Month: June 2002

Categories
Music Music Features

Once and Again

What do you do at 32 when you’ve already starred in blockbuster movies, graced the cover of every teen magazine, had your own 900 number, and now find yourself relegated to the status of campy guilty pleasure? Well, Mary Kate and Ashley, take note — Corey Feldman decided to try music.

The movie-star-turned-musician will be playing the Hi-Tone on Sunday, June 9th, as one of the first stops on a tour to promote his latest album, Former Child Actor. The title song debuted on radio stations nationwide last Friday, and Feldman seems ready and eager to embrace his new role.

“Basically, with this album, I thought, Well, now that I’ve done my artistic endeavor with the last album, I can totally sell out with this one and utilize my labels and make them work for me instead of against me,” Feldman jokes. “So here I’m just putting everything out front. I was like, What’s the most exploitative fucking title I can come up with? And so the song and the album became ‘Former Child Actor.'”

Feldman describes his sound as a cross between the Red Hot Chili Peppers, No Doubt, and Eminem but with a heavy, straightforward rock-and-roll edge. And with this new album, he’s got fresh goals for himself as a musician and as an actor: “On a musical level, I hope this album sells 100,000 copies. On the film side, I’d like to continue doing great films, or return to doing great films, however you want to perceive it.”

Feldman says Former Child Actor is about categorizing. “My label is ‘former child actor.’ That’s the label that’s been put on me,” says Feldman. “That’s the box I’ve been placed in, but the song still works for everyone because everyone has a label that’s been placed on them.”

After hitting movie stardom young with roles in The Bad News Bears, Goonies, Stand By Me, The Lost Boys, Dream a Little Dream, License to Drive, and other 1980s favorites, Feldman found himself largely disregarded as an adult. Along with Corey Haim, Feldman epitomized mid-’80s film for those just slightly younger than the notorious Brat Pack, and it’s a past he’s had a hard time shaking. “That label has certainly held me back in many areas of my life. I believe I have a lot more depth than that, folks. I’m not just some teen-schlock guy who happened to be popular during the ’80s and has nothing to say anymore and just smiles and looks good for the camera.”

He’s all too aware that society — Hollywood in particular — has a short attention span when it comes to stars. Years ago, Feldman found himself rather cruelly tossed aside as early ’90s rebellion made a mockery of all things ’80s. After bouts with drug abuse, several arrests, and a divorce, a now 12-years sober Feldman has a perspective on society most people will never share: “Pop culture tends to brush people under the carpet when it gets bored with them. You take the Gary Colemans of the world who are so willing to kind of quietly sit there and allow the world to piss on them. I am not one of those, and I will not be one of those. I’m not going to be one of those guys who is easily swept under the carpet.”

But fighting the public desire to marginalize him has occupied much of Feldman’s time and thoughts. He becomes ruffled when questions turn to his earlier work and says he wants to be known for what he is doing now, not the movies he made as a child and teenager. “It drives me crazy when people ask me questions about Corey Haim. I get those questions all the time. It’s the same mundane questions: ‘What’s the Goonies sequel going to be about?’ or ‘Are you still friends with Corey Haim?’ or ‘What was it like talking with Michael Jackson?’ — just these retarded questions,” says Feldman. “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t frown on fans who appreciate the work I did then, but it’s time to grow. We all do what we do when we’re little, and then we grow up and we try to do something a little more important, and that’s where I am now.”

With that in mind, Feldman says he is more particular these days about the types of films he agrees to do. “The only thing that I’ve done in the past year, filmwise,” he says, “is a film called Bikini Bandits Go To Hell. I play myself making fun of myself. If you’re all going to make jokes, then I’ll make them too. If I have to be the world’s clown, then I’ll do it. But have a good laugh, and then let’s move on to what’s next, to something more important.”

And that seems to be what he’s planning to do Sunday at the Hi-Tone. As much as some of us want to hang on to that kid from Goonies, he’s all grown up now.

Categories
Music Record Reviews

Short Cuts

Universal Truths and Cycles, Guided By Voices (Matador)

In the midst of the musically crippled 1980s, Bob Pollard and Guided By Voices, armed only with an unshakable faith in John Lennon, the potent jargon of war, and an abiding love of flying machines, got stewed as bats and sloppily set about the task of remapping the rock-and-roll genome. Obsessively mixing and matching so many disparate sonic elements, GBV developed a brand of arena-ready bubblegum that can only be described as short-form prog. The ease with which GBV tossed off complex two-minute anthems (not to mention their heroic onstage drinking) made them the darlings of true punks and frat boys alike, and Pollard gave voice to this odd appeal in “Quality of Armor,” a Beatles-flavored beauty from Propeller. “The worst offense is intelligence,” Pollard wailed. “The best defense is belligerence.” Lyrically speaking, songs like “Game of Pricks” from Alien Lanes rivaled Dylan at his finest, while tunes like “Radio Show (Trust the Wizard)” managed to both poke fun at and pay homage to drive-time radio and its requisite doses of Pink Floyd and Rush.

But beginning with Under the Bushes Under the Stars, it started to look like the absurdly prolific Pollard had run out of things to say, and keeper singles like Do the Collapse‘s wickedly catchy “Teenage F.B.I.” aside, they were never able to put together an album as complete and cohesive as Bee Thousand. Last year’s critically lauded Isolation Drills seemed neither intelligent nor belligerent. In fact, Pollard’s lyrics had become decidedly smug. GBV’s latest offering, Universal Truths and Cycles, is the closest the steadily shifting lineup of musicians has come to making a front-to-back brilliant LP in a long time. It’s almost like a guided tour through the group’s discography, beginning with Devil Between My Toes and ending somewhere around Mag Earwig. As usual, this disc finds Pollard sloshed and staring at the stars, and, thanks to the mad guitar skills of Doug Gillard, it has all the monstrous hooks and civilized aggression these self-proclaimed soft-rock renegades are famous for.

