ll give you a free dinner, too.”
About this time, my wife headed off to the lavatory, leaving me at the mercy of a stranger bearing strange gifts. I continued to tell him that all I wanted was a taxi or a shuttle, and he continued to tell me that was exactly what I was getting...with strings.
But no matter what I said, I couldn’t shake him. I was like Br’er Rabbit battling Tar Baby.
Finally, my wife reappeared, so I used the distraction to break loose, but other greeters were hungrily waiting for me--the prey evades one wolf just to be harassed by the next until the pack makes the kill.
I looked back and saw my wife snared by the same guy I thought I had eluded. That slowed my momentum something fierce: Should I continue struggling for freedom or wait for my wife? Freedom was a near thing, but the hesitation became my undoing. I was in their clutches again. It was like trying to run a football through the Stanford Marching Band. There was just nowhere to go.
To make a long story shorter, we finally succumbed to a mustachioed bandito named Alberto. To him we forked over an extravagant $28, down from an original $60, for a shuttle ride to our hotel, for which he said we’d be reimbursed. He also promised a free ride back to the airport when we left, and a free ride from our hotel to a free breakfast and back.
By then my wife had caught the spirit, stood her ground, and wangled a free dinner in Cabo San Lucas and two rounds of golf, cart included, at the “best course” in Mexico. But we never knew at the time whether we’d get any of this, other than a wallet that was $28 lighter.
During the haggling, Alberto wanted to know if I liked to play golf for money because he might show up to play with me. I told him no way would I play golf with a shark like him.
(Tune in next time to see how all this turns out.) Adios, amigos.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
COLUMN: Is Too Much Virtue a Vice?
By Tobin BarnesAnybody, besides me, think the way we pick a President is crazy?
Raise your hand.
There. I thought so.
We’ve been at this for about a year now, and we’ve got nearly a year to go, for crying out loud. On the other hand, European campaigns take about a month or two. Why does it take us two years or more? It’s not like Americans enjoy political campaigns. Most would rather have a mold problem in their walls. Heck, about half of us don’t vote anyway.
Just thank your lucky stars you don’t live in one of the “hot” primary states. Those people must feel like they’re getting lobotomies with all the polling, pamphleteering, advertising, and speechifying.
Problem is, if you live in Iowa, New Hampshire, or South Carolina, one campaign’s electioneering probably starts sounding like another. Only difference might be that Republican candidates talk about who’s more Christian than the other guy, and Democratic candidates talk about who’s got a better health plan than the other guy, or girl.
The differences oftentimes seem almost ridiculously minimal. It’s like no one wants to take the bull by the horns, or call a spade a spade, or take a leap of faith, or even mix a few metaphors. Instead, they’re all tip-toeing through the tulips, trying not to rain on anybody’s parade.
Biggest thing seems to be avoiding making the big goof that will K.O. the candidacy.
They don’t want to appear disquietingly over-enthusiastic, like Howard Dean when he went into his “I Have a Scream” speech, as some wags call it. He had taken a disappointing third place in the Iowa caucuses and tried to make it sound like a good way to win the Presidency. Now he’s the subject of “scream remixes” on the Internet.
Yeah, evidently self-parody isn’t good for a political career. Howard Dean’s misstep slipped his once promising candidacy into a big toaster adjusted to the dark setting.
And candidates don’t want to appear too girly-man, like Edmund Muskie when he shed tears amidst New Hampshire snowflakes because a conservative local paper had targeted his wife as way of attacking him. The paper alleged that his wife drank and used off-color language. Muskie’s defense started as a chivalrous moment and turned into a mushy bowl of Malt-O-Meal.
So get rightfully upset at nasty newsmen but appear too human and your campaign is “one foot out the door and the other on a banana peel,” as my golfing buddy likes to say.
Of course, there’s innumerable other blindside-yourself ways of committing political hara-kiri, some yet to be invented. Stayed tuned. Their debuts may appear in the not-too-distant future.
But once again, is this any way to pick a President?
