How Do You Solve A Problem Like Sharia?
The terror attacks in Paris have reopened the wounds of September 11 in America. Not because we actually have legitimate or credible potential attacks in America, but because half of our nation lives in constant fear manufactured by by media and politicians.
What a life it must be to live as a conservative in America! Beset on all sides by the inconvenience of red coffee cups, the horror of same-sex marriage and the terrifying possibility that millionaires and corporations could see (GASP!) tax increases. One wonders how a person can function with all this persecution. So it comes as no surprised that this cowardly segment of our society would take to their beds at the very thought of accepting Syrian refugees in America.
To understand the refugee issue one must first understand ISIS. Practically nobody in the United States has the first idea what ISIS is or wants because our media is more interested in Charlie Sheen’s HIV status than the global implications of this terrorist group. Yes, ISIS is a Muslim organization. They are rigid religious extremists who have combined the brutality of Wahabbism with an apocalyptic belief that they are bringing about the end times prophesized in the Koran AND the Bible. Mainstream Islam rejects ISIS in much the way mainstream Christianity rejects, say, Westboro Baptist. ISIS believes that by controlling a specific area of Syria around Raqqa they can goad Western powers into a global confrontation that will begin the Apocolypse. Before you laugh that off keep in mind that not a few dominionist Christians believe the same sort of malarkey.
Syria was once a modern nation with a thriving middle-class and a healthy economy. The ascension of the Assad regime destroyed some of it, and crippling drought combined with a protracted civil war has destroyed the rest of it, leaving three million civilian non-combatants with nowhere to go. Three million people more or less like you and me: working families, men women and children of all ages, all seeking our help.
Therefore all the conservative Christians in America banded together to follow the teachings of Christ and provide generous assistance to these people displaced by war. Except they didn’t. Instead, goaded by politically-motivated douchebags (Trump, Jindal, Huckabee, et al) and a complicit phony media, American conservatives rejected their own religious beliefs and their pride in their own country, tucked their tails between their legs and began sobbing like a girl scout watching a puppy being shoved into a meat grinder.
Not that I begrudge anyone the right to demand careful vetting of refugees incoming. Certainly every measure of caution is prudent in this instance. But the overwhelming display of cowardice and anti-Americanism on the conservative right is sadly no surprise. Fear is the commodity that keeps conservative politicians in power and they are certainly minting a fortune with it today, preying on the least-informed and most gullible segment of our society. Galvanized by false patriotism and cowered by irrational fear American conservatives would let all refugees perish at the hands of ISIS rather than allow them to settle in America, even while vetted and supervised. In comparison other nations are searching for ways to help, while we let children die as we argue with cowards.
Educate yourself on the undisputed, bi-partisan facts here: whatisisreallywants
America has a long history of helping the oppressed. We will continue to help when and where we can in spite of the cowardice and anti-Americanism prevalent in our conservative countrymen. If you are going to cling to your bible try to remember what it instructs: “And if a stranger sojourn with thee in your land, ye shall not vex him. But the stranger that dwelleth with you shall be unto you as one born among you, and thou shalt love him as thyself; for ye were strangers in the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God.” That’s a pretty clear admonition. Why do American Christians choose to ignore it? Because of cowardice, and convenience.
Terrifying Syrian Refugees
To summarize: grow the fuck up. If you can’t accept that we as Americans are the light of the world and ideologically and righteously committed to helping these people then stop calling yourself a Christian and stop calling yourself an American. We used to abhor cowardice in this country, now half our society revels in it. If you can’t bring yourself to help, get out of the way and let real Americans do the heavy lifting. It shouldn’t be too hard to do from under your beds.
Ghost Towns of the Ozarks
Ghost towns are not all that uncommon and can be found in all fifty states and around the world. West of the Mississippi hundreds of towns sprang up in response to western expansion, gold strikes, water sources and railroads. Just as many disappeared seemingly overnight, left to decay and to be seen by only a few curious hikers or historians. An unseasonably warm January day and an opportunity to get off road in my FJ Cruiser led my wife and I to explore the ruins of two area ghost towns here in the Ozarks, Melva and Garber, Missouri.
