Childhood Memories

Trains

I was driving through South Side Easton this morning and made my way down into the little borough of Glendon. My journey was leading me along winding roads running parallel to a stretch of train tracks.

At one point during my drive I made a right hand turn to get onto the Glendon bridge and noticed below me a convoy of trains rolling along. They were big silver, metal cars, all looking identical and all carrying their cargo through the rural town and on to parts unknown.

Normally, seeing a convoy of trains like this would be something I’d see in my peripheral vision and ignore. After all, trains have become some what of a nuisance to me these days. Especially if on the rare occasion I have to stop and wait for them to pass by. But this time seeing them was different. For I suddenly remembered just how important trains were to me when I was growing up.

So if you’ve got a moment and care to listen to a 45-year-old man reminisce for a while, then please read on.

Photo: Bob Worman
Photo: Bob Worman

When I was a kid, trains were always in abundance running through the city of Easton, Pennsylvania. Back then, you couldn’t travel down the Smith Street hill and into the heart of the downtown district without seeing them pass by on an overhead bridge at all hours of the day.

I was even able to see them running over the river across the Pennsylvania border into New Jersey via a clear shot I had from a hill next to my home. On warm sunny days in my upstairs bedroom I could clearly hear the whistle of the engine from miles away, and would always make a mad dash downstairs to watch them as they went by.

I remember they looked as small as Matchbox cars from my vantage point but that didn’t matter. Once I knew they were coming, I’d stop everything I was doing and just watch them go – admiring their beauty. It always made me a bit sad whenever I saw the little blue caboose go by. Because that always meant the show was over and I’d be forced to go back to watching Scooby-Doo, playing Chutes and Ladders or whatever else was occupying me at the time.

There were (are) two main train trestles that run through the downtown district. The first one is located at the bottom of the Smith Street hill and runs adjacent to Canal Street. This one’s rails ride through the borough of Glendon and eventually reach the city of Bethlehem (the location I saw them at this morning). I believe years ago this was probably the rail that also transported people from outside of the area to their jobs at the Bethlehem Steel plant.

The other trestle; located adjacent to the first, crosses over the Lehigh River and into New Jersey. This was the one I could see from my house as a child. At least until the trees and foliage grew too tall and all I heard was the whistle of the engine.

Whenever I would tag along with my parents on short, local trips around town, I always made it a point to bark out commands from the back seat of our ’77 Malibu Classic on the way home. And as we approached the bridge the commands would get progressively louder, eventually turning into full-on pleas of despair as we approached:

”Mom? Dad? P-L-E-A-S-E can we go see the trains???!!!”

For just on the other side of the trestle you drove under you had two options: drive up Smith Street Hill and into South Side Easton (and home) or, make a slight right and drive along Canal Street…..WHERE THE TRAINS WERE!!!

On good days (or when my screaming and crying became too much for my parents to bear) we would make that slight right and my excitement would build. For what was cool about driving along Canal Street was that the train trestle would be at ground level with you for the longest time. Then it would slowly rise upwards onto a bridge, revealing yet another train trestle behind it. It was like almost like a curtain that was magically unveiling. As the trestle rose, you would slowly begin to see what lied beyond — the coolest sight ever! An arsenal of parked TRAINS!

To most people, trains are those big box things on wheels that carry cargo from town to town. Or maybe a mode of transportation for a hobo carrying a polka-dot covered bindle over his shoulder. But to a young boy like me, it meant so much more. To me, the trains were works of art.

Photo: Bob Worman
Photo: Bob Worman

I’m not talking about those ugly flat-bed trains with nothing on them. Or those black oil tanker trains that are bland and boring. No, I’m talking about the cool colored box car trains that would ALWAYS be parked there. Shiny yellow cars that said “Railbox”, or bright red ones that had the initials “CR”. Then there were the ones that had the moniker, “Southern – Southern Serves The South” emblazoned upon them. Or maybe there would be blue cars with funky lettering on them that kind of looked like a mix between an “N” and a “D”. And lets not forget the odd-ball ones some malcontent had used to spray paint their devotion to AC/DC or Led Zeppelin.

It’s kind of funny how my wife scolds me for forgetting to take out the trash every week and yet I can still recall vividly the exact words and letters printed on the side of a box car train in the 1970’s. Perhaps its because I remember telling Mom and Dad to slow down as we drove,  so I could savor every moment. I wanted it to last forever.

Eventually, we would pass the trains and make a left-hand turn up a side street and make our way back home. What’s funny is that I can’t recall a single thing I did after we got there. All I could think about for the rest of the day was the beauty I saw in those trains.

As the years went by, that damn thing called adulthood started setting in (cool then, sucks now). Girls, cars and music all began taking precedence and the trains became less and less important to me. And even when the time came that I got my own car and could go anywhere I wanted, I still had no desire to go see the trains.

To this day, I drive Canal Street very rarely. I really have no need to go and to be honest, it really is kind of ”out of the way”. Which is probably the exact same reason my Mom and Dad must have had whenever I would beg them to drive along it. But on the occasion that I do drive it for curiosity’s sake, it’s now just a ghost town on the trestles. Not one box car, nor any train for that matter in sight. Sometimes, progress sucks.

