Month: March 2002

Short Cuts

Post author By Chris Herrington
Post date March 29, 2002

Split Series Volume III

NOFX/Rancid

(BYO Records)

The most invigorating 25 minutes of the year thus far, this short, sharp shock of a record pairs two of the last decade’s quintessential punk bands — Cali scene-mates Rancid and NOFX — covering six of each other’s songs in the aural equivalent of tossing a toaster in the tub.

With straighter, more-regular-guy vocals and a (slightly) cleaner sound, NOFX really taps into the grandeur lurking within so much of Rancid’s music, a penchant for rock-and-roll Big Statements that evokes Springsteen as much as it does more commonly mentioned band template the Clash. On 2000’s Rancid, for example, the anti-entertainment-biz rant “Antennaes” was brutally hard, but NOFX softens it up, creating just enough space in the music to bring the anthemic undercurrents out and make it soar. By contrast, the band takes the organ-driven ska of Life Won’t Wait‘s “Corazon de Oro” and transforms it into a rousing, urgent guitar song. The only exception to the formula is “Radio,” a fast rock song in Rancid’s hands, which NOFX transforms into a bit of mid-temp reggae with new-wave touches, like a Sublime outtake.

I’m not nearly as familiar with the NOFX originals that Rancid tackles on the album’s second half, but it’s clearly some compelling material. And, with the dueling vocals-and-guitars of Tim Armstrong and Lars Frederiksen popping like firecrackers over the nimble, powerhouse rhythm section of bassist Matt Freeman and drummer Brett Reed, this is one band that, despite its diminishing public profile over the last half-decade, seems utterly incapable of making bad music. Rancid’s half is more intense, with the breakneck hardcore they bring to “Stickin’ In My Eye” typical of their take-no-prisoners approach.

NOFX gives Rancid some memorable lyrics to play around with: Armstrong really bites into the opening salvo of “Bob” (“He spent 15 years gettin’ loaded/Fifteen years ’til his liver exploded/What’s Bob gonna do now that he can’t drink?”), though Frederiksen doesn’t sound nearly as convincing on the pro-pornography/anti-censorship “Vanilla Sex.” But the standout here, by far, is “Don’t Call Me White,” with Freeman taking a rare lead vocal. Freeman’s menacing, bellowing, croaking vocals turn the song’s lyrical plaint into a desperate threat, fighting against the burden of history and the tyranny of an unwanted social construct like a pissed-off heavyweight going in for the kill. — Chris Herrington

Grade: A-

Playgroup

Playgroup

(Source/Astralwerks)

The brainchild of veteran U.K. hip-hop producer Trevor Jackson, Playgroup is conceptually a multiartist collective with a pronounced early ’80s feel. This debut album, in fact, has the feel of a killer mix-tape from that period — S.O.S. Band, Slits, Spoonie Gee, Mikey Dread, Human League, Scritti Politti, Prince, Pete Shelley — as replayed and, in the process, cross-pollinated by a single band. Played, not sampled. According to Jackson, about 80 percent of the music was performed live. That helps the album not feel like a series of pastiches — its gargantuan dub bass lines, skittering drumbeats, and sharp, disco-fied rhythm guitar are all of a piece. And the handful of samples — R&B iconoclast Joi on “Pressure” and U.K. post-punks Scritti Politti on “Too Much” — honor Jackson’s sense of both roots and future.

Still, the mix-tape effect is just as present thanks to the revolving cast of vocalists. Edwyn Collins, of Orange Juice and “A Girl Like You” fame, sings the sinuous “Medicine Man” (and plays rhythm guitar on nearly every track). Kathleen Hanna (Bikini Kill, Le Tigre) belts “Bring It On” over a loping dub-funk groove neither of her bands has yet attempted. Kyra, of indie rockers Thee Headcoatees, demands satisfaction in no uncertain terms on the monolithic Eurodisco stomp “Make It Happen.” New York dancehall toaster Shinehead and legendary dub producer Dennis Bovell are turned loose on Paul Simon’s “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover.” And early ’90s hip-house star KC Flightt chants the corniest rap, like, ever on “Front 2 Back” (“Hip-house and jazz/Percussion and bass/And some razzmatazz” — Jay-Z, do not call your lawyer).

The latter pair sound silly at first, but they’ve got amazing staying power with repeated listens. Like the rest of Playgroup, their triumph isn’t how well they recall a bygone era but how skillfully they fit themselves into ours. — Michaelangelo Matos

Grade: A-

Source Tags and Codes

And You Will Know Us

By the Trail of Dead

(Interscope)

Hey, with a bunch of unkempt noise addicts like Austin’s And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead getting signed to a major label instead of dropped by one — following the Strokes and the White Stripes — maybe this long national nightmare of a guitar-rock recession really is letting up.

The excellently named Trail of Dead is reminiscent of fellow Texans At the Drive-In, who broke into the mainstream (well, sort of) in 2000 with a similar sound that blended the sincerity and modesty of contemporary emo and indie with the guitar freakouts of ’80s-bred post-punk bands like Sonic Youth and Dinosaur Jr.

