How I Spent My Summer Vacation

I am not fully recovered from the nine shows I saw over my brief summer vacation, but if I wait until I'm recovered, I risk losing the seven people that regularly check this blog. So, here goes.

Tuesday, July 17
As mentioned previously, last Tuesday night was spent at the Drive By Truckers' Dirt Underneath show at Philadelphia's World Cafe Live. It was my first time seeing this kind of Truckers show, which featured mostly acoustic versions of selections from the DBT catalog. I wasn't sure what to expect, as DBT shows are usually ear-shattering celebrations of the loudness of good rock and roll, but it worked out just fine. The steel guitar of John Neff, usually buried somewhere deep in the mix at a Truckers show, found a home in this setting, weaving in and out of the guitar interplay of Patterson Hood and Mike "Stroker Ace" Cooley. Plus, though he was a little hard to find in the mix, bona fide music legend Spooner Oldham was on the Wurlitzer, adding a little old-school cachet to the proceedings. As the Truckers swigged liberally from the communal Jack Daniel's bottle, they showed that they were just as good seated as they are standing and, in the process, were able to let the lyrics of such gems as "Zip City" and "Sink Hole" shine a little bit brighter than they do when they have to fight the guitars for attention.

And the night at World Cafe Live came to an appropriate end when the guy in front of me on the stairs projectile vomited about five times, the last time in his hands on the way to the bathroom. Rock and roll.






Wednesday, July 18
The lowest-key day of the vacation. After getting in at about 4 in the morning from the DBT show, I slept a good long time until I finally made my way out of the house to see James Hunter at Madison Square Park for another free outdoor show. It seemed doubtful that the show would go on because of the storms earlier in the day, but everything cleared up by 7, thus enabling me to check out Hunter for the first time. I was still a little groggy from doing nothing all day (very exhausting), but I thought the show was pretty good. I'll definitely check him out again. Maybe you should, too. He's constant;y compared to Sam Cooke, which, I guess, is kinda close. But there's only one Sam Cooke. Still, he's not with us anymore, so you could do worse than checking out Hunter, who's also a damn fine guitarist.

After that show and a quick bite to eat, I hopped on the L train to dreaded Williamsburg to see Hoots and Hellmouth at Pete's Candy Store. When I got there, the Quiz-Off was still going on and dozens of nerdy hipsters were waiting to hear if their not-very-cleverly-named team had won (I suppose this would be a good place to list some team names, but they're long gone from my brain at this point...I suppose I could have taken notes, but until you start paying me to write this blog, I don't see the point of taking notes). Anyway, Quiz-Off eventually wrapped up, and Hoots and Hellmouth took the tiny stage to a pretty decent crowd for a Thursday night in Williamsburg. I had picked up the Hoots and Hellmouth CD a few weeks ago and wasn't knocked out by it, but their live show made me a little more of a fan. They're a folksy, rootsy kind of band from Philly that, like O' Death, compensate for so-so songs with lots of energy.

Too tired to take pictures on Thursday. Sorry.

Thursday, July 19

After a decent night's sleep, it was off to wait in line in Battery Park for the free Drive By Truckers show at Castle Clinton. I got there early enough to be first in line, or at least I think I was. Some people may have been there before me, but, by virtue of my seat on the first bench, I declared myself first in line. Apologies if I hopped in front of anyone who wanted to get their ears blown off in the second row.

The weather forecast for the day was ominous, but, again, things cleared up as the day went on, with only a brief downpour dampening things around 4 p.m. Smooth sailing from there on out, with the full rocking DBT glory on display in a raucous set that culminated with a seven-song assault ("18 Wheels of Love," "Shut Up and Get on the Plane," "Lookout Mountain," "Let There Be Rock," "Buttholeville," Bruce Springsteen's "State Trooper," and Jim Carroll's "People Who Died") that finally got the reluctant crowd off their asses and declared that not only will the Truckers be just fine without Jason Isbell, but that they may be the greatest rock band in the land.





And, speaking of Isbell, he was next up at the Mercury Lounge, with Justin Townes Earle opening up. I got there a little before Earle's pretty impressive opening set, which gave me enough time to catch my breath for another aural assault courtesy of the former Trucker and his band, the 400 Unit. Isbell sprinkled a few Truckers songs in between songs from his new album, "Sirens of the Ditch," closing the night with a version of "Decoration Day" that was just as strong as any I saw him do with the Truckers. Isbell's own songs held their own though, especially "Chicago Promenade" and "Dress Blues," my two favorites off the new disc. The latter still gives me chills every time I hear it. If you aint gona buy the whole album (and if you aint, shame on you), you can at least redeem yourself slightly by legally downloading "Dress Blues."



And then it was time for sleep again.

Friday, July 20

A little bit of bad luck finally finds its way into the vacation, as I see upon arriving at Celebrate Brooklyn that Bobby "Blue" Bland is sick and will be replaced by Odetta. I stuck around though, checking out Catherine Russell's slightly-too-long set of jazz and blues numbers, including a fine rendition of my new favorite song, "I'm Lazy, That's All," popularized by Pearl Bailey. I had to get to Southpaw for the Will Hoge/Deadstring Brothers show at Southpaw, so I only had time to catch a few Odetta songs, which, all things considered, might not have been that bad. I like Odetta enough, but I was in the mood for something a little peppier for my Friday night. Still, it seemed like things were picking up as I left, as Odetta growled through a version of Leadbelly's "Bourgeois Blues." But I had a schedule to keep.

I got to Southpaw right on schedule, just as the opening band was packing up and Detroit's Deadstring Brothers were getting ready to hit the stage. The first time I saw the Deadstring Brothers was at the Bloodshot BBQ a few years ago, and I was only kind of vaguely interested. But they've gotten better each time I've seen them, and now, as they get ready to release their new album in October, they're one of my favorite live bands. Touring seems to have made them more confident as a band, and that confidence comes across in the interplay between lead singers Kurt Maschke and Masha Marijieh. Marijieh in particular has developed into a belter that just knocks you out with every lyric that comes out of her mouth. It seemed too short of a set by far, but they'll be back around when the new CD comes out.

According to his generally truthful blog, Will Hoge had a great night in Brooklyn. Glad it was great for him. Me...not so much. It was fine, I suppose, but it just didn't come together as well as other Hoge shows I've seen. There didn't seem to be a real connection with the audience, which, all things considered, might have been understandable, since the bulk of the audience was made up of screaming women of various ages who seemed only vaguely interested in the songs being played. Lot of chatter before, during, and after songs, including a few quieter new ones. And then there was the woman next to me who, to her credit, was completely into the music, but was also into something else, as heard in her pre-encore declaration of love, "You hot piece of ass you." I don't think she was talking about me.




Saturday, July 21 and Sunday, July 22



My cold piece of ass got out of bed at 7 in the morning to get on a bus bound for Binghamton, where world-class journalist Bryan Chambala picked me up and we headed to the hippie haven that is the GrassRoots Festival of Music & Dance in Trumansburg, New York. It's a yearly, four-day festival just outside of Ithaca at which thousands of less-than-clean, kind of funky smelling people congregate to see what is usually a pretty varied lineup of roots and world music (headlining acts this year included Hugh Masekela, the Cat Empire, Vieux Farka Toure, and Arrested Development). And since both the mighty Slo Mo and the Avett Brothers (whom you may have heard that I like), it seemed like a good year for my first GrassRoots festival.

After a harrowing, foul-smelling bus ride from the free parking lot to the festival site, Bryan and I made our way into the festival. Within about ten minutes, this conversation took place:

Slightly Spaced-Out Looking Guy: Hey, man, do you know where the shuttle is?

Bryan: Yeah, it's right back there by the entrance.

James: One just left, but there should be another one around soon.

SS-OLG: Cooool. Do you know where the guy with the goodies is?

