Celebration Rock is King!

Posted on December 14, 2012 by jnagle4

celebration rock

One of the hardest things about being a committed music fan is the year end list.  Whenever I put on a new record, the question haunts me: Where will this fit?  In the past, I spent weeks obsessing over the top spot, but not this year.  I knew from the moment the I heard the fireworks in “The Days of Wine and Roses” that nothing would top The Japandroids’ Celebration Rock.

There are records that you like, there are records that you love, but there are a select few that you can recall where you were when you first heard it.  I didn’t expect to ever have that feeling again, but when “Fire’s Highway,” came blaring out of my speakers for the first time, I felt like I did the first time I heard Appetite for Destruction.  All I could think about was playing that record again, and again, and again, and again.  I actually considered skipping work for a week, because it would get in the way of listening to a record.  I hadn’t felt that way since my sophomore year of college, when Butch Walker released Letters.

I have been suffering from serious depression for the past three years, which is part of the reason why my writing has been so sporadic.  The week Celebration Rock came out, I was about to write a farewell, cancel my domain name and give up writing forever.  When the album was over, all I could think about was writing.  I had to tell people how magnificent this record was, even if it was only for my own satisfaction.  At my lowest point, it reminded me that I was alive.

Celebration Rock is my favorite record of 2012, and one of the major records of my life.

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Counted Out

Posted on September 25, 2012 by jnagle4

Television cameras have never quite been able to capture the weird, wonderful amalgam of bombast, theatre and athleticism of professional wrestling.  In the arena, surrounded by other true believers, you somehow forget that the huge men in the squared circle are performing an exhibition.  I hadn’t been to a live match in a several years, so when Ring of Honor announced their final television taping of the year at the DuBurns Arena in downtown Baltimore, I immediately got tickets.

I have cerebral palsy, so I am unable to walk and am wheelchair bound.  Since I can’t stand up under my own power, I always make sure to get the best seats possible, just in case people stand up.  I managed to get a front row seat to the show, section C, dead center.  A front row seat not only puts a fan in the center of the action, it also gives you license to antagonize the performers.  My target was “The Prodigy” Mike Bennett, and his beautiful valet, Maria Kannellis.  My insults were going to be witty, urbane and mostly centered around the idea that Maria would be happier with someone of the handicapped persuasion.  I keep it classy.

I had never been to the DuBurns Arena.  When I go somewhere for the first time, I usually call ahead and make sure that it is handicapped accessible, which means ramps, elevators and at least one bathroom with handicapped accommodations.  Since the DuBurns was built in 1991, a year after the Americans With Disabilities Act was signed into law, I assumed that I wouldn’t have any problems.

I arrived at the arena a half hour before doors opened.  As my mom and I drove past the main entrance, we saw that there wasn’t a ramp.  We drove around the building until we saw three handicapped parking spaces, obscured by the ROH television production truck.  We flagged down an ROH staff member and asked him about the accessibility of the building.

He said I could get in the building, but was almost positive that I would unable to get down to the arena floor.  He went into the building, and came back a few minutes later with an ROH official.

“Hi, John, he said. “I’m sorry to say that there is no way you can get down to the arena floor.  I know you had a front row seat, but you will have to watch the show from the bleachers.  We will refund your money and give you a DVD.”

I couldn’t believe it.  A sports arena was not wheelchair accessible.  A million questions raced through my mind.  How is this possible?   Handicapped people don’t like soccer?  We don’t like sports?  I have to be content with nosebleed seats when I paid $50 for the front row?  In 2012, it is completely unacceptable.

I had a decent view, but I was a million miles away.  Instead of being in a rabid crowd of the ROH faithful, I felt like I was watching a DVD with the volume turned to the max.  I could have stayed home.

Unfortunately, this is a common occurrence around Baltimore.  The city is not very friendly to the disabled, largely due to the old buildings that give the city its charms.  I am not suggesting that Fells Point get rid of its famed cobblestone streets, or that a rowhouse in Little Italy trade in its marble steps for a cement incline. but at the same time, it gets tiresome wondering if I will be able to physically get into a restaurant I’ve heard about.