As I thought about this today, I realized that seeing the trains was something I really miss. And in some silly way it was just another thing that makes me understand the need to really enjoy the little moments in life you have right now. Because you never know when those moments will be gone forever.

So, here’s hoping you make it a point to find time to go see the trains.

Things I Think

Five Things I Think: The Top 5 People I Wish I Had Met

I think for each of us there have always been a few famous people we wish we could have met at some point or another before they died. Whether they were actors, musicians, presidents or athletes, there have always been people who’ve influenced us that we always wished we had rubbed elbows with but never got the chance. And I myself am no different.

So what I’ve done is compiled my own list of the top five people I wish I would have gotten the chance to meet before they went off to the great beyond. But rather than just put together a list of people you’d most likely expect to see (like say Jesus, Beethoven or Abe Lincoln) some of the people on my list come with a little twist. You see, a few of the people on my list I would have liked to have met in person and for some others, the character that they portrayed. Confused? Don’t worry, you’ll see what I mean soon enough. Enjoy!

#5. The Mad Painter: Was there ever a child who grew up in the 1970’s and watched Sesame Street that didn’t want to hang out with the guy who went around painting numbers on things without fear of retribution?

The Mad Painter was always one of my favorite shorts from the show. I didn’t care that his real intent was to actually teach me how to draw numbers properly. I just loved watching him use his old school graffiti talent and go around painting numbers on things. The world was his canvas and as an artist, what could possibly be better than that?

Who could forget the time a young Stockard Channing (who would go on to play Rizzo in the movie Grease) was having a picnic by herself while the Mad Painter used condiments to paint “3”‘s on her sandwich? Check it out here.

The Mad Painter was portrayed by Paul Benedict (1938-2008) who most people know as Harry Bentley, the neighbor of George and Weezie on “The Jeffersons”. You remember, the dude who always got the door slammed in his face by George.

#4. Mr Rogers: I don’t know about you, but I used to love watching this show too. There was something about rushing home from elementary school and watching Mr. R take off his work jacket, put on a cardigan sweater and sneakers and hang out for a while.

At one point I used to pretend to be Mr. Rogers and do his show live from the studio inside my bedroom. And I would have given up a weeks allowance to take a ride on the Trolly. As an adult now, I think I’d get a big kick out of listening to him tell stories about the show while we listened to Smooth Jazz.

Sadly, Fred Rogers passed away in 2003.

#3. Curly From The Three Stooges: They tried three times to replace him and each time failed. Nothing compared to the fun of watching Curly do his thing. The Three Stooges were a staple in my home on Sunday mornings.

I used to, and quite frankly still do, get pissed when the intro would come on and that damn Shemp’s picture was there with my boys Moe and Larry. And if Joe was in the short well, it was definitely bathroom break time.

To me, there was no better Stooge than Curly Howard (1903-1952). Whether he was making dog barking noises or getting punished by Moe that guy just had a knack for making me laugh.


#2. Dr. Seuss: Ok, now we’re starting to get to the heavy hitters. I could have spent years talking to this man about everything from Yertle The Turtle right up to the Grinch. I would want to know every detail about how he came up with such wonderful stories and characters.

I don’t think there’s ever been an author who has written children’s books in quite the same manner or continues to fascinate them more than Dr. Seuss, even twenty years after his death. I mean, this is a guy that tackled such things as the true meaning of Christmas (Grinch), prejudice/discrimination (The Sneetches) and even environmental issues (The Lorax) way before anyone else.

And finally….drum roll please…..

#1. Bob Ross: Without a doubt this is the one person that I regret not meeting most of all. All throughout the 80’s this man was a big part of my life. I used to love coming home from high school at 2:45pm just in time to watch Bob with my grandmother when his show came on the local PBS station at 3.

When I caught his show for the first time I thought there was absolutely no way anyone could paint a picture like that in 30 minutes. And yet, he took a plain white canvas and turned it into a masterpiece in less than half an hour.

He was the one who made me start picking up my own brush and palette and I’d spend countless hours reading his instructional books and painting the pictures he did.

As a teenager filled with all the emotional rage and feelings that teenage boys often carry, his “happy tree” demeanor always made me believe that anything was possible.

I’d look at my own finished work and say: “Wow, if I can paint like this, what else can I do?”

Take a peek at the master at work here.

I wish I would have gotten the chance to meet him before he died in 1995. If for nothing more than just to say… “Thanks!”

Now it’s your turn. Share some of the people you’ve always wanted to meet but never got the chance to.

Music, Thought and Opinion

Some Final Thoughts on The Grammy’s

I’ve got some final words to say about this years Grammy Awards. Truth be told, I haven’t had much interest in watching them anymore.