The evidence indicates that we’re demanding vanilla robots who never make a mistake. Are we electing great leaders or National Honor Society Presidents who have always kept their shoes shined? No pranks, no screw ups, no detentions.
By present standards, at least half our past great presidents wouldn’t have gotten past the Sunday morning talk programs. Their duels or illicit affairs or missteps or angry outbursts would have tossed them into the dust bin of history.
Besides as Abraham Lincoln has been attributed to have said: “It has been my experience that those who have no vices have very few virtues.”
Sunday, December 16, 2007
COLUMN: And Now for Something Completely Different
By Tobin Barnes So I’m sitting in my living room, watching my favorite TV music program, “Austin City Limits” on PBS.
It’s my favorite because you never know what you’re going to get. Could be an a cappella South African men’s choir, like “Ladysmith Black Mambazo,” or an alternative rock group, like “The Flaming Lips,” for crying out loud.
Uh huh, it’s a well-shaken grab bag, but the producers usually come up with the best of any and all genres. It’s an education in music, and I usually come away appreciating more creative variations than I did before.
And I’ll admit, I need the education. After all, I’m the guy who admitted just recently that I love the song “Sugar, Sugar.” (“He who is without sin, cast the first stone.”)
My take on music, not being formally trained, is much like the Supreme Court judge’s view on obscenity: I know it when I see it.
For me, I know good music when I hear it. That’s not particularly profound, but most people would say the same thing, even Mozart or maybe Iggy Pop. Of course, good music recognition is also kinda like being a fine wine connoisseur, the more of it you try, the better you get; that is, up to an over-indulged certain point.
Anyway, I’m watching Austin City Limits, and this alternative band, “Arcade Fire,” comes on. Immediately, I’m hooked--I’m talking right out of the box.
They’re style is past, present, and future, all wrapped into one.
And most of all, they’re fresh.
Fresh? Heck, they’re almost intensely different, yet still recognizable, if you know what I mean.
Since the golden age of rock, I’ve been waiting for popular music to morph into some new, positive directions. (Instead, there’s been a ton of mediocre, if not negative, directions—let me count the ways, starting with Gangsta Rap).
I guess what I’ve been waiting for is “Arcade Fire” and their ilk, and hopefully, more kith and kin.
Originating in Montreal, Canada, the band’s creative core is the husband-wife team of Win Butler and Regine Chassagne. Win’s wife has an almost bizarre stage presence, oftentimes mouthing the lyrics her husband sings, like a mute Greek chorus. But then, all band members ecstatically express themselves by bouncing and cavorting around the stage, feeling the emotion of what they’re doing.
This ten-person extravaganza plays everything from a medieval hurdy-gurdy to french horns to xylophone to violins to accordion to a big honking church pipe organ, as well as all the standard, rock-type instruments. Sometimes, band members will even sing through a bullhorn or bang on a football helmet, but almost all play several instruments and sing, sometimes in choir-like way.
Now all this might sound like a great big mess, but hardly so. They’re into new and old sound combinations, and most of them work. Every song has a great melody and/or catchy guitar riff that keeps the listener right there.
Their style has variously been described as alternative rock, indie rock, art rock,
and my favorites, epic rock and baroque pop.
I know for some of you, Arcade Fire is nothing knew—they’ve been around since 2004. But I’d wager most would find this band to be a great new listening experience.
Start out with “Rebellion (Lies)” from their debut album “Funeral.” That’s right, not much moon, June, and spoon with this bunch: They’ve definitely got an edgy point of view, but that’s just another reason for recommendation. And if you like that song, then listen to the rest of the CD.
Unlike most albums today, there isn’t a bad song on it. Most of them are just plain great.
After that, move onto the equally fine “Neon Bible,” released last March.
The band is on hiatus now, but I can’t wait to see what epic, baroque things they come up with next.
(Watch the following two videos to get a better idea of what I'm talking about.)
The Arcade Fire - Rebellion (Lies)
This is the official music video of the song. At the end you can see some more videos.