All I want is to be able to go out with my friends, take a girl out, and watch big men in spandex slam each other to the ground without having to think about it.  I don’t think that is too much to ask.

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History Beckons the Macho Man, Yeah! (Part 1)

Posted on June 18, 2012 by jnagle4

 

Last April, “Macho Man” Randy Savage died of a heart attack.  He was 58 years old.  Within hours, tributes began to appear, not just from the wrestling community, but from mainstream sports outlets and pop culture blogs.  Savage was one of the rare performers whose larger than life persona transcended the world of professional wrestling, and fans and nonfans alike gathered in cyberspace to share their memories.

I’ve read many columns since his death, and they all hit the same beats.  Savage was a minor league baseball player who wrestled on the side for his father’s regional promotion.  He started wrestling full time after a shoulder injury and joined the then-World Wrestling Federation in 1985.  He held the Intercontinental Championship once and the WWF Heavyweight Championship twice.  With the lovely Elizabeth by his side, he had classic battles with Ricky Steamboat, Hulk Hogan, Ric Flair, The Ultimate Warrior and Jake Roberts.  Outside of the ring, he hawked Slim Jims and lent his distinctive voice to animated features.

While watching Savage’s DVD recently, the thing that struck me the most about his work was not the title wins, but the vulnerability he displayed.  Professional wrestling is built around people with larger than life personalities; real life superheroes that are able to do things that the average human being can only dream of.  Savage was larger than life, but his character was never one dimensional.  Babyface or heel, he was ambitious, driven, paranoid, insecure, and jealous.   He was the Dark Knight to Hulk Hogan’s Man of Steel.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lr_ehvSPynw

When Savage first came onto the national stage, he was the antithesis of every bad guy on the WWF roster.  He wasn’t out to destroy Hulkamania like King Kong Bundy or Roddy Piper, nor was he an ethnic stereotype like The Iron Sheik or Nikolai Volkoff.  Savage’s focus was to defeat the insecurity that lurked within him.  This manifested itself in his relentless drive to capture titles, and his obsession with Miss Elizabeth.  His protection (and mistreatment) of Elizabeth was the basis of his early run.  If another wrestler even looked at her, he would fly into a rage, leading fans to wonder what she saw in him.  Savage was asking this question himself, which is why their relationship carried so much emotional weight.  He couldn’t believe that a beautiful woman like Elizabeth wanted to be with him.

During his year-long tenure as Intercontinental Champion, announcers on WWF television went to great lengths to tell the fans what a fighting champion Randy Savage was.  In an era where heel champions were portrayed as cowardly, this was unprecedented.  From November of 1985 to March of 1987, Randy Savage took on every contender that came down the pike.  In late 1986, Ricky “The Dragon” Steamboat came in the picture, and Savage’s insecurity bubbled to the surface.  Steamboat was a handsome, charismatic babyface and one of the only wrestlers who could match Savage in wrestling ability.  To eliminate the threat, he resorted to desperate measures, hitting Steamboat with the ring bell and damaging his throat.  When Steamboat and Savage met again, it was in front of the largest indoor crowd in the history of American sports.

Rivers of ink have been written about the Savage/Steamboat encounter at WrestleMania III.  In 15 minutes and 23 near falls, they showed that small men had a place in the giant world of wrestling, and inspired dozens of kids to get into the business.  While the influence and the technical brilliance of the match have been analyzed to death, the most important moment often gets overlooked.  After wrestling his heart out and coming up short, the defeated Randy Savage slowly gets on the motorized cart used to bring the wrestlers to the ring, and buries his head in his hands.  Elizabeth is by his side, trying in vain to console him.  It’s one of the rare situations where the fans made the decision for the promoter.  Randy Savage came into the Pontiac Silverdome as a villain, but left a hero.

Part 2 coming soon!

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Rock n’ Roll is Dead?