Source Tags and Codes, the band’s third full-length, sets its tone from the outset: The opening “It Was There (That I Saw You)” is the alt-rock ideal at its most epic and romantic, marrying angsty love lyrics that could come from the pen of the Cure’s Robert Smith with nuclear-meltdown guitars that echo My Bloody Valentine. Oblique lyrics range from the florid (“How Near How Far”) to the apocalyptic (the Doors update “Monsoon”) to the defiantly atheistic (“Another Morning Stoner,” among others), but the sonic outstrips the verbal every time. I can’t remember the last time I heard guitars so simultaneously assaultive and beautiful. — CH

Grade: A-

When We Were Small

Rosie Thomas

(Sub Pop)

Rosie Thomas must be completely free of the demons that perpetually chase most melancholic singer-songwriters, because not only is she excising them with her musical craft, she is equally immersed in one of society’s greatest psychological safety valves: stand-up comedy. Yes plaintive, uncomfortably personal folkie by day and commander of the nightclub microphone by night. Or vice versa. I just hope that her humorous material offers a little more breathing room than her songs do. Thomas’ tunes aren’t bad or boring by any means. They’re just hyperdepressing. Like watching Ordinary People three times in a row is hyperdepressing, and that analogy serves us well, because the subject matter on When We Were Small metaphorically draws a line connecting childhood dysfunction to the romantic misunderstandings that punctuate adulthood. Her tiny golden voice bounces around the guitar pluckings and sparse instrumentation, and her lyrics will make any guy feel like shit if he’s been in more than one relationship with a woman. The party doctor will not be prescribing When We Were Small any time soon, nor do I recommend it for anyone planning a one-way trip to a bridge, but it serves as a perfect soundtrack for those lonely pre-dawn hours. — Andrew Earles

Grade: B-

Editorial Opinion

Editorial

Post author By Flyer Staff
Post date March 29, 2002

Celebrity City

It’s official now: The next world heavyweight championship fight will take place in Memphis. Convicted rapist and nationally televised ear-chomper

Mike Tyson will duke it out with England’s Lennox Lewis in a battle at The Pyramid on June 8th — a fact which should give the old Hoagy Carmichael song “Memphis in June” new meaning, especially those lyrics which go, “It’s paradise, honey/Take my advice, honey/Cos there’s nothing like old Memphis in June.” (Of course, one of the two fighters, if not both, is sure to end up — or wake up — feeling somewhat un-paradisiacal.)

We are under no illusions that the signing of the deal will lessen the debate currently raging over whether Memphis should feel proud or embarrassed to have been selected as the venue. It’s a bit like the ongoing NBA arena dustup in that regard. But one thing seems clear: The media spotlight will be shining brightly on our town on June 8th.

And an interesting confluence of events should make Memphis headquarters for even more celebrity sightings. Golfer John Daly’s Make-A-Wish golf tournament is scheduled for the same weekend as the title fight. The tournament always draws numerous Hollywood types to the Grand Casino for a couple days of partying and golfing and charity events. This year, they’d better book their rooms early. It’ll be celebrity overload.

And what’s not to like about that? The fact is, despite the misgivings of many about the Tyson fight, it will be difficult for most of us not to enjoy our moment in the sun. And maybe some of the economic and public-relations afterglow from it will kindle lasting benefits for the city.

It’s Time For Hands-on Again

So far, the Bush administration’s Middle East policy has been dismayingly uneven. The president came into office with a pledge not to emulate Bill Clinton’s micro-management of peace talks between Israel and the Palestinian National Authority.

That changed somewhat in the immediate aftermath of September 11th when George W. Bush, his consciousness evidently raised somewhat by the tragedy, paid public homage to the idea of an eventual Palestinian state, one that would live side by side and in peace with Israel.

The Bush policy took a drastic turn away from that premise, however, in the wake of continued suicide-bomb assaults by Palestinian terrorists, which were matched by high-powered and, in terms of body count, increasingly costly acts of retaliation by Israeli forces. The administration seemed to back off and adopt a laissez-faire attitude toward the carnage.

That seems to have ended now, and the president has once again acknowledged that America has a role to play in making peace between the two warring peoples. The recent dispatch of Ambassador Zinni was one evidence of that, and though administration officials have not yet indicated a willingness to meet with Palestinian National Authority leader Yasir Arafat, they have interceded with the Israeli government to permit Arafat’s departure from virtual house arrest to attend an all-Arab conference.

However this turns out, the United States has involved itself in the region again. There should be no turning back until real progress has been made toward peace.

Film Features Film/TV

Decisions, Decisions

Post author By Flyer Staff
Post date March 29, 2002

American independent filmmaker Henry Jaglom, despite being born in London and

brought up in New York, has been described as a West Coast Woody Allen (I’m

guessing the inferior version, with Albert Brooks as the superior). Prior to

viewing his latest, Festival in Cannes, I’d never managed to see a

Jaglom film (whose titles include Always, Eating, and Babyfever),

and now that I have I can’t help but wonder if Steve Martin’s L.A. Story

was meant to be some sort of parody of (and improvement on) Jaglom’s lazy,

whimsical style.

