You Never Can Tell

Chuck Berry is going to be 85 years old on Tuesday. So I figured I should really get on that whole seeing Chuck at a small club in St. Louis--and getting his autograph after the show--thing. Who knows how much longer he'll be doing his monthly gig at Blueberry Hill, and, even if he does, who knows how much longer I'll want to see it. I'm all about paying respects to the heroes of rock and roll where they're still among us, but hopping on a plane to St. Louis (not the most exciting place on earth) to see one of those heroes in a severely diminished capacity might not be the best use of my money going forward.

So, while initially planning a trip to Nashville, I began to look into cheap flights to St. Louis so I could start the trip there. I found a pretty cheap one, but then getting from St. Louis to Nashville turned out to be problematic. There were no direct flights, and the only other option was a ridiculously long Greyhound trip that might have seemed appealing (or at least like something fun to write about) 10 years ago but now seems like a nightmare on wheels. The trip to Nashville went by the wayside. Maybe next year, Music City.

While holding on to the St. Louis idea like Wilson Phillips, I started concocting baseball playoffs scenarios. Milwaukee was within reach, so I could plan a side trip there. And then Atlanta started collapsing, and it seemed like St. Louis might make the playoffs. Very interesting. But I needed to lock in my flights/trains/hotels so I wouldn't be spending more of the money I couldn't afford to be spending. So I went with this itinerary: fly into St. Louis for Chuck on Wednesday, take the train to Milwaukee (via Chicago) for a Brewers playoff game on Thursday (or, if tickets were too tough to come by, a Jets-Blackhawks game in Chicago), and then fly out of Milwaukee on Friday. So I booked all that on the last night of the baseball season (a/k/a The Greatest Night of Baseball Ever), as the Brewers clinched the #2 seed in the NL and the Cardinals won the Wild Card. Cool. I figured the Great Almighty Phillies Pitching Staff would easily beat the Cardinals, and hoped the Brewers would have enough to get by a tough Diamondbacks team.

One out of two aint bad.

The Phillies' choking threw a wrench into the plan, because now the Brewers were the home team in that series, and that meant Game 4 on that Thursday would now be in St. Louis. And seeing a playoff game at Busch was less appealing than one at Miller Park. Did I really want to break the bank to see a playoff game where I'd be rooting against the home team? Eh, maybe.

Then, a fortuitous comedy club booking was revealed over the Internet. David Koechner, better known as Champ Kind in Anchorman (or best known to me as Gerald "T-Bones" Tibbons of the Naked Trucker and T-Bones comedy duo), was doing a comedy show that Thursday night at a hotel comedy club in Illinois that advertised itself as 14 minutes from the Gateway Arch (or 44 minutes via MetroLink and bus). Whammy!

Trip itinerary completed. St. Louis and Chuck on Wednesday, Fairview Heights, Illinois, and T-Bones on Thursday, and then a ridiculously early train to Chicago Friday morning before another train ride to Milwaukee and my flight home Friday night.

Well, that was easy enough.



Chuck Berry shows, or, for that matter, any rock and roll shows by 84-year-old men, are an iffy proposition. Some nights he's so wildly off that it makes you sad (e.g., the first time I saw him, at a baseball stadium in New Jersey), and some nights you see enough of the old magic that you feel grateful to be alive to see a pioneer of rock and roll a few feet away from you (e.g., the second time I saw him, at a festival in New Jersey). You pay your money, you take your chances (although the time he was good was free, so that was even better).

So as I made my second trip to the Delmar Loop of the day (the first was right from the airport to do a Vintage Vinyl run), my expectations were pretty measured. If it stunk, I could still say I saw Chuck Berry in a small club with a few hundred people. If it was great, well then I saw Chuck Berry in a small club with a few hundred people and it was awesome. Plus, there would be the bonus of getting Mr. Berry's autograph after the show, as the club usually sets up a table and he signs stuff after the show.

But, before all that, it was time for what I'd been saving up for my big meal of the day, at Pi Pizzeria, a few blocks away from Blueberry Hill. St. Louis is unjustly famous for its mediocre cracker-thin pizza with Provel cheese in lieu of mozzarella, but Pi, apparently a favorite of President Obama, doesn't use Provel and is best known for their deep dish pie. I'm not a huge deep dish guy, but the reviews looked promising, so I dug in.



In order to give my gorging a healthy sheen, I started with a salad, the Bada Bing (field greens, toasted almonds, gorgonzola cheese, dried bing cherries, with a raspberry vinaigrette). That was quite good. In fact, I could've left happy with just that. But then came the pizza.




And that was even better. It's the cornmeal crust that does the trick. The sauce was pretty good, too, but the cornmeal makes it stand out from your average pie. I started to feel a little bloated toward the end, but my mama didn't raise no quitter, so I dusted off the whole pie and walked to Blueberry Hill wondering if throwing up during the Chuck Berry show would ruin the trip.

There is limited seating for the Chuck shows at Blueberry Hill (120 seats, and I think they said the room is 300 capacity), so I knew to get there early. I got there around 6:30 and there were already about 25-30 people in line for the show (doors opened at 8). So I joined them, stared at the pictures of the owner and various celebrities on the wall, read a chapter of "The Maltese Falcon," watched two women almost pass out, listened for updates on the playoff game, and then, voila, it was 8 pm. I got a seat in the second row, right next to the people who looked to be about fifth in line. I'm not sure how that happened.

The opening act, Butch Wax and the Hollywoods, did a wedding-band set of oldies that was pretty good and then the stage was reset for Mr. Berry and his band. After a while, a guy came out to tune his guitar and I thought, "Hmmm...he's not in the band." Then, as I looked closer, I thought again, "Hmmm...I think that's Johnny Rivers." And it was. And he sat in for the whole set. Nice.



Having Rivers on stage seemed to loosen Mr. Berry up a bit, and the extra guitar took pressure off him too, as there are some things 84-year-old fingers can't quite do anymore. If you go see Chuck Berry now, those guitar runs aren't gonna be quite like they used to be. In fact, they're probably gonna make you cringe. A lot. But so what. He's Chuck Berry. You can cut him some slack. Going to a Chuck Berry show and complaining that he "just doesn't have it anymore" would be like meeting Thomas Jefferson in 1825 and being disappointed that he didn't write the Declaration of Independence for you. He's done the work already. Now's the time to be glad you're alive to see him.



Rivers sang a good portion of the set (with Mr. Berry joining in on a few verses here and there), starting off with "Maybellene" and continuing with "Carol," "Memphis, Tennessee," "Reelin' and Rockin'" (done twice...Why? Why not?) and "Little Queenie," among others. Mr. Berry seemed to be having just as good a time as I was, and even gave an abbreviated duck walk of sorts during "Let It Rock." If Rivers hadn't been there, I probably would have still had an OK time, but his presence made the night far more memorable than I had anticipated going in.



And then Mr. Berry left without signing. Curses! Foiled again. Oh well. What was it the old folks would say about that? Oh yeah...



It was still a really fun night. Hail! Hail! Rock and Roll!

I switched hotels on Thursday, so I could be a little closer to the train station. This made it slightly less sad to not have time or money to go to a playoff game, because the hotel I stayed at Wednesday was literally a block away from Busch Stadium. I could walk out of the lobby and see the ballpark. Sigh. I did pop into the pep rallies outside the ballpark on Wednesday and Thursday, though, where I looked so out of place not wearing any red that I feared someone would point at me and I'd soon be burned at the stake. But I wasn't. So I took some pictures of playoff fever in St. Louis.