Now you would think that as a musician The Grammy Awards would be something always on my agenda of things to watch. To see the best of the best get their due. But sadly, the ceremony, much like the AMA’s, CMA’s and any other “MA’s” I may have missed, seems to have become nothing more than just a lackluster showcase for the music industry to pat itself on the back instead of awarding real talent.

Don’t get me wrong, this year Adele easily deserved to sweep everything. She is a true diamond in a sea of the same old same. But outside of her obvious and most deserving win, every year the awards seems to turn more and more into something that can’t be taken seriously.

Consider the way Chris Brown was graciously accepted back onto the stage again and won a pair of awards after his most recent shenanigans. Or the way Dave Grohl of The Foo Fighters was blatantly cut off during his acceptance speech when he started telling the truth about how music should come from the heart and not a computer. And lets not forget the fact that a group of “old men” (The Beach Boys) schooled everyone who hit the stage before them with true vocal harmony.

But I’d really like to focus the meat of this blog on the list of artists from the “Rock Performance” and “Metal” categories. Because, you know me, it’s all about the Rock and Metal.

First, here’s a list of winners from thirty years ago:

Record of the Year: Rosanna: Toto
Album of the Year: Toto IV
Song of the Year: Always on My Mind: Willie Nelson
Best New Artist: Men at Work
Best Rock Vocal Performance, Female: Pat Benatar-“Shadows of the Night ”
Best Rock Vocal Performance, Male: John Cougar Mellencamp -“Hurts So Good”
Best Rock Performance by a Duo or Group with Vocal: Survivor-“Eye of the Tiger”
Best Rock Instrumental Performance: A Flock of Seagulls – “D.N.A.”

And now, here is a list of Grammy winners for 2012:

Record of the Year: “Rolling in the Deep,” Adele
Album of the Year: “21,” Adele
Song of the Year: “Rolling in the Deep,” Adele Adkins & Paul Epworth
New Artist: Bon Iver
Pop Solo Performance: “Someone Like You,” Adele
Rock Song: “Walk,” Foo Fighters
Rock Album: “Wasting Light,” Foo Fighters
Rock Performance: “Walk,” Foo Fighters
Hard Rock/Metal Performance: “White Limo,” Foo Fighters

Look at the variety of artists from three decades ago. All with hit songs and all deserving. Where is that variety today?

Please don’t misunderstand me, I love the Foo Fighters. Really, I do. But three different songs winning Grammy awards? And one Grammy for Best “Metal” performance? The Foo Fighters aren’t “Metal”.

It really upsets me that there seems to be a lack of true nominees in these categories whether by accident or deliberate intention. Every time you see the list of nominations you pretty much know who is going to win. And why is it that groups you’ve never heard of always seem to get a nod and bands that have Grammy history and new albums get ignored?

Consider artists like Journey, Foreigner and Night Ranger for example. Ok, I agree that it’s been years since any of them had songs that topped the charts. But all of these bands have released albums of brand new music, most of it very good and all within the time frame of nomination, but their body of work wasn’t even acknowledged by the academy.

Now I’m not saying any of these artists should win. Hardly. All I’m saying is that wouldn’t it be nice to at least recognize the efforts of bands that have stood the test of time and continue to deliver music for their fans? But instead, true musicianship gets over shadowed by the need for computer generated beats and auto-tuned vocal performances.

I guess I shouldn’t really be surprised though. I mean lets face it, this is the same awards show that gave the very first Grammy in the Hard Rock/Metal category to Jethro Tull instead of Metallica.

And don’t get me started on that whole Milli Vanilli incident.

Life

My Weekend At Best Buy

The day finally arrived. My wife and I had been so good at paying our bills in a timely manner and living within our means for years that the opportunity finally presented itself.

The chance to make the last mortgage or car payment you ask?

I wish.

No, because of our hard work we were finally able to upgrade the 32″ gigantic tube television that has been sitting in our living room for ten years with a new state of the art high-definition model. Strangely, the television we were looking at (a 51″ plasma) was actually $200 cheaper than what we had paid for the now ancient 32″ model we currently own. You’ve gotta love technology.

An excursion to our local Best Buy was in order and so Saturday night, off we went.

Upon arriving at the store we stared in awe at the enormity and clarity of the televisions that adorned the back wall. LCD, LED, Plasma, Smart TV’s, man this place had them all. I even saw a 75″ unit mounted on the wall with deluxe surround sound. “Wow, Ultraman would sure look good on THAT”, I thought to myself.

The model we were looking at was a 51″ Samsung plasma unit that would not only be an excellent replacement for the old tube model we had but would also look awesome mounted above our fireplace. It seems like hanging a television above the mantel is all the rage these days and who am I to argue?

As is almost always the case when I purchase a big ticketed item, when the Best Buy employee checked his inventory he quickly determined that the model we wanted was not in stock. Fortunately though, there was one available at another store 20 miles away that we could go pick up. Although the hour was late we decided to make the purchase anyway with the intention of going to the other store first thing in the morning.

The next day I got a late start, as is typical for a Sunday, and didn’t get moving until well into the afternoon. I drove the twenty miles to retrieve our new television. It was all boxed up and fit perfectly in my car. The sales associate had informed me to travel with it in an upright position and not flat so I took the necessary steps to ensure this was done.