Festival in Cannes opens with a photo montage of stars interacting at the

famed film festival –including Grace Kelly, Sophia Loren, Orson Welles, and

Robert Mitchum — and was, in fact, filmed in the midst of the 52nd festival in

1999. This veritÇ style evokes the likes of Medium Cool (shot during the

1968 Chicago riots) and Robert Altman’s political series Tanner ’88 (shot

during the 1988 presidential election) as much as the more obvious Altman

Hollywood polemic The Player. This style, along with Jaglom’s status as

a movie-biz social insider, leads to some rather chummy cameos — William

Shatner and Faye Dunaway as themselves, Peter Bogdanovich as a director named

Milo, and was that Sydney Pollack I saw? –that carry none of the bite Altman’s

verisimilitude brought to The Player.

The film concerns two movie deals on a collision course, one an “indie” film

being pitched by American actress and first-time director Alice Palmer (Greta

Scacchi), the other a Tom Hanks vehicle being cobbled together by arrogant

Hollywood producer Rick Yorkin (Ron Silver). Both deals eventually hinge on the

participation of Millie Marguand (Anouk AimÇe, star of Federico Fellini films

such as 8 1/2 and La Dolce Vita), an aging French star who

consults her estranged director husband Viktor (Maximilian Schell, the Austrian

actor who won an Oscar for Judgment at Nuremberg and whose presence here

only adds to the feeling that this film could have been made during the

post-shoot cocktail parties for one of those mid-century international epics).

Most sensible people would think she could do both projects –take the paycheck

with a small role in the Hanks vehicle and follow her artistic impulses with

the vaguely described indie — but this being a film about the movie business,

sensible thought doesn’t prevail. Tax shelters and “windows of opportunity”

complicate the possibility of cooperation.

Unfortunately, whatever observations about the state of the film business or

about the Cannes Festival in particular that Jaglom is trying to communicate

are so light as to be almost non-existent. And eventually these concerns are

winnowed down to three “unexpected” couplings that lead the film down a more

conventional path. About the strongest critique of the festival itself comes

when the camera pans a thoroughfare crowded with huge billboards for dubious

Hollywood product: Pushing Tin, Mystery Men, Never Been Kissed,

Entrapment, etc.

The romance here is agreeably sunny, thanks in large part to the work of Scacchi

and AimÇe, but it is so slight and unexceptional that most viewers will yearn

for more insight into film politics and production — more inside dope or more

interesting ideas. But you won’t get them here. — Chris Herrington

In this sequel, Wesley Snipes returns as the titular half-vampire superhero who

stalks evil with a heavy silver sword and a brutally high kick. A passable

combination of over-the-top gore and martial-arts pyrotechnics, Blade II

trades on the same expected formula of its predecessor. And, like the original Blade,

this feature is initially more watchable than you might think, although the

experience becomes tiring long before the final credits roll.

In this go-round, Snipes is given a new breed of enemy whose ass he must kick.

Through a genetic mutation, a creature has come into being: a mutant vampire

that feeds on both humans and the sharp-toothed bloodsuckers. Described as a

kind of crack-addict vampire, the new breed must feed exponentially more than

regular old vampires. And, more than simply sucking blood, these unfortunate

creatures devour their prey whole in a leech-like manner. And talk about an

appetite. If these fellas don’t feed often enough, they actually begin to gnaw

on themselves. Pasty, bald, clear-skinned predators, the villains look like

skinheads who escaped the set of Night of the Living Dead.

In an unusual turn of events, Blade is approached by the vampire nation so he

can team up with them in order to eradicate the new baddies. The emperor of the

vampires (who is seemingly a second cousin of the emperor from the Star Wars

trilogy, both in appearance and career choice) asks Blade to work with an elite

team of vampires (originally trained to take out Blade) to take down the mutant

breed that is multiplying at an alarming rate. Uneasy about teaming up with his

old enemy, Blade agrees but remains on his guard.

Shot on location in Prague (where the film is set), Blade II maintains a

dingy, eerie look and feel throughout. Wandering through a kind of

post-apocalyptic ghetto, Snipes throws down in a variety of unsightly places —

blood banks that look like crack houses and after-hours clubs that look like

crack houses. And although Blade II boasts more than a fair amount of

well-crafted fight scenes, the mutant vampires Snipes and crew are after can

only be destroyed by sunlight, allowing for more fires than fisticuffs. For

fans of the original and viewers looking for the kind of artistry ignored on WWF

Smackdown, Blade II will probably be two hours well spent. Other

viewers, however, should beware. — Rachel Deahl

Music Music Features

Sound Advice

Post author By
Post date March 29, 2002

I’ll swear on a stack of 45s that “All The Kids Are Right,” by Illinois hard-rock duo Local H, is one of the greatest anthems in rock-and-roll history — sardonic, poignant, hilarious, and driven heavenward by the crunchiest power riffs since Kurt Cobain left this world. Singer-songwriter/guitarist Scott Lucas gazes out at the increasingly bored, ever-shrinking group of kids in the audience at the crappy club he’s playing (apparently they found out that girls show their tits at Limp Bizkit shows and headed for the door) and sings the quintessential hymn to alt-rock’s demise: “You heard that we were great/But now you think we’re lame/Since you saw the show last night/Thought that we would rock/Knock it up a notch/Rockin’ was nowhere in sight/And it’s never good when it goes bad .” As Lucas sang elsewhere on the same album, 1998’s Pack Up the Cats, “I’m in love with rock-and-roll/But that’ll change eventually.”