There are striking similarities to these two abandoned towns. Both were rail communities. Both had a train station made from a converted rail car. Both bordered creeks, Turkey Creek in Melva and Roark Creek in Garber. One became famous for its inhabitants who were immortalized in literature, the other for unthinkable tragedy…
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How A Broncos SuperFan Survives A Super Bowl Blowout
Nobody loses a Super Bowl quite like the Denver Broncos. The Broncos have played in seven Super Bowls, winning back to back in 1998 and 1999 while losing the other five by a combined score of 206-58. The losses have all been historical and humiliating disasters played out upon the biggest world stage, five crushing defeats that have shaped the psyche of Broncos Super Fans nationwide.
The Broncos now own a dubious distinction: they have lost more Super Bowls than any other team in the league. But at least they’ve won two. The unfortunate Buffalo Bills lost four consecutive Super Bowls from 1990-1994, a record of futility that may never be matched. The Broncos came close when they lost three championship games in four years 1986-1989: Super Bowl XXI: NY Giants 39, Denver 20, Super Bowl XXII: Washington 42, Denver 10 and Super Bowl XXIV: San Francisco 55, Denver 10. These calamities were preceded in 1978 by Super Bowl XII: Dallas 27, Denver 10. For a Super Fan who is invested daily in the minutiae of statistics, roster changes, salary-cap considerations, draft prospects and free-agent availabilities what does a devastating blowout in the NFL’s ultimate championship game mean? A lot actually.
Psychology professor Ian Robertson of Trinity College in Dublin contends in his book, “The Winner Effect,” that there is a chemical reaction in the brain that increases the enjoyment of being tangentially part of a winning team and season: “Winning increases testosterone, which in turn increases the chemical messenger dopamine, and that dopamine hits the reward network in the brain, which makes us feel better.” The Broncos have won seven AFC Championships, an amazing feat, yet five of those seasons ended in the worst possible way. If all that winning makes us feel so great, what do humiliating losses in the big game mean to a Super Fan? According to Dr. Richard Lustberg (Psychology of Sports) the results can be traumatic for some:
“The regular season and the playoffs have allowed the involved football fan to escape their daily lives. Feelings and sometimes actions — which for the most part would not be considered enhancing if expressed in other venues – are sublimated and harmlessly discharged during the regular season.Screaming at a television set or blaming a player for a loss is a lot better than screaming at another person.The Super Bowl allows for a vast and more expansive expression of emotions than those individuals bring to a regular season event. For devoted Broncos’ and Seahawks’ fans, or even those fans rooting for either team for just one day, it is an opportunity for them to let it all hang out in one emotional orgasmic climax.But that orgasmic climax comes with both emotional risk and reward. Both Seahawk and Bronco fans are at high risk, as the Seahawks have never won a Super Bowl and the Broncos last won in 1998.This can be a once in a lifetime experience for both team’s fans as there is little guarantee that either team will make another Super Bowl appearance in their lifetime–which is a sobering fact.Thus fans of both the winning and losing team need to be prepared for the outcome and all that goes with it. For some, there is going to be euphoria and the feeling that they got just what they wanted under their Christmas tree and more. For the losers deep disappointment and perhaps depression await.”
On my eighteenth birthday the Broncos signed a celebrated rookie from Stanford named John Elway. Elway lost three Super Bowls in four years 1986-1989, all of them blowouts as I noted. Yet none of those losses had as much impact on me personally as the 1996 playoff loss to the Jacksonville Jaguars. The Broncos owned a 13-3 record and were coming off a bye week to a home game against an inferior team. Elway’s window to win a Super Bowl was shrinking. The upstart Jaguars came into Mile High Stadium and whipped the Broncos in embarrassing fashion and I sadly assumed Elway’s shot at winning the big one was gone forever. Fortunately I was wrong and Elway went on to win two Super Bowls. Like the 1996 Elway the 2014 Manning has a diminishing window of opportunity to collect a Lombardi trophy for the Broncos. He has just completed the best season a quarterback has ever recorded yet failed to cash in. The very public whipping in this most recent championship game leaves a question about his legacy as the greatest to ever play. I often wonder (but not long) what Elway’s legacy would have been had he not won those last two Super Bowls. Elway knew what it took to build those championship teams and has done well in his quest to duplicate those winning ways with Manning at the helm, yet the ultimate prize remains just out of reach.
Diehard Broncos fans not only have to face that dark empty hole that is the end of football season every year but do so with the knowledge that the championship was denied with humiliating precision in every phase of the game. An otherwise flawless and record-setting season will be forgotten by all but a few of us. After a long day of ignoring the gloating texts, calls and messages from friends whose teams didn’t even make the playoffs, what’s a dejected diehard to do to salvage some dignity and beat the blues?