After arriving home we quickly began dismantling the old beast of a television that had sat there since the turn of the century. Cables and dust flew everywhere but I didn’t mind. The thrill of actually seeing something in high-definition made any mess made well worth it.

Having cleaned up the area we began to un-box the 51″ Samsung Plasma. I started peeling off all of the sticky plastic stuff surrounding the unit and that’s when I noticed something…..

Uh oh.

There seemed to be a scratch on the screen. At first I thought it might have been the way the plastic covering was stretching but as we pulled the television out of the box more my worst fear was confirmed. It wasn’t a scratch at all. Half of the screen was cracked. It looked as if it had been hit by a baseball.

So in addition to having a 51″ television that’s useless I also now have a 32″ disassembled boulder sitting on my living room floor with DVD’s and cables lying all over the place. But come hell or high water there was no way I was putting the old TV system back together. This busted plasma was going back for something else… TODAY!

I packed up the unit as best (haha “best”, get it?) I could, made my way out into the cold winter’s night and took it back to the store nearest my home. The salesman sure got a good laugh at my expense. Apparently, he had never seen a plasma busted like that. I guess there’s a first time for everything.

Ironically, it was at this point that fate stepped in.

There happened to be an LG plasma television sitting boxed up right next to the counter where the sales guy had been chuckling at my misfortune. This model by coincidence had just gone on sale and was actually $20 cheaper than the one that had originally given me angina.

Much to the chagrin of the store clerk, before purchasing it I made certain we opened the box first and took a peek inside. I just wanted to make sure that Babe Ruth didn’t use this one for target practice too. No cracks….SOLD!

This morning, in addition to having a new 50″ plasma television sitting in my living room there’s an extra $20 in my wallet for about ten Grande Starbucks. And Ultraman never looked so good. Thanks Best Buy!

So… anyone interested in a humongous 32″ tee-vee?

Childhood Memories, Life

What Do You Want To Be When You Grow Up?

I remember a song we used to sing in kindergarten at Porter Elementary School. It was in my afternoon class and every so often Mrs. Rapp would gather a gaggle of us five-year olds together around this lime green, out of tune upright piano.

We had just finished eating our vanilla wafer cookies and half pint cartons of milk and were settling in to a nice sugar coma when she would begin to play a little diddy that went something like this:

“♫ What do you want to be when you grow up? What do you want to beeeeeeeee?”♫…

Then she’d go around the class and ask us to yell out what we wanted to be. I was confused. To a five-year old being a grown up felt like a million years away and even then I knew that I’d probably change my mind about it at least a million times before it actually arrived.

But as my turn approached my confusion turned into stress. I always wanted to say something cool that wasn’t the typical fireman, doctor or astronaut that everyone else in the gaggle was saying. And it certainly wouldn’t look right to be a copy-cat of someone else. But in the end I chose the fireman and to this day still don’t really know why (maybe it was the cool red truck).

What do I want to be?

One of the earliest things I remember was wanting to be Spiderman when I grew up. I wasn’t too keen on getting bit by a radioactive spider mind you, but a kid’s gotta do what a kid’s gotta do.

You can even ask my brother if you don’t believe me. He caught me many a time climbing the walls in my sleep yelling out that I was indeed the wall crawler. And on warm summer mornings after a rain storm I remember walking past spider webs shimmering  in the sunlight off of my front porch and saying to myself: “someday…..someday”.

I think the superhero theme was something I always aspired to be. I was very introverted growing up and some how could relate with those guys having a “secret”. Maybe it was the feeling of being able to put a mask on and suddenly become someone larger than life. Someone people admired.

That’s who I wanted to be…then.

Over the years I’ve gone through phases of who I want to be. A fireman, a doctor, a rock star, an electrician, an actor. Strangely, I wound up being a Clinical Systems Analyst (something that looking back would have floored Mrs. Rapp if I had told her) but in many ways I’ve been all of the other occupations at one point or another:

– I was a fireman who put out the ultimate pierogie fire that you can read about in a previous blog.

– I’m a physician whenever my daughter trips and falls on the sidewalk.

– I’ve been a rock star (albeit not professional, yet) for perish the thought, 25 years now.

– I can change a light bulb and swap out a light fixture with the best of them.

– I’m a great actor. Just ask me when a user calls me at work because they keep locking themselves out of their computer.  I play the role of “Happy, Helpful Jim” to a tee.

I may not have become Spiderman but I think it’s safe to say that in some ways I’ve even achieved being a superhero too. I can see it in my daughter’s eyes with simple things like when I’m helping her with her homework or when she watches me teach the dog how to sit and shake hands.

But I don’t think I’m finished. I’ve been wanting to be a writer for quite a while too. Oh sure, I’ve gotten a letter written to a fictional vampire published in Dynamite magazine at age eleven. And I’ve also been featured in the Letters to the Editor in a Conan the Barbarian comic book. But I want more. And I think everyone feels that way because there’s just an endless amount of things to experience. There’s nothing we can’t do. The sky is the limit as they say and there’s always some thing else to “be”.