Well, you can’t metarock forever (though I guess Pavement gave it a pretty good shot), especially not if you want the kids to come back. So Local H is a little less self-referential on their new album, the more earthbound if still quite rousing Here Comes the Zoo, though Lucas does still have at least one more rock-about-rock classic in him. “Rock & Roll Professionals” gives the current generation of play-by-the-rules hard-rock bands everything they deserve, Lucas howling the not-too-bitter truth: “It’s all about the Benjamins/So, come on, let’s hear it for the rock-and-roll!” Elsewhere, the “band” (Lucas joined by new drummer Brian St. Clair, formerly of Triple Fast Action) just rocks, as simply and directly as you could imagine, with whip-smart lyrics jockeying with whiplash riffs. Equal parts post-punk perception and classic-rock power, equal parts Nirvana and Cheap Trick, these guys may be — with apologies to Queens of the Stone Age and System of a Down — the best hard-rock band around right now, not that you’d know it from the Billboard charts. And they’ll be at Newby’s on Sunday, March 31st. — Chris Herrington

At worst they may sound like an unsavory Internet site featuring barnyard animals and bestial acts, at best a run-of-the-mill alt-country act, but Adult Rodeo is neither. Or perhaps they are both. They are an Austin-based hodgepodge of a band that comes off like some less than godly union of Bongwater and Billy Joe Shaver. Big raucous guitars scream over lyrics that, at times, might seem more natural accompanied by crying pedal steel or sawing fiddles. Fun with form abounds. A little reggae crops up here, a little garage psychedelia sneaks in there, and noise is everywhere. Listening to Adult Rodeo is like chewing fruit-striped gum — there’s a different flavor with every bite, which, for folks who like their bands to play one kind of music or another, can be a little disconcerting. Still, the chances are good that if you liked Golden Country Greats, Ween’s perverse interpretation (some might say mockery) of traditional country, you’ll be way into Adult Rodeo. Or, heck, if you like Ween at all. A.R. may not have quite as sick a sense of humor as Gene and Dean, but they share the same sense of fun and foolishness. They’ll play the Hi-Tone Cafe on Tuesday, April 2nd. — Chris Davis

News The Fly-By

FROM THE MAIL ROOM…

Post author By Chris Davis
Post date March 29, 2002

The Fly Team has always loved getting mail, but now we love it even more. In recent months, a fellow named Butcher (if that is his real name), of Mid-South Auto Recovery (if that is his real place of employment), has sent in a series of curious lists for us to ponder. Here s one of them:

Top 10 Cat Names:

Vegas Blue

Moonshine Maybelline

Leroy Sassafrass [sic]

Nutbush Joey

China Royale

Kitty

Mr. Universe

Memphis Strange

Whiskey Nelson

Benson Samone [sic]

We hope this has been helpful for cat owners and enthusiasts, and we can t thank Mr. Butcher (if that is his real name) enough for his submissions. Well, we could, but it s just not our style.

Art Art Feature

Venus Rising

Post author By David Hall
Post date March 29, 2002

Evening At the Improv

I recently found myself engaged in a mild argument following the slide lecture

and informal interview with renowned painter Lisa Yuskavage at the Brooks

Museum. The issue: Yuskavage’s refusal to engage in a discussion of gender

issues raised by the racy content of her paintings.

The artist presented images of work dating from the early ’90s to the present —

heaving bosoms and pursed lips of lounging seductresses cast in a soft-porn

afterglow, which inflamed lust, cynicism, or dry wit from those present. A

moderated interview that was supposed to follow the lecture never got off the

ground. Instead, Yuskavage drifted into a protracted shtick of self-deprecating

banter and intimate disclosures, punctuated by several well-timed gags from

giddy audience members. But for anyone desiring a full-frontal reckoning of her

use of negative stereotypes, the artist dismissed the subject with impunity.

The unapologetic explicitness of Yuskavage’s canvases follows a current in

culture and criticism that invokes the notion of women as libidinous, albeit

sovereign, beings. The Vagina Monologues by Eve Ensler, Tracey Emin’s

stained and disheveled My Bed, or the popular HBO series Sex In the City

present gendered themes which are perhaps antagonistic to patriarchy but are

more confessional than confrontational. Yuskavage’s stereotypical blond

bombshells, sporting baby-doll pouts and tan lines, are portrayed with tender

empathy or, more importantly, in the words of University of Memphis painting

professor Beth Edwards, “without irony.”

“She gets such impish joy from pushing your buttons,” says Darla Linerode-Henson

of Yuskavage, referring to the artist’s painted sexpots gazing banally into the

eyes of the viewer, her eye-popping primary-color schemes, and even the

artist’s public demeanor. Yuskavage gushed about how her “fancy” art dealers,

critics, etc. were obliged by their professions to repeat titles such as The

Asspicker and Motherfucking Foodeater “over and over and over.”

Likewise, she projected a Vermeer alongside pages from a ’70s-era Penthouse

to mumbles and nervous giggles, asking viewers to recognize the “Dutch light”

in Bob Guccione’s cheesecake photos.

