Thursday, July 31, 2008
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Full Metal Jacket
Its was more than five years ago when my buddy Zach handed me a cdr disc that his friend Matt had burned him. Across the top someone had scrawled the letters "MMJ" in a blue sharpie and on the bottom, the word, "sampler". Apparently the musicians on this disc were in town opening for someone or other at the Crystal Ballroom and I should listen to this disc because it contained highlights from their recorded career. Because Zach and I trade music often and we are both overly dramatic about things we like and hate, I didn't quite make a beeline to a cd player immediately. I never even made it to that show but throughout the hazy, whiskey fueled summer (shouldn't they all be?) as Zach developed plans to open his now famous hot dog shack on Portland's shakedown street, Hawthorne Ave, haunting sounds emanated from that "sampler" disc and they seeped into my pores. I can remember staring at fuzzed out porch lights at six in the morning as the sun began to peak through power lines. I watched Zach and his girlfriend slow dance to these songs that sounded timeless after a week and are now ingrained in my dna. Jim James' eerie, reverb soaked voice wove a warm blanket over us, similar to how my father would wrap me up, protected like a cocoon, when he tucked me in at night.
The first time I saw My Morning Jacket was in November of 2005 at the Fillmore in San Francisco. The band decked out the legendary stage as a mystical, wooded forest and tore through a diverse array of epic, soulful rock n' roll leaving me sweaty and pulsing with energy. Although I already new the Jacket was my favorite new band, I was floored by the majesty and power of their renowned live show. I found myself singing along to songs I had never heard before.
Truthfully, this must all sound familiar. At this point, CNN and The New York Times are reporting on these affable and witty fellas (mostly) from Louisville, KY. No need for extended hyperbole from me when you can pick up the latest copy of Rolling Stone to see the band get their jimmie waxed by mass media. However, I believe it makes a profound statement when a band makes a move from playing New Years at the 1100 seat Fillmore in 2006 and two years later is set to headline Madison Square Garden on the same night.
The Jacket is making the new classic rock. Truly classic rock is classic because it resonates with thousands if not millions of people. Its more than difficult to make creative and accessible rock n' roll that weakens the knees in arenas. My Morning Jacket songs sound as if they have existed in the rock n' roll canon for thirty years. The melodies are instantly familiar, emotional, and soothing. This is music that is beginning to speak to the heart of a generation that yearns to be comforted.
The band is simply on fire like Lebron's celebrated 50 point explosion in the same building where New Years will go down. Fundamentaly sound, smooth in transition, powerfully graceful, passionate, complimantary and in the public eye, humble. Only the highly suspicious argue their greatness as the Jacket are uniting a otherwise polarized music community. From Spin magazine to the New York Times. From Johnny hipster posting on Stereogum to dreadlocked Jamie at High Sierra, christ, even your dad probably knows the Jacket is in the house.
From a musical standpoint, the title track of their widely praised new album, Evil Urges, shows how this band does not rest on its laurels. Barnstorming out of the gate with a thunderous drum beat and a filtered synth line the song sounds as fresh and energetic as a back talking eight year old. A pretty guitar line settles the emotion and we are suddenly in the middle of MMJ style downtempo. (DJ Sec Walkin?) Its always been difficult to discern Jimmy James' lyrics without the help of liner notes and Evil Urges is no exception. "Its not the words that he says," anyway, "its the way that he sings". Upon further investigation Evil Urges is a song about yearning and craving, that faith in the human race to find a better way. Ain't no doubt "evil urges - they be part of the human way" but "it ain't evil if it ain't hurtin' nobody". The new way has "no racial boundary lines", "no social subdivisions". "Love dawg", (to quote another song), "If you want it - you can!" Lets make a run for this together.
Check out the bridge. "I'm not saying I'm not saying that I want it 'someday'. I'm not saying I'm not saying that I want it 'somehow'...I'm ready for it now!". Listen to the way James hits emotionally gorgeous falsetto territory during the song's peak. If your heart is not stirred I can't help you. It feels as if the collection of recorded and performed My Morning Jacket music has built to this one moment as the group demands your attention to their power and beauty. Then, in a flash, the band switches gears and drops into an anthemic, Who-style, guitar breakdown that sounds utterly out of and in place. The hinges are off, the bandwagon is burgeoning and the party is in full swing. Get down on it this summer.