1. Prepare For Baseball season. Prepare like there’s no tomorrow. My Broncos jerseys, jackets, gloves and swag will all go back into mothballs with the exception of two caps which may be worn year round. Cardinals gear to the front!
2. Prepare For Golf Season. Polish the seldom-used clubs that have been nestled inside Denver Broncos head covers these many months. Try to stuff ponderous gut into last year’s golf shorts to see if we need to buy some more. Take the first day above 40 degrees and start taking those first rusty swings…that one was Richard Sherman’s head…that one was Russell Wilson’s, and so on.
3. Prepare For Fishing. Time to clean the otter poop off the pontoon and get down to seriously dreaming about Taneycomo trout. Change the plugs, Armor-All the seats and look ahead to warmer days.
4. Prepare For Next Football Season. Yes the finale sucked but this is a whole new year! The draft is coming! Free agency looms! And being a citizen of Broncos Country is a year-round job.
Even though it doesn’t feel like it sometimes it’s still a game. Some Super Bowl losses are harder to shake than others (Washington) but in the end 29 other teams didn’t even get a chance to play in it. Come to think of it, maybe I’ll leave that Broncos gear out for a little longer.
Ghost Towns of the Ozarks
Ghost towns are not all that uncommon and can be found in all fifty states and around the world. West of the Mississippi hundreds of towns sprang up in response to western expansion, gold strikes, water sources and railroads. Just as many disappeared seemingly overnight, left to decay and to be seen by only a few curious hikers or historians. An unseasonably warm January day and an opportunity to get off road in my FJ Cruiser led my wife and I to explore the ruins of two area ghost towns here in the Ozarks, Melva and Garber, Missouri.
There are striking similarities to these two abandoned towns. Both were rail communities. Both had a train station made from a converted rail car. Both bordered creeks, Turkey Creek in Melva and Roark Creek in Garber. One became famous for its inhabitants who were immortalized in literature, the other for unthinkable tragedy. Both are forever linked in Ozarks folklore.
Our first stop was Garber. A little web research provided us a map of the city as it stood in 1919, and some valuable research from the White River Valley Historical Society gave us some great historical background. You can read the fascinating story of Garber here http://thelibrary.org/lochist/periodicals/wrv/v4/n6/w71b.htm and here http://gchudleigh.com/garber.htm
The ruins of Garber are a nice hike from the Stonebridge golf course and development. Even with the aid of a satellite map we didn’t find it right away despite the fact that the winter season had denuded the trees. Only the old post office remains standing. Originally built in 1927 as a church it only held one religious service, the funeral of postmistress Ada Clodfelter. Ada was the proprietor of the general store that housed the original post office, When a mail clerk was caught stealing she phoned the authorities but before they could arrive he burned the store to the ground. Thus the new church became the new post office. 
Garber became something of a tourist attraction after the publication of Harold Bell Wright’s wildly successful novel “The Shepherd of the Hills.” The characters of Old Matt and Aunt Molly were directly created based on the citizens of Garber. But Garber was a “flag stop” and not a regular rail destination unlike Branson and Hollister, and eventually the remote town began to fade away. Many folks say that the idea for the theme park Silver Dollar City came after Pete Herschend visited the deteriorating town in the 1950’s. The old post office itself has been used as a dump, probably by an enterprising bathroom redecorator judging from the number of bathtubs at the site.
Garber, Missouri post office
This shallow well (126ft) served the community of Garber.
One-time postmistress of Garber, MO
Garber was a few miles west of Branson, which was a very small town indeed before tourism took hold but still a major rail stop between Harrison, Arkansas and Springfield, Missouri. South of Branson on the railway was Hollister, then the tiny community of Melva. The town was populated by bridge workers for the railroad, loggers, orchard-tenders and those who worked in the numerous lead mines that dotted the area. There was a school, the Buell Hotel, a rail station (made from a re-purposed rail car as in Garber) and a Presbyterian missionary named Lucy Woods. A harrowing account of the tornado that destroyed the town can be found here http://thelibrary.org/lochist/periodicals/wrv/v1/N9/F63d.htm This is the best history of Melva that I have found and once again it was through the White River Valley Historical Society.