Of course, subversive behavior is infectious, and one fellow, sensing slackened

mores, caught the artist off-guard with the compliment “Your tits have gotten a

lot better over the years.” Then a quavering voice behind me trumped that, to

riotous laughter, with “When you’re older, do you think you will still paint

such perfect breasts?” Such was the tenor of the evening.

But a young woman’s inquiry regarding pornography received a terse “I smell

theory in that question” from Yuskavage consistent with her attitude of leaving

ideology to the critics and not being pigeonholed by gender-rooted

interpretations of her provocative imagery. And her position is fundamentally

legitimate, barring one objection. The artist, brought to Memphis by the U of M

art department with the generous aid of Delta Axis’ Dr. James Patterson, asked

as a condition of her visit that Dr. Katy Siegel accompany her to conduct the

interview. Siegel, former faculty member at U of M, critic, and contributing

editor of Artforum, is one of Yuskavage’s ideological proponents and

wrote the essay “Local Color” for the artist’s monograph, which was

published concurrent with her retrospective at the Institute of Contemporary

Art in Philadelphia last year. For many, by not addressing the question she

dared the audience to pose (“Why are you so obnoxious?”) while courting her

critic, Yuskavage seemed to be denying the elephant in the room.

Gender-o-rama

Among the many attending the floor act at the Brooks was Allana Clarke, local

curator of “Venus Envy,” an event opening March 30th in both Memphis and St.

Louis featuring visual art and performance created exclusively by women. The

annual “celebration” began in 1999 in St Louis with a conviction that “women

are primarily responsible for perpetuating culture and strengthening the arts

in our world,” says “V.E.” founder and chairwoman Mallarie Zimmer. Memphis is

the first satellite city to observe the event, and organizers plan to expand

into other metropolises in the future. “V.E.” in Memphis promises to be a

treat, given the impressive lineup: Elizabeth Alley, Danita Beck, Brenda Fisk,

Jean Flint, Anastasia Laurenzi, the aforementioned Linerode-Henson, Carol

Harding McTyre, Annabelle Meacham, Leslie Snoke, Mel Spillman, Amanda Wood, and

Nanci Zimmer.

Clarke assures that, despite the “mature audiences” disclaimer in the

literature, the art in “V.E.” is “not as provocative as Yuskavage’s body of

work.” However, with the hoopla over the public art at the entrance to the new

library and the Memphis-Germantown Art League’s ridiculous hand-wringing over a

nude, Clarke, a recent graduate of Rhodes College, wouldn’t be surprised if

some were “offended by the tampon cross or bra-wearing feline.”

Linerode-Henson’s Emerge, exhibited at U of M’s juried student exhibit

earlier this year, is an anachronistic choice for the gender-conscious

theme: a writhing length of articulated pipe, tipped by an orange glass bulb,

dangling flaccidly from the wall.

Otherwise, says Zimmer, “V.E.” doesn’t have any axes to grind, insisting that

the enterprise cannot be reduced to any “political, religious, or sexual [huh?]

identity.” Clarke adds, “Some of the work has strong feminine content, some

work could be interpreted as sexual, and other pieces do not seem to relate to

women at all, except that a woman produced them.”

Such broad criteria beg the question: Does “Venus Envy” designate a theme so

ubiquitous as to dilute any urgency that the provocative moniker implies? Go

find out for yourself.

“Venus Envy,” 960 S. Cooper (at the corner of Cooper and Young), 7-9 p.m.

Saturday, March 30th.

Sports Sports Feature

City Sports

Post author By
Post date March 29, 2002

Growing Up Stro’

Does Stromile Swift have a future with the Grizzlies?

By Chris Przybyszewski

Part of the fun of having an NBA franchise in town is you can even enjoy the off-season, which includes the draft lottery and possible trades. The Grizzlies will most certainly be a part (again) of the lottery, the high-stakes poker game that is finding new talent. The Grizzlies obviously won big with last year’s wheeling and dealing, which brought forwards Pau Gasol and Shane Battier to Memphis.

And now all the talk begins again. Because, while majority owner Michael Heisley has stated publicly that certain unnamed players are untouchable, GM Billy Knight has said and demonstrated that no Grizzlies player carries that status. Just ask Sacramento’s Mike Bibby or Atlanta’s Shareef Abdur-Rahim, each of whom was traded last off-season.

One of the players, if not the player, on everyone’s list of theoretical trade-bait is forward Stromile Swift. The Grizzlies picked up Swift from LSU as the second overall pick of the 2000 draft. Since then, Swift has put together uninspiring career averages of 7.5 ppg and 4.6 rpg. And these numbers are that good only on the strength of Swift’s performance this season (11.2 ppg, 6 rpg).

So why would anyone want him? First, Swift is young. If he’d stayed at LSU, he would be graduating this May. Coaches or GMs around the league might imagine they have the formula to develop Swift’s enormous potential.

But do the Grizzlies actually want to trade Swift? He’s only a second-year pro, and he still carries more inherent if unrealized talent than 85 percent of the players in the league. Also, Swift’s progress is necessarily and unfairly compared to that of his rookie teammates Gasol and Battier, who have each had profoundly successful rookie campaigns.