I had nothing to do during the day on Thursday, so I decided to walk to the City Museum and check that out. I'd heard good things about it, and that though it was intended mainly for kids, adults would have a good time at it too. And that was very true, because I had a great time wasting two hours there. If you've got kids, or you're a 34-year-old single man, I highly recommend visiting it.




The City Museum is and old shoe factory and warehouse that has been turned into a completely ridiculous funhouse of sorts, with about a dozen slides (including one ten-story slide), a cave, a human hamster wheel, a ball pit, a Ferris wheel, two gutted-out airplanes, and a school bus that juts off the roof. This has to be the coolest place to take a class trip in the whole wide world. I thought about going down at least one of the slides, but I had visions of an ER visit, so I chickened out. I did go on the Ferris wheel, though. Good times.




After that, I watched some of the ALCS game in my hotel before heading out to Fairview Heights for the David Koechner show. I got there a little early, but too late to grab some food (and since the comedy club was in a hotel on a highway, the main option--TGIFriday's--wasn't exactly inviting anyway), so I went in for the 8 pm show around 7:20. And there were 5 people there. Oh boy. This might be a rough night--if not for me, then definitely for Koechner.

And it was kind of a rough night. I was sitting next to a gentleman who was celebrating his 32nd anniversary with his wife. And, man, was he chatty. Not with me, though; we had only an odd 20-second conversation in which he asked me the last name of the headliner, whom he said he had just met in the hotel.

No, he was way chattier with the opening comic, who probably wished he had never started talking to him at the beginning of his set. And that set, I would say, was about half the comedian talking and half the guy next to me talking. The guy next to me (I honestly could not determine if he had a legitimate mental handicap or was just odd; his wife seemed normal) just kept interjecting himself into the set, vowing to stop talking after every time he spoke, until he capped off his mini-set by asking, "Was she really from Soulard?" after the comedian told a story about losing his virginity to a girl in Soulard (a neighborhood in St. Louis). He then proceeded to give us his thoughts on Soulard and telling us about the time his brother fell through a floor in a house in Soulard. The comedian just gave up at that point and let him tell the whole story.

The guy was only slightly less chatty during the beginning of Koechner's set, interrupting only once, punctuating a story Koechner told about his cousin giving him chewing tobacco at the age of 10 and telling him to swallow the juice by saying, "I've heard that story a thousand times." He again vowed to stop talking after Koechner's reaction, and mainly kept his promise until he got visibly bored and antsy toward the end of the set and started what I assume he thought was whispering in his wife's ear. Which you kind of can't do in a front row in a comedy club when you're five feet from the comic. Koechner shushed him, then did so again when he and the missus started hemming and hawing on their drink order while Koechner told a story about how his wife can't give birth anymore and the scare they had with their youngest child, born via surrogate (yes, I agree, that is odd material for a comedy club). After the second gentle admonishment from Koechner, the gentleman slammed his beer bottle down and walked out. He came back later and took a picture with Koechner after the show. He sounded like he had a good time.

I'm not so sure Koechner did, but he did a good job of holding it in. I can't imagine doing a show for a quarter-full room on a Thursday night at a hotel comedy club is a thrill ride. I hope the Friday and Saturday shows went better.



In any case, I got my Champ Kind bobblehead signed (and my Naked Trucker and T-Bones CD, too), so I left happy. And that happiness almost went right away when I thought I missed the last bus to the MetroLink station. But just as I went to go call a cab, I saw the bus coming, and tragedy was averted. I finally had dinner back at the hotel bar, roughly four hours before I had to board the train to Chicago. It was at this point that this part of the trip began to seem like a terrible idea.



I took a nap and made the train on time, drifting in and out of sleep for the first few hours. We got to Chicago a little late, and I thought my plan to go to the World's Finest Chocolates outlet in a Chicago strip mall might have to be postponed, but I pulled it off. We used to sell (and by "sell," I mean, my mom would sell a few bars at work and then just give me the money for the rest of the box) World's Finest candy bars in grammar school as a fundraiser, so I wanted to relive that glorious time by buying an excessive amount of WF chocolate at their outlet store. And I did. Bought a hat and a bag, too. Here's to you, Blessed Sacrament.



Then it was back on the train to Milwaukee, buying tickets for shows I'm going to in Milwaukee with my sister at the end of the month, getting on a bus to the airport, finding out my flight was delayed for three hours (later knocked down to one-and-a-half), listening to the Brewers lose while on the plane, and finally making it home from LaGuardia around 1:30. I think I tied my record for most states visited in a 24-hour period (5) and I fell asleep in four of them, which I think is a new record.

If you've been holding your applause until the end, you can now commence clapping.

Soundtrack Songs I Have Loved

You might think I spent all of my youth buying soundtracks. This is completely and utterly wrong. You're clearly not as smart as you think you are, with your fancy book learning and alleged keen insight into what I spent money on when I was younger.

I will have you know, Mister or Miss Smartypants (Mrs. Smartypants if you married into the Smartypants clan) that I very often bought 45s of songs that were on soundtracks. And sometimes I bought these 45s without ever seeing, or having any real intention to see, the movies in which they appeared. See, just when you think you have all the answers, I change the questions (thank you, Rowdy Roddy Piper, star of Body Slam, whose soundtrack I, of course, have).

In any event, now that we've pointed out how stupid you are, let's look at some of the great soundtrack songs I own on 45s.



Who can forget the brilliant acting career of Olympic gymnast Mitch Gaylord? Or the amazing solo career of Duran Duran's Andy Taylor? Or the days when Wayne Gretzky's wife was a motion picture lead? What's that? Everyone, you say? Well, then let's all go back to those thrilling times and enjoy Andy Taylor's "Take It Easy," from the Gaylord/Jones vehicle American Anthem.



I cannot begin to tell you what compelled me to buy this 45 (it almost certainly wasn't the video). I can only guess that my sister's slavish devotion to Duran Duran (though she was more of a John Taylor gal) finally rubbed off on me. And I can't decide if that video makes me glad or sad that I've never seen American Anthem. That Mitch Gaylord seems like one hell of an actor.



Did you know that Bob Seger's "Shakedown" (from Beverly Hills Cop II) was nominated for an Academy Award in 1987? And that somehow it didn't win? It lost to "(I've Had) The Time of My Life," which I guess I can understand. If it had lost to fellow nominee "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now," that would've been a problem.



Fun fact: I still get a little excited when that song comes on the radio (i.e., twice a year).


Wikipedia tells me that Little Richard performed "Shakedown" at the Academy Awards that year, which enables me to make a nice segway into Mr. Penniman's "Great Gosh A' Mighty" from Down and Out in Beverly Hills, a movie I clearly remember falling asleep in the middle of after I rented it from the late, lamented Electronic Junction in Staten Island, NY. Oh well. The song's still good.



To be fair, the movie might be good. I get the impression it's not a film that a 10-year-old would find uproarious. For instance, neither Bobcat Goldthwait nor John Candy were in it. They were, though, both in Hot to Trot, whose soundtrack I have nothing to say about (if there even was one). And I probably shouldn't bring up that I did think that movie was funny when I was a kid. I'm gonna go ahead and guess that it's less funny than I remember. I will look for it on Turner Classic Movies and get back to you.