Frequent GBV flyers, however, will recognize recycled lyrical material that never quite measures up to vintage Pollard. Occasionally, his lyrics even lapse into the kind of accidental self-parody only Lou Reed can rival. On the other hand, rockers like the disc’s first single, “Everywhere With Helicopter,” manage to sound fresh in spite of the tried-and-true Pollardisms. “Cheyenne” comes on strong with the same bouncy pop that fueled earlier hits like “The Closer You Are (the Quicker It Hits You)” but without the ominous silliness that made that song great. In fact, all the quirkiness that made songs like “My Valuable Hunting Knife” stick in your head has been excised, making the whole affair duller than it could be and more than a little self-important. Maybe it’s finally time for Pollard, well into his 40s, to slow down just a little bit, regroup, and rediscover the wonders of robots, UFOs, and self-inflicted aerial nostalgia. Universal Truths and Cycles would be a career record for most bands, but given the legacy of GBV, it’s pretty average stuff, and maybe not even that.

— Chris Davis

Grade: B

Guided By Voices will be at the Young Avenue Deli Friday, June 7th, with My Morning Jacket and the 45’s.

Easy Now, Jeb Loy Nichols (Rykodisc Records)

A Missouri native who’s made his home in the U.K. since 1983, Jeb Loy Nichols originally worked as a designer and then fell in with the London reggae scene. His cohorts introduced him to the joys of dub and reggae, and he in turn introduced them to George Jones and Lefty Frizzell. In the ’90s, he led the politico-folksy reggae band Fellow Travelers, described by Spin as “the lonesome children of Merle, Marley, and Marx.” On his first two critically acclaimed solo outings, he swirled country, R&B, and Jamaican influences into the purest pop songs that side of the Atlantic. On this, his third release, he steps back from the country/reggae hybrid he’s renowned for to make some sweet soul music that is mellowness personified. On Easy Now, Nichols croons soul and R&B like the masters, channeling Nat King Cole, Marvin Gaye, and Hank Williams Sr. in his reedy, self-assured manner. Like Terence Trent D’Arby, another expatriate American who found his musical fortune in Europe, Nichols has the ease and confidence that make it all seem effortless. He’s a natural. Musically, too, this album reminds me of D’Arby on certain tracks in which funk melds with a soulful backbeat in an almost hypnotic ambience.

Nichols has an urban, thinking man’s J.J. Cale groove, adding subtle country and Caribbean touches to this soulful music, which makes it irresistible. (The pure country-pop of the opening track is as luscious and effervescent as strawberry wine.) Barefoot music par excellence, Easy Now gets my vote for the best laid-back listening for summertime 2002. — Lisa Lumb

Grade: A-

The Rough Guide To Bollywood, Various Artists (World Music Network)

The Very Best Bollywood Songs II, Various Artists (Outcaste)

The most outré sonic adventure wouldn’t make the composers of Indian film music blink. Churning out songs for the hundreds of musicals that appear every year, these music teams run through more styles per minute than even the headiest mixmaster, so you might want to sample this pair of compilations selectively: The stuff collected herein can make even jaded eardrums do backflips.

The Very Best Bollywood Songs II, with selections ranging from 1949 to the present, is wilder than the Rough Guide collection, with bushy-tailed beats and wigged-out strings springing from every crevice. On “Zindagi Ek Safar,” baritone Kishore Kumar even yodels. The Rough Guide To Bollywood is neater both sonically (fewer violin sections) and organizationally (it begins in the ’70s and is ordered chronologically). It’s also more tuneful: You’d likely find yourself walking around all day humming, say, Asha Bhonsle’s “Piya Tu Ab To Aaja” if it weren’t followed by Bhonsle and Kishore Kumar’s equally catchy “Pyar Diwana Hota Hai.” Both discs peak with the same song, “Yeh Dosti Hum Nahin.” This theme, from 1975’s Sholay, is a sound clash between corn-fed Oklahoma! strings, Ma-and-Pa-Kettle-style banjo-plucking, and a freaked-out synthesizer.

Two testaments to crass commercialization at its most delicious. — Michaelangelo Matos

Grades: B+ (both albums)

Tangent 2002: Disco Nouveau, Various Artists (Ghostly International)

Hey, are you all right? Gosh, that was a nasty spill you took. Really looked like it hurt. Here, let me help you up. Say, what is that you tripped over, anyway? Oh, Jesus — not another new electro compilation! I’m so sorry about that. You’ve really got to keep your eye out for those suckers, you know? They’re everywhere.

So it’s nice to find one that isn’t a mere rehash of the same handful of songs and/or artists à la the comps that have become as ubiquitous in hipster record stores as a Now disc in a Sam Goody. Tangent 2002: Disco Nouveau is a poppy, song-oriented affair, and its artists seem to regard electro with a sense of romance rather than as the hot and sleazy one-night-stand material of most dance-floor-oriented comps. Adult’s “Night Life” conveys both the giddiness of clubbing and a tongue-in-cheek distance from it, as do tracks from Susumu Yokota and Lowfish.

And “Make Me,” by veteran electro revivalists DMX Krew featuring Tracy, is great pop trash like it oughta be, the Kylie Minogue record you only wish she’d made with Stock/Aitken/Waterman. It might never get on the radio, but don’t be surprised if you find yourself falling for — or over — it anyway. — MM

Grade: B+

Categories
News The Fly-By

What’s In Store

Have you noticed all the out-of-state license plates? Missouri, Illinois, Indiana, Wisconsin. And just try finding an available hotel room.

Memphis has been invaded.

But not just by the celebrities and boxing fans who’ve crowded in for the Tyson-Lewis fight. More than 700 Schnuck Markets, Inc., employees — who are occupying at least 300 of those hotel rooms — have come to transform Seessel’s into Schnucks in less than 72 hours.