The first time I saw My Morning Jacket was in November of 2005 at the Fillmore in San Francisco. The band decked out the legendary stage as a mystical, wooded forest and tore through a diverse array of epic, soulful rock n' roll leaving me sweaty and pulsing with energy. Although I already new the Jacket was my favorite new band, I was floored by the majesty and power of their renowned live show. I found myself singing along to songs I had never heard before.
Truthfully, this must all sound familiar. At this point, CNN and The New York Times are reporting on these affable and witty fellas (mostly) from Louisville, KY. No need for extended hyperbole from me when you can pick up the latest copy of Rolling Stone to see the band get their jimmie waxed by mass media. However, I believe it makes a profound statement when a band makes a move from playing New Years at the 1100 seat Fillmore in 2006 and two years later is set to headline Madison Square Garden on the same night.
The Jacket is making the new classic rock. Truly classic rock is classic because it resonates with thousands if not millions of people. Its more than difficult to make creative and accessible rock n' roll that weakens the knees in arenas. My Morning Jacket songs sound as if they have existed in the rock n' roll canon for thirty years. The melodies are instantly familiar, emotional, and soothing. This is music that is beginning to speak to the heart of a generation that yearns to be comforted.
The band is simply on fire like Lebron's celebrated 50 point explosion in the same building where New Years will go down. Fundamentaly sound, smooth in transition, powerfully graceful, passionate, complimantary and in the public eye, humble. Only the highly suspicious argue their greatness as the Jacket are uniting a otherwise polarized music community. From Spin magazine to the New York Times. From Johnny hipster posting on Stereogum to dreadlocked Jamie at High Sierra, christ, even your dad probably knows the Jacket is in the house.
From a musical standpoint, the title track of their widely praised new album, Evil Urges, shows how this band does not rest on its laurels. Barnstorming out of the gate with a thunderous drum beat and a filtered synth line the song sounds as fresh and energetic as a back talking eight year old. A pretty guitar line settles the emotion and we are suddenly in the middle of MMJ style downtempo. (DJ Sec Walkin?) Its always been difficult to discern Jimmy James' lyrics without the help of liner notes and Evil Urges is no exception. "Its not the words that he says," anyway, "its the way that he sings". Upon further investigation Evil Urges is a song about yearning and craving, that faith in the human race to find a better way. Ain't no doubt "evil urges - they be part of the human way" but "it ain't evil if it ain't hurtin' nobody". The new way has "no racial boundary lines", "no social subdivisions". "Love dawg", (to quote another song), "If you want it - you can!" Lets make a run for this together.
Check out the bridge. "I'm not saying I'm not saying that I want it 'someday'. I'm not saying I'm not saying that I want it 'somehow'...I'm ready for it now!". Listen to the way James hits emotionally gorgeous falsetto territory during the song's peak. If your heart is not stirred I can't help you. It feels as if the collection of recorded and performed My Morning Jacket music has built to this one moment as the group demands your attention to their power and beauty. Then, in a flash, the band switches gears and drops into an anthemic, Who-style, guitar breakdown that sounds utterly out of and in place. The hinges are off, the bandwagon is burgeoning and the party is in full swing. Get down on it this summer.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Yanks
Within three games of the Sox and the Rays, the Yanks are coming around a bit. Are they built to last? Hmmm...They have some convincing to do thats for sure. The last few years have been rough for us Yankee fans. A long season of smacking the ball around the yard only to appear offensively anemic in the post season. Kenny Rogers dancing sliders past a helpless A Rod a few years back was noteworthy in its mind boggling frustration. Hasn't mattered if it was the Angels, Cleveland, Boston, Detroit - my beloved Yanks have taken a post season whuppin.
Was back at the stadium for a final go round for the early July series against the Sox. Ended up having the greatest seats of my life behind home plate for the extra inning victory on 7/6. After a valiant at bat thats Brett Gardner poking a single up to the middle in the tenth for a game winning hit, sending me and my companions into delirium. Nothing like a dirty water dog before the game, a bunch of big Bud Lights, hootin', hollerin' and bidding farewell to the House that Ruth Built.