Me and Bryan: Uh, no.

Immediately after that conversation, I wished I had come up with a better answer, like maybe "Go fuck yourself." For those who might be interested, just because I have a beard doesn't mean I (a) have a lighter or (b) know where "the goodies" are. I have a beard because I'm lazy, that's all.

I kid the hippies, but they're a good, peaceful people. So peaceful, in fact, that later on, as I watched Eilen Jewell in the Dance Tent, I wondered just what one would have to do at GrassRoots to really get someone to take a swing at you. I came up with some ideas. Some of the ones I'm more comfortable sharing in a public forum include:

*Setting up a tent next to the antiwar tent at which we could pass out leaflets detailing the highlights of the Bush presidency and hand out stickers that read "Yes to War!"
*Renting out a flatbed, gas-guzzling truck and driving it around the infield while blasting Lee Greenwood and Toby Keith songs from a boombox.
*Serving food only in styrofoam containers and, then, as each person disposed of his/her styrofoam in the trash can, throwing a match into the can, thus creating a pretty sweet burn barrel.

Maybe next year we'll test it all out. I'm still not sure we'd incite violence, though. And that's a testament to the fine, upstanding people that head to GrassRoots. Sure, a few of them looked a little rough by Sunday evening, but they're good folks who come to a festival not just for the scene but actually to listen to the music.

Oh yeah, the music. I caught snippets of a few different bands and most of the Duhks' set, but I focused all of my attention on Slo Mo and the Avett Brothers. I put together something for Popcorn Youth, the arts blog for the Ithaca Times, so head over there if you wanna read all about it, as well as other GrassRoots reviews and lots of other stuff.

It looked something like this (though occasionally not quite as blurry):







Monday, July 22

After breakfast at Hal's Deli and another record-buying run at Autumn Leaves, it was time for my vacation to end and to head on the Shortline bus back home. It was a pretty good music run. I'll start another run tomorrow with Riders in the Sky and the Carolina Chocolate Drops at Rockefeller Park, followed by Billy Joe Shaver at Joe's Pub, and perhaps Sometymes Why at the Living Room.

But now it is once again time for rest.

If you don't go to at least one concert in the next four days, I will be very sad

The next four days bring roughly a bajillion good shows to the area. I have spent the better part of the summer figuring out what shows to attend. I think I've got it sussed out. Time for you to do some sussing:

Thursday


First there's the Drive By Truckers at Castle Clinton (or, if the forecast holds, an undisclosed indoor location...probably Pace University's Schimmel Center) at 7 p.m. It's free, but you have to line up to get tickets, which will be given out at 5 p.m. Then you have to continue waiting on line to get inside at 6 p.m.. And all that line waiting will be worth it when you see the mighty power of the Drive By Truckers. I am currently recovering from last night's acoustic "Dirt Underneath" DBT show in Philly (home at 3:10 a.m.), and as much as that kicked ass, Thursday's show will be all rock, so it will kick that much more ass.

And when it's all over, you can hightail it up to the Mercury Lounge, where former Trucker Jason Isbell does a show with his new band (and with Justin Townes Earle opening...note the last name). Will Jason reunite with the Truckers? Will the Truckers join Jason? Will Steve Earle check out his son's show? All these questions and more can only be answered by attending the shows tomorrow. Do it.

In a tragic turn of events, the DBT show falls on the same day as the free '80s show of the year in Brooklyn. Yes, not only do you get a set from Air Supply, but you also can rock out to the sweet soul stylings of the one and only, Mr. Billy Ocean. It is a testament to my love of the Drive By Truckers that I am passing up a rare chance to hear "Get Out of My Dreams, Get Into My Car" to see them. But I will understand if (hey! hey!) you (you!) have to go to the Billy Ocean show. Get in the backseat, baby!

Friday


OK, so there's The everybodyfields and Robinella at the Knitting Factory, Neko Case at Summerstage, Bobby "Blue" Bland at Celebrate Brooklyn, Will Hoge and the Deadstring Brothers at Southpaw, and Nick Lowe at the Housing Works Used Book Cafe. If you can't find something you like among all those people, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave the blog. Only excuse for not going to at least one of the above shows is that you need to see the new episode of Degrassi. And even still, you can probably catch it and make one of the concerts.

I hope to be able to go to the Bobby "Blue" Bland show and the Will Hoge/Deadstring Brothers show. Or maybe the everybodyfields/Robinella show and the Hoge/Deadstring show. Or...

Saturday/Sunday


Good weekend for a roadtrip, as this is apparently the unofficial Cool Festival Weekend. So I'm headed (I think) to the Grassroots Festival in Trumansburg, NY to see Slo Mo and whoever else I have time to catch on Saturday and the Duhks and the Avett Brothers on Sunday. Also, I plan to punch a hippie. OK, not really. But if one steps to me...

Other fine festivals include the Grey Fox Bluegrass Festival in Ancramdale, NY (Marty Stuart, the Greencards, Biscuit Burners, the Kruger Brothers, Crooked Still, Sam Bush), Artscape in Baltimore (Avett Brothers, Old 97s, Greencards, Sam Bush), Green River Festival in Greenfield, MA (Buddy Guy, Neko Case, James Hunter, Erin McKeown), and the WXPN All About the Music Festival in Camden, NJ (Will Hoge, Kim Richey, Fountains of Wayne, Hoots and Hellmouth). There's also an all-day show at the Stone Pony in Asbury Park, NJ on Saturday with Fountains of Wayne and the Drive By Truckers. Or if you don't want to travel far on Saturday, there's Hal Willner's Doc Pomus Project at Celebrate Brooklyn in Prospect Park, headlined by Captain Excitement, Lou Reed.

Seriously, get in the car (or on the train or the bus) this weekend and go somewhere. No excuses.

Three Is a Magic Number

Tinsel and Rot pulled off the rare concert hat trick Saturday, hitting three shows over the course of about twelve hours. We will now pause for your applause.

Moving on...



The day started with a boat ride from downtown Manhattan to Governors Island, a heretofore unvisited-by-Tinsel-and-Rot island that served as a military base from 1776 to 1996. It's now open to the public, and, this month, the island is hosting the Folks on the Island concert series every Saturday at 1:30. This past Saturday's show was a salute to Harry Chapin featuring many members of the Chapin family. I suppose you can knock Harry Chapin for his penchant for long story songs, but I also suppose I could knock you in the mouth for doing so. And it will be a particularly forceful knock if you dare to mock my favorite Harry Chapin song, "Flowers Are Red," sung by brother Tom Chapin on Saturday. I'm also fond of "Mr. Tanner" after Saturday, so keep any derogatory comments on that one to yourself, too.

The show also covered the big Harry hits, like "Taxi," "W*O*L*D," the show-closing "Circle," and, of course, "Cat's in the Cradle." That's a fine song and all, but I found it odd when people started clapping along to it. It's not really a song that encourages clapping along. But whatever. If a song about crappy parenting makes you want to sway and clap, that's your business.



I didn't have much time to explore the island, as I got a late start and had to rush back to get the boat that would ensure I got to the next show on time, but it was interesting to see the island that I had only seen from afar on those daily Staten Island Ferry rides (boy, I miss those). I'll have to go back and explore the side of the island I didn't see last Saturday. You oughta check it out yourself. Ferry ride's free and short.



But enough about Governors Island. Time to go to the Citysol festival on 23rd Street and the East River to see O'Death. I'd been trying to catch O'Death for a few months now, as they've been getting some good word of mouth going based on their live show. They opened an Avett Brothers show last summer, but I got there too late to see more than one song. But since they were scheduled to play Citysol at 5 on Saturday, that fit right into the schedule.