“We’re already changing the economy here,” said Randy D. Wedel, Schnucks’ senior vice president of marketing and merchandise, with a wink.

Schnucks opened its doors in the former Seessel’s locations on Wednesday, June 5th, at 9 a.m. Seessel’s closed its doors on June 2nd at noon. The Seessel’s grocery store tradition ends after almost one-and-a-half centuries.

In the end, you could get a pound of Angus tenderloin for $3.99 instead of $16.99 and half a gallon of “not from concentrate” juice for $1, marked down from $3.69 — everything was reduced for “quick sale.” But if you expected tears to roll and Seessel’s customers to beg for the doors to stay open, it didn’t happen. The last hours of Seessel’s being Seessel’s were surprisingly unspectacular:

11 a.m. Only a dozen or so cars are in the parking lot of the Midtown store on Union Avenue. It is calm and quiet inside, with more burgundy-shirted Seessel’s employees running around than shoppers pushing blue carts.

11:30 a.m. At the Truse Parkway store — across Poplar from Clark Tower — is the same emptiness. Outside and inside. The produce is gone, no fresh bread, no more “quick fixin’ ideas” for dinner, no weekend grocery-shopping madness. Customers search the store for reduced items and stroll from aisle to aisle. “Groovin’ on a Sunday afternoon,” sing the Young Rascals from the store’s speakers.

11:50 a.m. In the Truse store, the only check-out counter that remains open is the express line: 15 items or less.

“Attention, Seessel’s shoppers. We’ll close in approximately five minutes. Come back and see us when we reopen on Wednesday at 9 a.m. as Schnucks. Thank you for shopping at Seessel’s.” One more frozen pizza goes through the scanner.

Noon. The cashier looks around and asks, “Is that it?” She answers her own question, “I don’t know,” and shrugs. Someone might be hiding in the bathroom. No, all clear. That’s it. The doors are closed. Goodbye.

12:05 p.m. It isn’t Schnucks yet. First, Seessel’s employees have to count whatever is left in the store, and Seessel’s doesn’t officially become Schnucks until midnight. But the transformation begins when a few people begin to show up at the closed doors. A woman in despair: “Where can I now get fresh produce around here?” A man in need of medicine: “Is the Perkins [Road] store still open?” No, sir. Seessel’s has closed its doors. Come back and see us when we reopen on Wednesday, June 5th, at 9 a.m. as Schnucks.

The large rectangular Seessel’s sign ruling over the parking lot gets divested first.

Midnight. Why are all these people waiting in front of the store? The parking lot at the Truse store is packed. Same thing at the Perkins and the Union stores. It’s the “Schnuck Markets Mid-South Retagging Project.” There are at least five people in every aisle, trying to figure out where to put the Schnucks price tags. Seessel’s tags were lemon yellow and midnight blue; Schnucks tags are baby-girl pink. Sometimes they don’t fit where they’re supposed to. The ends are sticking out, but they remain in place.

It’s the first shift for Schnucks’ midnight workers from Missouri, Illinois, Indiana, and Wisconsin. But, really, for the next 60 hours or so, there won’t be a regular shift. “They’re here until the job is done,” said Larry Meggio, Schnucks’ director of marketing. Restocking, redecorating, rearranging — Seessel’s has to be transformed, and it has to be transformed fast.

12:30 a.m. At the Union store. What was Seessel’s not even 12 hours ago is already Schnucks. That’s what the large sign above the entrance says. The letters are red and streamlined, not burgundy and curvy like Seessel’s.

Where is the old Seessel’s sign? For now, it rests at the local sign company that removed it. But owner Craig Schnuck said he’d like to preserve it in one of the local museums. It’s a big sign, and space seems to be a problem, at least for the Pink Palace Museum, the only place that’s been contacted so far.

It’s past midnight on Sunday, June 2nd. Seessel’s is Schnucks. It’s official. Besides the new name and the new logo, what will actually be different on Wednesday, June 5th, at 9 a.m. when the Schnucks stores open?

Memphian Marie Sheldon has shopped at Schnucks stores in St. Louis several times, and she has the answer.

“Cinnamon ice cream.”

Categories
Politics Politics Beat Blog

Politics

Fathers and Sons

As the twigs are bent, so will they grow — sometimes in unexpected directions.

by JACKSON BAKER

The sons of some famous political fathers are making news — or attempting to — in their own right. Rick Rout, the son of outgoing Shelby County mayor Jim Rout, is, as of now, the only candidate who has declared for the chairmanship of the county Republican Party to succeed current chairman Alan Crone in intraparty balloting next year. Rout has had business cards printed proclaiming his interest.

And Sir Isaac Ford, the youngest son of former 9th District congressman Harold Ford Sr. and brother of current U.S. Rep. Harold Ford Jr., seems determined to remind voters of his presence on the August 1st countywide ballot as an independent candidate for Shelby County mayor.

On his own initiative, said a spokesman, young Ford recently solicited posters on the theme of how to improve education from students at the 64 city schools found to be substandard in recent state testing. And, the spokesman said, he was scheduled to honor some 85 entrants at a banquet at Jillian’s.

Other members of the Ford family, including the former congressman, are still presumed to be backing the mayoral candidacy of Democratic nominee AC Wharton, who faces a well-financed challenge from Republican nominee George Flinn, an independently wealthy doctor and broadcast magnate whose main concern right now is bringing aboard the partisans of defeated mayoral rival Larry Scroggs.

If Isaac Ford’s independent candidacy, which has attracted minimal attention so far, gets any traction, it may have to be factored into the total picture too.

Young Ford has set forth his mayoral program in a series of position papers, some of which espouse ideas that are, to say the least, potentially controversial. One such proposes that African Americans in the county should receive “billions of dollars worth of local bonds, federal money, state money, and local big businesses’ money” as “reparations” for slavery.