So if Mrs. Rapp gathered me around that lime green out of tune piano right now and asked me the question again, I’d probably still be confused. But this time I think I’d have to tell her the truth –  that I’m still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up.

1980's, Childhood Memories

Making Movies

The other day, while doing some “pre-spring” spring cleaning I stumbled upon a bunch of old 8mm film equipment and movies down in my basement. You know how you have some things in your possession that are, for all intents and purposes, useless but yet you still can’t bear to part with? Well, this equipment is one of those things for me. Something I should have thrown away long ago but still managed to find a place for every time we moved into a new apartment or house over the years.

I don’t really know why it never made it to the landfill but I would soon be glad it didn’t reach its final destination.

Even though the high tech gadgetry that’s available in today’s video equipment has sent my 8mm camera and film projector the way of the dinosaur, I was intrigued to see what kind of treasure was still being held on those old reels. So one night, I decided to go old school and set it all up.

There’s a certain odor that comes from things that have sat idle in a basement or attic for two dozen years. The smell of which seems to get stronger as you start un-boxing them from the places where they’ve sat in silence. Most especially when they’ve sat in an old attic with the extreme hot and cold seasonal temperature changes like these things did. It tattoos an odor on every piece that can best be described in one word: Old.

I suppose it was sometime in the fall of 1984 when my friend Mike and I made our first 8mm movie. I’m sure we would have liked to have made hundreds of them but we weren’t able to due to the high cost of film and processing. I’m sure a lot of it also had to do with the frustration that went along with making them. Unlike today, where you can take anything you can film and edit the video to death, with our 8mm camera you had only one chance to get it right. Every scene had to be done in one take. There was absolutely no going back.

The movies we made were nothing like the caliber of the Steven Spielberg/JJ Abrams blockbuster from last summer. Ours didn’t have zombies, train wrecks or even aliens. Heck, our movies didn’t even have sound at all. And where as the kids in that movie chose to go the romantic route and even include <GASP!> girls in theirs, we chose to go the manly route and make our movies about the greatest superhero of all… Spiderman.

I like to think that in some way the Spiderman movies we made gave inspiration to the three Tobey Mcguire films and the new Amazing Spiderman movie that’s coming out this summer. As you’ll see, considering the technology available to 15-year old boys, our budget and time constraints, I’d say we did a pretty good job. Especially for only getting one take to shoot each scene.

So let me set the scene for you: The setting for this clip is at my house. Spiderman (my friend Mike) has just returned from searching the city for Mime, the evil villain (played by yours truly). Mime is a Dr.Jekyll/Mr. Hyde type character that transforms from good to bad. He has issues (much like the guy who portrays him).

As Spidey is taking off his costume he gets blind-sided by Mime. Spidey quickly recovers and tries to capture Mime by spinning a web around him but Mime is able to escape and bull rush him.

Spidey uses his super jumping ability to leap onto the roof of a nearby house.

As Spidey makes his way across the roof top and back down to the ground Mime has transformed back to his normal self and makes his escape.

Academy Award of Golden Globe nominee? I think so. And now, without further adieu, I give you, Spiderman:

Some classic 1980’s references: My Quiet Riot t-shirt (told ya I was a metal head). Also, if you look at Mike’s sneakers after he jumps off the roof you’ll notice they are different colors. Remember when changing your shoe-laces was all the rage back in the 80’s?

I found myself laughing over and over watching this and remembering just how much fun it was to make. Mostly, I enjoyed the stunt of having Spiderman jump from the ground to the roof. This was actually a dummy that I had spent two hours making before filming. I tied jeans and the costume together with twine and stuffed the entire thing with crumbled up newspaper to fill it out. For only getting one take to film it turned out ok. It reminds me of something you’d see in an old Three Stooges short when they’d fall off a building.

In an age when anyone can post a You Tube video we sometimes take for granted all the technology that’s available to us. I  can, and have, video taped the world around me with HD cameras. I’ve recorded my daughter’s school and sporting events without batting an eye. The technology is even available on the cell phone I carry every day (just in case the moment strikes me). Back then, it was a whole process.

Our children can have a video of their entire lives if we so choose. A living, breathing memoir if you will. And yet, these half-dozen or so 8mm movies Mike and I made almost thirty years ago are the absolute only recorded things I have from my childhood that are not a still picture.

But thanks to that same modern technology, I’m able to extract these precious moments from the film and put them on to a digital DVD before the oxidation process completely destroys them.

It’s amazing to see just how I looked, moved and thought back in a time when the only responsibility I had was getting up for school every morning.

Music, Thought and Opinion

How Badly Do I Want To See Van Halen?

Like everyone else I was stoked when Van Halen finally announced “A Different Kind of Truth“, their long-awaited new album with original singer David Lee Roth. But even more amazing than the first new music with Roth on vocals in 28 years was the bands plan to embark on a tour to support the new record.