The home of Lucy Woods in Melva, MO March 1920
The Lucy Woods Home January 2014
The story goes that Mrs. Buell ran from the hotel to the home of Lucy Woods and together they took shelter inside the fireplace which undoubtedly saved their lives. The sturdy fireplace still stands today. The hillside above the creek and railroad tracks was wiped clean of everything save the foundations of some of the buildings. Photos show even the trees and vegetation were carried away. Today scrub oaks and pines have sprouted back up on the once-ravaged hill obscuring the footprint of the once-thriving community. 11 people died, 8 of them children, and there was little urge to rebuild the town. Most moved on to Hollister and Branson and as the lead mines closed the remaining survivors just drifted away.
We finished our exploration by driving the rugged ATV trails in our FJ Cruiser to the Half Moon Mine and Alf Bolin cave just a few short miles away on the same large parcel of land near the Branson Airport. The history of Alf Bolin and a trip to the Murder Rocks is fodder for a future blog.
Here’s an interesting feature the local NBC affiliate did on Melva last year http://www.ky3.com/news/local/Ghost-town-is-hidden-in-Ozark-Mountain-foothills/-/21048998/21281450/-/u2gcpv/-/index.html
Melva and Garber are but two forgotten communities with important historical significance here in the Ozarks. Know of other sites I might like to explore? Reply in the comments section of this blog and let me know, I’m always on the hunt for old schoolhouses and ghost towns.
Rural Schools of the Ozarks
On the property bordering my grandparent’s farm to the south stood a schoolhouse. It was called the Clay Hill school and it served the children in the rural Madry community from about 1890 until all the country schools of the area were consolidated with the school systems of Aurora and Jenkins around 1959.
As a child Clay Hill was a mysterious and enticing place. In the 1970s most of the desks still remained as well as the chalkboards, a rusty teeter-totter and two outhouses. An abandoned Confederate cemetery stood just across the old school lane in a clump of trees. My sister and I used to try to frighten each other with stories of ghostly apparitions rising from the forgotten graves to devour trespassing children after dark.
My grandmother Mary Jane Haddock was renowned for her skills in the kitchen and for many years was the school’s cook. She received an allotment from the state every month and purchased enough food to feed the children. Some of the kids would not have enough money to pay for their lunches but she would always feed them anyway. In those days folks would always repay that debt. My mother who studied elementary education at Southwest Missouri State was a substitute teacher there in the late 1950’s. Both of her siblings attended the school for a time.
My sister Laura Hazelwood got interested in the cemetery while studying the civil war battles of Missouri while she attended Missouri Southern in Joplin and it rekindled my interest in the school. By this time in the late 1980s the building was in a sorry state. There had been an aborted renovation attempt at some point, then it was used to store hay. After I was married in 1996 I took my wife back there to see the school and time had decayed it even further. The roof was sagging, someone had made off with the bell. I never thought to photograph it until the owner of the property had already decided to raze the structure.
I studied on the loss of that old building and what that place had meant for generations of people who had attended there. I knew there were other old schools in the area. Elsey School had been demolished while I was in high school. Leann School in Jenkins stood close enough to Highway 39 to see when I passed. I started researching some of the schools online and discovered David Burton’s survey of Greene County rural schools. His work was an inspiration. Armed with a Nikon D5100 I barely knew how to use I decided to document as many schools as I could find in the rural Ozarks.
I started with the low-hanging fruit in my own neighborhood of Forsyth, Missouri in Taney County. I researched RootsWeb, the White River Historical Society, spoke to older citizens and learned a lot. I discovered that the Forsyth High School had posted some oral histories to YouTube about area schools as described by the elderly former students. I downloaded GPS coordinates, took a lot of wrong turns and saw a lot of the backwoods of Southwest Missouri that a lot of people don’t get to see. Finding an old school became like winning a jackpot! My searches for rural schools became an almost weekly event, one that I anticipated all week long.
I shot this one in Lawrence County
I tried to take an artistic view of the schools I photographed rather than a strict documentary format. I often shoot up to 150 frames from multiple angles and try to accentuate backgrounds and clouds or minute interior details. From those shots I whittle each school down to a few “special” shots and give them a cursory editing in iPhoto or Nikon ViewNX. Before I knew it I had about 30 good school shots from 6 counties in Missouri and 1 in Arkansas. I learned more about the early rural school system than I ever thought I’d know and what do you know? I can use that camera now.