· Meanwhile, state Senator John Ford (D-District 29, Memphis) professes to be unconcerned about his Democratic primary challenger, civil rights attorney Richard Fields, who has indicated he will confront Ford rigorously on several alleged breaches of propriety in office.

“Nobody’s going to be paying any attention to that guy. He’s got no standing at all,” said Ford, a long-term senator and member of an established Memphis political family.

The senator, who chairs the Senate General Welfare, Health and Human Resources Committee and belongs to a number of other influential legislative panels, says he plans to do no active campaigning. “I don’t need to. The people are already coming to me on their own,” he said.

Ford and his brother Joe Ford, an interim Shelby County commissioner who has been newly nominated by Shelby County Democrats to continue in that role, were conspicuous Thursday in their attendance at a fund-raiser for Shelby County Circuit Court clerk Jimmy Moore, who runs on the Republican label and is being opposed this year by Democratic nominee Dell Gill, a frequent candidate.

Moore, a onetime member of the local Democrats’ Finance Committee, has generally enjoyed backing across party lines and has been especially favored by members of the Ford family.

· 7th District congressman Ed Bryant (R-Henderson), now opposing former Governor Lamar Alexander in the GOP primary for the U.S. Senate seat being vacated by Fred Thompson, is boasting his showing in a straw poll conducted in Nashville this week by a would-be successor, state senator Mark Norris of Collierville.

The poll, conducted by Norris in a hospitality suite at the Renaissance Hotel after the annual Statesmen’s Dinner last week, showed Bryant the primary winner over Alexander by a margin of 296 votes to Alexander’s 163. Though acknowledging the sampling is “not scientific,” Bryant has mentioned it in a news release and in several public appearances, including one Friday at Memphis’ downtown Plaza Club.

For his part, the usually unflappable Alexander has fairly sputtered with contempt about the announced strawpoll results, saying at the formal opening of his Memphis headquarters on Poplar Avenue Saturday that Bryant’s claim didn’t “even deserve a comment.” Aides took a lighter approach, with both Kevin Phillips and Josh Holley, his press liaisons, saying the straw poll wasn’t “worth the [figurative] straw” in it.

Both the former governor and Holley defended as accurate their own home-grown poll results from Whit Ayes and Associates, which show, among other things, that Alexander leads Bryant everywhere, even in the congressman’s 7th District bailiwick — attributing such results to “name recognition.”

Alexander, whose basic contention is that he would make a stronger opponent for Democrat Bob Clement in a fall race, said not even a Bryant victory in the primary would disprove such a thesis. “I am better able to attract independents and Democratic voters,” he said flatly.

Norris’ straw poll showed him as the winner over his several rivals for the GOP 7th District congressional nomination, with 145 votes, 36 percent of the total. A spokesman for second-place finisher Marsha Blackburn of Williamson County dismissed the poll as meaningless and cited the results of Blackburn’s own straw poll, taken at her headquarters and showing her to be the unanimous winner. ·

A Game Of Chicken

The GOP contestants for Congress in the 7th District scrap at their first forum.

by JACKSON BAKER

Last week saw the first major gathering involving all major aspirants for the Republican nomination for Congress in the 7th District, and the candidates’ strengths and weaknesses and idiosyncrasies were on abundant display.

The forum, which took place at Pickering Community Center in Germantown, featured Marsha Blackburn of Williamson County, Forrest Shoaf of Davidson County, and Sonny Carlota, Brent Taylor, David Kustoff, and Mark Norris, all of Shelby County.

All except Carlota, a mild-mannered Philippines-born physician and frequent candidate in Lakeland elections, can be said to have serious designs on the seat, which is being vacated by incumbent Ed Bryant, now seeking the GOP nomination for U.S. Senate.

Shoaf may be regarded as a bit more of a long shot than the others, each of whom has some degree of established name ID, but the diminutive Nashville barrister and military veteran is playing catch-up with a series of radio ads which promise, among other things, that he’ll go to court to try to block any income-tax legislation passed by the General Assembly.

State senator Blackburn’s appearance in Shelby County was by no means an unusual event; she’s spending what aides describe as “a couple of days” in the Memphis area every week, knowing that, while the 7th sprawls all the way from the eastern edge of Memphis into the periphery of Nashville, big Shelby can account for as much as 40 percent of the total Republican vote.

Her statewide fame as an archfoe of higher taxation and big government is not quite as well established in the Memphis area as elsewhere, but she’s doing her best to update Shelby Countians, preaching the gospel of across-the-board spending cuts, selective deregulation, cracking down on driver’s licenses for aliens, and, most of all, diehard opposition to a state income tax.

She has her work cut out for her in Shelby inasmuch as it is home for lawyers Kustoff, who ran the crucially successful Bush campaign in Tennessee in 2000 and Norris, her state Senate colleague who represents the county and parts of two adjoining ones, as well as Taylor, a Memphis city councilman who has assiduously worked the district’s rural stretches.

All the candidates professed themselves opposed to what some (funeral director Taylor, especially) call the “death” tax and some refer to as the “inheritance” tax; all professed alarm about government spending and the threat of more taxes; and all toed the line as opponents of abortion. Needless to say, they all favored job development.

The differences were mainly those of style: Each of the male candidates delivered his remarks while standing behind the table at which they all were seated. Blackburn opted, Liddy Dole-style, to walk back and forth between the table and the overflow audience.

Kustoff, riding a wave of brand-new and well-received TV commercials, emphasized his key role in winning Tennessee for the Bush ticket; Norris played up his service as a county commissioner and legislator; and Taylor, in general, sounded a populist note on behalf of the hinterlands he has cultivated (sometimes by donating leftover council-reelection money to local parties in the district).

All was not mere boilerplate and politics as usual, however. An encounter between Taylor and Norris, one which could reverberate quite late into the primary campaign, drew the most attention.

Norris, an inventive politician who has mastered the art of holding his ideological ground while making personal connections across various lines, had readied a gimmick for the evening.

