Month: March 2006 (Page 2 of 3)

I love “Curb Your Enthusiasm.” Larry David is a sick, sick individual, but I love him! Mr. David, of course, is the co-creator of “Seinfeld,” and the character George Costanza is supposedly based on him. The series itself showcases the same humor “about nothing” that made “Seinfeld” priceless. Plus, on HBO, Larry can say “F&^% Huuuuugh,” Richard Lewis can say “F&^% me,” and Susie (Larry’s managers wife) can say whatever the f&^% she wants!

OK, so besides the “f-bombs,” there are great comic moments and very clever plot twists. Basicly, the show follows Larry around LA and documents his uncanny ability to get himself in painful-to-watch situations where he manages to piss off both friends and strangers alike. Here, Larry manages to really irritate his wife, Cheryl, as she reads a draft of their renewed wedding vows:

Cheryl: “We’ll love each other throughout this lifetime, but after death through all eternity.”
Larry: You mean this is… this is continuing into the afterlife?
Cheryl: Yeah, that’s the idea. Do you have a problem with that?
Larry: Well, I… I thought this was over at death. I didn’t know we went into eternity together. Isn’t that what it said in…”’til death do us part, ” I thought it was…
Cheryl: Do you have a problem with eternity?
Larry: Well…
Cheryl: We finally found each other, Larry, and we’re celebrating this for all eternity.
Larry: I guess I had a different plan for eternity. I thought… I thought I’d be single again.

What’s really fascinating about the show is that it’s unscripted. Before filming, the cast attends a production meeting where the plot and other details are reviewed, but then it’s a free for all! I’ve finished 3 seasons and 30 episodes on DVD, and season 4 arrives from Netflix tomorrow!

I’m presently going through a little art envy. My pal Jeff and wife Stephanie are on a ten day excursion of London and Paris, while my brother and sister-in-law leave soon for Rome. They have art and stuff there…

This image caught my eye recently. It’s from an exhibit noting the biennial of the Whitney Museum of American Art in NYC. The artist, Marilyn Minter has created a series of billboards around the city depicting less than ideal images of women’s shapely legs upon glittering high-heels. Think “Carrie” from “Sex and the City” if she had the misfortune of receiving a muddy shower from a friendly city taxi. I think the billboards illustrate that we need to look beyond the hair, makeup and pedicures if we want to see what’s really going on.

As for satisfying my personal art-Jones, a trip to the galleries on Newbury Street with the vacationing Megan on Friday should do the trick. She can get her nails done there, right?

If this works, I can now post from the LeoTreo…

It was a warm, windless night the last time I had the privilege to hear Mr. Don Walser sing. It was August of 1999 and I was attending my last AFIS Internet conference for NEC in Austin, TX. Little did I know this “Rolling Stone from Texas” would retire just a few months later. With friends Mike, Carol and Laurie in tow, we went to see him at Jovita’s, a little Mexican place where Dave, Jeff and I saw the Ex-Husbands a few times. Jovita’s has great food, including a killer red bean and rice dish, but that’s a story for another time…

Of course, as with most of the great music I’ve heard over the past 10-plus years, Dave and Jeff were responsible for my auspicious awareness of the “Pavarotti of the Plains,” a term of endearment bestowed by Playboy Magazine. As I recall, Jeff, Dave and I were also fortunate enough to see him one afternoon during SXSW at the legendary Broken Spoke and another time at the Continental Club in Austin.

At the end of the Jovita’s set, I nervously approached him to say hello and ask for an autograph. I gave him an Ex-Husbands promo CD and he also signed one that I sent to Dave. We chatted for a couple minutes, I thanked him and then he thanked me. He was so humble and peaceful. If you’re so inclined, here’s a wonderful article on his career written by Michael Corcoran of the Austin American-Statesman.

Here’s the short version as reported by CMT.com in November of 2003, “Traditional Texas country singer Don Walser has been forced to retire due to failing health. The 69-year-old honky tonk favorite was one of country music’s favorite success stories when he began his career in 1994 in his late 50s, after spending 39 years in the National Guard and raising four children. He went on to play the Grand Ole Opry, Lincoln Center and to get a standing ovation when he opened for Johnny Cash at Austin’s Erwin Center. His health has been steadily deteriorating, primarily due to neuropathy, a disease of the nervous system, as well as diabetes. He is now resting at home and can receive mail at donwalser@donwalser.com.”