Posted on June 15, 2012 by jnagle4

I spent last Friday night crammed up against four Marshall stacks.  The Biters were in town, supporting former Dictators singer, “Handsome” Dick Manitoba.  A young man in tight jeans and a Joyce DeWitt shag haircut (his description) banged out crunchy power pop riffs on a battered Les Paul guitar.  He shook his hips in perfect time with the pounding drums behind him.  The lead guitarist wore the same uniform, occasionally moving forward to solo like the bastard son of Rick Nielsen and Angus Young.  It was a sweaty, sleazy, unfashionable affair.  When the Biters finished their set, I bought one of their t-shirts.  The design featured Kanye West, Lil’ Wayne and Justin Bieber with their eyes blacked out.  Underneath was a provocative statement: Rock n’ Roll is Dead.

Critics have been proclaiming rock n’ roll’s demise since Elvis went into the army, but when the New York Times published this article in December of 2011, the theory seemed to have weight.  When I asked my 14-year old cousin who his favorite band was, he looked at me blankly.  To his generation, it was only rock n’ roll and he didn’t really like it.

If my cousin had looked at me blankly in the year 2005, I would have gone on a crusade to corrupt him.  He would have received copies of Never Mind The Bollocks, Appetite for Destruction, At Budokan, London Calling, hoping to save the young man with the mightiest of rock.  My reactionary days are over, friends.  Instead of going into conniptions, I did some research.

1968 is arguably the most turbulent year in the history of the United States.  We were mired in an unpopular and pointless war; Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King were assassinated, resulting in riots in cities across the country.  Popular music was reaching its apex in creativity. .  Here are some pivotal albums released that year:

  • The Beatles: s/t  (The White Album)
  • The Jimi Hendrix Experience: Electric Ladyland
  • Sly and the Family Stone: Life
  • The Rolling Stones: Beggar’s Banquet
  • Johnny Cash: Live at Folsom Prison
  • Big Brother and The Holding Company: Cheap Thrills
  • Aretha Franklin: Lady Soul
  • The Velvet Underground: White Light/White Heat
  • Jeff Beck Group: Truth
  • The Band: Music From Big Pink

That’s a pretty high batting average, right?  The Beatles were most famous people on the planet, so The White Album was probably the biggest album of the year. No.

This was the biggest record of 1968:

A band fronted by a cartoon teenager outsold one of the most influential albums of all time.

Rock n’ roll wasn’t exactly “dead” that year, was it?  Let’s move on.

The late 70s were also a tumultuous time for our nation.  We were in the middle of a severe energy crisis, New York experienced a blackout, bankruptcy and The Son of Sam killed several attractive brunettes because a dog told him to. Here is 1977, the year OG punk rock broke.

  • The Ramones: Rocket to Russia
  • The Clash: s/t
  • The Sex Pistols: Never Mind The Bollocks
  • Damned: Damned Damned Damned
  • Elvis Costello: My Aim is True
  • Talking Heads: ‘77
  • David Bowie: Low and “Heroes”
  • Brian Eno: Before and After Science
  • Cheap Trick: In Color

This was the biggest record of 1977.  Avoid sharp objects.

Yes folks, in the year Joe Strummer declared there would be “No Beatles, no Elvis, no Rolling Stones,” Debby Boone was on top of the mountain.  “Sugar Sugar” is a pretty tasty piece of bubble gum, but there is no redeeming value in “You Light Up My Life.”   It’s a toxic piece of schmaltz.

“Rock is dead” is a meaningless statement, because it has always been on the fringes of the charts.  It’s too abrasive, too unpolished, and too dangerous for the general public.  You can ignore “Sugar Sugar,” in an elevator, but a song like The Clash’s “White Riot” makes you pay attention.

The mid-60s were an exception to the rule.  The Beatles, Motown and The Rolling Stones were able to cross over to a wide audience, but the world was a much different place 40 years ago.  People watched the same shows and listened to the same radio stations.  Popular culture is completely segregated today.  There is no Ed Sullivan Show, Soul Train or American Bandstand, programs which formed the fabric of American popular culture.  If The Beatles came to America today, they would be darlings of the music press, but they would never reach the Heartland.  They would probably be on Merge, and Meet The Beatles would register a 7.5 on Pitchfork (Sample line: “All My Loving is an enjoyable pop trifle, but could use an oompah-pah band in the background”).