It wasn't the greatest show in the world, but they certainly do have a lot of energy going for them, thus making them an appropriate band to play at a festival dealing in large part with energy concerns (oh, I know it's a stretch, but it's the day after the hat trick, and I'm hot and tired). There's jumping, flailing, screaming, chain rattling--a nice way to spend a Saturday afternoon. And while I'm not completely won over just yet (the songs don't do all that much for me, and repetition creeps up a lot), they certainly get points for enthusiasm.



After Citysol, it was back to New Jersey--Hoboken, specifically--for dinner (Benny Tudino's), dessert (Emack & Bolio's), and the Ponderosa Stomp show at Maxwell's.The Ponderosa Stomp is a yearly festival that gathers up the unsung heroes of rock and roll to perform for the music nerds that adore them. This year, the organizers decided to bring a stripped-down version of the festival to Hoboken and Brooklyn. When Saturday night opened up in my schedule, I did some research into the people on the bill. When I looked into headliner Roy Head, I came upon this YouTube clip:



And five seconds later, I decided I was going.



It was a long, but ultimately fun night that started with locals the A-Bones (with Yo La Tengo's Ira Kaplan on keyboards) doing their own set before backing up Ray Sharpe (above), whose biggest hit was "Linda Lu" (to be honest, I hadn't heard most of the artists' "big hits" before Saturday). Sharpe was close friends with the late, great Ronnie Dawson, who was probably one of the first musicians I ever saw at Maxwell's. Sharpe's music mines the same rockabilly territory as Dawson, and sounded pretty good to me Saturday night.



Sharpe was followed on stage by Tommy McLain (backed by Yo La Tengo for a six-song set of Louisiana swamp pop that ended with his version of "Sweet Dreams" and a genuine declaration of his love for those who came out to the show), Tammi Lynn (above; she had a minor hit with "Mojo Hannah" and sang on the Rolling Stones' "Exile on Main Street"...I'd give you a Web link, but there's not much out there on her), and Texas soul singer Bobby Patterson (below; the writer and original performer of one of the few Fabulous Thunderbirds songs I remember, "How Do You Spell Love?). All were backed by an all-star band that featured keyboardist Willie Tee, guitarists Skip Pitts and Teenie Hodges, and Willie Hall, augmented by a four-piece horn section that featured "Saturday Night Live" bandleader Lenny Pickett. Pretty cool.



Finally, Roy Head came out to close the night, and, 40-plus years after the above YouTube clip, he still performs as if shot out of a cannon. The leg-bending stage moves may be gone and the voice a few thousand cigarettes raspier, but he still paces around the stage and twirls the microphone around like it's 1965. Unfortunately, my enjoyment of his set was briefly curtailed by a posse of four roots rock weirdos, one of whom tapped me on the shoulder and said, "Hey! You can't wear earplugs!" Really? I can't? So I should spend four hours directly next to a speaker without earplugs? Duly noted. I'll keep that in mind for the next time. Thanks for pointing out how noncool being able to hear well into my 30s is.

I spent most of the rest of Head's set dodging the fearsome foursome and my earplug-averse friend's hair as she flung it about. But it was a good time anyway, with the main set capped by Head writhing on the Maxwell's floor. No pictures of that, so make do with this:



And, so, a little after 1:30 a.m., the concert day ended.

On Sunday, I rested.

Please Jimmy, Don't Hurt 'Em (Or, Roll Out The Hammer)

There is no greater testament to the unparalleled excellence of the New York City area than this simple fact: In the course of two evenings, I saw 16-time Grammy winner Jimmy Sturr and the Jimmy Sturr Orchestra and MC Hammer (and the Hammertime Dancers). And both shows were free. I defy you to find an area of the world that gives you that kind of opportunity.

I will start with the second show first, because it was the less enjoyable of the two. Sorry, Hammer. It wasn't entirely your fault. I'll take some of the blame, for once I saw the line that wrapped around the block to get into Brooklyn's Wingate Field, I should have realized that there was no show that would be worth waiting in that line for. But I'm stupid. So I expelled a great deal of sweat in the 90-minute wait to get into the 7:30 concert, which was to feature MC Hammer, Slick Rick, Doug E. Fresh, and MC Lyte. And when I finally got in at a little after 8:15, the show hadn't even started yet. Sweet.

After a lot of stalling from Brooklyn Borough President Marty Markowitz, the singing of the Star-Spangled Banner and the Black National Anthem, and a short set from Def Jam's Jason Fox, it was, quite unexpectedly, Hammer Time. He had been advertised as the headliner, so I was expecting a long, hot wait if I wanted to see him. But I suppose the change was made on purpose, because no one really seemed to care about Hammer at all. Or maybe everyone was too hot and bothered to care. In any case, Hammer tried real hard, doing most of the hits ("Pumps and a Bump," "Pray," "Turn This Mutha Out," "Too Legit to Quit," and, of course, "U Can't Touch This), but nothing seemed to be making a dent--at least with the people not directly in front of the stage. Maybe it was crazy for the people who I assume lined up at 4 p.m. to get into the show. But I have my doubts.

After Hammer wrapped up to general indifference, Markowitz came out and hinted that there would be a decent wait before MC Lyte took the stage. It was 9:40. So that was my cue to leave. As I left, Markowitz, desperately trying to hold the audience's attention, brought subway hero Wesley Autrey on stage. So I saw MC Hammer and Wesley Autrey after a 90-minute wait. Was it worth it? Maybe.

OK, probably not.

But I can cross MC Hammer off the list of people I've never seen in concert. Unfortunately, I can't say the same for Slick Rick, MC Lyte, and Doug E. Fresh.

There will be no pictures. Aside from the fact that several thousand people blocked my way to the front of the stage, I got a staredown from a security guy after I tried to take a picture from half a football field away (cameras were prohibited). And I wasn't about to get thrown out. So just picture it in your head. Or go to YouTube, where you'll find that Hammer did much better with the emo kids at the Great Bamboozle in New Jersey this spring.

***



I had a slightly shorter wait for Jimmy Sturr and the Jimmy Sturr Orchestra to take the stage at Jersey City's Liberty State Park, but there was a better reason. Seems that the Liberty House restaurant, which was directly in front of the lawn where the band was to play, also was hosting a wedding that day. So, as I walked up to the area where I assumed the concert would be, I found the wedding just breaking up and the subsequent reception just starting. And as that happened, Jimmy Sturr and the Jimmy Sturr Orchestra were setting up about 20 feet away. And, for the record, they don't rely on roadies. DIY operation. Sixteen-time Grammy winner getting his hands dirty. Take some lessons, spoiled rock stars.

Anyway, the wedding guests mingled on the grounds with the roughly 75 senior citizens lounging on lawn chairs who were anxiously waiting for the show to start while desperately trying to avoid any ray of sun. There's nothing quite like going to an outdoor show where the temperature and the average audience member age is roughly the same. I kid the seniors. Mainly because I could probably outlast the majority of them in a fight.

After an announcement was made that the show would be starting late to accommodate the wedding, everyone calmed down. And before you knew it, the Orchestra launched into the opening medley and it was off to the races. I think I know the opening medley by heart by now, but I won't ruin the surprise for you when you decide to attend your first Jimmy Sturr show. Suffice it to say, it smokes.

With a new CD to promote, Sturr added a few new tunes to the show, including a killer "Under the Double Eagle" featuring Keith Slattery. Alas, there was no "Devil Went Down to Georgia" from Fiddlin' Frankie Urbanovitch. Kind of a drag. But there were plenty of good times to go around. And then toward the end of the show, Jimmy Sturr started to cry talking about the soldiers. Dancing, laughing, crying--you get it all at a Jimmy Sturr show.

You oughta go. Check out the tour schedule and pick a show (next up for me: 8/11, Hunter, NY). He's better than Hammer. Doesn't dance as well, though.