I never had the opportunity to see Van Halen with either of its two singers, Roth or Sammy Hagar (I don’t count the Gary Cherone “experiment”). And even though original bassist Michael Anthony would not be taking part I still wanted to hear Eddie shred on Eruption and experience “Jamie’s Cryin”, “Ain’t Talking Bout Love” and “Hot for Teacher”. I mean, let’s face it, Eddie Van Halen is one of the few remaining Guitar Gods. I had to see him and pay homage.

All the while I was consuming myself with the thought of seeing Van Halen for the first time a little voice inside my head was telling me that I had better hurry up and order a ticket. For if the past is any indication, I’m quite certain that it’s only a matter of time before the devil they’ve been running with inevitably rears his ugly head again and breaks up the band again. So time was indeed of the essence.

I was very excited to discover that the band would be making a stop in Philadelphia on March 5th and so I immediately grabbed my credit card and proceeded to the ComCast Tix website to make my purchase.

Since I ‘d be going alone I didn’t really care where I sat. I noticed that the cheapest ticket available online was in the upper bleachers for $49.50. That sounded good enough to me so I added the ticket to my shopping cart and proceeded on to the next screen.

“Uhm… excuse me, is there something wrong here? There must be some mistake.”

I was greeted by a screen that told me that the $49.50 ticket I was about to purchase would also require me to pay a “fee” of $11 and another $5 “order charge”. What these so-called “fee” and “order” charges were wasn’t explained but suddenly my ticket cost had gone up to $65.50 (a 32% increase).

As the blood pressure started to rise I was able to calm myself by singing out loud some possible Van Halen songs I’d hear: “Might as well JUMP! JUMP!”…. “PA-NAH-MA!”…”Daaaance The Night Away!”….That seemed to work although my dogs, which were within earshot of me in the living room, made a bee line for the exits. My confidence had been restored.

I was next asked by the website if I’d like to purchase advance parking for the event ahead of time. “Yes, I guess that makes sense”, I said to myself as I clicked on the link.

My cart was immediately updated and now things were beginning to get a bit out of hand. Parking for the show would be $25 and, you guessed it, that cost did not include another additional $2.25 “fee” bringing the total for my original $49.50 cheap-seat ticket to see Van Halen to a whopping $92.75. Beg pardon Comcast, but you do realize that now I am paying almost double the cost of what my ticket is worth don’t you?

But if you thought it ended there, wait….there’s more!

I had the ticket and parking covered but now the question was: how did I want to receive my one SINGLE paper ticket? My choices ranged from an additional $2.75 just for the opportunity to print the ticket out at home up to a $19 charge for express delivery.

After adding everything together, including the mandatory toll charges to and from the event, I concluded that the cost for me to go by myself to see Van Halen in Philadelphia with a $49.50 ticket was going to be over $100. I clicked “Cancel” on the transaction screen.

The more I think about it, the angrier I become. Not at Van Halen mind you. My issue is with these outrageous parking fees and the Comcast Tix, Ticketmaster and Live Nation sites who are supposed to be doing service to the fans but instead wind up screwing them with fees. It’s frustrating to essentially have to pay double the price printed on a ticket just to see the show.

Worse still, it makes me do something else I’ve never done before besides see Van Halen. It’s made me start to second guess just how badly I want to see a concert.

And shame on these ticket outlet sites and venues for making me feel that way.

Music, Survivor, Thought and Opinion

The Album Experience

A few weeks ago I was perusing iTunes looking for songs to buy on a gift card I received. I chose a few Foo Fighters songs from their most recent album (I didn’t really care for the previews I had heard of the whole thing) and the Bon Jovi anthem “It’s My Life”. I’m not even sure which record that track was on. My guess is it’s probably on several of them but I just wanted the song for when I do cardio at the gym so it didn’t really matter.

I mean, you can’t play Eye of The Tiger consecutively for thirty minutes straight while on the treadmill. Well, I suppose you can but I like to mix it up a bit.

Speaking of Bon Jovi, I read an article not too long ago from Jon Bon Jovi himself. He made the outrageous claim that Steve Jobs and iTunes had single-handedly ruined the music business. This coming from a guy whose band has made millions of dollars off of it. Including quite a bit of it from me over the years I might add and more than enough money for him to one day become part owner of a billion dollar NFL team. A guy who still continues to sell his music on iTunes and profit off of it. Just who is he trying to kid anyway?

But the more I thought about it and looked at the receipt for my downloaded songs the more I realized….he’s right. The entire “experience” of getting and listening to new music is gone.

Back in “the day” if you heard a cool song on the radio from a band you loved you had three choices…

One:  Call the radio station 24/7 and beg them to play it.
Two:  Try and find the 45″ single of it somewhere.
Three: Buy the album, which was always readily available.

In my case, the choice was easy. I would always buy the album because I LOVED the experience (ok, and also because I didn’t want to sound like a sissy calling the request line).

When you first heard the new “hit” from the band on the radio and the brouhaha that followed you knew the countdown to the new album was officially on. It was almost like Christmas was coming.