The fact that Justin Bieber’s “Boyfriend” is a bigger record than The Japandroids’ “The House That Heaven Built” isn’t cause for alarm, it’s just part of a never-ending cycle.  If rock n’ roll was truly embraced by the masses, it wouldn’t be as thrilling as it is.  A pummeling power chord barreling trough a Marshall stack might not sell records, but it could start a riot.

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Japandroids: Celebration Rock

Posted on June 11, 2012 by jnagle4

When Pitchfork, the A.V. Club and other cultural tastemakers began buzzing about The Japandroids highly anticipated second LP, Celebration Rock, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge healthy skepticism.  Post-Nothing was a good record, but it wasn’t life changing.  I listened to it a lot, but I couldn’t immerse myself in their world.  When the acclaim trickled down to the Facebook statuses of friends and acquaintances, then I took notice.  Is Celebration Rock worthy of the hype?  In the words of the great philosopher Daniel Bryan, YES! YES! YES!

The most striking thing about Celebration Rock is the lack of irony.  Modern rock n’ roll is largely performed with a wink and a smile.  Bands put on leather pants, throw the devil horns and celebrate the debauchery of yore while letting the audience know that they are in on the joke.  The Japandroids aren’t hinting at rock, they are rocking out.  There are bombastic riffs, cavernous drums, and choruses that demand to be chanted by thousands of people.  It delivers exactly what it advertises, a celebration. When lead singer/guitarist Brian King screams toward the end of “Younger Us,” his joy is so palpable that you can almost reach into the speaker and grab it.

Although the reviews have been universally positive, the criticism has centered on the simplicity of the songs.  There are too many “yeaaahhhs,” too many “whoaaaaas.”  Unlike another Canadian rock outfit that shall not be named, the gang vocals are completely necessary.  Somehow King and drummer/vocalist, David Prowse have recreated the tribal ebb and flow of a rock concert within the confines of a recording studio.  Celebration Rock sounds more live than most live albums.

While the music and feeling of the album is generally joyous, Celebration Rock isn’t an ephemeral trifle.  The lyrics perfectly capture the uncertainty of being in your mid-to late 20s in the early 2010s.  “The Days of Wine and Roses” says it all: “Don’t we have anything to live for?/Of course we do, but ‘til they come true, we’re drinking.”   On “Younger Us,” they lament the fact they can no longer stay up as late as they used to.  Technically we are adults, but we don’t quite feel that way.

These are not joyous themes.  Growing older sucks.  Not knowing your place in the world sucks.  Being caught between adolescence and maturity sucks.  These are dark themes for dark times, yet Celebration Rock is a completely joyous and invigorating experience, because it reminds us that life is the reason for celebration.  Life might not be going the way you planned, but it is certainly better than the alternative.  That is what rock n’ roll has done since its inception, and what puts Celebration Rock in the pantheon of great rock albums.  I’m alive.  You are alive.  Rock n’ roll is alive.  Let’s put our fists in the air and rejoice.

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Superman Need Not Apply

Posted on January 3, 2012 by jnagle4

 

John Cena has everything wrestling promoters revere.  He’s well-built, good-looking, has a ton of charisma, and delivers in big match situations.   He sells a ton of merchandise, is an ambassador for the business, and goes out of his way for charity.  He should be the biggest babyface in the 40-year history of World Wrestling Entertainment, but he is reviled by half of the audience.  Why?

The answer is simple: John Cena is a superhero.  Every month he has a new enemy to vanquish.  He’ll get beaten down, but he’s never in peril.  You know that even though Mark Henry or Kane is booked to be a monster, Cena will hit him with the Attitude Adjustment and move on.  This goes against the most basic principle of professional wrestling.