Many of my photographs can be seen on my Pinterest board “One-Room Schoolhouses of the Ozarks” at this link: http://www.pinterest.com/mondorob/one-room-shoolhouses-of-the-ozarks/ and others on my Flickr photo stream here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/mondorob/
Have an old schoolhouse that you know about in your neighborhood that you don’t see in these photos? Respond to this blogpost with directions and I’ll add it to the collection. It feels good to document some Missouri history that may otherwise be forgotten.
Flori-duh
The killing of Trayvon Martin shines yet another unflattering spotlight on the state of Florida. The hanging chads debacle of the 2000 election and the recent acquittal of Casey Anthony as well as the unfortunate spectacle surrounding the death of Terri Schiavo make the state appear to be about as confused and ignorant as any in the union, with Texas being the arguable exception. As a former resident of Florida during the tenure of Governor “Walkin” Lawton Chiles during the early 90’s I was able to travel about the state and really get a grasp on the region. It’s an odd mix of cultures to be sure. Cuban refugees, Yankee transplants, conservative retirees, swamp-dwellers, environmentalists, liberal activists and celebrities live in an uneasy coexistence on this narrow low-lying peninsula. Most are drawn by the promise of sandy beaches and warm weather. Soon realize that they will also receive in equal measure hurricanes, giant flying cockroaches called palmetto bugs and a prohibitively high cost of living. Add to that a state legislature that is among the most corrupt in the nation and you get a lot of disappointed, confused and sometimes angry people who thought they were coming (or retiring to) a land of palm trees, sunsets, mermaids and alligator wrasslin.
The Trayvon Martin killing has once again focused the spotlight on the Sunshine State. 
The case has generated worldwide interest and has, for right or wrong, been reduced to a racial divider and a political tool. In reality it is a case of professional malfeasance and personal recklessness. Take race out of the issue and you have a completely different and more realistic look at the case.
An armed man is patrolling a neighborhood as a neighborhood watch captain. He spots someone “suspicious looking” and against the request of the 911 dispatcher on the phone he follows the person. A struggle ensues and an unarmed seventeen-year-old boy is killed. Would there have been a violent death if Zimmerman had remained in his vehicle as requested by law enforcement? Decidedly not. Neighborhood watch groups across America have disavowed the use of firearms by their participants, so why did this self-appointed watch captain decide to arm himself? Was the fact that he was carrying a firearm embolden him to confront the boy against the request of police?
Much has been made of Zimmerman’s claim that he was attacked. Was Trayvon Martin trying to defend himself from an armed assailant (Zimmerman)? This explanation seems far more likely than Zimmerman’s account. If Martin had nowhere to run and was confronted by an armed Zimmerman it seems logical that his only alternative was to defend himself, resulting in Zimmerman’s purported injuries.
Did Zimmerman “profile” Martin? Probably. Should he have been armed? No. Should he have confronted Martin instead of watching and reporting his actions? Absolutely not. Should Zimmerman be punished for taking this boy’s life? Without question. The question for prospective Florida jurors is whether the second-degree murder charge is appropriate or if a manslaughter charge is more fitting. Because it is a Florida jury an acquittal is the most likely outcome no matter what the charge.
A bit of disclosure here: I am a gun owner and supporter of the second amendment. Would I take a gun on a neighborhood watch? Of course not. Would you?
So what he have now is a perfect storm of politicized finger-pointing, race-baiting and overwrought punditry. You know when Al Sharpton shows up all hope of reason is lost. You have the gun nuts supporting Zimmerman even though there is no proof that he was attacked. You have the Black Panthers offering a bounty on Zimmerman. Even President Obama has weighed in on the situation, saying “If I had a son, he would look like Trayvon.” In reality none of them know the facts of the case. Only the Sanford Police Department, the special prosecutor and the Department of Justice know, and of course Zimmerman himself. The Sanford police department let an armed man who killed an unarmed man go free and that was a mistake. Zimmerman is now in custody and charges filed, and we can all wait patiently now for the wheels of justice to slowly turn toward the inevitable Florida jury acquittal we all know is coming.