And, lucky for you, cameras were very much allowed.

Blowin' your mind like they knew they would

Tinsel and Rot salutes your Atlantic League North Division First-Half Champion Newark Bears, who took first place away from the Tommy John-helmed Bridgeport Bluefish on Saturday and backed into the championship with a Bluefish loss on Sunday. And they did it all without any flashy ex-major leaguers. Take that, Long Island Ducks (featuring Edgardo Alfonzo, Donovan Osborne, Danny Graves, Jose Offerman, and Carl Everett).

Their first-half pennant earns them a playoff berth at the end of the season. It'll be the Bears' first trip to the postseason since 2002.

No word yet on if they plan to create an Atlantic League remix of the Chicago Bears' "Super Bowl Shuffle." But I hope they do.

Thank you, come again

I joined the rest of the pasty, sweaty people of the world checking out the new Kwik-E-Mart on 42nd St. (btwn. 8th and 9th Aves.) the other night. In case you've missed the news stories, a select group of 7-Elevens have been transformed into Kwik-E-Marts as a promotional tie-in for the new Simpsons movie. Aside from the new facade and the clerks wearing Kwik-E-Mart uniforms (lucky them), it's not much of a transformation. There are some life-sized plastic figures of Apu, Ralph Wiggum, and a few others, some new signs in the window...




and on the donut case...



And you can buy Squishees (I passed), a Radioactive Man comic book (didn't see it), Buzz Cola (they ran out), and Frosted Krusty-O's (Score! $5, but only one per customer)...


It's funny, but it's also one of those things that would be difficult to explain to somebody who didn't get it. "Yeah, see there are these stores that are, like, universally scorned and pretty much only considered as a last resort. But then they changed the sign, started selling a fake brand of soft drink, added some cartoon characters in the store, and put Froot Loops in a new box and now it's, like, the coolest store ever!" But, logic be damned! Check it out if you're bored and in midtown this month.

I hope they do make that "Sopranos" movie so they can change Olive Gardens into Artie Bucco's Nuovo Vesuvios for a month.

Boots Randolph RIP

(AP Photo/The Tennessean, Frank Empson, File)

Homer Louis "Boots" Randolph, best known for the song "Yakety Sax," died Tuesday at the age of 80.

If you don't know "Yakety Sax" by name, you surely know it as the music that accompanied Benny Hill and the romping, scantily clad girls on "The Benny Hill Show." The song, which Randolph cowrote with James Rich, was surely Randolph's most popular song, but he also did a lot of cool session work, including Tinsel and Rot Hall of Famer Roy Orbison's "Oh, Pretty Woman" and Brenda Lee's "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree." In recent years, he had also done a few tour dates with Jimmy Sturr, all of which, sadly, I missed. He also performed "Yakety Sax" with Sturr and the orchestra on 2003's "Polka 'Round."

And, in reading his various obits, I discovered that he did extensive touring with Chet Atkins and Floyd Cramer as the "Masters Festival of Music." Damn. That would've been cool to see.

Rest in peace, Boots.

More info:
His official site
AP obit
Randolph's CDs on Amazon

What I Liked About June

*The Cash/Lyons nuptials (and post-wedding party for no-shows, Malden, MA)
*Pot roast and potato pancakes at the Emerald Inn, NYC
*The Tenderloins, St. George Theatre, Staten Island, NY
*The return of Degrassi: The Next Generation




*My game-tying two-run Wiffle Ball homer at the Heindl PhD Party, Holliston, MA
*Hank Williams Jr., Times Union Center, Albany, NY
*Richard Thompson/Ollabelle, Prospect Park, Brooklyn, NY
*Superbad


*The Best Show on WFMU Listening Party, Iron Monkey, Jersey City, NJ
*Heybale, Hill Country Barbecue Market, NYC
*The New York Islanders' buyout of Alexei Yashin
*The willingness of people with cars to drive me places

I'm McLovin It

Even though I could barely put pressure on my right leg for the better part of Wednesday, I decided to tough it out and head to the city, because I had a pass for an advance screening of "Superbad," the next in the line of Judd Apatow comedies. This one's cowritten by Seth Rogen and stars Michael Cera (George-Michael from "Arrested Development") and Jonah Hill (from "Knocked Up").

And it was everything I hoped it would be.

You likely won't be able to see it until it comes out in mid-August, so I won't pump it up too much (though I reserve the right to do so closer to the release date). I think part of the reason I was a little underwhelmed by "Knocked Up" was because I had read about two months' worth of hype about it. So, I'll just say that "Superbad" kicked ass. It's a little raunchy at points (it earns the "R"), but never really crude, and consistently funny. Cera and Hill are particularly on the money. And the guy who uttered one of my favorite "Freaks and Geeks" lines ("Let's tear this mother down!") has a bit part. What's not to like?

Anyway, here's the trailer. It doesn't give away all the funny parts, so don't worry about taking a sneak peek.

Chris Benoit

So, since you don't watch professional wrestling, I imagine you had a quiet Monday night. I, on the other hand, spent about four hours alternately watching a tribute to Chris Benoit on USA and scouring the Internet for more information on his death.

If I'm home on Mondays, I instinctively flip over to Monday Night Raw out of sheer curiosity. In doing so, I follow the family tradition established by my dad, who used to call me at college and say, "Wrestling's so stupid now" before recapping most of the two-hour Monday Night Raw that he was glued to that particular week. I like to think I'm making progress, because now I genuinely do lose interest after about three minutes. See, attractive single women reading this blog: I'm making progress! I'll be human in just three to five years!

Anyway, I flipped over to USA at about 7:58 and caught the promo for the evening's special three-hour Raw commemorating the life and legacy of "Mr. McMahon," who "blew up" in a "limo fire" on a recent edition of Raw. The quote marks are there for a reason, people. Vince McMahon is alive. Breathe easy. But tonight's Raw was supposed to be a memorial celebration of "Mr. McMahon." As I watched a clip of his daughter crying in the promo, I thought, "Well, this sort of demeans those actual memorial shows they do when wrestlers actually die. This seems like a bad idea." And just as I had finished thinking that, a picture of Chris Benoit appeared on the screen above the words "Chris Benoit, 1967-2007." Any thought that this too was what is called a "work" in the wrestling business (yes, ladies--I know wrestling business lingo!) was erased when the allegedly dead Vince McMahon appeared in the middle of the ring in an empty Texas arena to announce that Benoit, his wife Nancy (a former wrestling manager), and son Daniel were found dead at their home outside of Atlanta.

I scurried on over to the computer to see if there was more info on the Web, but there wasn't much outside of a few wrestling sites. So I spent the rest of the night watching wrestlers cope with the loss of a friend (while checking in on the Mets during commercial breaks) and checking news sites for more info. Helluva way to spend an evening.

Then, after Raw ended, I headed back to the computer, and at that point the Georgia police were saying that they were investigating the matter as a murder-suicide (originally, it was reported that it was being treated as a homicide). An Atlanta TV station reported that investigators "believe the 40-year-old Benoit killed his wife, Nancy, and 7-year-old son, Daniel, over the weekend, then himself on Monday." And after fully comprehending the awfulness of that possible scenario (just thinking of it makes my stomach turn), I realized that I spent my evening watching a tribute to a guy who might have killed his wife and son. That made me feel weird.

In any case, after what I imagine was several hours of editors asking "Are we sure this is real?," the story is starting to make its way onto front pages of websites and the TV news. But I think I need to go to sleep and pray that I don't have nightmares of murder-suicides.

Peace to the Benoit family, though I imagine it will be hard to come by.

UPDATE: From the Atlanta Journal-Constitution "The details, when they come out," said Fayette County District Attorney Scott Ballard, "are going to prove a little bizarre." Hmmm...

OK, now, for real, I'm going to sleep.

