"It was my understanding there would be no math": Gerald Ford, 1913-2006

It's a good thing Tom Brokaw was prepared for Gerald Ford's passing. How could I forget this classic?


[UPDATE: I just saw young, tanned White House correspondent Tom Brokaw ask Gerald Ford a question about wage and price controls at His Accidency II's first news conference in August 1974, replayed on C-SPAN!]

A small request, dishonored

President Bush Ruined Christmas

Conversation last night at AT&T Park

Me: Jon, I've always wanted to ask you this question: Just in terms of pronunciation, which ballplayers do you enjoy introducing the most?

Jon Miller, San Francisco Giants and ESPN play-by-play announcer: You mean, the players with the most, uh, euphonious names?

Me: Yeah.

Jon Miller: Well, honestly I haven't given it too much thought. But you know, Bob Sheppard, the public address announcer at Yankee Stadium, now, he says his favorite player to introduce was Salome (pause) Barojas. And also, José (pause) Valdivielso.

Me: I have heard that. In fact, my brother once asked him the same question. He also said something like, "You can't really do much with Steve (pause) Sax."

Jon Miller: Boy, that Bob Sheppard, he must be about 95 years old now. And he was a quarterback for St. John's in 1930!

*

I have a feeling this is all going to be mentioned in the eighth inning of a blowout some Sunday night this summer.

Oscar the grouch

Have you ever walked into a movie theater five minutes before showtime and seen nobody else? It happened to me today, at the final matinee screening of For Your Consideration at the Balboa.

Although it features the same cast as Waiting For Guffman, A Mighty Wind and Best In Show, FYC isn't a mockumentary. Director Christopher Guest seems to be going for something else, something that often resembles more familiar indie cinema but still feels like a series of vignettes. More, if not all, of the movie is scripted, and there are several scenes you wouldn't find in Guest's other films, such as shots of people alone in their houses.

Some of FYC's characters seem to be assembled from parts of others we've seen before -- Fred Willard's dim sportscaster in Best In Show more or less reappears as the host of an Entertainment Tonight-type program, for example. This isn't really a bad thing; Willard may have been the funniest person in Best In Show. (Here, he actually gets to wear the Sherlock Holmes costume he suggests the BIS bloodhound ought to wear!) There are too many dick jokes, and the technophobic publicist character never quite sat right with me. But Catherine O'Hara's transformation from bit-part character actress to monstrous, facelifted, Botoxed Hollywood beast is hilarious, and she gets a well-scripted (albeit brief) monologue at the film's end.

Lots of films have been made about Hollywood, with contempt for shallow artifice usually among the themes. Few have aimed so squarely at the culture of awards, which seems to have gotten out of control in the past few years. What's an American Music Award for, anyway? And a Billboard Music Award? Couldn't they just do one show for country music? Why are they giving out trophies for the records that sell the most? (I can't help but think of Woody Allen in Annie Hall, lamenting the idea: "Best fascist dictator: Adolf Hitler!") FYC spares us red-carpet scenes (and leaves one very significant award-related question unanswered), but is most effective at lampooning celebrity talk-show appearances and gossip mavens during the run-up to Oscar time. I admit I was prepared for something of a letdown, and this may not be the best in Guest's recent series of films (Guffman may be unbeatable), but I came away from this one feeling like it was worth my afternoon.


FMFM: The sound me pulling out some Atlantic wax from the 1950s. Just a few months after Arif Mardin died, Ahmet Ertegun has passed as well. Ray Charles and the New York Cosmos? What a life.

[UPDATE: Fine remembrance here.]

Soy bomb

Didja hear? Soy will make you gay.

Country feedback

Strange fellow, that Andy46477.

Devil's radio

I realize I'm stooping here by presenting crazy cokehead Lindsay Lohan news, but it seems she believes that somehow, Silicon Valley venture capitalist, Google board member and Democratic contributor John Doerr is going to come and save her. Or help her solve the world's problems. Or something. Along with Al Gore. Wow.

Winter meetings

The day Kazuhito Tadano is the pitcher and Mike Piazza is the catcher will be a very amusing day.

There will be teachers that die by their own hands

As terrific as Jay Farrar sounded playing alongside Mark Spencer and Anders Parker last night at Slim's, I couldn't help but notice the sparse crowd of older, heavier, mostly male attendees as a defining feature of the evening. Normally I try to ignore these things and stick to the music. But, see, I've seen Jay Farrar a lot of times, in various settings, from a dark room on my old college campus (with Uncle Tupelo) to the packed, sweaty 9:30 Club in D.C. (same), from Bohager's in Baltimore on the first Son Volt tour to, well, Slim's five years ago, with the same Farrar/Spencer setup. I don't recall Slim's setting up tables everywhere that night. It's probably because they sold twice as many tickets for that show. The alt-country you remember from the mid-90s? It's dead, at least in terms of popularity. Or maybe it's just waiting in line for Ryan Adams tickets, behind a 22-year-old girl named Bethany who likes "Come Pick Me Up" best.