Brother Wayne Kramer
One of the perks of living in Key West for several years back in the early 90s was celebrity-watching. I once saw Madonna enter a helicopter on top of a yacht and fly about 100 yards to a chopper pad on a condo building so she wouldn’t have to ride in a dinghy. I once had a drink with Tommy “Tutone” Heath and spent a lost weekend with James Taylor’s doomed brother Alex (who made a great album “Graveyard Dogs”). I even helped Cher and Richie Sambora tie off a rental yacht they were using. But the best celebrities in the Keys usually live there and may not even be considered real celebrities by some measures. Brother Wayne Kramer was one of these.
As some of you know Wayne was the afro-permed guitarist (along with Fred “Sonic” Smith) of MC5, the Detroit proto-punk rabble-rousers who were the house band for the White Panther Party. The three albums they made (Kick Out The Jams, High Time and Back In The USA) didn’t make a huge dent in the record charts, and MC5 didn’t have a very long or particularly successful career but their influence was incalculable. Their combination of deafening hard-rock and radical politics foreshadowed the punk movement by nearly a decade. I was in the second grade about the time they hit their peak so I didn’t hear it until much later. I was introduced to them by a Blue Oyster Cult cover of “Kick Out The Jams.”
One of my slacker jobs in the Keys was renting scooters to tourists at the Hyatt where Wayne’s wife Margie also worked. It came up during lunch one day that she was married to THE real Wayne Kramer from MC5. I was sensibly skeptical so Margie invited me over to meet him. I didn’t really recognize him from the 70’s era pictures I’d seen; he was a pale, skinny unassuming guy with a fierce mien and intense demeanor. He seemed surprised that I knew who he was and we had a good conversation about the early Detroit rock scene, The Stooges, his friendship with Iggy Pop, his “Gangwar” project with the late Johnny Thunders and his stint in federal prison for selling cocaine to an undercover officer. He was working as a carpenter (detailed in his spoken-word track from The Hard Stuff called “Incident on Stock Island”) at the time and was shopping some songs around to some small labels. These songs would become the album Death Tongue. Wayne sent me home with a cassette of Death Tongue as well as Gangwar and a wiggy Mick Farren collaboration called “Who Shot You Dutch?”. I also got an invitation to see The Wayne Kramer Group perform on Halloween at the Key West institution The Green Parrot.
The Wayne Kramer Group was really Wayne playing guitar with local reggae favorites The Survivors, only this was no reggae concert. I pulled up a corner bar seat and got a Stoli screwdriver and then witnessed nearly three hours of the most unforgettably intense and furious hard rock guitar clinics I’ve ever seen. Kramer’s Stratocaster whined, snarled and barked in a feedback-drenched pastiche that had my ears ringing and my eyes popping. All I remember thinking was how much this guy needed a bigger stage. The Parrot fully loaded held maybe 100 people that night. I thought he should be selling out stadiums.
I brought Wayne a drink out at intermission. He was leaning against a rusty old Buick on the curb sweating profusely with his hands on his knees. All I could say was “wow” and Margie said “See? I told you. Still got it.”
The halloween gig at The Parrot was a regular thing for a few years, then like a lot of us do Wayne drifted away from Key West. I found my way home to Missouri late in 1994 and while shopping in a record store in Springfield I came across Wayne’s Epitaph Records debut The Hard Stuff. The record was everything I expected and more, and I got a big chuckle when I heard Margie on the rhyming intro to “Pillar of Fire.” It was cool to read liner notes written by Henry Rollins that captured Kramer’s intense and precisely manic style. The follow-up Dangerous Madness appeared soon after, and then the epic Citizen Wayne. Kramer ascended to his rightful place as one of the godfathers of punk, widely recognized and revered for his musical accomplishments and his support of social causes. He was even recognized as number 92 of Rolling Stone’s Top 100 Guitarists of All Time.
Wayne apparently has a big fan in comedian Will Ferrell who tapped him to score his hit movie Talladega Nights, and Wayne’s song Edge of the Switchblade appears on the soundtrack. He continues to score films and record his music a long way off from that cabinet shop he was working in on Stock Island. To me Wayne is an object lesson in perseverance. After prison he could have chucked it all and kept on working at carpentry, especially in that fallow period in the eighties where it seemed no one wanted to hear what he had to say or play. He stuck to his guns and came out blazing on the other side. True talent like Wayne’s can’t be dimmed or hidden for long. Do yourself a favor and pick up an MC5 or Wayne Kramer album today.
The Only Band That Matters, Obsessively Speaking
Drive-By Truckers perform at The Blue Note on May 2, 2010 in Columbia Missouri.