There was nothing quite like getting that new album (or CD) and taking it home for the first time. Especially if you’ve waited the habitual two years since your favorite group’s last record. A literal lifetime when you are growing up.

My ritual was this: I would get the album, lock myself in my bedroom, tear open the shrink-wrap and put new vinyl on the turntable. Always first song, first side (or first track on a CD – I’m not THAT OLD). I knew the “hit” was always about the third song in and I didn’t want to just skip to it. I wanted the build up.

As the first notes of the record started I knew ‘the boys were back’ and I’d  begin to immerse myself in the liner notes. The smell of new ink would invade my senses and the troubles of the day would soon fade away.

Even though the guys in the band had absolutely no idea who I was (at best just a little dot in the 23rd row at their last concert) it felt like a reunion with old friends. Friends that had inspired me, comforted me and consoled me with their music.

“Boys, where have you been? What’s new?”

I’d read all about the musicians and where the album was recorded and who any “special guest” musicians that had played on the album were. The thank-you notes would always include references to God and family and as a musician myself I’d always think that maybe some day I’d have the opportunity to make these same decisions for my own album.

But most important of all, I read the lyrics.

I loved reading about the pain, heartache and reckless abandon the band felt when creating this record. I tried to relate what I was going through in my own life with what I read and listened to. By the time the “hit” started playing I was already in some distant utopia. (which coincidentally, was the name of the store in downtown Easton where I bought a lot of my records).

When the record was over it was almost like you had just gotten off an amusement park ride. Sure, some of the songs weren’t as good as I had hoped but there were always some gems on there. I liked to guess which song would be the next one released to radio and I’d start wondering just how long it would be before these guys came to town and I could go see them again. The whole thing was indeed an experience.

Now, I couldn’t even tell you the last time I had the whole music experience. I too find myself falling into the same routine that everyone else does. Getting the quick-fix by downloading the one “hit” song. Quite frankly, I even believe most artists these days are perfectly happy with just getting the 99 cents for that one song and ignoring the “album”. But taking Jon’s advice, I decided to pass the digital quick fix and try the album experience again. I chose to buy a physical album from a favorite band whose records spent many months on my turn table growing up and one who coincidentally had just released a brand new album: Night Ranger’s “Somewhere in California”.

I sat there in my office, put the CD into the computer, fired up the media player and started playback on the first track. It was so easy to fall back into the groove, read the liner notes and get lost in thought. And although there were some really great songs on there I know that in today’s music business not a single track on this album will ever get airplay. But the experience of listening to an album from start to finish was as wonderful as I had remembered it to be.

So Mr. Bon Jovi was right in a way. I guess iTunes has changed the game. And sure, I’ll probably take the Night Ranger album and throw it on my mp3 player to take with me. Will I listen to it day and night? Probably not. But favorite songs aren’t meant to be just some digital file on an iPod.

They’re meant to stay with you for a lifetime.

 

Extra: Be sure to check out my other Night Ranger blog article here

Music, Thought and Opinion

Beware of Media

The past few weeks have finally made me take a second look at how the news media reports stories. If you follow politics at all you’re already well aware at how each side (Democrats and Republicans) claim each other is in cahoots with the media to further their own agenda (the “liberal” and “corporate” media respectively).

Quite frankly, I think the argument is ridiculous. I mean, who in their right mind would want to use an organization who can’t even get its own facts straight?

Late last week singer Adam Lambert announced that he would be singing with the band Queen for the MTV Europe Awards. This led news organizations to some how believe that the announcement really meant Lambert was going to be the replacement for the band’s late singer Freddie Mercury on a tour this summer.

This would have been big news, had it have been true of course. This was something the media has been chomping at the bit to report. I mean, Adam Lambert is a good singer AND he’s gay. It makes perfect sense that he would replace another gay singer in one of the biggest bands of all time.

But these news outlets, in their haste to always one-up everyone else, reported this non-existent replacement story and subsequent tour without having all of the facts straight. Even if Mr. Lambert’s comments were a bit ambiguous, someone wearing a fedora with a “Press” pin on it should have clarified it before sending it off to cyberspace.

Another example of the media jumping the gun happened just a few weeks ago. Long time Penn State football coach Joe Paterno, who had been in ill-health for several months, was about to pass away. Being that one of the greatest coaches of all time was at death’s door was more than enough information for a sea of journalists to descend upon Happy Valley to get the scoop and report of his death seconds after it had happened.

Unfortunately, some small college newspaper claimed it had received an email informing players that Coach had passed away a day early. When they went to press with it, all the other news organizations blindly followed suit and within hours had to apologize for it. The next day, Coach Paterno died (for real this time).

These little “accidents” are definitely cause for concern. There needs to be more accountability when reporting. Especially in an age where information goes out to the world in seconds.

If a bunch of farmers could fall for a radio station saying we were being invaded by aliens in 1938 consider this: What if the media all reported at the same time about a bogus nuclear attack by some rogue nation without having all the facts first? I think there would be people taking to the streets with more than pitchforks and torches to combat the alien menace. We as a society can not allow these news outlets to control us. We need to get the facts straight.