In part designed to establish contact with the audience, in part designed to counter what he would later term “a whispering campaign,” it began with the affable state senator’s toting up to the front of the room several paper bags. Norris, best known as a lawyer, announced (with a slight but meaningful glance in Taylor’s direction) that he wanted to set to rest a “rumor going around” expressing doubts about the legitimacy of his simultaneous identity as a farmer.

Reaching into one sack and pulling out a half-carton of eggs bearing his name and campaign logo, Norris said he wanted to give away egg cartons, as long as they held out, to each person present, “and I can guarantee you,” he said, they were all laid on his Collierville farm and personally harvested by himself.

As the crowd murmured in appreciation of the ploy, Taylor suddenly interjected, “You know, when he put his hand in that sack, I didn’t know whether he was going to come back with something from the back end of a chicken or from the back end of a horse.” To which Norris shot back, “You probably wouldn’t know the difference.”

The show of combat between Norris and Taylor indicates not only differences in style, of course, but also the degree to which they, along with Kustoff, whose style is more above-the-bar, will be competing intensely for the common Shelby County base.

Each of the three can demonstrate mathematically that, even with votes split between them, Blackburn’s Williamson County vote would not be enough for her to win. What each of them may not realize as fully as do observers at the Nashville end of the district is that Blackburn — who must, of course, cope with Shoaf’s competition on her home ground — may not be so easily confined to her base constituency. (Her Senate colleagues, especially, regard her — for better or worse — as a statewide force.

To judge from this first encounter, the battle for the 7th in Republican ranks can be expected to be intense, colorful, and perhaps even bruising. ·

Categories
Music Music Features

Sound Advice

I would be remiss in my duties if I did not implore you to leave work early on Friday, June 7th, go directly to the Young Avenue Deli, and begin to slam beers in order to enhance your enjoyment of Dayton’s finest rockers, Guided By Voices. In the opinion of this diehard fan, GBV have been putting out some pretty forgettable material lately, but their songs are two minutes long, and they’ll probably play for three hours, which means they’ll play more than a few songs from their glory days. And since GBV have been cranking out fantastic pop tunes about robots, airplanes, liquor, weed, bad love, outer space, and, of course, rock-and-roll since 1986, there is plenty of material to choose from. And, heck, if they just played “Motor Away” over and over, I’d be plenty happy.

While the group has never completely recovered from guitarist (and, in the estimation of some, the soul of GBV) Tobin Sprout’s departure a few years back, Doug Gillard’s guitar work is not to be underestimated. Though the recorded material seems to suffer from an abundance of production and a lack of inspiration, GBV’s live shows are always a kick in the pants and a fine excuse to jump up and down in a beer-soaked arena-rock frenzy for hours on end. Better still, The 45’s will be on hand to open. While everybody has been cooing and gurgling over the White Stripes, this stunning, organ-driven ensemble has quietly continued to soup up their garage-rock hot rod. And it is one sweet machine, let me tell you. Perhaps only ? and the Mysterians did it better and, even then, only on “96 Tears.” Either GBV or the 45’s would be a heck of a show. Both is almost too much to ask for.

If GBV’s fantastic power pop just ain’t your thang, maybe you’ll want to go visit the Hi-Tone on Thursday, June 6th, to catch a show by honky-tonkers The Brooklyn Cowboys. These citified troubadours have quite the pedigree, what with connections to the late Gram Parsons and all. But there’s one real problem with their music: They are the Brooklyn Cowboys, you see, and it seems they have grown a little too urbane to play real, honest-to-God country music. Their most recent release, The Other Man In Black (The Ballad of Dale Earnhardt), is a rockabilly-tinged mess that sounds like a parody of a spoof of a send-up of Hee Haw, with singers employing the kind of Southern accents you only find on reruns of The Dukes of Hazzard. If it was supposed to be funny, it isn’t, and if it was intended to be a serious homage, then it’s a hoot. Don’t get me wrong: These guys are great players who can whoop up quite the hillbilly ruckus, and that goes a long way to make up for other glaring deficits. And occasionally, as The Other Man In Black‘s fourth track, “Learn How To Love Me,” proves, once in a while, they can get everything absolutely right. Chris Davis

Categories
We Recommend We Recommend

The Main Event

Mike who? Lennox what? Shoot! Boxing just ain’t what it used to was back when Gibson County, Tennessee, was a pugilistic hotbed, a time that is well beyond memory’s reach for even the oldest Gibson Countians. But legend, in lieu of memory, holds that bare-knuckled men once stood toe-to-toe beating the juice out of one another in a vicious event affectionately known as “skullboning.” And it’s that same bloody event that gave the Kingdom of Skullbonia (120 miles north of Memphis, pop. 75) its unusual, decidedly foreboding moniker.

A mural on the wall of a tiny general store/mayor’s office memorializes the pugilistic glory of Skullbonia’s past. The region’s future hinges on the success of Skullbone Music Park, which has been accurately described as one of the weirdest music venues in the country. SMP, which has, in its short, three-year existence, witnessed concerts by Lynyrd Skynyrd, .38 Special, Nazareth, Charlie Daniels, and George Jones, is kicking off its summer season with a little show called the Rock Never Stops Tour, featuring ’80s bands Tesla, Skid Row (sans Sebastian), Jackal (yes, Jackal can a Wasp reunion be far off?), and Mötley Crüe’s own Vince Neil.

“I went to St. Louis a few weeks ago and saw the show,” says SMP founder Allen Blankenship, “and I’ve been thinking. And there’s only one way to describe this show, and that’s ‘KICK ASS!’ It’s not a ‘hair band’-era kind of thing. It’s more what I call blue-jean rock kick-you-in-the-ass blue-jean rock.”

For Blankenship, who has been in the concert business for 22 years and has booked everything from frat parties to the monolithic Sturgis biker rally, operating this music park in the boonies is a dream come true. It’s also quite a challenge.