If memory serves, Innerspace was the first movie I saw at the sprawling UA movie multiplex in Staten Island. And, unlike, Hot to Trot, I think it holds up pretty well. Martin Short's great, Dennis Quaid is right in the heart of his cool period, and Robert Picardo's Cowboy was awesome (I will sometimes involuntarily break out into "I'm an Old Cowhand (from the Rio Grande)" just because of his rendition). Screw it, let's watch that before we get to the song.



Rod Stewart's cover of Sam Cooke's "Twistin' the Night Away" is just about as good as that, though, and one of the last cool things Rod Stewart ever did (there were a few more decent years after this, and "Forever Young" was my grammar school graduation song, so I've got a soft spot for that).




Innerspace was about as trippy as my young mind could handle, so there is absolutely no way that I would have had any interest in seeing Less Than Zero (and when I finally did get around to seeing it, I wound up being not that much more interested). So that might partially explain why I didn't buy the 45 of the Bangles' excellent cover (which I doubt I knew at the time) of "Hazy Shade of Winter." We were given a large dose (pun intended) of antidrug lectures in school, so I might've thought twice about buying a 45 from a druggie movie. But I eventually picked up the 45 a decade or so later. It stands as not only one of the better soundtrack songs ever, but also one of the best covers.



Speaking of buying soundtrack songs well after the fact, there is another category of Soundtracks I Have Loved and that is Soundtracks I Have Bought in My 20s and 30s Because I Loved One Song on Them and, Hey, This Record's Cheap, So I'm Gonna Buy It. So, let's look at those before we wrap this whole thing up (don't be sad).


I know what you're thinking. (Did you ever notice I know what you're thinking a lot? Either you are totally transparent and/or feeble-minded or I'm some sort of dark genius who can peer into the minds of all those around him. You choose the one that makes you more comfortable.) How can you have a series about great soundtracks and not properly salute the Almighty Lord of Soundtracks, Mr. Kenny Loggins? Well, you can't. And that is why I salute the first and greatest of the Loggins soundtrack oeuvre, "I'm Alright" from Caddyshack.



There is nothing bad about that song. Nothing. Now, should Mr. Loggins have accepted the invitation to repeat the magic for Caddyshack II? Probably not. But I still lie awake at night sometimes and think about how that movie got made, so I think there may have been some sort of black magic involved in that whole production.


Because I am a heartless ogre, Disney movies have never done much for me. There are a few exceptions, though, and of that bunch my favorite is the often-overlooked Oliver & Company, which, due to its utilization of the vocal skills of Huey Lewis and Billy Joel on the soundtrack, was right up my young alley (though I was a bit old for the movie when it came out). Mr. Joel voiced Dodger, my favorite character (I think we still have the McDonald's Christmas ornament), and sang my favorite song in the movie.




When it comes to the greatest soundtrack songs of all time, there is a healthy amount of competition, as you have seen and heard if you have followed along here. So, what's the best? It's a near-impossible question for me to answer, so thanks a lot for asking it, jerk. And you know what? I'm not giving you a definitive answer. So there.

But if you're compiling a Top 10 (are you? Are you stealing my idea? That's so like you), there's no way you can leave out Lindsay Buckingham's "Holiday Road" from National Lampoon's Vacation. It's a classic song from a classic movie. The video, which I'd never seen before, is odd, though.




And while you're compiling that Top 10 (could you at least give me a shoutout or something? I think I deserve that much), you may want to look at the soundtrack of one of the greatest cinematic achievements this or any other country has put forth. I am, of course, speaking of the Fat Boys' bravura performance in Disorderlies. Incredibly, they were able to take time off from acting in the film to record one of my all-time favorite soundtrack cuts, an ostensible cover of "Baby, You're A Rich Man" that puts the Beatles to shame.



See what I mean? The Human Beat Box's sword solo is incredible, no?

Well, that's all I have on soundtracks. Actually, it probably isn't. But this can't go on forever, so let's end the series here.

Thanks for reading, and I'll see you at the movie soundtrack section of your local record store.

What I Liked About September

*Paige Ellis's debut as between-innings cohost, Nationals Park, Washington, DC
*Marshall Crenshaw/The Bottle Rockets, World Cafe Live, Wilmington, DE
*Florence Henderson, Bookends, Ridgewood, NJ
*Avett Brothers/DeVotchKa/River City Extension, PNC Bank Arts Center, Holmdel, NJ

*Pete Seeger, NYU Kimmel Center, NYC
*The most exciting night of Major League Baseball I've ever seen
*The slight flutter of hope that comes each September for Islanders fans
*Cinematic Titanic, Best Buy Theatre, NYC

*Getting a photo (well, two photos) with Dave "Gruber" Allen
*One of the best 9/11 articles I've ever read
*Tim Raines laughing at my Officer Karkovice t-shirt
*The willingness of people with cars to drive me places

Book Revku, Vol. 57

Lots of nerd talk here
Though not so much that it hides
A compelling tale

The Soul of a New Machine by Tracy Kidder (293 pp.)

Book Revku, Vol. 56

She had a hard life
But managed to keep fighting
And still she rises

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou (246 pp.)

Book Revku, Vol. 55

There should be a book
Just about Jerry Blavat
This is fine for now

Save the Last Dance for Satan by Nick Tosches (114 pp.)

Book Revku, Vol. 54

The body count is high
And the anguish still higher
Lots to ponder here

The Plague by Albert Camus (278 pp.)

Book Revku, Vol. 53

Fire in the big top
Retold and recreated
With great care and love

The Circus Fire: A True Story of an American Tragedy by Stewart O'Nan (370 pp.)

Book Revku, Vol. 52

Hulkamania
Ran less wild than George's prime
Believe it, brother

Gorgeous George: The Outrageous Bad-Boy Wrestler Who Created American Pop Culture by John Capouya (282 pp.)

Book Revku, Vol. 51

I don't think he should
But he's good enough at this
To quit his day job

An Object of Beauty by Steve Martin (292 pp.)

The 50-A-Day Project: Books 41-50

This was a slog. I tried to be ambitious and read some fiction authors--Robert Ford, Evelyn Waugh, Eudora Welty, and Joseph Heller--I hadn't read before but who are pretty universally adored. Well, that didn't work out. Some were worse than others, but I can honestly say I was underwhelmed by every last one of them. I'm willing to accept it might be me. I'd also be willing to try again with any of them, so if you have a recommendation, let me know.

I figured the summer months would be the hardest for me to keep pace (lots of work, lots of free concerts, and lots of hot air circulating in my apartment...air conditioning is for the weak!), and I was most certainly correct. But the summer is quickly receding, and the last three books I've read (I'm late writing this, so I'm now almost done with Book 53) have been a breeze, so I feel a rally coming up in my favorite season.

After finishing the 50th book, I had tallied 15,366 pages in 246 days (I think...I lost track of when I finished the 50th book due to hurricane overload), for an average of 62.5 pages a day. I know--that average has been dropping every time I check in. I'll do better in the fall, OK? Wait, why am I promising something to you? Get off my back! I'll do what I want, jerk.

Anyway...