A babyface is supposed to be a normal human being under extraordinary circumstances.  He is the blank slate for the fans to project their hopes, dreams and desires.  If you can’t identify with the hero, then the heel’s ultimate defeat is meaningless.  Fans cannot identify with John Cena, because he has no flaws.  He doesn’t get distracted by the cheers of the crowd, he never bleeds, and he has no discernable ego.  There is no reason for anyone over 12 to get behind him.

Dusty Rhodes is the polar opposite of John Cena.  He’s middle-aged, fat and has a speech impediment, yet he is arguably the greatest babyface in the history of the business.  I’ll let him explain why.

Every young babyface should be forced to watch “Hard Times” at least once a day.  Rhodes gives his entire reason for being in three and a half minutes.  He is a family man that doesn’t particularly care to fight anymore, but Ric Flair and the Four Horsemen have pushed him to his breaking point.   He admits that he is not perfect, but he will do his best.  This line is key:

“I HAVEN’T FORGOTTEN THE LOVE THAT WAS GIVEN TO ME, AND I WILL REPAY YOU BY BECOMING THE WORLD’S HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION.”

Rhodes wants the title so he can repay the fans for their kindness.  While the babyface doesn’t need to be entirely selfless, the fans are always their motivation for getting into the squared circle.  For of all of Cena’s talk about his Chain Gang, he has never been able to connect with his audience on an intimate level.   If he can do that, the catcalls will disappear.

The reason professional wrestling has survived for a century is because human beings have an innate need to see good conquer evil.  With all the changes in the pop cultural landscape, that one trope remained constant, from Bruno Sammartino to Steve Austin.  If the babyface is replaced by Superman, this American art form will cease to exist.   Without conflict, there is no drama.

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My Top 10 of 2011 (and other fun lists!)

Posted on December 8, 2011 by jnagle4

Remember when I used to be a writer?  That was awesome, right?  2011 was a really intense year for me, so my “career,” unfortunately fell by the wayside.  However, I never stopped listening, so here are my favorite records of 2011.  Before I get started, I want to give shoutouts to a couple people.  Thanks to Nick Jackson and Kelly Lavelle for making my site look so incredible.  If you want an amazing website, get in touch with these two.  They know what they are doing, and they put up with my impossible demands.  Thanks, guys.  I really appreciate your help and I am in your debt.

 

I also want to say that Mixtape Muse is one of the best blogs on the web, run by my buddy Quinn S., whose skills are lightyears beyond mine.  It’s already blowing up, but it’s going to be the blog to watch in 2012.  Plus, he writes cool power pop songs, and the world needs more of those.

 

But enough of my yakking, let’s boogie!

 

1. Anthrax: Worship Music (Thrash ain’t dead!)

2. The Roots: Undun (Gold, Jerry)

3. Real Estate: Days

4. The Biters: All Chewed Up

5. Butch Walker and the Black Widows: The Spade

6. Mastodon: The Hunter

6. Dum Dum Girls: Only in Dreams

7. Smith Westerns: Dye it Blonde

8. Fucked Up: David Comes to Life

9. Sloan: The Double Cross

10. Wye Oak: Civillan

 

Honorable Mentions

Florence and the Machine: Ceremonials

The Copyrights: North Sentinal Island

Motorhead: The World is Yours

Megadeth: Thirteen

Drive-By Truckers: Go-Go Boots

The Horrible Crowes: Elsie

The Happen-Ins: s/t

TV On the Radio: Nine Types of Light

Ryan Adams: Ashes and Fire

Will Dailey and the Rivals: s/t

 

Favorite Box Set:

The Beach Boys: Smile

 

Favorite Reissues:

Elvis is Back! (shocking, no?)

The Rolling Stones: Some Girls

 

Biggest Disappointment:

Lady Gaga: Born This Way (Where did the hooks go, Germanotta? WHERE DID THE HOOKS GO?!)

 

 

Most Inessential Album:

Justin Bieber: Under the Mistletoe (I’ll take A Christmas with Shaun Cassidy, thank you very much.)