“Some people want to label us redneck theater,” Blankenship says. “But it’s not really a redneck theater, it’s just in the middle of nowhere.” So in the middle of nowhwere, in fact, that some performers have had a hard time finding it. According to Blankenship, novelty country act Cletus T. Judd took a wrong turn and ended up looking out over a vast clay pit. “Dang,” Cletus reportedly shouted, convinced he’d found the park. “It ain’t even built yet!”

Being located in the middle of nowhere and given to booking faded Southern rock, all-but-forgotten metal, and country acts have hardly helped Skullbone shake its “redneck” image. The New York Times reported that in Skullbonia, Confederate flags fly like racial slurs and vendors sell Klan paraphernalia and T-shirts bearing slogans like “The Original Boys in the Hood.”

“Supposedly, there were some vendors selling white-supremacy T-shirts and stuff like that,” Blankenship says. “In reality, though, they weren’t. It was just the reporter’s impression of that event coming down from New York City do you see what I’m saying? And that may be bad publicity, but to me that’s kinda good publicity too. Sharon Osbourne said it best: No publicity is bad publicity. When she first put Ozzy back on the road with the Blizzard of Oz Tour, he was going into every town and urinating on something in that town and getting arrested for it. Well, it would be all over the radio the next day ‘Ozzy arrested for urinating on Beale Street.’ He got arrested for urinating on the Alamo. He urinated on the Washington Monument. But all this white supremacy, that’s a bunch of crap. We’re in the South here, and if somebody’s flying a Confederate flag, it’s part of heritage. I’m not a racist person, I’m a promoter. There’s only one color, green, know what I’m saying? I don’t care what color you are. Black, yellow, brown, in between, mixed, up and down, red, white, or blue, you are welcome at Skullbone Music Park.”

Currently, the park holds 5,000 visitors, and unlike most venues, guests are encouraged to bring their coolers, though there is a $10 cooler fee. “We offer camping,” Blankenship says. “And that’s a good thing because people can go to a show and not worry too much about the consumption of alcoholic beverages.” The park also offers a nondrinking section for those who prefer not to imbibe. In the years to come, Blankenship hopes to add a second, larger stage, on-site beer vending, and what he calls a “treesort” a sort of motel made out of treehouses. But right now, Blankenship is just trying to make the best out of what he has, while sparring with some locals who think the SMP is nothing but a den of iniquity.

“We’re in the Bible Belt here,” Blankenship says with a sigh. “Don’t get me wrong. I have the utmost respect for a true Christian. Where I have a problem is people that point their finger with a holier-than-thou attitude. But that’s a political or a religious issue. It’s something you don’t want to discuss at the bar, know what I mean? It don’t matter if I built Disney World down here, somebody would have complained.”

On the other hand, there are thousands of folks who aren’t complaining a bit: people who used to have to drive for hours into Nashville, Memphis, or St. Louis to see a rock-and-roll show. “We’re a household word for a 75-mile radius,” Blankenship boasts. “Now we want to get into the Memphis and Nashville markets. Our motto is ‘No need to go to the city anymore when the concert’s right here at your back door. All roads lead to Skullbone, and it’s worth the drive.’ The reason I threw that last line in there is because people in the city might be ready to get out of the city, know what I’m saying? You can drive up from the city and see a show our style. It gets people out of the concrete, know what I’m saying?”

The Rock Never Stops Tour

featuring Tesla

Saturday, June 8th

Skullbone Music Park

Tickets: 1-877-548-3237 or www.skullbonepark.com

Categories
News

Ready Or Not

I actually thought it would be different this time. I actually thought that on the afternoon before I left on a trip out of the country I would be packed and ready to go, armed with travel tips and historical perspective on the place I was headed for, and ready to engage the locals in their language, in conversations about their day-to-day lives, aspirations, and political beliefs.

I actually thought that I wouldn’t be sitting here late at night, on deadline, with clothes in the laundry, a list of errands to try to run on the way to the airport, a heap of tossed-aside projects, and months of regret over the language not studied, the books not read, the plans not made.

I’m going to France in the morning ready or not. It was just three days ago that somebody asked if I needed an international driver’s license since I was planning on renting a car over there. It had never even occurred to me, arrogant and ignorant American that I am, that a U.S. driver’s license wouldn’t work in another country. Thank goodness AAA cranks those things out in less than 20 minutes.

Every time I leave the country, I swear this won’t happen again, because every time I leave, I am stressed out until the moment I get on the plane and then come back wishing I had at least learned some of the language. So every time, I swear that I’m going to progress beyond the infantile level of “where is” and “how much” and “do you have.”

At one point a few months ago, I actually held in my hands a catalog from a community college and opened to the pages listing the French classes. Several weeks after that, I bought a CD-ROM and was very proud of myself when I went right home and started using it. Several weeks later, I used it for the second time. That was about a week ago.

I’m going to France with my parents, and it was my job to learn the language and drive the car a small price for a trip to France. As a result of my extensive CD-based study of the French language, I have informed my parents that if we see any boys or girls running, standing, walking, or jumping, I will boldly announce such. If one of them gets on or under a table, I’ve got that covered too. My problems will start if any of them decide to speak to us.

I’m pretty sure I can get us fed, because I once got myself fed all alone in a back-alley Hong Kong restaurant. I simply had the waiter follow me until I saw something appealing on somebody else’s plate then pointed at it and rubbed my stomach. I figure if all else fails, my folks and I can fan out across a bistro, pointing and rubbing. If nothing else, we’ll add considerably to Americans’ reputation in Paris.

I actually have two advantages working for me in this. One is that, after years of experience, I don’t really have a problem making an ass of myself in front of strangers. So if I mean to ask someone for directions to a museum and instead say something like “Where is art,” that’ll be fine. Some lucky Parisian will get a chance to verbally abuse me, and eventually we’ll find some art. It’s like finding barbecue in Memphis, after all.