FINAL UPDATE: Authorities believe Benoit strangled his wife and suffocated his son before hanging himself in his weight room. Yeah, that tribute seems kind of icky now. They're still looking into what caused Benoit to commit the murders. They can keep looking, but I can't think of anything more heinous than suffocating your seven-year-old child. I don't think there's a reason that can make that make sense to me.

I'll get back to more lighthearted stuff here soon.

Decision '07: Who Will Fill Barker's Shoes?

Tinsel and Rot has been observing a proper period of mourning for the departure of Mr. Bob Barker from the television airwaves. But we will now break this period of mourning by launching our coverage of Decision '07, which will, of course, follow the quest to fill the unfillable shoes of Bob Barker on "The Price Is Right."

Let us now assess the candidates for the job:

Mark Steines/Todd Newton--Essentially the same guy. And that guy is unctuous and unworthy of gracing the screens of America at 11 a.m. The host for "Price Is Right" should be a man of the people, or at least seem like a man of the people. Neither of these soulless monsters qualifies. For the record, Mark Steines is from "Entertainment Tonight" and Todd Newton hosted "Whammy." You already destroyed the precious legacy of "Press Your Luck," Newton. No more, Toddy.

George Hamilton/John O'Hurley--Again, essentially the same guy. These two are simply not "Price" material. Hamilton shouldn't be allowed to do anything but commercials at this point in his life. Or, really, at any point in his life. And no matter how hard he tries, John O'Hurley's always going to be J. Peterman. No one wants to see J. Peterman play Plinko.

Mario Lopez--Sorry, A.C. Just can't see it. The best so far, but, really, being better than Todd Newton and George Hamilton is not much of an accomplishment. Ultimately, M. Lo is not the man for the job. Too young. Plus, his ties to Screech can only be a hindrance in this post-"Celebrity Fit Club: Men vs. Women" world.

Rosie O'Donnell--Sure, she seems to have a genuine affection for the show and probably knows all the games inside and out. But, in an unfortunate turn of events, she's also Rosie O'Donnell. She'd be loud and annoying and everything a game show host shouldn't be. Plus, no one would want to reach into her pocket for $100. Sorry. Donald Trump made me write that.

That about covers everybody who's been mentioned as a possible successor. I think that weatherman Dave Price was also brought up, but that's gotta be because his last name is Price. Dude's already gotten enough breaks, hasn't he?

Tinsel and Rot would like to suggest a dark-horse candidate who has yet to be mentioned in the rumor mill. He is the perfect combination of all the above candidates. He's got the wide, toothy smile of Mark Steines/Todd Newton, the movie-star good looks of George Hamilton/John O'Hurley (well, he's been in movies), and the recognizable celebrity factor of M. Lo and Rosie. I'm pretty confident that he's free, and I genuinely believe lots of people would watch him try to get a Hole-in-One (Or Two).

Yes, Tinsel and Rot throws its support firmly behind the legendary, utterly fantastic Gary Busey:



Who's with Busey? We're with Busey.

While looking for clips from "I'm With Busey" on YouTube, I stumbled upon this gem. It's Busey singing "Stay All Night (Stay A Little Longer)" with Rick Danko and Paul Butterfield on "Saturday Night Live." Sweet Jesus. YouTube Find of the Week. And further proof that this should be your next "Price Is Right" host. He tells you to have your pets spayed or neutered, you listen:

Bocephus wants to get it on

The list of musicians I want to see at least once grows smaller and smaller each year. Last year I was able to cross Chuck Berry and George Jones (or at least a full Jones show...I'd seen him at the Opry twice) off the list, and, as of this past Saturday I can now put a line through "Hank Williams Jr."

I probably could've put a line through Bocephus's name a long time ago, but I can't be 100% sure. I have a vague recollection of seeing Hank Jr. at the tragically long-gone country music festivals in Hunter, NY, that used to be held every summer. I wasn't much of a country fan growing up, so I didn't really appreciate how great those festivals were. Toward the end of their run, I did wise up and wound up seeing Willie Nelson and Johnny Cash (and the Carter Sisters), though I spent so much time getting in position to get Johnny to sign things that I didn't spend nearly enough time enjoying the show. I've got some cool Johnny Cash autographs, but, looking back, it would've been cooler to pay more attention to the show and have memories of that. To make matters worse, I think I totally missed Waylon Jennings right after Cash one year. And, on a far more embarrassing note, I paid full attention to a Sawyer Brown show right after they won "Star Search." Boy, did I love "Smokin' in the Rockies."

Anyway, back to Hank Jr. I seem to remember hearing him sing "Family Tradition" at Hunter, as I can recall trying to figure out the call-and-response going on in the first part of the chorus. So you don't have to do the same, it goes like this:

Why do you drink?
To get drunk
Why do you roll smoke?
To get high
Why must you live out the songs you wrote?
To get laid

Since this call-and-response thing only happens when Bocephus is among his rowdy friends in concert, I went awhile before I could figure out what was being said. If I'd had the Internet back then, I could've figured that out in seconds.

"Family Tradition" came back into my ears when I bought the legendary "Celebrities at Their Worst" CDs, specifically Volume 2, which featured Hank Jr. drunkenly slurring his way through a version of the song in which he tells his band to "turn that shit way, waay down," suggests that Garth Brooks would like to fellate him, and, well, says a lot of other things I'm not comfortable putting down in this blog. Suffice it to say that it is a genius performance that made me obsessed with learning more about Bocephus.

He's got an interesting life story, but you know how to use Google if you're interested in all that. For the purposes of this blog, all you need to know is I have a weird obsession with Hank Jr., own two dancing and singing Bocephi (see above), and spent $73 on a round-trip bus ticket to Albany on Saturday to see him open for Lynyrd Skynyrd on the Rowdy Frynds Tour.

***

When I arrived in Albany, I walked right into the block party that some local radio stations were sponsoring before the evening's show at the Times-Union Center (formerly the Pepsi Arena, originally the Knickerbocker Arena). The show wasn't set to start for another two hours or so, so I had plenty of time to kill. I checked in at the box office to see what the ticket situation was, and after coming real close to making the asinine decision to pay $69.50 for a real good floor seat, I decided to stop and think it over (I eventually wound up buying a ticket in the cheap seats for $20 from a guy looking to unload a couple of seats closer to showtime). When I made my way back to the block party, I checked out the official tour merch set up outside the arena, realized that my unwillingness to wear a confederate flag on my body was going to be a problem, and then headed back to the street to listen to the Back Forty Band play the latest and greatest in country hits, including, joy of joy, Garth Brooks's "The Thunder Rolls." But I entertained myself by reading T-shirts and watching a guy dressed up as Vegas Elvis gyrate around the street. Actually, it's kind of inaccurate to say he was dressed up as Vegas Elvis. It was more like he was dressed up as Vegas Elvis if Vegas Elvis had lived, shrunk a foot or so, and really, really went to seed in the subsequent thirty years of his life. I wish I had a photo to show you, but I didn't bring a camera because I was told that the arena doesn't allow cameras (technically true maybe, but since there was no security check, I guess it's on the honor system). So you are denied a photo of Compact, Gone-to-Seed Vegas Elvis. I am truly sorry. I am even sorrier that I did not have a camera to document my post-Bocephus encounter with Howard Stern Wack Pack member Jeff "The Drunk" Curro. Man, am I sorry.

After watching as much of the block party as I could stand, I headed into the arena and quickly found my seat for the opener, Randy Houser, who alternated between decent ("Paycheck Man") and "what, seriously?" His last song was, if I recall correctly, "Good Boys Need Spankins Too." I can find no files of it on the Web. But I did find out that Randy Houser cowrote "Honky Tonk Badonkadonk." He didn't brag about that on stage. He should have.