 

Way to be Ahead of the Curve, John (Albums I Discovered This Year)

Superdrag: Regretfully Yours

Sunny Day Real Estate: Diary

The Jayhawks: Hollywood Town Hall

Rose Tattoo: s/t

The Undertones: s/t

Mission of Burma: Signals, Calls and Marches (I know, and you can all shut up)

Count Basie: The Atomic Mr. Basie

Sam Cooke: Live at the Harlem Square Club (Thanks to Scott Mullins for that one)

Waylon Jennings: Lonesome On’ry and Mean

Kinks: Kinda Kinks

 

Audio Comfort Food

Cheap Trick: At Budokan

Iron Maiden: Anything, but usually Powerslave, Live After Death or Somewhere in Time

The Ramones: Anything, but usually It’s Alive!

Rush: Moving Pictures

The Faces: Five Guys Walk Into a Bar

The Marvelous 3: ReadySexGo!

Pretty Boy Floyd: Leather Boyz With Electric Toyz

Bruce Springsteen: Born to Run

Superchunk: No Pocky For Kitty

Al Green’s Greatest Hits

From Elvis in Memphis

The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan

David Bowie: Young Americans

The Clash: Give Em Enough Rope

Elton John’s Greatest Hits

Guns n’ Roses: Appetite for Destruction

The Gaslight Anthem: The ’59 Sound

Rod Stewart (who is AWESOME, despite what certain people think) Every Picture Tells a Story

Frank Sinatra: Songs for Swingin’ Lovers!

The Replacements: Tim

Poison: Look What the Cat Dragged In

 

 

I told you the extra lists would be super fun.  Feel free to comment and let me know that I have no taste.  See you in 2012

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What’s His Signature?

Posted on November 7, 2011 by jnagle4

 

Freak of the Week at Ram\’s Head Live

In 1999, Butch Walker’s power pop band, The Marvelous 3, scored a top five hit with “Freak of the Week,” a song about an indie band getting a taste of fame.  When the song fell off the charts, the band was promptly forgotten by their label, and left to wallow in Buzz Ballads purgatory.

When Walker played “Freak of the Week” during his acoustic set at Ram’s Head Live, the crowd roared.  Not because it was the song they came to hear, but because it has become a rarity.  Butch Walker is no longer the lead singer of The Marvelous 3, but his own man.  The Marvies and Left of Self-Centered certainly introduced some of the crowd to Butch Walker (myself included), but nobody was there to huddle under a warm blanket of nostalgia.

Butch Walker has a few well-known songs, but not a signature.  Because of this, he can play what he wants. He can open the show with an acoustic set, or he can storm the stage with his Les Paul blazing.  Like any artist with a robust body of work, there are a few songs you can generally count on, but nothing is a sure thing.  That is what makes a Butch Walker show special.  Even “Cigarette Lighter Love Song,” the closest thing he has to a signature song, gets played with.  The first time I saw him, he did it with a full band, like on the album.  The second time, he was on the piano.  At Ram’s Head last week, he scrapped the instrumentation entirely, performing the song a cappella.

Hardcore fans often lament the fact that Butch Walker isn’t a bigger star, that he should be selling out theatres instead of playing clubs.  He should.  However, watching Butch at Ram’s Head, I realized that if he had a huge hit single, he would have to make certain concessions.  The loose, freewheeling structure of his show would be gone.  He would have to play the hits, and concentrate on what the fans of that single wanted to hear.  They wouldn’t want to hear the evolution of Butch as a songwriter, which is what the crowd at Ram’s Head was lucky enough to get.  They didn’t get a Butch Walker show, they got his musical history; from the guitar duel of “Freebird”, to the Marvelous 3, to The Black Widows.  Butch wouldn’t have it any other way.

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Sebastian Bach: Kicking and Screaming

Posted on October 17, 2011 by jnagle4

 

Sebastian Bach is one of heavy metal’s great interpreters.  Dave “The Snake” Sabo and Rachael Bolan were good songwriters, and Skid Row would have probably been successful with another singer, but Bach took their songs and shaped them into molten slabs of rock.  He has the combustible mixture of technical virtuosity and personal charisma that all great singers possess, regardless of genre.