When I get obsessed about something I tend to stay obsessed. My devotion to the Denver Broncos is a prime example. From my massive football card collection, to the jerseys, the hats, the jackets, the tattoo, the glassware to, well you get the gist. My wife has placed an indefinite moratorium on Broncos Christmas ornaments.
It should come as no surprise that I also get obsessed about music. I am a stolid root-note-plunking recovering bassist, for one thing. I’m also a former mullet-wearing product of the carefree 80’s and 90’s when hair metal reigned supreme before the advent of grunge. Crunchy guitars, blood-curdling vocals and ripped up jeans as presented on MTV, that’s what I liked. This was the predictable result of a childhood spent listening to country radio every morning at breakfast. My dad’s idea of letting his hair down was listening to the Countrypolitan syrup of Charlie Rich instead of the downhome grit of Hank Williams.
Once I became a parent and a presumably responsible adult I found my musical tastes changing. By that I mean I still wanted to listen to hip contemporary music but not wake the baby up. I began looking for acoustic albums by my favorite artists, an endeavor that was made easier by MTV’s stream of “Unplugged” albums. Around this time my allegedly hip sister-in-law gave me a copy of Uncle Tupelo’s “Anodyne.” The album is a touchstone of the alt-country movement, revered for its forthright blend of punk bluster with earnest country twang. I loved it immediately and began seeking out other alt-country groups and discovered a treasure trove of subversive bands like Slobberbone, Blue Mountain, Supersuckers and finally the world-beating Drive-By Truckers.
The first song I ever heard by Drive-By Truckers was “Hell No, I Ain’t Happy.” If you haven’t heard it, before a single note of music is played the song begins with the sound of a beercan being popped open. What follows is four minutes and forty seconds of frustration, fury and swagger. Like any good obsessive I ended up purchasing the entire Truckers catalog beginning with the deceptive simplicity of “Gangstabilly” and “Pizza Deliverance” right on up to the point of buying their new releases on the day of release, and sometimes pre-ordering. A sure sign of obsession. The band has a revolving door of players but the trio of singer/guitarist Patterson Hood, singer/guitarist Mike Cooley and drummer Brad Morgan have been there for every album. Hood and Cooley are true American songwriters in the vein of Guthrie, Dylan, Young or Springsteen. Yes, that’s right, they really are.
Hood and Cooley write in very disparate styles while remaining in their own mostly self-created genre. For three albums in the 00’s they also had the brilliant Jason Isbell on board. Three great songwriters and guitarists (and vocalists) in one band? Yeah, I know, it’s nuts. What all three of these guys have in common besides amazing musical chops is the ability to capture characters, issues and life’s absurdities with erudite lyrics and sly southern charm. Shoot, even the recently-departed bassist Shonna Tucker wrote songs of note for the last three albums. Keyboardist Jason Gonzalez and secret-weapon multi-instrumentalist John Neff round out the current line-up.
Drive-By Trucker’s magnum opus is the critically-acclaimed “Southern Rock Opera.” Released at the dawn of the new millennium it heralded a return to foot-stomping three-guitar rock while deviously painting a picture of a New South still struggling to shed the burden of its past while forging a future in the new century, all revolving around the tale of a fictional band based more or less on Lynyrd Skynyrd. It landed on a lot of year-end “Best Of” lists and the band shot to overnight stardom.
Well, not exactly. In “Hell No, I Ain’t Happy” Patterson Hood sang about being “an overnight sensation after 25 years.” The band has had so many line-up changes only an obsessive can really keep track. Isbell came and went in three great albums. Shonna Tucker, once married to Isbell, departed last year after after 8 albums. Rob Malone was gone after touring for Southern Rock Opera. But the Truckers keep truckin on through hundreds of live shows a year, with each album selling more than the last. They left New West Records after a pretty public row and signed with Dave Matthew’s ATO label. They’ve cracked the Top 40 album chart a few times, they’ve been on Letterman, they made records with Betty Lavette and Booker T that both won Grammys. Why aren’t these guys on the cover of Rolling Stone or hosting Saturday Night Live?