Soon after Houser left the stage, screens with the Hank Jr. logo lit up the area above the stage, and I actually became a little bit giddy. And after a video introduction narrated by Merle Haggard (which bizarrely went right from Hank Jr.'s days aping his dad straight to "Monday Night Football"), the man himself came out singing "Women I've Never Had" (maybe my favorite Bocephus song) and it was on. He continued the onslaught with a video highlighting what really seems to be his proudest achievement, performing the theme to "Monday Night Football." And that video was even more bizarre than the intro, as it featured testimony from noted musicologist Uncle Frank from "Jimmy Kimmel Live." In any case, he and the Bama Band plowed into "All My Rowdy Friends Are Coming Over Tonight" as football highlights aired on the video screen. For some reason, it made me wonder if Leon Redbone sings the theme to "Mr. Belvedere" at his shows while clips air on video screens above him. I hope he does. I actually might go see a Leon Redbone show if he did.

Anyway, it's an entertaining song and, to his credit, he sang the original lyrics, albeit with an "Are you ready for some football?" thrown in at the end. So Bocephus is keeping it real.

After the solid start, the show meandered around, with Hank Jr. taking a turn on the piano to play Hank Sr. songs as interpreted by Fats Domino, as well as "Whole Lotta Shakin' Go On" (during which Compact, Gone-to-Seed Elvis wiggled around just a little bit a few rows away); Hank Jr. taking center stage for a solo acoustic mini-set that featured a rough "Whiskey Bent and Hell Bound" and ended with the generally cruddy "A Country Boy Can Survive/America Can Survive"; and Hank Jr. playing his oughta-be-patented air bass fiddle.

The people around me were in a general pot-smoking, beer-guzzling, shirt-removing frenzy for most of the set (one guy behind me inexplicably yelled out, "C'mon, shake your moneymaker, Hank!" before the piano portion of the show), so I missed out on a bunch of Bocephus small talk between songs, which was a bit of a drag. I wanted to keep a running tab on how many times he actually said "Bocephus" during the show, but I can't give you any solid numbers on that. It was a lot, though, mainly in the course of "conversations" that Bocephus had with various suits/detarctors about his viability in the current music market. From what I can gather, there are an awful lot of people doubting Bocephus these days.

It was in the course of recounting one of these conversations, and some time after he made the declaration that "Fortune 500 magazine is doing a story about this tour," that Bocephus brought up the fact that he has "red friends, black friends, yellow friends, white friends--I even got two Yankee friends I like pretty good." Then, after he and the band played an instrumental "Cat Scratch Fever," Bocephus once again broached the topic of diversity when he declared to an invisible detractor during a conversation, "Do you know Reverend Run?" And then I think he said, "Do you know D?" But I could be wrong about the second part of that, because it clearly makes no sense. Then again, maybe I'm 100% right. Hard to say when it comes to Bocephus. Regardless, he capped off his Reverend Run rant by telling the invisible suit that he could get him on the phone if he wants him to, and then he and the band launched into an instrumental version of that classic Run-DMC hit, "Walk This Way." Could've gained some more credibility points with "King of Rock." Also, I would have shit my pants.

Bocephus (who does hat changes instead of costume changes) eventually wrapped up the set with "Family Tradition" (with a little "Hey Good Lookin'" thrown in), and I finally got to shout along with everybody during the chorus, which was legitimately exciting for me. That excitement was tempered slightly by the end-of-song shoutouts to Uncle Kracker and his "rebel son, Kid Rock," but what can you do? Even the declaration that if I didn't like those two, I could kiss Bocephus's ass couldn't ruin the fact that I had finally seen Bocephus live on stage at an age where I could appreciate it.

I hung out in the ridiculously hot concourse between sets and did some people watching. It was at this point that I first had the realization that, you know, I'm really not all that bad looking. I also was able to again check out the t-shirts of the assembled, which included two "I'm Rick James, Bitch" t-shirts, one sleeveless "I Didn't Invent Sex, I Just Perfected It" t-shirt
one Jeff Foxworthy's Redneck Fishin' Excuses t-shirt (#1: I had to use my stringer as a belt), one Che Guevara t-shirt, and, impressively, one Hank III t-shirt. I also spent some time trying to figure out how many Skynyrd songs I could see before I had to leave to catch the bus. I would've been fine with staying for none, but, I figured, I was there so maybe I could hear one of the Skynyrd songs I like. Turns out I got to hear one ("What's Your Name"), so it wasn't all bad. From the 4 1/2 songs I saw, though, I get the impression that I may not have been missing all that much. Skynyrd's fine, but I'll take listening to the original band on CD over seeing the current lineup in Albany and then waiting until 3:30 a.m. in the Albany bus terminal for the next bus back to Manhattan. Sorry. boys. This bird you cannot change.

And, after all, it was a night to celebrate Bocephus and the fulfillment of a dream to see him on stage. Mission accomplished. And it was a good show. Sure, he's a bit of a cartoon, but, what's the problem, you don't like cartoons?

I wanted to end this with a YouTube clip of that Chris Farley-as-Bocephus skit from "Saturday Night Live." But YouTube fails again. Sorry.

T&R Exclusive: Livia Soprano Addresses Upset "Sopranos" Fans

"It's all a big nothing," she said. "Poor you."

C'mon, people, get over it.

I don't care if you think I'm strange

Thanks to the release of "Knocked Up," the quest to add more signatures in my "Freaks and Geeks" DVD yearbook continued earlier this week. And that meant another return to the thrill-an-hour world of autograph collecting outside of TV studios. This time, it was NBC Studios, where Leslie Mann (star of the "Chokin' and Tokin'" episode of "Freaks and Geeks"--and also wife of "Freaks and Geeks" executive producer Judd Apatow) was to appear on "Late Night with Conan O'Brien." It was a return to where it all began for me, as I first started talk-show autograph collecting at NBC, back when it was mainly just people with nothing better to do who weren't all that interested in selling autographs. Ah yes, the good old days. Well, they were old anyway.

I arrived at NBC to find only three shifty-looking gents milling about, so it looked to be an easy day. And, all things considered (and even with two latecomers), I suppose it was. But I did have to sit through a rendition of the Celebrity Photo Shoot Waltz before I could get the yearbook signed.

The Celebrity Photo Shoot Waltz involves anywhere from two to, oh, a dozen collectors and usually takes place at an open area like the 30 Rock lobby, as opposed to the barricaded scene outside the Ed Sullivan Theatre stage door. The Waltz begins when one person asks the celebrity if he (it's almost always he...most women seem to have better things to do than pose for photos with celebrities they barely know) can take a picture with the star. Then, he hands the camera to another collector, who takes the picture and then quickly asks if he can take a picture. So he passes the camera off to another guy, and the Waltz continues until either everybody has a picture or the celebrity can't bear to be a part of the dance anymore and starts to rethink this fame thing.

To her credit, Leslie Mann let everyone waltz who cared to waltz. And, most excitedly for me, she was accompanied by her husband, who had yet to sign the yearbook. I thought about approaching him while the waltz was going on, but I didn't want to interfere with the choreography, so I waited, had her sign it, and then when she pointed out to Apatow that I had the yearbook, I made my way over and asked him to sign.

And that's when it started to get fun.

See, the other collectors (although I guess I can't call them collectors, because all they wanted were pictures with Mann) didn't know that it was Judd Apatow. And that's a fair reaction, as I assume most people don't know what Judd Apatow looks like. I, of course, am not like most people. So they watched as Apatow signed the book and he told me to make sure I see "Superbad" when it comes out (will do). Then he walked away and headed to the exit that would take him to the waiting limo.

As he left, one of the collectors asked me who was the guy I had sign the book (I can only assume that everyone was staring at him as he signed, desperate for a clue as to his celebrity). When I told him it was Judd Apatow and the rest overheard, the reaction was as if I had told them that it was Paul McCartney.