My other advantage is the basic human compassion which I assume all people, even Parisians, possess that and the vastly superior linguistic education people in Europe receive. Over there, many people speak more than one language, an odd concept for graduates of American schools. So when I utter the French equivalent of “Excuse my, who is museum,” they’ll take pity on me and show me where the museum is. Either that or another lucky Parisian will get a chance to verbally abuse me, and eventually, we’ll find the museum.

The way I see it, traveling in another country is a lot like working. If you just show up clean, behave in a civil way, make a slight effort at doing the right thing, and remain open to assistance, you’ll do just fine. Come to think of it, working and being in a foreign country are both a lot like dating: It doesn’t seem that hard to surpass the efforts of most people.

I try to tell myself that I’ll change, that I’ll prepare for my trips and somehow get more out of them, but I’m 35 now, and I’ve never done it any other way. I’m the same with deadlines. Somebody asked me once if I work better under the pressure of a looming deadline, and I said I really couldn’t say, because I’ve never tried it the other way.

I guess I should just get some sleep oh, and pack and resign myself to walking off the plane sometime day after tomorrow and into Paris, into the “I’m there” peace of mind that only exists on the road, and into complete ignorance of my surroundings. It does come naturally.

Categories
Opinion Viewpoint

In Zone 7

(Editor’s Note: Now that the local weather has turned tropical, this lament from last month may actually arouse nostalgic remembrances.)

One of the sayings about Memphis is “If you don’t like the weather, wait a minute.” We get it all — heat and drought, rain and flood, snow and ice, wind and more wind. Sometimes in the same day.

Gardening is never boring here. If you like excitement and think gardening is boring, try it in Memphis. We don’t call it the “Zone of Death” for nothing. You risk life and limb (no pun intended) whenever you step out into your yard.

It’s probably a warm, sunny day. You are wearing your shorts, T-shirt, and a baseball cap to avoid that sunburn on your nose. You start to dig in your flowerbed. You plant that beautiful little flower you just bought at the garden store, covering its roots lovingly and patting it a couple of times for good luck. You sit back, feeling very satisfied, and look up at the sky.

It’s getting cloudy. A few wisps of gray move quickly across the sky. The wind starts to pick up a little. The flower you just planted is nodding gently in the breeze. You smile. Life is good.

You stand up and stretch, take off your gloves, and head for the watering can to give your new plant a little drink of water. The sky is grayer now, a few drops of rain splat on your head; you think, Good, I don’t have to water the flower. It’s going to rain a little.

As you step back into your house, the wind picks up a little more. The sky is now darkening quickly, and it is raining harder. The flower seems to be waiting for this lovely spring rain. Suddenly, it is pouring, the wind is whipping through the trees in your yard. There’s lightning and thunder, the ground is shaking, and so are you.

The tornado siren down the street starts to blare. You race inside and go to the closet and cower there until the wind seems to let up a little. You venture out of the closet to peek outside, and as you pull back your curtains and look out your window, you see the flower lying flat on the ground, seeming to hold on for dear life so it won’t be washed away.

It’s now hailing and raining at the same time, and it’s so windy, it’s raining sideways.

After 30 minutes, you notice the sun is starting to peek from behind the clouds. You get up and look outside. Hmm, it’s starting to clear up, the raindrops are glistening on the little flower, and it is looking, well, satisfied that it survived its first storm.

You put on your gloves and baseball cap and head back outside. It’s sunny now, the rainwater is rising from the ground in steamy trails of mist. It’s heating up. In fact, it’s hot.

You are feeling droopy from the steamy heat, and when you look at the flower, it is feeling droopy too.

You go inside to get a drink of water and turn on the TV to catch the weather so you won’t miss anything. Information on the Zone of Death awaits. The weatherman is smiling and pointing at the map. A front is coming in tonight. It will get down to 30 degrees and might snow. But by tomorrow, it will be clear and back up to 70 degrees.

You go to the window and look at your flower. You hope it’s hardy and strong — and you hope you are too, because you are gardening in Zone 7, the Zone of Death. n

Peggy McKnight is a coordinator in the UT Vascular Biology Center and an avid Zone 7 gardener.

Categories
We Recommend We Recommend

thursday, 6

Well, I guess this is it: the big fight week. The Assault on the Fault. The Kaboom in the Tomb. The Mangle in the Triangle (my newest; couldn t help myself). The Mike Tyson vs. Lennox Lewis World Heavyweight Championship. That is, if Tyson doesn t pull any stunts before Saturday night in his attempt to persuade us to love the barbarian. My greatest wish is that he will address the city by saying, Memphis, lend me your ears. Or that Geoff Calkins gets to actually interview the boxers so he can stop interviewing posts, as he reported in Sunday s Commercial Appeal, a column which was the first thing in a long time that made me laugh out loud so abruptly that Diet Coke spewed from my nose. Whatever happens, it should be, at the very least, interesting. As for Mike Tyson and his antics, I guess he surprised everyone when he hopped out of his SUV in Cordova the other day to hug a gay protester, telling him that he was not homophobic, even though he talks that way. Add to that that Tyson s sparring partner is named Cisse and, well, maybe there s more to Tyson than we think. After all, he does like to nibble on other men s ears. And then there are all the celebrities and limousines and private planes and partying and all other manner of mayhem that goes along with an event like this. If I see Dionne Warwick at Wizard s, I promise I won t rat on her. And if Wynona Ryder should show up, I d love to take her to Wolfchase Galleria. And if Lennox Lewis mother would like someone to take her to Al Green s church again, I m ready. Maybe Chris Rock will be here promoting his upcoming movie in which he portrays former Memphian and Washington, D.C., mayor Marion Barry. There s been some negative publicity about this, mainly from Barry, but let s face it: With a name like Rock, Chris ought to have a head start on playing the mayor, who does know a thing or two about rock. And with all eyes on Memphis this week, let s hope nothing violent outside the ring happens. Everybody just take a chill pill. I m not nearly as worried about that as I am about the security at another event. Have you seen the headdresses the Pakistani border guards are wearing? If any of these guys decide to become terrorists and want to come to America and infiltrate a city and do some harm, we d best keep a very close eye on the next COGIC convention. In the meantime, there s a lot going on this week, so here s to it, and let s hope for the best.