Best Fiction Book: Catch-22 by Joseph Heller (by default...I really didn't like it that much, but there were at least some parts I liked)
Best Nonfiction Book: The Impossible: Rodney Mullen, Ryan Sheckler, and the Fantastic History of Skateboarding by Cole Louison (full disclosure: I know the author, but it is an honest answer)
Toughest Read: Losing Battles by Eudora Welty
Easiest Read: Fame Junkies: The Hidden Truths Behind America's Favorite Addiction by Jake Halpern
Number of Books on Loan: 0
Number of Books Given as Gifts: 0
Number of Books Signed by the Author: 1 (The Impossible: Rodney Mullen, Ryan Sheckler, and the Fantastic History of Skateboarding by Cole Louison)
Book That Was Sitting on the Shelf the Longest: Catch-22 by Joseph Heller. Much like last time's BTWSotStL, this one was probably bought at the Friends of the Library Book Sale in Ithaca, NY, in 1994 or 1995, because it's a discard from the Finger Lakes Library System. I started reading it once before but couldn't make it through. But I persevered this time, for better or worse.

Best Passage:

[The author is talking with an agent, Cal Merlander, at the International Modeling and Talent Association convention, where children look to be "discovered."]

"'What about this girl?' I asked, pointing to an adorable four-foot blonde in pigtails.

'She's cute, but she's not superbright,' Merlander said.

'How do you know that?'

'I just know--like this one over here,' he said, gesturing toward a stocky girl of about ten. 'I guarantee that she is from a town with a population of five thousand or less. It's obvious that she comes from a community where manners and posture are not that important. She's a farm kid. This one right here, 4702, she's a bright kid--the type who runs the parents. She'll be in the health care business. This one here is also bright, but in a more literary way. She'll be a writer. She'll be your competition in a few years. And this one here--she'll be a hooker.'

'A hooker?'

'Yeah,' said Merlander."

from Fame Junkies: The Hidden Truths Behind America's Favorite Addiction by Jake Halpern

Book Revku, Vol. 50

I know I should bow,
And, yes, the satire is sharp
But it drags a lot

Catch-22 by Joseph Heller (443 pp.)

Book Revku, Vol. 49

Not too much new here
But the tone and strong structure
Make it a good read

The Ballad of Bob Dylan: A Portrait by Daniel Mark Epstein (448 pp.)

What I Liked About August

*L&B Spumoni Gardens, Brooklyn, NY
*Jimmy Sturr, Raymond Bauer Wood Promenade, Linden, NJ
*Paul Anka, Great Auditorium, Ocean Grove, NJ
*A weekend with friends, Lake Harmony, PA


*Maybe Pete, Maxwell's, Hoboken, NJ
*Avoiding the brunt of Hurricane Irene
*First trip to Totonno's, Brooklyn, NY
*Silverball Museum, Asbury Park, NJ



*Aretha Franklin, Seaside Summer Concert Series, Brooklyn, NY
*Shelebration, Central Park, NYC
*The first Dairy Queen Blizzard of the summer
*The willingness of people with cars to drive me places

Book Revku, Vol. 48

There's so much talking
That sometimes I just zoned out
It's well crafted, though

Losing Battles by Eudora Welty (416 pp.)

Book Revku, Vol. 47

It has its moments
And some interesting folks
Could've been better

Fame Junkies: The Hidden Truths Behind America's Favorite Addiction by Jake Halpern (216 pp.)

Book Revku, Vol. 46

The author worked hard
And his efforts have paid off
I'm glad I know him

The Impossible: Rodney Mullen, Ryan Sheckler, and the Fantastic History of Skateboarding by Cole Louison (260 pp.)

Book Revku, Vol. 45

Well, as it turns out,
The facts of his life are dry
I still think he's cool

Just the Facts, Ma'am: The Authorized Biography of Jack Webb by Daniel Moyer and Eugene Alvarez (260 pp.)

Book Revku, Vol. 44

I get the feeling
I was supposed to laugh more
Honest, I did try

Vile Bodies by Evelyn Waugh (321 pp.)

Book Revku, Vol. 43

Yet another book

Where I don't get all the fuss
Maybe I'm just dumb

The Sportswriter by Richard Ford (375 pp.)

The Latest Installment in Our Weird Things Involving Accordions Series

That's 18-time Grammy winner Jimmy Sturr and the Jimmy Sturr Orchestra with special guest Chris Caffery from the Trans-Siberian Orchestra (and Savatage) doing Duane Eddy's "Rebel Rouser" at the Raymond Wood Bauer Promenade in Linden, NJ on August 5, 2011.

You're welcome.

What I Liked About July

*Dick Contino, Festa Italiana, Milwaukee, WI
*The birth of Eleanor Ann Chambala
*Turkey burger with waffle bun, Waffle Frolic, Ithaca, NY
*Seeing a ball go through Bill Buckner's legs during pregame warmups, Newark, NJ
*Hanging with Team Cagnazzi, NYC
*Huey Lewis and the News, State Theatre, New Brunswick, NJ

*Joe Stanky and the Cadets, I Love St. Anthony's Festival, Jersey City, NJ
*David Wax Museum, Madison Square Park, NYC
*Clearcut 24th Anniversary Party, Dingbatz, Clifton, NJ
*Hanging with Anthony and Braden Iaffaldano, Atlantic Highlands, NJ
*The release of The Impossible
*Levon Helm Band/Emmylou Harris/Hayes Carll, Central Park, NYC

*Amy LaVere, WFC Plaza, NYC; Delilah's, Ithaca, NY
*Los Lobos, Prospect Park, Brooklyn, NY
*California bagel, Ithaca Bakery, Ithaca, NY
*Hanging with the Chambalas, Tully, NY
*Sauerbraten, Mader's, Milwaukee, WI
*The willingness of people with cars to drive me places

35 Hours in Milwaukee

Last week, I took a look at the extended forecast and thought, "Oh hell no." So I plotted my escape from New Jersey. I revisited abandoned plans to see Dick Contino, master of the accordion and prolific shaker of the bellows, for the first time, at Milwaukee's Festa Italiana. I like Milwaukee. It's a short trip. I can get a flight for a little over $200. OK, I'm gone. That's pretty much how my trip planning went.

So I bought a ticket for Thursday morning, with a return flight Friday night. And this is what happened.

I arrive at Mitchell Airport a little before 8 a.m. (after a 6:55 a.m. flight from LaGuardia...first NYC taxi ride in more than a decade). I soon fall further in love with Milwaukee when I find a pretty great used bookstore in the airport. But there is precious little time to browse, because I need to make the 9:30 Breakfast Bingo special at the Potawatomi Bingo Casino.

I make Breakfast Bingo with several minutes to spare, plenty of time to buy a new bingo marker and get a good spot in the non-smoking section. I don't win and don't really even get close, but buying another Elvis bingo marker (yes, I said "another") is a win in itself. Plus, I snag a $5 hat from the gift shop mainly because it has two mini searchlights on the visor. This may be the greatest hat ever.



After bingo, I walk to my hotel (probably should've noted that it was at the top of a hill before deciding to do that), check in, dump some things out of my bag, and take my 5 records and one book to the Festa Italiana with the hopes of getting accordion god Dick Contino to sign them after one of his two performances that day.

But first, I must meet up with my buddy the Bronze Fonz for another photo.



Ayyyy!