And it was 1964.

And they were teenage girls.

They quickly ran after Apatow, calling for him to stop so they could take photos with him. And so the Waltz began with Apatow, as his wife was already outside, probably waiting in the car. Apatow graciously endured the Waltz, and four guys wound up with a picture of them and a guy who they didn't recognize from five feet away ten seconds ago. Ah, the excitement of celebrity. And the thrill of autograph collecting.

Still taking suggestions for another hobby if you've got any.

What I Liked About May

*Two Saturdays with the McCormicks of Wilmington
*Armando Benitez imploding in the 12th at Shea
*Meeting Steve Guttenberg
*Screech under attack on "Celebrity Fit Club"





*Amy LaVere at J&R Music World and The Bitter End, NYC
*Meeting Seth Rogen
*Avett Brothers at the Fillmore New York at Irving Plaza, NYC
*Finding what I think is an authentic W.C. Handy autograph at a yard sale





*Meeting Don Rickles
*Buying two authentic Catskill Game Farm signs
*Slo-Mo at World Cafe Live, Philadelphia, PA
*The willingness of people with cars to drive me places

May's Loose Ends

*From what I can gather from the Bowery Ballroom's website, the US Air Guitar Championships-New York Regional is sold out. Bands all over Manhattan--many of them quite good and featuring actual guitars--play to less than a dozen people every night, and this sells out. I'm embarrassed for you, New York City.

*And, hey, speaking of live bands for you to see, Maybe Pete at Desmond's Tavern this Saturday night at 9 p.m. Actual guitars will be played. Fun will be had. You will be there. Right?

*Thursday night brings the finals of the National Spelling Bee to ABC prime time. And Stuart Scott will be serving as a reporter. As New York City's tenth best speller of 1990, I would like to express my dismay at this development. Haven't the kids suffered enough?

And while I'm expressing dismay, shame on the so-called contestants who misspelled the following words in the early rounds today: felony, fundamentalist, profane, pallbearer, inconvenient, fanatic, vicious, and adjective. Seriously, you study words for months in preparation and you crap the bed on "adjective"? Were you the only kid who entered the local spelling bee? Or did you just take a dive, in which case, I salute you.

Thankfully, Texas's Samir Patel is still alive in the bee. According to an AP article, the five-timer from Texas is "trying to avoid becoming the Dan Marino of spelling." Tinsel and Rot wishes you the best, big man. No pressure.

Oh, and one last thing. Clearly, the people in charge of the Bee are avid readers of the Marah message board. How else to explain "wilco" and "serge" being back-to-back words in Round 3? Secret's out, Scripps-Howard.

*If there's anything better than watching Armando Benitez commit two balks (even if the first one was highly questionable) and give up a game-winning home run in the 12th inning of a game against the Mets, I have yet to see it. We miss you, pal.

*Y'know, initially, I was going to insist that, you, the eight readers of Tinsel and Rot, pool your money together and buy me this actual "Family Feud" set when I read about it on the Pop Candy blog. Then I clicked on the link and discovered, it's the Louie Anderson/Richard Karn/John O'Hurley-era set. No wonder bids are still stuck in three digits. If you're offering the original set, with the cross-stitch theme, the old-school Big Money board, and the Tootsie Roll Pop trees, then you're onto something. Don't be fooled, America.

* The Last of the Breed tour, highly touted by Tinsel and Rot earlier this year, comes to New Jersey at the end of August, with dates at the PNC Bank Arts Center in Holmdel on August 28 (on sale Saturday) and the Taj Mahal in Atlantic City on August 31. You should go. Tickets are even reasonably priced for both shows.

Give a Guy a Break

From the Guelph Tribune:

A man in Guelph has been approaching women with a bizarre request for the past two months, and police are asking for the public's help in finding him.

The man has been approaching women in the Victoria Road and Woodlawn Road area and asking them to kick him in the groin. The incidents have happened three times, between April 7 and May 22, said a police news release. During two of the incidents, the man was on a bicycle.

The suspect is described as a white man, 20 to 25 years old, who is heavy-set with a red or brown goatee and a noticeable gap between his front teeth. He was last seen wearing a ball cap, a grey, zippered hoodie and blue jeans.

********

What kind of country hunts down fat guys who want to be kicked in the balls? Shame on you, Canada. I'm rooting for the Ducks now.

And if you're out there, pal, come to the States. The greatest country in the world will make it happen for you.

U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!

Charles Nelson Reilly RIP

Tinsel and Rot salutes the life of Charles Nelson Reilly, who died last Friday at the age of 76. Smarter people than T&R would likely have a lot to say about his acting career and triumphs in the theater. Alas, we can only speak of his numerous "Match Game" appearances and his star turn as announcer Vic Carson in the best movie about professional wrestling ever, "Body Slam" (where he shared the screen with another lost legend, Billy Barty). But those are plenty good enough for us.

So, here's to you, Charles Nelson Reilly. Thanks for the laughs.

{photo above from playbill.com}

This Is What It's Like

I am in self-imposed semiretirement from waiting-outside-of-TV-studios autograph collecting, but there are a few groups of people who will drag me out of seclusion:

1. "Saved by the Bell" cast members
2. "Police Academy" cast members (who will likely never be booked on talk shows anyway...but if there's a G.W. Bailey resurgence, I'm there)
3. Country music legends
4. "Freaks and Geeks" cast members

And, so, when Seth Rogen (Ken on "Freaks and Geeks" and star of what looks to be a damn funny movie, the soon-to-be-released "Knocked Up") was booked for "Late Show with David Letterman," it was clear that it would be time to head back out to the streets. Then, while in Philly last weekend, I stopped at The Book Trader in Old City and found a $3 copy of a Michael Martin Murphey LP. Murphey, famous for "Wildfire," was to be the musical guest on "Late Show" the same night Rogen would be on. Hence, my Tuesday evening was booked up.

And this is how it went:

5:38 p.m.--I arrive outside the stage door at the Ed Sullivan Theater to find a few collectors behind the barricades. Since I'm not around much anymore, I can't be sure that they're collectors, but a look at their sweaty, desperate faces tells me all I need to know. Also, they're behind a barricade, so either they're collectors or they have some sort of confinement fetish.

5:39 p.m.--I spot one of the collectors I know, who's usually at the same music-related autograph events I am. He's there for Murphey, though he did get lead guest Charles Barkley on the way in. Much to his chagrin, however, Barkley's got a crappy signature. He hates crappy signatures. The conversation soon turns into one with a sentence that begins, "Someone should shoot him, or at least hit him with a steel rod."

5:46 p.m.--My collector friend says, "That Rogen guy...he looks like a bum." Fortunately, he does not wish physical harm on him. A few minutes later, he starts ragging on Dick Dale, whose autograph he soon hopes to be getting. After mocking his "bumblebee shit," he relates what I imagine is the world's only Dick Dale joke: What does Roy Rogers do in his spare time? Dick Dale. Please, don't make me have to explain it.

5:51 p.m.--One of the other collectors is basically screaming everything that he says, because he has headphones on and the rest of us don't. It amazes me that people consistently can't figure that sort of thing out. It doesn't seem that hard. In any case, he is here for Seth Rogen, and he soon explains to one of the other collectors there for Barkley who Seth Rogen is.

"HE WAS IN 40-YEAR-OLD VIRGIN."

"Oh yeah, who was he?

"HE WAS ONE OF THE GUYS WHO WORKED AT THE STORE WITH STEVE CARELL."

Yeah? Cool. Maybe I'll get a photo with him."

"YEAH, I JUST HAVE ONE MORE THING I NEED SIGNED."