Tonight s big pre-fight event is The Memphis Soul Revue at the DeSoto Civic Center. This historic event brings together Memphis music icons Al Green and Isaac Hayes along with Stax artists the Emotions, the Temprees, and Larry Dodson of the Bar-Kays. Just how much more fabulous can you get than that? As for other entertainment, NickelbackMemphis Redbirds take on Oklahoma tonight through Sunday at AutoZone Park. Alvin Youngblood Hart is at the Lounge. The Brooklyn Cowboys are at the Hi-Tone. And Jay Bennett, Edward Birch with Virgil Shaw, and Bumpercrop are at Young Avenue Deli.

Categories
News News Feature

TRANSLATION: MEMPHIS

CHAMPIONSHIP LEVEL

Think you’re following the reverie surrounding this weekend’s Lewis-Tyson fight closely?

Well, I went to church on Sunday with Lewis’ mama. Or at least I was at church with his mama, and the rest of the Lewis entourage (sans Lewis himself), when they showed up to get some of that fightin’ Holy Spirit this past Sunday at Al Green’s church.

Sure, Lewis may have gotten the keys to the city from Mayor Herenton, but his family and followers went for the keys to the Kingdom, which were handed down from the mighty Reverend Green and his rockin’ gospel choir.

The church seemed more than happy to receive them. “Your son can whoop anyone in this world. Praise the Lord,” proclaimed the pastor who headed things up until Green arrived. You’ve just got to love Memphis.

And any of you who are heading to town to root, hobnob, or bet this week might want to check out this little gem, hidden off Elvis Presley Boulevard in the shadow of Graceland.

My advice to you? Forget Graceland for the moment. Keep driving, and catch the Jungle room in August when the 25th death anniversary set gets here. That will certainly be a much more interesting time to check out the lush/tacky abode of Rock ‘n Roll’s proclaimed King.

I mean, you’ve got a chance to see Al Green preachin’ and singin’ and healin’ and dancin’ live and in the flesh, and for free, no less. Who knows, he might even serve you up some redemption, and who, in some corner of their little soul, doesn’t want to be redeemed by that man with the voice of gold and the giant ring on his finger to match?

This church/attraction is undoubtedly an authentic Memphis experience unlike any other, and while you kind of have to gauge your odds as to whether Green will be there on a given Sunday, what with the fame and the tour schedule and all, it’s more than worth it either way. I’ve now been once with Green at the pulpit and once without, and both experiences were equally (or almost equally) memorable.

Since Green will be performing with Isaac Hayes at the Desoto Civic Center on Thursday, I’d say your chances of catching him in preacher mode this weekend are probably good to excellent. Six to one lets say, though you’d have to consult that agency in Vegas if you want to get the actual odds.

The church is officially called the Full Gospel Tabernacle, and is nestled away at 787 Hale Road. And when they say full gospel, they mean it. This parish and choir can sing. I mean really sing, and I suppose it’s not altogether surprising when their leader is one of Memphis’ most famous musical exports.

On top of the singing, there’s the dancing. Now normally I don’t shake my proverbial groove thing unless there’s a six-pack or so behind me, but both times I stepped foot in Green’s house of worship I was up, clapping and swaying, before the morning was through. Even in light of the ever-rolling cameras present this time around, obviously there to capture the Lewis clan in their every public step as the fight night countdown continues, I danced. The resultant fear of flicking through the channels only to see my aforementioned groove thing wiggling on national television will surely wear off with time.

If my churchgoing experience as a kid involved more of that kind of praise, I might not have whined and complained about going so much. Although, I’ll admit, a three-hour plus service isn’t something that I could do every weekend.

Now, to be honest, I sometimes had a bit of a hard time following Green when he commenced with the sermon. Much of his preaching was interjected with commentary about the aforementioned news cameras that were circling around the church all morning. But we know better, don’t we? Al Green, entertainer extraordinaire, uncomfortable in front of the camera’s adoring eye?

I’d contend that Green’s comments were more for show than anything else. This seemed especially likely in light of his repeated references to the “ways” of the Deep South, followed each time with a meaningful glance at the cameras, and also his diatribe on the blessings of America in a sociopolitical context of terror. This latter theme came out of left field, so to speak, but doesn’t every public figure have to address the issue when offered a national platform to speak post-September 11th? At one point, mid-sentence, he even erupted into an impassioned rendition of God Bless America, which while off-putting at first, or maybe just unexpected, was damn good. I mean darn good. Oops.

But Reverend Green’s ability to vacillate between the message and the showmanship is precisely what makes him such an entertaining preacher. By making the service and its corresponding message a bit of a performance, people listen rather than falling asleep behind their Bibles, even if he doesn’t make complete and total sense.

The service begins pretty late in the morning, so don’t you worry if you plan to spend fight night carousing and cheering, or crying and cursing if you’ve misplaced your bet. Things start heating up at about 11:00 AM, and go until 2:00 PM or so, but people seem to pretty much show up when they want to. At least “tourists” like myself (and the Revered) do. The small core of actual parishioners gets there at about 9:45 for Sunday school, but this week Green didn’t roll in until 12:30, fresh off a plane from Chicago.

Punctuality is, at best, optional.

So what was Green’s advice for Lewis come fight time?

“Better put some tape on those ears,” he quipped, and no one was afraid to laugh.

In light of the little chunk Tyson took out of Lewis’ leg at a January press conference, you can’t really argue with the man on that count.