I'd like to say that Farrar just keeps getting better and better, and in some ways he has. His voice and guitar sound as good today as they ever have before. But his records? I feel they've slipped a long way over the past few years. When Wide Swing Tremolo was new, it seemed like a big letdown compared to the previous two Son Volt records. Now I wish he'd make something that good. I sold Stone, Steel & Bright Lights back to the record store after just a couple of spins, and didn't even bother with Okemah after hearing a few samples.

It's really the writing that makes the difference. I feel like a lot of his recent work is like a parody of what Jay Farrar songs sound like: disjointed ideas, words forced into places they shouldn't be, the same drone-string strums. Is the chorus to one song really "I've got a voodoo candle," pronounced four times? Isn't this the guy who wrote "Steal The Crumbs" and "Slate" and "Criminals" and.... my god, "Windfall," probably the best single song of the 90s alt-country era (may it rest in peace)?

So. I'd heard that Farrar's record with Anders Parker (Gob Iron's Death Songs For The Living; Gob Iron is a British term for a harmonica) was a bit of a revitalization. And since I won a couple of free tickets from the GAMH/Slim's Web site, I headed down to Slim's to see how it would all go down. A late report from Portland confirmed that Mark Spencer would play lead guitar. I didn't quite realize that there would be a full drum kit, played by all three people by the end of the night. Okay.

I don't know Parker's work, but I enjoyed his opening set. Can't say I connected with the words immediately; his personality isn't one that lends itself to demonstration or declaration so much. He looks a little like Sam Beam, and aims for intimate territory as well. The arresting part of this set was Spencer's guitar playing: atmospheric but also aggressive, meshing perfectly with acoustic strums, adding flesh to skeleton. I spent a few minutes watching him up close in the half-full club, and his footwork looked nearly as interesting as his fingerwork. At times, Parker made a hell of a noise himself. It's nice to see singer-songwriters get truly sonic. Too many value making their words understandable over presenting a pure sound that has a visceral impact. I can certainly understand why they do, but Parker could have been boring had he stuck with the acoustic guitar all night.

Farrar's set consisted mostly of newer material, although I recognized about three songs from Sebastopol. There was one new song, distinguished by the line "methamphetamine was the final straw" in the chorus, that upon first hearing I would rank with his best solo material. (No first-era Son Volt, no UT anywhere in the set.) Spencer alternated between lap steel and electric guitar, as he did backing Parker, providing dynamic range above and below the songwriter's performance. Sometimes when I would go to the restroom or look away, I would realize just how perfect they sounded together. Boss said the guitar was too reverby, but I'm going to disagree. The set's final song, in which I believe both guitarists tuned down to C, was sonically unholy. (Wish I knew the title.)

All three took the stage for a third and final set that included more traditional material. The Gob Iron record reworks old folk songs, and this part of the set featured train rhythms more than drone strings. Spencer played a fair amount of bass, as did Farrar. I wasn't nuts about either one's bass playing, actually, nor was any of the three men a compelling drummer, but they did endeavor to rock out. There were times when they sounded a little amateurish as a full band, but other times when the full-on rock trio setup found strength in roughness. A cover of Talking Heads' "Heaven" fell flat (heck, I think even Widespread Panic might've done better), but Dylan's "One More Cup Of Coffee" was excellent.

Maybe there's hope for a Farrar rally yet. Some of my friends have been saying it's already happening, but I'm still unconvinced. It might be fair to say he's not interested in writing what I'm hoping he eventually will. For now, though, it seems he's happier languishing in obscurity -- not in terms of popularity, but rather a kind of verbal obtuseness in which good ideas are more easily protected than exposed or shared. May the wind take your troubles away.

Excerpted

Pitchfork: Did you see the "Saturday Night Live" when the Killers were on, and some people have claimed Brandon Flowers was impersonating you?

Craig Finn: I did not until someone told me to go look it up on YouTube. I don't know what that guy looks like normally, but someone told me he doesn't wear glasses.

Pitchfork: No, he doesn't wear glasses. A year ago, he was totally doing the whole David Bowie dinner-jacket thing.

Craig Finn: I don't know. He discovered Springsteen or something, so a lot of press I've seen has combined reviews of our two records. So that's one thing. But if I had to guess whether that guy from the Killers knows who the Hold Steady are, my guess would be no. But a lot of people said that: "Hopefully, he wasn't making fun of you." That was the thing, like maybe he's trying to dis. But still, my guess is that he has no idea who we are or who I am. I think that if I was Brandon Flowers from the Killers, I would be concerned about a lot more things, mainly just being a rock star and buying things.