Upon arriving at the Festa (the second the box office opens), I quickly scope out the stage where Mr. Contino is playing. I then get some eggplant sticks and consume them in the broiling sun. Soon, a slightly mentally challenged man expresses shock that I have never seen Dick Contino before, because he plays the Festa every year (for the last32 it turns out). I explain my journey. The line distinguishing "normal" from "slightly mentally challenged" grows a bit blurrier.



The 81-year-old Mr. Contino takes the stage just after 3, noticeably limping. But he doesn't let whatever's ailing him get in the way of his deft keyboard work and incomparable bellow shaking. I smile and tap my foot giddily for an hour, stopping only to move up a few rows (very easy to do, since there were maybe 10 people in the rows and a crowd of about 20 in the shade) to get better pictures.

Much to my delight, Mr. Contino comes out to sign stuff, and I soon become the center of attention for the senior citizens that have gathered around the merch table. I tell Mr. Contino that I have come all the way from New Jersey just to meet him, and he seems appreciative. It is hard to tell, though, because, truth be told, the Dick Contino fanbase does not contain the most patient people in the world. In the ten seconds it takes for me to get the albums out of their protective sleeves, I am ostensibly sent to the back of the line as everybody else angles in for their moment with Mr. Contino. Pictures are taken, memories are relived, and then eventually I get my records and book signed. I then try to pass off my camera to someone to take a picture, but he just starts snapping away and I have no idea when the picture is actually being taken. So those didn't come out so well. But the second time's the charm, as Mr. Contino's handler (who sort of looks--and sounds--like a compacted Tony Clifton) nails it in one take.



With the focus of the trip now fulfilled, I can relax. I have conversations with two different women about Mr. Contino. The first is the wife of the man (Mario) I first gave my camera to, and she tells me her husband worships Mr. Contino and is an accordion player himself (they've come down from Chicago for the day). He also grows vegetables, and Mr. Contino is soon given a sample of the peppers and basil they have brought. And then I'm given a pickle. Quite good. We soon depart, and I tell her I'll likely see them at the 7:30 show.

The second woman is, quite honestly, adorable, and pretty much a midwestern version of my mom. As I was sitting on a bench by Lake Michigan and putting my records back in their sleeves, she came up to me and asked if she could see the records. As she picked up each one, she remarked whether she had it or not, and then started talking about her many years of Contino fandom. She remembered going to see him when she was young and then when she was a bit older, and finally now as she, her husband, and Mr. Contino live the twilight years. When I tell her this is my first time seeing him, her initial reaction was sadness, because the guy I had just seen on the stage is nothing like the black-haired, muscled guy she'd been seeing for half her life. But I told her that I thought he was great, and she conceded that, yeah, he's still good, but it's just not the same, and he seems to be in so much pain. We talk about that for awhile, and how we both came because, well, who knows if he'll be back next year.

A few times in the conversation she mentioned that she never would've thought she'd actually get to be friends with Dick Contino. It's very sweet, as she talks about how she used to come see him at the Festa and then she and the rest of the Fan Club would all head back to the hotel with Mr. Contino after the day's sets were done, eventually all ending up at Denny's early in the morning. It's so sweet that I wish I had recorded it so I could hold on to it forever. But I'll have to make do with what my brain remembers.

As we wrapped up our conversation, she pondered whether she and her husband were going to stick around for the 7:30 show, because it's so hot and her husband's pushing her around in a wheelchair and that show's still three hours away. I told her to just find a good shady spot for a few hours and see if she can make it.

Of course, as I sat down for the 7:30 show, I turn to my right and hear, "Hey, Jersey!" There she was, dead center in the late-day sun (her husband sat in the wheelchair at the end of the row). Was there ever really a doubt?

I pondered leaving myself, but a few of the other acts held my attention enough that I was able to pass the time pretty well. There was also the Lego Leaning Tower of Pisa and Lego Miller Park to ogle.





Mario and his wife were back up front for the 7:30 show, and Mario was, as he did during the first show, taking it upon himself to make sure the house sound was OK for Mr. Contino (later on, he told me he slipped the sound guy $20 to give Mr. Contino a little more power). With a much larger crowd assembled for the evening show, Mr. Contino is even more on top of his game and even drops the zipper on his shirt a little lower to give the ladies something to take home with them.



I figured I oughta try to capture a Contino bellow shake on video, so I did. Behold the Contino shake during "Beer Barrel Polka." (The video's rough, so if you want to go right to the bellow shaking, hit the :20 mark.)




Mr. Contino definitely seemed a little looser and more at ease during the evening show, and it was probably the best of the three sets I saw (all pretty much the same setlist-wise, but, hey, you go with what works). After the closing number, the highly emotional "This Is My Life" (see Shirley Bassey's version here). I look over to Mario's wife, and she is openly crying. Seeing as I'd been up since 3 a.m. Central time, I'm a little surprised I didn't cry myself.

I finally spoke to Mario after the show (he seemed a little wary of me for some reason, perhaps because of my obnoxious Hawaiian shirt), and he told me about a show he was putting together in the fall in Chicago with him, Mr. Contino, and an Elvis impersonator (looks like I'm going to Chicago in the fall). Also, after a pointed declaration that bellow shaking was harder than it looks and that Mr. Contino pulls it off because he's Italian and has heart (at one point, I thought Mario might poke me in the chest), thoughts turned to vegetables again, and I was given more pickles, some basil, and a zucchini.

I had thoughts of taking my produce and going bowling after the festival, but I decided that going back to the hotel was the smarter decision. And, for once, I went with the smarter decision, though I did once again walk up the hill instead of taking a cab or bus.



It rained overnight and into the morning, so on Friday, I partook of the continental breakfast and then waited out the rain while I watched weather reports, "The Price Is Right," and "The View." The rain let up just around checkout time, so I took the free hotel shuttle down to Mader's, where I had some sauerbraten and chatted with Gary the bartender, a self-proclaimed survivalist who admitted (adding "and maybe I should be seeing a doctor about this") that when he's driving he looks at old buildings and envisions zombies coming out of them. He will, naturally, shoot the zombies. I'm not sure if it's because I was overtired or because I love the food at Mader's so much, but I think this was one of the more enjoyable conversations I've had in the last few years.

Before I left, I checked out the Mader's Wall of Fame, featuring some of the celebrities who have dined at the restaurant. President Ford's note of thanks was prominently displayed, but aside from T&R Hall of Famer John Candy's signed 8X10, I was most impressed with wrestler (and master of the Iron Claw) Baron Von Raschke's place on the wall.



Excellent pun, sir.

And I should also make note of Oliver Hardy's love of the pork shank.



After lunch, I walked down to the Milwaukee Public Market, which I had scoped out the day before. I left with a bottle of locally made black cherry cream soda (I'd had locally made root beer the day before, and it was better), chocolate-covered cranberries, some cookies, and a slice of German chocolate cake for the road (the latter two were from C. Adam's Bakery, which I highly recommend).

I then saw a sign for a t-shirt store in the Historic Third Ward, and since I had some time to kill before it was Contino Time again, I figured I'd check it out. The guy in charge, Fred, was awfully nice, and the shirts were cool, too. I opted for one with the old Milwaukee County Stadium beer slide on it, and after I told Fred why I was in Milwaukee, I was asked to pose for a photo. Support your local t-shirt makers, wherever you are.