Grizzlies head coach Sidney Lowe says he is happy with Swift’s progress. “I think at one point Stro’ was playing really well,” he says. “He was leading [the league] in points scored off the bench. But then he started to get some injuries and he wasn’t playing as well. He wasn’t running the floor.”

Lowe is quick to point out Swift’s large improvement from last year. “He’s much improved,” Lowe says. “The thing with Stro’ is that we have to realize he would be a senior in college this year. That’s a young man growing up in a man’s world. I think he’s made great progress. I think he’s where we want him to be. Obviously, you want to see him improve in some areas a little quicker. He’s such a laid-back kid that you look for some type of emotion in there to get him going. I think he’s on track to be a very good player in this league.”

According to veteran forward Grant Long — one of Swift’s many NBA mentors — time plays a key role. “I think he’s coming along slowly, but he’s definitely improving,” Long says. “I think the coaching staff took a look at him and said we want to bring him along a little more slowly than we did last year. Last year, he was thrown out there so we could see what he had. As long as he gives the effort, he will be fine, but he has made progress.”

Going slow, working hard, making progress. There’s nothing wrong with any of that. And Swift’s comments are in line with Lowe’s and Long’s. “I haven’t been playing as well as I know I can,” he says. “I’ve been in kind of a slump. I know I haven’t been scoring a lot. I just try to go out with some energy, get rebounds, block shots, things like that. I’m just trying to do the things I can until I get back in my rhythm.”

“I wanted to be a better player than I was last year,” he adds. “That was my only goal, to be a better player than I was last year.”

Most super-rookies who go high in the draft but lack age and experience take at least three years to mature. Good examples include Orlando’s Tracy McGrady and Minnesota’s Kevin Garnett. The Grizzlies need to be open to deals, but trading Swift negates two years’ patience and work. Stromile still carries the label of having an “upside” and hasn’t proven a bust. Yet.

One More, ‘Juanny

The case for Dajuan Wagner staying in school for another season.

By Frank Murtaugh

Unless his coach talks him out of it, there appears to be a reasonable chance Dajuan Wagner will return for his sophomore year at the University of Memphis. The freshman star has hinted that he’s leaning toward a return, which would surprise more than a few members of Tiger Nation. From the day Wagner announced he was coming to the U of M, the assumption was made in many circles that he would be “one and done.” To expect four years from a player of his caliber — with the fame and fortune of the NBA a decision away — would simply be starry-eyed naivete.

Here’s hoping the kid stays. And I’ll try and avoid preaching the gospel of education, campus life, and maturation that makes four years of college among the best of an individual’s life. We’ll stick to basketball. Dajuan Wagner should keep that Tigers jersey on another year because, simply put, he’s an example of what a great college player can be.

Forget all the scoring for a moment. We knew he’d wear out the twine from the get-go. Average more than 40 points in high school (and drop in 100 points in one game), and there’s no doubting your ability to score. But, over the course of this prodigy’s freshman campaign, we’ve seen elements too often lacking in players with merely a fraction of Wagner’s skills.

The first half of Memphis’ second-round NIT battle with BYU seemed to be a 20-minute Dajuan Wagner promo reel for why the college game so desperately needs him. He scored 15 points, hitting 6 of 10 shots (including 3 of 4 from beyond the arc). But, again, the scoring is incidental here. This 19-year-old honorable mention All-American did things that won’t be found in the box score, things that may go unnoticed by the casual fan.

First, Wagner looks his coach in the eye when he’s being directed during play stoppages, not always easy when your boss is John Calipari. Which means he pays attention, understands there are elements of the game still to be learned. At this point in his hoop development, it’s Wagner’s mind that could further separate him from his peers and competition.

Surprisingly for someone of his talent, Wagner is not a flashy player. Try and count the behind-the-back dribbles or no-look passes. You won’t see them from Wagner. He’s the rare exceptionally skilled, fundamentally sound college player.

And he hustles. Wagner is nothing if not a competitor. If only Kelly Wise’s brow would furrow the way Wagner’s does when a game gets intense. It’s rather Jordan-ish (perhaps hating to lose more than enjoying victory?). Late in the win over BYU, as the outcome became clear, Wagner pumped his fist on a made free throw by one of his teammates. It was conspicuous because Wagner was alone at the defensive end of the floor and beautiful because it showed how much he cared. Sound simple? It’s rare these days.

There is no wasted energy to Wagner’s game. During pre-game introductions, as Survivor’s “Eye of the Tiger” shakes The Pyramid, players leap to chest-bump, and fans go bonkers — Wagner walks to midcourt when his name is announced. His energy reserve is better tapped in the aggressive lane penetration that will someday make him a pro star. He’s got to be the most determined inside scorer of his size this side of Allen Iverson.

Calipari is intent on measuring Wagner’s position in the June draft before advising him to stay or go. Perhaps his friends and teammates can interject if Wagner does start leaning toward NBA life. They might begin by pointing out how good college basketball has been for him. They might finish by letting him know just how good he’s been for college basketball.