So whether it’s the New York Giants posting they’ve won the Superbowl on their website before the game is even played or news organizations announcing Dewey defeats Truman in the 1948 election before all the votes were counted one thing is certain. We need to take everything these news outlets report on with a grain of salt.

Singers, football coaches, it doesn’t matter. There’s no real media bias. There’s only media stupidity. So Beware.

Childhood Memories, Music

A Guitarist’s Worst Nightmare
Me and Les Doing What We Do Best

Even if you’ve never played guitar before you will cringe when you hear the tale I’m about to tell. It’s something you might read right out of a Steven King novel. I’m warning you now that it’s not for the weak of heart.

I started playing guitar in the early 1980’s and struggled for years learning chord progressions and scales. Having to learn how to play on a cheap imitation Fender Stratocaster wasn’t of much help either. If you’re a guitar player you know what I’m talking about. The better the guitar, the easier it is to learn on. And although I played with what my parents could afford to get me, I still dreamed of one day getting a Gibson Les Paul. The guitar that players like Jimmy Page from Led Zeppelin and Ace Frehley from Kiss played. A guitar that at the time I wasn’t worthy enough to play or financially responsible to own.

Someday.

My hard work eventually started paying off. By paying my dues as a working musician over the next few years I was able to purchase a used Gibson Explorer and genuine Fender Stratocaster. But the elusive Les Paul was always slightly out of my reach.

Fast forward now to 2004 and the local band I was in is at the top of our game. We had just successfully completed a long string of summer shows including one as the opening act for American Idol runner-up Clay Aiken.

Now, before you laugh consider this: Clay was almost God-Like at this time. His first album debuted at number one on the Billboard 200 and was, with 613,000 copies sold in its first week, the highest-selling debut for a solo artist in over ten years and an album that was eventually certified multi-platinum.

To help celebrate my hard work and musical devotion I FINALLY purchased my Les Paul just in time for the Clay gig. Much like being a car enthusiast who for years has driven nothing but clunkers until eventually getting their dream car, getting the Les Paul and the chance to play it at the ultimate show in front of 6,000 fans was a dream come true.

Needless to say, the euphoria of this combination of events had me feeling pretty good when the band rolled into the Franklin Township Fair a few weeks later.

The Franklin Township Fair is an annual event held in the wide-open boon docks of Northern Pennsylvania. With sponsorships from a variety of local businesses all supporting the volunteer fire company, the event raises a lot of money to help continue to fight the good fight.

I spent the early portion of the day setting up my gear on the big concrete stage we would be performing on. I had my polished Les Paul, strung with new strings, all tuned and ready to go and gently placed it on the guitar stand.

To make this day even more special, I had just finished recording a brand new song I had written and this was the perfect opportunity to listen to it on the big PA system for the first time. I placed the CD into the drive and pressed play. I then jumped off the stage and made my way out onto the midway.

I was able to completely ignore the smell of funnel cake and the sound of spinning wheels as people tried to match numbers and win gigantic stuffed animals. I just stood there and let the perfect balance of music seep into my soul. Not just any music mind you. This was my music and nothing beats the first time you hear the final mix of a song that you wrote.

Paging Steven King.

As I’m listening to the sound of guitar and lyric in blissful perfection another sound begins to fill my ears. It’s the sound of an approaching helicopter. You see, one of the “benefits” fair goers get to see as part of the festivities is a demonstration of a Med-Evac helicopter landing.

People nearby begin to get excited and cheer as the copter slowly descends and lands onto a small clearing next to the fairgrounds. I myself begin to get a little worried when the breeze coming off of the still spinning helicopter blades continues to pick up. I know the copter has already landed safely but the high wind on my face is definitely a cause for concern.

It’s at this point that everything turns into slow motion.

My attention is quickly drawn back to front and I now see set lists and cables blowing around on the concrete stage. A stage I am standing at least fifty or sixty yards away from. My heart goes into my throat as I now fear the worst. And sure enough, the worst happens.

My beloved Les Paul, the one I had spent twenty years of my life trying to obtain, the one that is now sitting on a guitar stand in what feels like a mile away begins to teeter and totter in the wind. There is nothing I can do as I watch it fall forward and land face down on the concrete stage.

I run as fast as I can to assess the damage. The guitar now has a two-inch crack near the head stock. And the nut, or portion where the strings attach near the tuning pegs, is broken off right where the sixth string passes making that string completely useless.

So here I am, pissed off beyond belief that my beloved guitar, and the only guitar I brought to the gig, has suffered damage and also knowing that I still had to perform for ninety minutes. How I was able to hold it together remains a mystery. The show must go on I suppose.

Not surprisingly, even with the damage sustained I was still able to play the guitar (minus the sixth string) for the entire show and it not once went out of tune. After all, it’s a Les Paul.

Insurance was able to cover the damages and to this day my beloved Les Paul is still rocking. Only now, it has its own identity.

And the dream continues.