The third Contino set was solid, too (I took several videos, but they're so shaky that there's either something wrong with my camera or I have Parkinson's), and afterward I braved the merch crowd to buy my second CD of the weekend, which I asked Mr. Contino to sign to me. He recognized me from the day before and thanked me again for bringing the records and coming so far to see him. He really did seem genuinely moved by my effort. So maybe I made the days a little brighter for him.

He definitely made them brighter for me. And kept me away from the crushing NYC heat for a few days (though the pilot said the temperature when we landed at LaGuardia at 10 p.m. was 93 degrees). So, thanks Mr. Contino. And the elderly Contino-heads of the Milwaukee/Chicago area. And Fred. And Gary the zombie-hunting bartender. And all of Milwaukee. I have yet to find a bad thing about the city.

See you soon. Please continue rolling out the barrel in my absence.

Book Revku, Vol. 42

A balanced portrait
Of a musical legend
Who loved the ladies

Can't You Hear Me Callin': The Life of Bill Monroe, Father of Bluegrass by Richard D. Smith

Book Revku, Vol. 41

A truly odd tale
Whose moral appears to be
Don't challenge yourself

Magic Time by W.P. Kinsella (223 pp.)

The 50-A-Day Project: Books 31-40 (Halftime)

This batch started off rough, with a William Kennedy book that quickly relieved my guilt about having never read a William Kennedy book and a book about Hank Williams, Bocephus, and Hank III that I'd been looking forward to reading but soon realized would contain very little I didn't know (the book also seemed to have the fewest interviews of any biography I've ever read...I assume the author felt that lots of quotes from interviews with Hank III would be enough). So, that, coupled with some music festival trips and the general sluggishness summer brings to me (I know, I'm weird), made me worry that I wasn't going to make it to the halfway mark. But a couple of good books followed, and I was soon back on track.

After finishing the 40th book, I had tallied 12,096 pages in 185 days, for an average of 65.4 pages a day. Not too bad, and better than I'd thought I'd be at the beginning of the journey. Early on in the journey, I had thoughts about going for 100 books by year's end, but that seems unlikely now (unless I start reading really short books). Still, a final total of 75-80 books and 25,000 pages would be swell.

Onward!

Best Fiction Book: O Pioneers! by Willa Cather
Best Nonfiction Book: All Hopped Up and Ready to Go: Music from the Streets of New York 1927-77 by Tony Fletcher
Toughest Read: The Ink Truck by William Kennedy
Easiest Read: Family Tradition: Three Generations of Hank Williams by Susan Masino
Number of Books on Loan: 0
Number of Books Given as Gifts: 1 (All Hopped Up and Ready to Go: Music from the Streets of New York 1927-77 by Tony Fletcher). Thanks, Josh!
Number of Books Signed by the Author: 2 (All Hopped Up and Ready to Go: Music from the Streets of New York 1927-77 by Tony Fletcher, and I'll Never Get Out of This World Alive by Steve Earle )
Book That Was Sitting on the Shelf the Longest: Sixties Going on Seventies by Nora Sayre. I'm reasonably confident I bought it at the Friends of the Library Book Sale in Ithaca, NY, probably in 1994 or 1995. Ms. Sayre visited my college during my freshman year, and my Intro to Journalism professor (Jill Dianne Swenson, a fine professor who frightened 75% of our class right out of the journalism major) set me up to interview her for a class assignment during her visit. I did some quick and dirty research in the Ithaca College library, which, in those days before the Internet took over, meant a lot of microfiche reading. I did as well as I could, I suppose, but I can't imagine it was a very good interview on my part (though I think I got a good grade on it). I do recall that Ms. Sayre was quite kind and didn't openly berate me for my greenness, which was nice of her. And so, over 15 years later (and nearly ten years after Ms. Sayre left this world), I finally got around to reading one of her books. It turns out she was quite a good writer, and a witness to a lot of interesting moments in the 1960s. Sure would have been nice to ask her more about that.

Best Paragraph:

"Americans have never known what war really is. No matter how much they saw it on television or pictures or magazines. Because there is one feature they never appreciated: the smell. When you go through a village and you suddenly get this horrible smell. Everybody's walking around with masks on their faces 'cause it's just intolerable. You look out and see those bloated bodies. You no longer see humans, because they've been pretty well cleaned up by now. You see bloated horses and cows and the smell of death. It's not discriminating, they all smell the same. Maybe if Americans had known even that, they'd be more concerned about peace."

Dr. Alex Shulman, from "The Good War": An Oral History of World War Two by Studs Terkel

Book Revku, Vol. 40

Mostly engaging
Frequently enlightening
Generally good

Da Capo Best Music Writing 2001: The Year's Finest Writing on Rock, Pop, Jazz, Country and More edited by Nick Hornby (319 pp.)

Why My City Is Better Than Your City

Because on Sunday, a polka band (Joe Stanky and the Cadets) played five sets at a street fair a block from my apartment. Granted, the sets were getting shorter as the day went on (The last two may have been about 20 minutes each), but they still played from 2:30 to 9 p.m. with only a few short breaks.

Because that street fair featured food (stuffed cabbage, kielbasa, pierogies, and easily the best potato pancakes I have ever eaten--or likely will ever eat--in my life) made by the Polish ladies of St. Anthony's that was ridiculously good.

Because during the fourth set, when the sun finally started to go down, an old Polish woman practically took it upon herself to start the dance party by grabbing anyone who made eye contact with her (and some who didn't).

Because once that woman achieved success, there was the greatest multicultural polka throwdown I've ever seen, with Polish, Indian, Hispanic, white, and black people all getting on down.

And because during the third set, before the dance party broke out, one guy started his own private dance party, waltzing by himself, mamboing by himself, and, best of all, occasionally closing with Elvis karate moves. Unfortunately, he didn't bust out the Elvis moves when I filmed this (you can see him in the middle of one in the photo above, though), but he still busted some sweet moves (he even throws in some fist pumping). Please enjoy this look into my future. I hope.



I defy you to find a better dancer in your city. Send me the videos.

God bless Jersey City.

Book Revku, Vol. 39

Though the land was flat
Life on the plains was rocky
For Swedes and the rest

O Pioneers! by Willa Cather (309 pp.)

Book Revku, Vol. 38

I interviewed her
Without doing much research
Ready now; she's dead

Sixties Going on Seventies by Nora Sayre (410 pp.)

Book Revku, Vol. 37

The old parks are gone
But a few are still standing
Like this hidden gem

Rickwood Field: A Century in America's Oldest Ballpark by Allen Barra (335 pp.)

Book Revku, Vol. 36

The horrors of war
Told by those who lived through it
As Studs just listens

"The Good War": An Oral History of World War Two by Studs Terkel (591 pp.)