The Score

NOTABLE:

Bobble mania. Current prices on eBay for Grizzlies bobbleheads: Shane Battier — $58; Jason Williams — $51; Pau Gasol — $49.95. For perspective, hockey great Wayne Gretzky’s bobblehead currently sells for $300.

The Grizzlies’ win over the Portland Trailblazers on Monday night marked two franchise milestones: biggest comeback (25 points) in Grizzlies history; and, at 3-12, the team has tied the franchise’s best record for March.

QUOTABLE:

“We had a game plan that I thought was great. It was a game plan that called for us to really communicate and switch and talk with each other. Something we haven’t done in two years here. Well, what it did was put us on our heels.” — U of M basketball coach John Calipari on his team’s lack of team play in the first half against Tennessee Tech during the third-round NIT game. The Tigers won, 79-73.

“You can’t teach height.” — Celtics forward Antoine Walker, praising Memphis Grizzlies forward Pau Gasol.

Opinion

Who’s In Charge?

Post author By John Branston
Post date March 29, 2002

The question of who’s in charge of the proposed NBA arena became even more clouded this week as Don Smith resigned as executive director of the New Memphis Arena Public Building Authority (PBA).

Smith’s resignation came four days after the PBA chose a Minneapolis-based construction firm, M.A. Mortenson Co., as lead contractor for the $250 million project. Attention has now shifted to the specifics of subcontractors, the cost of benefits packages for workers, and minority participation.

“I cannot in good conscience continue in this capacity for one reason only,” Smith said in a statement he faxed to PBA chairman Arnold Perl. “I do not believe it is in the best interest of the citizens of Memphis and Shelby County to build the NBA Grizzlies Arena under the current arrangements and practices.”

The Shelby County Commission voted 7-6 Monday in favor of using non-union as well as union labor on the project. The resolution is nonbinding on the PBA but could foretell more problems next month when the commission and Memphis City Council vote on approving bonds to finance the arena project.

Close, surprising votes have been the order of the day for the proposed arena. The PBA also divided last week by a single vote, 6-5, in opposing a Memphis-based partnership — Beers Flintco Bricks — as lead contractor. And the 8-3 vote in favor of Mortenson came only hours after the firm failed to get a seconding motion of support.

All of this activity sets up an endgame in which the city council could decide the fate of the project in April. “The council has positioned itself as the final decision-maker on this thing,” said Councilman Tom Marshall, who has been working behind the scenes with the PBA.

Marshall interpreted Monday’s commission meeting as a message that the county commission has the votes to head off a union-led project-labor agreement. He said a joint session on or around April 8th is “quite possible.”

The issue is not simply the role of union labor. It also consists of cost controls and the extent to which minorities will participate in the construction. Mortenson senior vice-president John Wood told the PBA he put up $500,000 of his fee to guarantee compliance with minority-hiring guidelines, but politicians want more specific assurances.

“Mortenson is going to have an uphill battle with the council until they start naming the names of their subcontractors,” said Marshall. “The participants should be disclosed. You’ve got to disclose them and you’ve got to mobilize them.”

City council chairman Rickey Peete was guarded in his comments after the PBA chose Mortenson last week. “[The council has] never been one-contractor specific,” he said. “Mortenson has as good a chance as anybody.”

The overriding question of who’s in charge has hung over the project since it was announced a year ago. The powers that be include: the Memphis Grizzlies (operating as a business entity called Hoops); the Memphis ownership group which owns 30 percent of the team but commands considerably more respect and influence thanks to the credibility of AutoZone founder Pitt Hyde; the city and county mayors; the Tennessee General Assembly, represented on the PBA by state Sen. John Ford; the city council and county commission; and the PBA.

One of the earliest indications of dissension came last summer when the PBA chose Smith as executive director instead of Mike Ritz, favored by the mayors. Smith sealed his fate when he publicly criticized what he sees as inordinate influence by the Grizzlies.

The choice of Beers Flintco Bricks as pre-construction manager also did not sit well with the mayors. Last week, county mayoral assistant Tom Jones said Beers had not performed well, but Ford took strong exception, calling the comments “totally out of order and inaccurate and made solely for the purpose to influence in the wrong direction.”

The role of the PBA has also been an issue. Arnold Perl, chairman of the PBA, believes it was created by the city and county and “if we’re not going to accept this assignment then let this body go away right now.”

Ford, who helped draft the legislation that created the PBA, insists it is in charge. “This PBA created by statute can’t be disbanded by the city or county,” he told fellow members of the authority last week. “If the Public Building Authority goes away, you cannot spend a dime.”

Hoops, represented by attorney Stan Meadows, favored Mortenson as lead contractor. Meadows seems willing to play hardball if it comes to that. He reminded the PBA last week that the Grizzlies have “approval rights” over the lead contractor.

“We have to pay all arena losses,” he said. “Last June, we negotiated a detailed project agreement and lease. We would not have moved here without that.”

Asked what it was like dealing with two local governments, Meadows told me it is actually more like four governments, given the independence of the council and commission. Even after the PBA awarded Mortenson the job, Meadows remained wary that labor agreements could put the project over budget and jeopardize its future.

After last Friday’s morning session of the PBA construction committee failed to agree on a consensus choice, I asked Hyde if this is how business gets done in the corporate world.

“We’d go out of business,” he said with a laugh.