Its Friday late afternoon on the west coast; beginning of a three game dust up with the bastard Sox. Busted a Deschutes brew and Joba has some nasty bite on his pitches. Welcome back Big Papi. We are hot on your tail!
People Get Ready
The feeling in Portland is downright giddy. Looking out across the Broadway Bridge onto the Rose Garden Arena perched above the Willamette River you sense that something special is happening at One Centre Court. The Portland Trail Blazers, the only major league franchise is the City of Roses, are simmering. After seven years of sporadic play, poor teamwork, and more appearances in the Portland police blotter then NBA playoffs, the Blazers and their fans, like Nebraska -era Boss, have found a reason to believe.
Although this rebuilding project has been happening since 2006 when the team landed Washington guard Brandon Roy and Texas forward LaMarcus Aldridge through wily draft deals by general manager Kevin Pritchard, it was not until the team jettisoned black hole but incredibly talented scorer, Zach Randolph, to the NBA wasteland that resides on 7th Avenue between 31st and 33rd streets in Manhattan that these efforts truly took shape. Although it was widely reported that Roy had taken emotional leadership of the team earlier in the previous campaign during a locker room confrontation with Randolph, the Michigan bred forward had remained the franchise cornerstone due to his impressive statistics, knack for scoring, and large contract. It became increasingly evident to all Blazer fans that Randolph was holding this team back. I didn’t necessarily want to believe it myself at the time because Z-Bo simply put up numbers game after game but his style of play (poor passer, lack of defense, me-first attitude) kept the Blazers in neutral. Once Randolph was gone, Roy, Coach Nate MacMillan, and an assortment of young and hungry Blazers could revamp their schemes and begin establishing the “new culture” that Pritchard had vowed when he first was named assistant General Manager in 2006 and ultimately General Manager in 2007.
The “new culture” received a swift kick in the ass from Lady Luck when the first pick in the 2007 NBA draft was miraculously bestowed upon Portland and Greg Oden, a man-child center from Ohio State landed in our laps. The moment The Big Silly was drafted an excitement shot through Portland as if Clyde Drexler had performed a pterodactyl like swoop to the basket. Fans began seeing visions of Bill Walton’s beard bopping down Broadway celebrating Portland’s only NBA championship in that glorious summer of 1977. Then, the record skipped.
It was year ago now when he learned that a knee injury would keep Oden off the court in 2007-08. Collectively, Portland experienced something like that first heady night you tried to unstrap your crush’s bra and realized, “I can’t do this! This is not going to happen tonight! This is harder than I expected!” So it was that we played last year without our big man as he went about rehabbing his knee, setting the newest trends in ironic haircuts and displaying humility, public poise and a legitimately witty sense of humor.
If case you studied abroad last winter or don’t care to follow the NBA, want to guess what happened? We banged it out. 13 game winning streak. .500 record. All Star Brandon Roy. LaMarcus Aldridge established himself as one of the most promising big men in the league; Young Travis Outlaw became a 4th quarter assassin, and an assortment of role players reminded Portland what it felt like to have a team that played hard instead of giving lip service to that concept in playoff post-game interviews. I have been living in Portland for the past 8 years, truly since the dawn of what native Oregonians like to call the “Jail Blazer” era. I have seen some pretty fun games in the Rose Garden during those eight years, of course more frustrating ones. I had never seen Portland fans or the Rose Garden light up like it did last year. Now, Portland fans are great, primarily due to their authenticity. I don’t necessarily consider us the “best in the NBA” like all other cities will say about themselves. Truthfully, I think we should be louder more consistently. However, just like those Coors Light fueled summers at the beach when you get back together with your ex, the love affair between the Blazers and the fans was rekindled in earnest last season. Passionate, team oriented play and fanatical fan response go together like Michelle Tafoya and excessive make up. Believe it. David Stern and the NBA offices had their eye on the noisy Rose City last winter.