So where is it?  Sebastian Bach rarely sounds like Sebastian Bach on Kicking and Screaming, his first solo album in almost five years. Listening to Sebastian Bach sing was like watching a great actor perform Shakespeare.  He would pick apart every lyric and figure out where to inject his trademark mannerisms.  He was so good at his craft that it never felt like showbiz trickery.  On Kicking and Screaming, every Bachism is intact, but they feel tacked on.  He’s screaming because he feels he has to, not because it fits the music.

You could make the argument that Bach is just trying to work with the material he was given.  If this was the case, I would be more forgiving, but Bach co-wrote many of the songs.  Bach is still writing from a 19 year old’s point of view.  He’s misunderstood, he’s full of aggression, and he’s still untouchable.  Metal is an ageless genre, but Bach is trying to portray the guy from the “Youth Gone Wild” video.  He’s not that guy anymore, and he hasn’t been for a long time. Besides, even if you write from a place of arrested development, couldn’t you come up with a better line than “I’m the original crazy/in a world that I never known?”

The lyrics are complimented by the most generic heavy metal that Bach has ever lent his vocals to.  The metal press has made a big deal over Bach’s latest axe-slinger, 21 year old prodigy, Nick Sterling, but he doesn’t bring much to the table.  He can shred, but his playing isn’t very distinctive.  His style consists of by-the-numbers metal riffing with a flashy but faceless solo on top.  His playing is also hindered by the terrible production, which is as clean and septic as a hospital hallway.

When Skid Row released Slave to the Grind two decades ago, it was a quantum leap from the rebellious party rock of their self-titled debut.  On that record, Sebastian Bach sounded like he was capable of anything.  Now he’s just another guy, trading on past glories.  Bach’s voice is still there, but the fire is gone.  It’s a damn shame.

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Farewell, Big Man

Posted on September 20, 2011 by jnagle4

Clarence Clemons is dead.  I never thought I’d type that sentence.  Clemons’ enormous personality made him seem immortal.  When the notes poured out of his saxophone, he was no longer a person, but a force of nature.  When I saw The Working on a Dream tour in the spring of 2009, he was clearly in pain.  He sat down for most of the show, rising only when his horn was needed.  When he put the sax to his lips, his physical problems disappeared.

I discovered Bruce Springsteen late in my musical life.  My parents were never fans, so I only had exposure to what I saw on Pop-Up Video, which was limited to “Glory Days” and “Dancing in the Dark.”  Both of them are good, but they aren’t a proper gateway.  It wasn’t until I bought Born to Run my junior year of college that I understood why Bruce Springsteen was so revered.  I felt the way his characters felt; isolated, confused and desperate to seek new horizons.  The sound was so grand, so huge.  Human emotions were blown up to cinematic proportions, which is a perfect snapshot of being in your early 20s.  You are technically an adult, but you are still searching for an identity.

Born to Run is Clarence Clemons’ finest hour.  His solos provide the hope in the bleak landscape Springsteen created.  His characters are stuck in a dead-end Jersey town, committing petty crimes that will put them in jail or kill them, but when the sax comes in, everything is going to be all right, even if it’s only for a few seconds.  Clemons often told stories of fans telling him that his solo in “Jungleland” saved their lives.  I don’t doubt it.  In my opinion, it is the most uplifting piece of music ever committed to tape.  I’ve heard it a million times, but I still get a lump in my throat.  Things are going to get better.

When I saw the E-Street Band perform, the thing that struck me was that they genuinely seemed to like each other.   The love and respect Bruce and Clarence had for each other was on full display.  When Springsteen introduced The Big Man in his over the top way, it wasn’t a rote piece of business, but because Clarence was the core of the E-Street Band sound.  As Bruce put it, “With Clarence at my side, the band and I were able to tell a story far deeper than those contained in our music. His life, his memory and his love will live on in that story and in our band.”

Many blogs have speculated whether or not the E-Street Band will continue.  Frankly, it’s not my place.  I’m grateful for the music that they gave us, and thankful that I got to see Clarence Clemons in person.

God bless you, Big Man.

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