What I Liked About June

*Mountain Jam, Hunter, NY
*Amy LaVere, Googie's Lounge/Amanda Shires, Living Room, NYC
*Return to Sweet Sue's, Phoenicia, NY
*The Bangles (and the Ellises), Celebrate Fairfax, Fairfax, VA

*Return to Vince-Anna's, Greenville, NY
*Black Joe Lewis and the Honeybears/Those Darlins, Madison Square Park, NYC
*Mavis Staples and the Levon Helm Band, Levon Helm Studios, Woodstock, NY
*Seeing Garth Hudson at Woodstock Meats

*The potatoes at Market Lunch, Washington, DC
*The New NRBQ, Maxwell's, Hoboken, NJ
*Eddie Floyd, Steve Cropper, Duck Dunn, Lester Snell, and Anton Fig, Highline Ballroom, NYC
*The willingness of people with cars to drive me places

Soundtracks I Have Loved: Back to the Beach

Soundtrack: Back to the Beach
Year Released: 1987
I Bought It On: Cassette, then vinyl
How Does It Hold Up?: Still my favorite soundtrack of all time

SIDE ONE
1. Catch a Ride--Eddie Money
2. Pipeline--Stevie Ray Vaughan & Dick Dale
3. Sign of Love--Aimee Mann
4. Absolute Perfection--Private Domain (special appearance by Pato Banton)
5. Surfin' Bird--Pee-wee Herman
SIDE TWO
6. Sun, Sun, Sun, Sun, Sun--Marti Jones
7. Jamaica Ska--Annette Funicello & Fishbone
8. Wipe Out--Herbie Hancock (special appearances by Dweezil Zappa and Terry Bozzio)
9. California Sun--Frankie Avalon
10. Wooly Bully--Dave Edmunds

These were many reasons fighting hard against me wanting to see Back to the Beach in the summer of 1987. I was not--and am not--a beach person, likely because of the sunburn I got on my feet at the Jersey Shore when I was a wee lad. Also, I had never seen—or had any desire to see—one of the Frankie and Annette beach movies, and I'm pretty sure I didn't even know who Frankie Avalon was (though Skippy was my peanut butter of choice--I had a peanut butter sandwich for lunch roughly 99% of my eight years in grammar school...I was not a very adventurous eater--so I was fond of Annette.

But there were only so many things you could do when you were 10 years old and living on Staten Island in the summer of 1987. And that short list of fun was topped by the UA movie theater in Travis, which opened to much fanfare in 1987 (I think...feel free to correct me Staten Island cinema historians) as the island’s first significant multiplex (there were a few theaters with multiple screens but none with the double-digit count of the UA). Before the UA, we would have to go all the way to the Amboy Multiplex Cinemas in Sayreville, NJ, which was fine, because that meant we would go to Razzmatazz, too. There was no Razz-Ma-Tazz near the UA in Travis, just the Fresh Kills landfill, which was within close smelling distance, as was also the case with the other Great Beacon of Fun, the Staten Island Mall.

The opening of the UA theater, which was also the first movie theater that was really close to “our side” of the island, ushered in the brief period of my life where movies were an important part of my life (I have probably seen as many movies in the theater in the last two decades as I saw from 1987–1990). And there wasn’t a whole lot of discrimination in my theatrical choices. The basic formula was if it’s a comedy and it’s not rated R, well, sure, I’ll go see it.

And, so, this is how I wound up at the UA theater in the summer of 1987 (I think with Donnie Daszkowski) asking the ticket seller for one to Back to the Beach.

As a testament to how little there was to do on a Friday night on Staten Island in 1987, the screening was nearly sold out. We were told the only seats were in the first few rows, so maybe we’d want to go see another movie. Whether it was a lack of viable options or just a dogged determination to see five minutes of Pee-wee Herman (a possible selling point, though I was never a rabid Pee-wee fan) I do not recall, but we decided to persevere and wound up watching Back to the Beach from, I think, the second row.

I still do not regret that decision. I liked the movie (it's so ridiculously over the top and kitschy that I'm surprised there isn't a statue dedicated to it in Williamsburg). And I loved the soundtrack. Make that love the soundtrack. In fact, it might be my favorite soundtrack of all time. Let me tell you about it.

It starts off on such a gloriously incongruous note that it simply can't miss. In his boldest feat since suggesting that paradise somehow involved being in close quarters with him, Eddie Money beckons the listener to join him for some surfing. Because there is no person who better personifies surfing than the pasty, slightly haggard Mr. Money. Whatever. It works.



Then comes a truly glorious moment in the history of soundtracks: a cover of "Pipeline" by Dick Dale and Stevie Ray Vaughan. Again, Stevie Ray's not exactly the poster boy for sun and fun, but getting him and the King of the Surf Guitar together is a legitimate coup for the soundtrack. I hope whoever came up with this idea was handsomely rewarded. And whoever styled Dick Dale's hair deserves similar props. And partial blame for the hole in the ozone layer.



The soundtrack continues the theme of showcasing the talents of those who probably don't tan very well by including another in the long line of aurally pleasing Aimee Mann songs, "Sign of Love." Criminally, there is no record of this on YouTube, so you will have to take my word for it. Or come over to my place for a Back to the Beach party. You can have your choice of hearing the song on cassette or vinyl. And I'll hang up my Back to the Beach poster for the occasion.

I'm not sure I feel comfortable saying there's a bad track on the album, but Private Domain's "Absolute Perfection" is the closest thing to a weak link (and now that I see what they look like, I'm a little more comfortable). But any bad vibes are quickly erased by another moment of soundtrack genius: Pee-wee Herman's cover of "Surfin' Bird," which I once owned the 45 of. Alas, I stepped on it in my messy room and broke it. I've never really forgiven myself. But getting Pee Wee to sign the soundtrack softened the blow a bit.



Side Two starts off slowly with Marti Jones's catchy if not entirely memorable "Sun, Sun, Sun, Sun, Sun" (another no-YouTube cut) but then amps up the bizarre quotient of Side One by finally bringing together Annette Funicello and Fishbone. Yes, that's right. This was probably my favorite track in my youth, and I still have a hard time not singing it for hours after hearing it (and if you prefer your Jamaica ska with a little less kitsch, try this).



And there's another slightly less bizarre (and not quite as successful to my ears) collaboration next, this one between Dweezil Zappa, Terry Bozzio, and Herbie Hancock on "Wipe Out." It's perfectly acceptable, but as far as "Wipe Out" covers go, there's the Fat Boys and Beach Boys' cover and then there's everybody else. But, good try, fellas.



"California Sun" is one of my all-time favorite songs, and I remember playing the original (on a cassette I bought at either Jamesway or Ames) and the Frankie Avalon cover here an awful lot, despite the fact that I didn't actually see the California sun until I was in my 30s. But as soon as I booked that flight, that became the song in my head for several months. The Frankie Avalon cover gets bonus points for giving Dick Dale more work on the soundtrack. And more hair time.



YouTube, which apparently hates Back to the Beach, does not have a clip of Dave Edmunds' "Wooly Bully" cover, but if you know the song and you know Dave Edmunds, you probably know it's plenty good without having to hear it. I am a little disappointed that he wasn't given a collaborator on the track, though. I think one of the many people who did cameos in the movie (Don Adams, Bob Denver, Alan Hale Jr., Tony Dow, Barbara Billingsley, and Jerry Mathers) would have been good choices, but it's easy to say so in hindsight.

There are two songs in the movie that inexplicably don't make it to the soundtrack. Well, maybe the first one's explicable. Without the visual component of Lori Loughlin, "Pajama Party" is something I'd be comfortable never hearing again. But there's no good reason (other than thinking that the song is so cloying that it should be kept far, far away from the soundtrack) why the album couldn't end with "Some Things Live Forever."