His website has about ten sound clips. Give yourself a treat and listen to the man sing and yodel!

I’ll Hold You in My Heart (till I can hold you in my arms)
Yodel Polka

Thanks Mr. Walser.

I had wanted to write a little more on confidence, specifically on overcoming adversity. We all face it from time to time. Some people have to contend with it every day. As you can see from the title, I also wanted to use one of Kyle’s favorite songs from “The Sound of Music” to drive home the point, but this really says it better than I ever could. In the face of adversity, just be true to who you are and stride confidently forward. “Everything will turn out fine.”

Isn’t “I did my best” just a worn out cliché? Can’t we always do better? Doesn’t creativity make our human potential limitless? Doesn’t fear hold us back? Whether it’s reaching for that perfect apple out on the limb or making a relationship work, fear lurks and tugs us back from the unexplored edge of our potential. This week I watched “Wings from Wheels: The Making of Born to Run.” It’s a DVD documentary of how Bruce Springsteen wrote and composed “Born to Run.” It was fascinating to hear some of the early versions of now classic songs as they evolved during the tedious process toward epic status. The record took six months of sometimes 20 hour days to complete. The songwriting process was equally arduous. While flipping through a tattered notebook, Bruce explained that a song would begin on a page and maybe 50 pages later it might be finished. He wanted every word perfect and no waste. At the end of the process when the writing, recording, editing, overdubbing, mixing and mastering were complete, he froze. He worried the record might not be perfect and delayed approving the master for release. “I was paralyzed with fear,” he recalled. At the time, friend Jon Landau told him that years later, maybe they’d look back and think of changes they would have made, but “that’s life.” After a short time, the 24 year old surrendered and signed off on a record that would make or break his career. The way he recalls it, he had no choice. “I had nothing left.” The result of his complete and exhaustive effort is now considered a masterpiece.

What might any of us accomplish if we really “did our best?”

Early in “Walk the Line” the older brother of “JR” Cash explained why he spent so much time reading the Bible. The elder Cash died young, but Johnny Cash went on to tell some stories of his own.

While the film celebrates Cash’s music, its heart is the relationship between “the man in black” and June Carter. From the first time he saw her backstage before one of his earliest live shows, he was hooked. Cash would eventually shed an addiction to amphetamines, but he’d never get over her. When they met, both were married, and for years he pined for her, but she kept him at arms length for a long ten of them.

There are moments of intense emotional pain both endure. With his marriage crumbling and his wife realizing why, she lashes out and a violent fight ends on the kitchen floor with the couples 3 young children looking on in horror. June suffers her own penance of judgment and indignity. In a general store, she smiles at a woman she thinks is a fan only to be scolded that her own recent divorce was “an abomination.” “I’m sorry I let you down, ma’am,” was her humble reply.

Maybe it’s that deep pain that fuels the intensity of a relationship like theirs. Cash desperately hangs on to her like she’s a life preserver in a drowning ring of fire. She rescued him, then Johnny Cash made “Ring of Fire” famous. For he sang it with the same fire he had for the woman who wrote it: June Carter Cash.

Ring of Fire
Love is a burning thing
and it makes a fiery ring
bound by wild desire
I fell in to a ring of fire…

I fell in to a burning ring of fire
I went down,down,down
and the flames went higher.
And it burns,burns,burns
the ring of fire
the ring of fire.

The taste of love is sweet
when hearts like our’s meet
I fell for you like a child
oh, but the fire went wild.

dim, cold and pale…

she lies sleeping

a kiss of light…

awake she smiles

There are moments when disappointment morphs into unbounded joy. Sometimes it’s a good attitude that lays down the right karma for joy to walk in, but occasionally the transformation is simple fate. On March 20, 1999 Dave and I walked into Austin’s Liberty Lunch, a live music club at 405 2nd Street. Liberty lunch was a dank venue that probably would have smelled like 25 years of spilled beer if not for the fact that it had only a partial roof and year round ventilation. From the front door, the 40 foot wide room sloped down slightly about 100 feet to the stage so no matter where you were, the sightline was pretty decent. Access to the bar was decent too. It ran down the left side nearly the entire length of the club. Just to the left of the stage was sort of an open-air market where local artists would sell their work. I’d browse out there between sets, but I never bought anything.