Arcade Fire: "Rebellion (Lies)"
The sound doesn't do the song justice, but the video gives and idea of the groups manic energy. At the end you can see some more videos.
Saturday, December 8, 2007
COLUMN: Should I Pick Him Up?
By Tobin Barnes A hitchhiker stood by the side of the Interstate, not far from an on-ramp.
Nothing new, right. See it all the time.
But this one was different. He had a new approach.
Thing is, I don’t pick up hitchhikers. Never.
Seen too many movies, I guess. A lot of bad endings, both for the driver and the thumber. Bloody stuff, usually.
Doesn’t mean I haven’t hitched a ride myself. You’d think that’d make me sympathetic. But no.
I was desperate that one time, you see. I was in Sioux Falls, and I had to get out of there. If I had stayed, I’d have to keep taking the old paint off the clapboards of a house with a heat gun and a scraper, then sand the remnants down to the wood.
Far as I could figure, it was a job made in hell, especially in the high heat of summer.
It was my friend’s sister’s house. We’d been working twelve hour days. That was four hours more than I’d been used to working during my college summers. Besides, I didn’t want to work even one hour more with a heat gun and a scraper. I figured I had nothing more to prove in that regard.
So I hit the road, thumbing my way back to my hometown and leaving my forlorn friend holding the heat-gun-and-scraper bag.
It wasn’t one of my proudest moments, but then again, it was his sister not mine who’d given us that less than sterling opportunity.
However, the point of that is this.
Desperate people, like I was then, hitchhike.
But unlike I was then, hitchhikers are also often at the ends of their tethers: dead broke, luckless, and oftentimes downcast.
Though they are metaphorically my brothers in whom I theoretically take an interest, I don’t want them sitting beside me in my car, thinking of ways to disembowel me, like in the movies.
On the other hand, “What would Jesus do?”
Other than not drive a Hummer, He’d most assuredly pick them up.
But then again, I’m most assuredly not Jesus, despite the fact that I wouldn’t drive a Hummer, either. As you can imagine, the resemblance doesn’t go much beyond that.
Which brings us back to the hitchhiker I was talking about at the outset.
He was holding this sign, you see.
Again, nothing new there.
But this sign said, “Jesus Saves.”
Though I appreciated the message, this new tactic didn’t change my mind about hitchhikers in general or this one in particular.
I supposed his sign was meant to assure drivers that they’d not be taking a chance by picking him up.
Didn’t work on me, however. The sign, after all, could have merely been a ploy. A knife or gun might still have been at the ready.
And even if the sign were not a ploy, but a sincere statement of his beliefs, that would still not convince me to pick him up. The sign might indicate that he was an evangelizer of the most extreme sort. His version of The Word sitting next to me for miles and miles might be just another warped edition of the long, strange trip.
And who needs that.
So I drove on, taking comfort in the knowledge that as the sign said, this hitchhiker would be taken care of in the long run, if not now.
Big Otis at the Cooley Wedding
We couldn't make Brett and Crystal Cooley's wedding in Houston last weekend, but Tom sent this report:"Thought about my friends that couldn’t be at Brett’s wedding this weekend while I was at the reception. It turns out that Crystal had some connections (would take too long to explain) that linked her up with a band that was awesome. All the Motown, Temptations, Sam & Dave, etc. sounds—brass included. Big Otis (band leader) was at our rehearsal party, and talking to him really took me back tune-wise. You would have been in your element—wish you could have been there for the fun. In absence of that, I’m attaching a couple of links to his music. Hope it takes you back. Big Otis even got me on the dance floor, which is one hell of a chore—I kind of expected it though, so I quickly loosened up with a few beers in the first five minutes or so of the reception (reminded me of those “primers” we used to experience at USD.)"
Download these Big Otis songs. Top drawer, and they'll take you back:
http://www.bigotisshowband.com
http://www.bigotisshowband.com
http://www.bigotisshowband.com
http://www.bigotisshowband.com
http://www.bigotisshowband.com
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Saturday, December 1, 2007
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