But I'm willing to forgive this oversight, because even without the tune, this is still my favorite soundtrack of all time (Cocktail and La Bamba are [guitar]neck and [bottle]neck for #2)). And I might never have bought it if I hadn't made that decision to go out on opening night and see it from the second row, probably because I had nothing better to do. Thanks, Staten Island. You raised me well.

Soundtracks I Have Loved: Pulp Fiction

Soundtrack: Pulp Fiction
Year Released: 1994
I Bought It On: CD
How Does It Hold Up?: Well

1. Pumpkin and Honey Bunny (dialogue)/Misirlou - Dick Dale & His Del-Tones
2. Royale With Cheese (dialogue) - John Travolta and Samuel L. Jackson
3. Jungle Boogie - Kool & The Gang
4. Let's Stay Together - Al Green
5. Bustin' Surfboards - The Tornadoes
6. Lonesome Town - Ricky Nelson
7. Son Of A Preacher Man - Dusty Springfield
8. Zed's Dead, Baby (dialogue)/Bullwinkle Part II - The Centurians
9. Jack Rabbit Slim's Twist Contest (dialogue)/You Never Can Tell - Chuck Berry
10. Girl, You'll Be A Woman Soon - Urge Overkill
11. If Love Is A Red Dress (Hang Me In Rags) - Maria McKee
12. Bring Out the Gimp (dialogue)/Comanche - The Revels
13. Flowers On The Wall - The Statler Brothers
14. Personality Goes A Long Way (dialogue) - John Travolta and Samuel L. Jackson
15. Surf Rider - The Lively Ones
16. Ezekiel 25:17 (dialogue) - Samuel L. Jackson

As the immensely popular Soundtracks I Have Loved series comes to a close (take the rags away from your face...there are still two more after this one), I have occasionally found myself rifling through the Saved by the Bell trivia cluttering my brain to make sure I haven't forgotten anything. In doing so, I have recalled Soundtracks I Have Liked A Lot (Great Balls of Fire), Soundtracks I Have Liked Just Fine (A League of Their Own, Philadelphia, Honeymoon in Vegas), and Soundtracks On Which I Love Maybe One or Two Songs So I Bought Them Long After the Movie Was Released (to be visited in a future post).

But while making the transition from a CD rack (and random piles of CDs on my floor) to large, portable CD cases, I came across the soundtrack to Pulp Fiction, which reminds me an awful lot of my time at Ithaca College. And one unfortunate incident in Ithaca that occurred after my graduation.

I first saw Pulp Fiction in what I think was my only trip to the Ithaca College Student Activities Board weekend movies in Textor Hall. So I guess that would place it sometime in 1995, since the Textor movies were ones that had been out of the theater for awhile but were still relatively new (or The Rocky Horror Picture Show, which I have deftly avoided for my entire three-plus decades on Earth). And if it was the spring semester of 1995, I almost certainly attended alone, as that first year of college was not a very social one for me. The other three weren't exactly a giant party, either, but freshman year was a particularly antisocial affair. The upside of that was I spent a lot of nights discovering blues music other than The Blues Brothers at The Haunt downtown, so the year wasn't a total loss.

Anyway, enough about my social awkwardness (the name of my next blog) and back to the movie. I liked it, and I liked the music in it quite a bit, too. So, soon the soundtrack was purchased.

I think I was already into Dick Dale before I saw Pulp Fiction, though I'm not sure how (maybe through another movie soundtrack we will talk about soon), but I became a little obsessive after listening to "Misirlou." And it's one of the best soundtrack starters that I can think of. Good start to the movie, too.



I can generally do without soundtracks that include dialogue from the movie, but music is such an integral part of the movie that it makes sense on the Pulp Fiction soundtrack. Unfortunately, I forgot about the dialogue when I decided to play "Misirlou" on the jukebox at Ithaca's Bowl-O-Drome a few years ago. And, because I'm me, I wasn't there on a crowded night where no one's paying much attention to the music anyway. No, I was there in the afternoon. Bowling by myself. While a children's birthday party was under way. So, as soon as I heard Tim Roth's voice, I wanted to run out of the bowling alley. But I didn't. The guy at the front desk lowered the volume just about when Amanda Plummer said "pricks." But it was still loud enough. Sorry, impressionable young minds of Ithaca.

Of course, "Misirlou" isn't the only great song on the soundtrack, or the only great instrumental for that matter. Of the other instrumentals, "Bustin' Surfboards," "Bullwinkle Part II," and "Surf Rider" are fine, but "Comanche" takes the second-place prize.



As for the non-instrumentals, there are a bunch of gems, all of them better than the soundtrack's hit and only new track, "Girl, You'll Be A Woman Soon,", which isn't really a knock on that song, just the truth. I mean, unless someone does a particularly awesome version of "Porcupine Pie," a Neil Diamond cover will never be cooler than "Jungle Boogie," by Jersey City's own Kool & the Gang.



And you can't go wrong with Chuck Berry (unless you hire a crappy band to back him up, he doesn't get into the show, and you're left depressed as he stumbles through "Johnny B. Goode"...still can't shake the memory of that show).



"Let's Stay Together" and "Son of a Preacher Man" are similarly can't-miss additions to any soundtrack, and though I can do without "Lonesome Town" and I never really warmed up to "If Love Is a Red Dress (Hang Me in Rags)," they have their charms, too.

Easily the most pleasant surprise was courtesy of The Statler Brothers, whom I had previously dismissed as one of the worst things ever because my dad always watched them on The Nashville Network Saturday night, which meant I had no shot of watching anything I wanted to see on TV that night. Granted, aside from bowling and wrestling (which I liked too, so it was cool), this was pretty much the only hour of appointment TV my dad had all week (though if he happened upon a M*A*S*H or Hogan's Heroes rerun, good luck getting the remote control away from him). But that didn't make me any less angry. I was a bit of a snot at times.

So, when I saw the cursed Statler Brothers on the Pulp Fiction soundtrack, I was not pleased. Until I listened to the song.



"Playing solitaire 'til dawn/With a deck of 51?" How great a line is that? Who knew they sang cool songs? And here I thought they were all '80s sweaters and cornball patter. Sorry, Dad. You were right. Again. And, hey, why not check out more good Statlers songs here, here, here, and here. My dad would want you to.

And so ends another SIHL installment. The next one, our final full-album soundtrack piece, will be a marked contrast to Pulp Fiction. But I think it might be my all-time favorite soundtrack.

You're excited. I can tell.

Book Revku, Vol. 35

Broken hearts, crushed dreams
And lives ruined or no more
Look what love can do

Giovanni's Room by James Baldwin (224 pp.)

Book Revku, Vol. 34

The beat of New York
Over half a century
Deftly chronicled

All Hopped Up and Ready to Go: Music From the Streets of New York, 1927-77 by Tony Fletcher (411 pp.)

Book Revku, Vol. 33

His songs are better
But he tells a good tale here
As you'd think he would

I'll Never Get Out of This World Alive by Steve Earle (243 pp.)

Book Revku, Vol. 32

If you don't know Hank(s)
This book might enlighten you
I was kinda bored

Family Tradition: Three Generations of Hank Williams by Susan Masino (228 pp.)

Book Revku, Vol. 31

Sometimes a book soars
And sometimes it just fizzles
This was the latter

The Ink Truck by William Kennedy (278 pp.)