We Recommend We Recommend

What Women REALLY REALLY Want

Post author By Chris Davis
Post date March 29, 2002

I had long suspected that I was much smarter than all of you other men oust there, and this weekend’s excursion to the Southern Women’s Show, an annual trade show aimed almost exclusively at women, only exacerbated my superiority complex. There wasn’t another man as far as the eye could see. That is, there wasn’t another man who wasn’t confined to a booth eternally pitching some new miracle mop or super-cleanser. The Cook Convention Center, crammed with every size, shape, age, and flavor of womaninity, was a veritable sea of excitement and estrogen. And why wouldn’t it have been so? The countless businesses assembled there to display their wares had invested untold fortunes to make sure their products had chick appeal. They all had experts, top-dollar executives whose sole raison d’être is to plumb the depths of the feminine psyche in order to develop products and improve services that the ladies, the luscious ladies with their big eyes and beautiful minds, just can’t seem to live without. Why shouldn’t I avail myself of all this research and planning in order to crack the feminine mystique, discover what women secretly desire, and share my vast knowledge with my fellow men so that they too can be sexy like me and have any woman, any place, any time? What follows is a carefully compiled list based on observations from the Southern Women’s Show.

Women want fine tools akin to their husbands’ Craftsmen tools, not pathetic “Crapsman” tools. They want items, especially garden hoses, that always re-coil and self-drain. They want paintings of two nude children wandering into the ocean with titles like Two Bums on the Beach. Ladies are drawn to aquarium-like furniture (tables especially) that are filled with fake lilies and bubbling water. They want weaves and extensions that look just like real human hair. They want to go to Paris or at least to places that have been painted to remind them of Paris. Women want scarves, full-body massages, and suntans that come from a bottle. Free pork rinds and jewelry, jewelry, jewelry. They want a cold-wax hair-remover, free cosmetic consultations, and Persian rugs. Women want to drive the new Infiniti, a car that knows the road better than you do and is invisible to the wind. They are prone to buying garlands made of dried fruit and vegetable matter. They are interested in colognes that smell just like other colognes but at half the price. Women like value. Women want hot disco nights filled with hot disco songs like “You Can Ring My Bell” by Anita Ward, underwear in shades of black, beige, white, and occasionally purple as well as soft, cuddly bedtime things and more jewelry. They want hats and bags made of hemp or hemp-like substances and nutrition for their hair. Women want real goatskin rugs for under $30, jewelry cleaners, and pimple products that make you say, “Oh, baby, that’s nice.” Women want a powerful garden pruner called the Lopper. (Their husbands and boyfriends do not want them to have this particular product.) Ladies want to dance with Fred Astaire or with a man who dances like Fred Astaire. They want certain anatomical features altered with collagen, and they like lots of New Age music. Women want dresses that look like they have been stitched together from pieces of old quilts and baby clothes that are so cute only a baby could wear them. Women want a variety of fine, flavored cooking oils in wine bottles and scented products for the bath. Women want pillows that will massage their backs almost as much as they want certified organic milled flaxseed and wheat germ. They want to race for a cure to breast cancer and get rid of their glasses through the miracle of laser eye surgery. Women want straight spines and are willing to go to a chiropractor to get straight spines. Based on the appearance of one mannequin, women want to be wrapped in Ace bandages so they look like a mummy and wear their lingerie on the outside while carrying an Easter basket. Women want player pianos and cookbooks that teach them how to cook Tennessee- and Mississippi-style. Women want fudge in a variety of colors and shapes, bunnies, for instance, as well as scarves made from grass-like materials, paperback copies of The Lord of the Rings, and up to 3,500 monthly bonus minutes. Women want Bibles and Bible-related videotapes such as The Story Behind the Cross starring Judge Reinhold and children’s books about angels and where angels go to school. Women want to be a pampered chef, own ceramic, basketball-shaped planters, and possess pretty, soft-focus pictures of their children frolicking in what appears to be the English countryside. They want to see fashion shows for their pets and to wear Capri pants from Target. Women want prepaid legal services making equal justice under the law a reality and full-sized statues of Elvis and the Blues Brothers. They want a big gun-toting man who won’t talk back because he is made of plaster. They want to stand in line for up to an hour for the opportunity to spin a wheel to win a four-ounce sample of rice. Women want to register to win. And they really want to win. Women want Glory (Glory turnip greens, that is), burgers that don’t have meat in them, and coffee that tastes like coconut cream pie. Women want to be fed bite-sized food samples on toothpicks and sing karaoke to all the hits on KIX 106. They want ferrets and other alternative pets or, at the very least, a stuffed bunny. They want to travel Arkansas and have furniture and clothing made with animal prints as well as colorful artificial flowers that look just like real flowers and see Barry Manilow on March 31st. They want to register to win a chance to see Barry Manilow on March 31st. But, most of all, women want the Amazing Mr. Sticky, a lint-remover with a telescoping handle. Women want things that are patriotic and support the Arkansas Razorbacks. Women, in short, want it all.

Now, my fellow men, as you go about having your weekend fun armed with all this newfound knowledge, remember what we all learned from reading Spider-Man: With great power comes great responsibility. Go get ’em, tigers.