Although modern professional sports, with their ungodly sums of money, bottom line business tactics, and pampered, me-first athletes often appear far removed from the passion, sacrifice, and teamwork that makes basketball and sports in general so alluring, it appears that the people of Portland take great pleasure and comfort in Blazer management showing signs that they understand the subtleties and challenges of constructing an NBA contender from scratch. It’s the summer of 2008 and with the addition of added scoring punch in Spanish star Rudy Fernandez, Vegas summer league MVP Jerryd Bayless, and the impending debut of Greg Oden, holler from the roof tops, Rip City is where its at!
Although this rebuilding project has been happening since 2006 when the team landed Washington guard Brandon Roy and Texas forward LaMarcus Aldridge through wily draft deals by general manager Kevin Pritchard, it was not until the team jettisoned black hole but incredibly talented scorer, Zach Randolph, to the NBA wasteland that resides on 7th Avenue between 31st and 33rd streets in Manhattan that these efforts truly took shape. Although it was widely reported that Roy had taken emotional leadership of the team earlier in the previous campaign during a locker room confrontation with Randolph, the Michigan bred forward had remained the franchise cornerstone due to his impressive statistics, knack for scoring, and large contract. It became increasingly evident to all Blazer fans that Randolph was holding this team back. I didn’t necessarily want to believe it myself at the time because Z-Bo simply put up numbers game after game but his style of play (poor passer, lack of defense, me-first attitude) kept the Blazers in neutral. Once Randolph was gone, Roy, Coach Nate MacMillan, and an assortment of young and hungry Blazers could revamp their schemes and begin establishing the “new culture” that Pritchard had vowed when he first was named assistant General Manager in 2006 and ultimately General Manager in 2007.
The “new culture” received a swift kick in the ass from Lady Luck when the first pick in the 2007 NBA draft was miraculously bestowed upon Portland and Greg Oden, a man-child center from Ohio State landed in our laps. The moment The Big Silly was drafted an excitement shot through Portland as if Clyde Drexler had performed a pterodactyl like swoop to the basket. Fans began seeing visions of Bill Walton’s beard bopping down Broadway celebrating Portland’s only NBA championship in that glorious summer of 1977. Then, the record skipped.
It was year ago now when he learned that a knee injury would keep Oden off the court in 2007-08. Collectively, Portland experienced something like that first heady night you tried to unstrap your crush’s bra and realized, “I can’t do this! This is not going to happen tonight! This is harder than I expected!” So it was that we played last year without our big man as he went about rehabbing his knee, setting the newest trends in ironic haircuts and displaying humility, public poise and a legitimately witty sense of humor.
If case you studied abroad last winter or don’t care to follow the NBA, want to guess what happened? We banged it out. 13 game winning streak. .500 record. All Star Brandon Roy. LaMarcus Aldridge established himself as one of the most promising big men in the league; Young Travis Outlaw became a 4th quarter assassin, and an assortment of role players reminded Portland what it felt like to have a team that played hard instead of giving lip service to that concept in playoff post-game interviews. I have been living in Portland for the past 8 years, truly since the dawn of what native Oregonians like to call the “Jail Blazer” era. I have seen some pretty fun games in the Rose Garden during those eight years, of course more frustrating ones. I had never seen Portland fans or the Rose Garden light up like it did last year. Now, Portland fans are great, primarily due to their authenticity. I don’t necessarily consider us the “best in the NBA” like all other cities will say about themselves. Truthfully, I think we should be louder more consistently. However, just like those Coors Light fueled summers at the beach when you get back together with your ex, the love affair between the Blazers and the fans was rekindled in earnest last season. Passionate, team oriented play and fanatical fan response go together like Michelle Tafoya and excessive make up. Believe it. David Stern and the NBA offices had their eye on the noisy Rose City last winter.
Although modern professional sports, with their ungodly sums of money, bottom line business tactics, and pampered, me-first athletes often appear far removed from the passion, sacrifice, and teamwork that makes basketball and sports in general so alluring, it appears that the people of Portland take great pleasure and comfort in Blazer management showing signs that they understand the subtleties and challenges of constructing an NBA contender from scratch. It’s the summer of 2008 and with the addition of added scoring punch in Spanish star Rudy Fernandez, Vegas summer league MVP Jerryd Bayless, and the impending debut of Greg Oden, holler from the roof tops, Rip City is where its at!
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