Probably because they are playing smart music in a nation filled with people who think Lady Gaga is a genius. But what really keeps the Truckers going is the live show. Hood calls it “the rock show” and it is. My first Truckers show was at the venerable Blue Note in Columbia, Missouri in 2007. I’ve been to a lot of concerts by a lot of artists and nothing can compare to the cathartic exuberance of a Truckers show. I’ve seen another five shows since, and per my obsession will go to any appearance within driving distance (which my wife has limited to three hours). We’ve gotten some good friends hooked on the Truckers as well and its always a good road trip wherever we go. We’ve all met the band on a few occasions and made friends with some of the crew. Through the Truckers I’ve discovered the brilliant work of their album-cover artist Wes Freed and the music of side projects like Japancakes and Hood’s excellent solo work. And of course to feed my obsession I now have concert posters and band photos hanging on the walls of my office right next to John Elway and Tim Tebow.
Sometimes obsession is a good thing. If it gets you to turn off the ClearChannel pre-programmed crap that Big Radio wants you to listen to it can be a GREAT thing. Greater yet if it gets you out to support live music and new bands. Greatest of all, maybe you get obsessed. I promise you’ll like it.
A Prayer for Tim Tebow
One cold January day back in 1996 my wife accompanied me to a now-defunct strip-mall sports bar called “Rumplebarskins” to watch my beloved Denver Broncos in a divisional playoff game against the upstart Jacksonville Jaguars. You may recall that a 35-year old John Elway was heavily-favored in this homefield matchup at Mile High Stadium. You may also recall that Jaguars quarterback Mark Brunell out-dueled the Duke and stole a rare victory at Mile High. My wife scoffed at me as a fat tear escaped from one eye.
“Well, that’s it for John. He’ll never win a Super Bowl now,” I sniffed.
Of course I was wrong. Elway went on to win the next two Super Bowls consecutively, proving that “old” quarterbacks can perform miracles if the right parts (players) are assembled around them. This is exactly what the Broncos are betting on in their high-profile pursuit of newly-minted free agent Peyton Manning. Like Elway in 1996, Manning is a crafty veteran and future Hall-of-Famer in the twilight of an amazing career. Unlike Elway, he will not finish his career where he started. He is a sign of the times, a salary-cap casualty who is not even certain to be fully recovered from neck surgeries that kept him on the sidelines for all of 2011. The Broncos now have Elway in the front office instead of under center and he has proclaimed the team to be in rebuilding mode. Elway was less than thrilled to inherit Tim Tebow, the unconventional Florida Gators national champion who took the Broncos to the playoffs (and an astonishing win over the Steelers) with his grit, determination, swift feet and sub-50% completion percentage. Along the way he became a national phenomenon with his overt religious displays and questionable throwing ability. Elway was himself a master scrambler when the need arose but relied primarily on his uncanny ability to read defenses from the pocket, his rocket arm and his laser accuracy. It was hard not to notice Elway’s clenched jaw on the sidelines when Tebow repeatedly threw behind receivers, or at their feet, or took a sack for a huge loss. Which of course explains Elway’s current infatuation with Manning.
Manning has always been a quarterback’s quarterback. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen him scramble and I suspect that he’d struggle to jump over a pencil. But like the late-90’s model Elway he has seen every defensive scheme 100 times, he throws with extraordinary strength and accuracy, and he commands the huddle like no other. The question is his neck. After three major surgeries (is there a minor neck surgery?) and a year off the field is Manning worth the literal Denver mint it will cost to land him? Tebow’s legion of (ahem) believers say no and point to Tebow’s late-game heroics and steady improvement as grounds for his claim to starter-dom. Others say Tebow will never develop as a true NFL passer and note that his big wins often came blessed with supernatural luck (and of course Matt Prater’s foot).
A healthy Manning will be an unquestionable upgrade over Tebow, and I say that as someone who has supported Tebow every step of the way. Elway understands that in the NFL even rebuilding teams must win now. With a talented young receiving corps in place, a sturdy offensive line (notably left tackle Ryan Clady) and a vastly improved defense that features two of the game’s most fearsome pass-rushers (Dumervil and Miller) it’s not hard to imagine Manning leading a Super bowl victory parade in downtown Denver. The question is: will the ever-humble Tebow be willing to humble himself enough to learn the position from two of the game’s great masters in Elway and Manning? Riding the pine behind a gunslinger named Favre didn’t seem to hurt Aaron Rogers much. I believe that Tebow could come out of this as one of the most uniquely-talented quarterbacks to ever play the game if he chooses to stay in Denver, or if Elway can resist the urge to trade him to Jacksonville. Let’s hope they both pray on it.
toadstrangler 