By the time the Bottle Rockets came on, it had to be midnight and we were fired up, ready to rock out to all the familiar songs from the bands first three records. Then head Bottle Rocket Brian Henneman announced, “We’re only playing new stuff tonight.” I actually didn’t have much time to be disappointed because the band immediately punched the gas pedal, ripping into “Nancy Sinatra,” quaking the tin roof, and not letting up till crashing into the end of “I’ve Been Dying.” It was just balls to the wall rock and roll; one of those rare exhilarating shows when music I’d never heard before just blew me away. One of the songs from their then-upcoming “Brand New Year” was “The Bar’s on Fire.” It was. In spite of public outcry that it was an historic landmark, Liberty Lunch was razed a few months later to build a new downtown home for Computer Sciences Corporation.

The blue agave haze did nothing to dissipate the smoky cilantro hanging in the air. In fact the two were obviously made for each other. In early March of 1996 the early evening was still in Cabo San Lucas. Dinner was winding down on day two of a five-day company outing. Four sixty-ish Mariachi musicians looking like they were cast in Hollywood with outfits of black, red and blazing orange, moved from table to table playing the same songs requested by “Yahn-kee” tourists night after night after night. The seating arrangements were random, but I was a little pissy because I wasn’t seated exactly where I wanted to be. Other than Tom Kimmel, who I’d recently been boring to death about my new obsession with alternative-country music, there wasn’t anyone at the table I was really close to. I made the best of it with the usual chitchat, but I just didn’t want to be there.

In an effort to move closer to where I wanted to be, I got up and made some excuse about going to say hello to a guy and his wife two tables over. I paused to let the Mariachi band pass. They had just finished “Guadalajara” at our table and were moving to another where it inevitably would be requested again. Poor bastards. To them, “Guadalajara” must have been like “Freebird.” They’d rather eat at Taco Bell than play it, but every night some clown would always request it. “Hey Leo, ask ‘em if they know any Son Volt” bellowed Tom, followed by a hearty laugh and a full body shake only possible from man of his size. Suddenly I heard, “you know Son Volt?” Tar Hut Records was beginning to take shape. Dave Klug was a Sales weasel, who on a good day was the spitting image of Elvis Presley…

The rest of my social time that trip was spent talking with my new pal Dave about music. Well, I mostly listened because Dave was a freakin walking history of rock music. I raved and raved with a shit-eatin’ grin about bands like the Backsliders and Jason and the Scorchers. One night we were at an open air restaurant and Dave was talkin’ music while eating a fish that still had its head. It was as if no one else was there. Just us talking about music. I glanced to my right and smiled. One of our senior management team was sitting at the head of the table and being forced to listen to this rant of “Obscure Music 101.” Neil was looking at us like we were Martians discussing fusion propulsion. I’d been listening long enough to know Dave lived for music with the same need as he drew breath. Finally, I had to spill it. “Hey, a buddy of mine and I are starting a label. You wanna join us?” “Fuck yeah, man.” Just like that, Tar Hut Records had a Chicago office.

The uh, roots of Tar Hut Records go back to the early 90’s when a summer intern named Jeff Copetas would occasionally meander by my NEC cubicle and leave me CD’s to spin. I’d usually pick the more commercially familiar bands like Nirvana, but more so he’d give me very obscure stuff to listen to, insisting, “you gotta check this stuff out.” Most of it was not very accessible to me and I’d usually take them but not listen past the first track or two. I was raised on radio and never ventured far from it, with the one exception being a fascination with the music of Berlin Airlift, an 80’s indie band from Boston. I bought both their records on vinyl and saw them a few times locally. Other than that, I happily consumed the radio and MTV driven crap for the masses. Then, in the summer of 1995, Jeff handed me a CD with a band name that just told me I wouldn’t like it… Uncle Tupelo.