"Need" is always a funny word among autograph collectors. I use it myself all the time (e.g., "I need to get Elizabeth Berkley to sign my Bayside shirt"), but I'm aware that I sound like an idiot when I do. I wonder if the others do. Or maybe he actually does need Rogen to sign his "Anchorman" DVD cover. Maybe his life depends on it. I shouldn't jump to conclusions.

5:59 p.m.--There comes a time in every autograph situation with my aforementioned music-loving colleague when he starts talking about the Fillmore East. It doesn't matter the situation or who we're waiting for. There will always be a moment where the Fillmore comes up, and I hear about how he saw Hendrix for $5 or sat in the balcony for $3.50 to see the Who or the sheer volume of Blue Cheer. I don't really mind hearing about it, but the harangue against current ticket prices that follows is starting to wear on me. The Stones and their $300 tickets inevitably come up, and this time he calls a female singer (I don't think he ever figured out who he was mad at, but I think it was Streisand) and her willingness to charge $1000 for a seat. He calls her a name that rhymes with "duck 'n' hunt." He has some anger issues, I think.

6:09 p.m.--Charles Barkley comes out and though I suppose I should have figured this out beforehand, he is ginormous. I hadn't brought anything for him to sign, but everybody else (including the guy who looked to have about 15 8x10s (Sir Charles only signed one) moves toward the front of the barricades to get their stuff signed. As he's signing, I realize I should get an index card signed, but by the time I move forward, Barkley's posing for the paparazzi with Biff Henderson. Then a paparazzo essentially tells Biff to get out of the way.

6:21 p.m.--Seth Rogen emerges from the stage door exit and makes his way right over to the cool dude with the "Freaks and Geeks" DVD yearbook. That would be me. Like just about everybody I've gotten to sign the book (eight so far), he seems genuinely happy to see it. It (and not an "Anchorman" cover, my shouting friend) is the sign of a true fan. Or a social misfit.

As Rogen finishes signing the book, the collector who didn't know who Seth Rogen was a half-hour ago angles in. He talks real fast, almost to the point of being incomprehensible, so it sounds like this:

"HeyI'mabigfanof40YearOldVirgincanIgetapictureSeth."

Rogen agrees, so the guy tries passing his camera to one of us, but no one jumps at the opportunity. Finally, someone does and, voila, he now has a picture with someone he only has a very vague knowledge of. Awesome.

Soon, everybody but me is taking a picture with Rogen. Why not me? It's that whole I-don't-wanna-bother-people-I-actually-like-when-they're-being-bombarded-by-strangers-with-digital-cameras thing. I'm much better in more formal situations like the Chiller conventions.

6:26 p.m.--Just about everybody clears out until it's me, Mr. Fillmore East, and some other guy who's just taking pictures. Michael Martin Murphey apparently not a big name anymore. Or maybe ever.

6:32 p.m.--The waiting is the hardest part...

6:42 p.m.--Really, it is.

6:47 p.m.--Someone comes up and asks who the guest is tonight. Before I can get past "Michael Martin," he's gone down the street.

6:52 p.m.--While looking at the stage door for "The Color Purple" across the street (where Fantasia is due any minute), my music friend tells me that if Jordin doesn't win "American Idol," something's wrong. Apparently everybody has an opinion on that show but me. Even someone who saw Hendrix for $5.

7:03 p.m.--I realize that there must be something better I could be doing. But I'm here and I've got an album, so I guess I should stay.

7:04 p.m.--It occurs to me that I could have avoided all this by just not buying the album last Friday. That would have been the smart thing to do. But if I always did the smart thing, this blog wouldn't exist. So hooray for my stupidity!

7:12 p.m.--Michael Martin Murphey finally steps outside and someone with him kindly points out the two scary-looking gentlemen who have albums. He seems excited that anybody's waiting for him, so he gladly signs my album while somebody with him hands out free Michael Martin Murphey CDs. And it's a double disc. Sweet. That makes the 90+ minutes spent standing behind a barricade on 53rd Street worth it. Sort of. A little. C'mon, let me have this moment, wouldya?

A Post In Which I Dazzle You With My Knowledge

While watching "Tuesday Night Titans" on WWE 24/7 (there's an introductory phrase any 30-year-old can be proud of using), I tried to think of all the professional wrestling referees whose names I knew off the top of my head. It went like this: Dick Woehrle, Tommy Young, Pee Wee Anderson, Dick Kroll, Dave Hebner, Earl Hebner, Charles Robinson, Nick Patrick, Gilberto Roman, Joey Marella, Sonny Fargo, Billy Caputo ( I went to high school with his son), "Dangerous" Danny Davis, and Bill Alfonso. Yes, I can name 14 referees (I actually had 15, but I had Tim White's first name wrong, so I've taken that one away ... and I'm pissed I forgot Teddy Long). I don't want to say I'm proud of that, but, well, screw it, I am. I've also met four of them. Is this getting weird? Or should I continue, ranking the referees from coolest to least cool? What? No? OK, fair enough. The customer's always right.

But here's a picture of me and Dick Woehrle taken a few years ago:



See, I'm a winner.

Not that Screech is ever suitable for work...

...but this uncensored clip from the upcoming episode of "Celebrity Fit Club" is really, really not suitable for work. Relax--it doesn't show any scenes from his recent, ahem, film. There's just a lot of anger coming from Harvey. So, if you've got headphones, go for it:



I curse VH-1 for putting "Celebrity Fit Club" on at the same time as "The Sopranos." Makes Sundays too stressful. I guess I'll have to get up early to watch the Sunday morning airing this week. Go Screech Go.

Props to retired blogger Bryan Chambala for alerting me to the existence of this clip.

The Week in Game Shows

Big week for game shows. Feel the excitement.

* CBS devotes two prime-time hours to the man who is arguably the greatest game show host ever, the soon-to-retire Bob Barker. Wednesday (8 p.m.) brings "The Price Is Right Million Dollar Spectacular," which will likely be a bloated version of a game show that succeeds because it's not so bloated. Not a must-see. But Thursday's "Bob Barker: A Celebration of 50 Years on Television" (also at 8 p.m.)--now that's one to watch. Clip shows of game show highlights are almost always home runs. I expect no different here. I'll be out once again living the life of a senior citizen--this time at the 92nd Street Y watching Don Rickles in conversation with Regis Philbin--but I will be setting the VCR. Tune in and salute the legacy of a genuine TV legend. And, don't worry, Barker has about a month left before taping his last daytime show. Then and only then will the wailing begin. And, for the record, no one should replace Bob Barker. They should just pack up the Plinko board and call it a day.

*But wait, there's more: GSN salutes the Man all week long by airing "Match Game" and "Family Feud" episodes featuring Mr. Barker. I don't understand why "Price Is Right" reruns aren't on GSN. Too expensive? Too good on a channel that regularly airs "Dog Eat Dog"? I want answers.

*And in current game show news, ABC debuts a show on Friday night (9 p.m.) that I am both anxious and terrified to see, "National Bingo Night." I can't wait to see a TV show that attempts to make bingo--what the annoying host calls "one of the simplest and most fun games ever invented"--the hippest thing on television. I'm on board, and (sorry, Bob Barker) I hereby declare the premiere of "National Bingo Night" this week's Tinsel and Rot TV Must-See. I am particularly pleased that there appears to be a bingo referee.

*And, just to brag, here's a recent picture of me and the Game Show King, Chuck Barris. I look better in this picture than the last one (yes, I have had my picture taken with Chuckie Baby twice...you got a problem with that?), but Chuck doesn't fare as well.

Note the old "awkward-hand-on-the-shoulder" move I employed. Never know how to handle that.

I feel obligated to point out that I wasn't the nerdiest guy there. There was a dude in front of me who had him sign a book and about ten photos before the Barnes & Noble rep had to cut him off. Then he took a picture with him that featured the creepiest smile ever. Wish I had snapped a picture of that.