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Music Music Features

Kreator Featüre

When I was younger, I used to write lyrics about Satan and people killing each other and stuff. Fiction. Fantasy stuff.” So go the heavily accented words of Mille Petroza, leader and lone continuous member of German thrash-metal pioneers Kreator. And he might as well be speaking for every recovered teenager who has made underground metal a lifelong pursuit. But Petroza has evolved into someone far different from the 14-year-old who formed the Kreator-precursor Tormentor back in the early ’80s. “Now, the lyrics are more personal,” Petroza continues, “more human, and the meanings are much more hidden.”

On the rare occasions when it is allowed, maturity is an underrated element in heavy metal, and that unlikely transformation is exactly what happened with Kreator in the late ’80s. Formed in 1984, the band reached an early creative peak with three groundbreaking albums: Pleasure To Kill (1986), Terrible Certainty (1987), and Extreme Aggression (1989). These albums had an effect on underground European metal that is directly comparable to the stateside impact of Slayer’s three classic albums from the same period (Reign In Blood, South Of Heaven, and Seasons In the Abyss). Sure, they sounded different. Kreator did not have a badass knob-twiddler at their disposal, for instance, but they also took little time getting things right, unlike their American brethren, who spent the early ’80s making laughable records before Rick Rubin came to the rescue.

European underground metal had different, darker, and more hardcore-punk influences than its American counterpart. Though it may be a bit of a simplification, one could say that there were five key bands that drove the movement: Motorhead, Venom, Celtic Frost, Discharge, and, of course, Black Sabbath. In early inceptions, Venom and Celtic Frost were metallic hardcore bands dressed up in fake satanism and bullet belts. Motorhead was a bunch of long-haired bikers playing short-haired music. Discharge was a blurry sonic storm of negativity and politics, and their unique hardcore-metal crossover (probably the first) arguably laid the groundwork for the death metal and grindcore that proliferated in the late ’80s and early ’90s. And Black Sabbath was Black Sabbath.

If you were to continue this family tree into the late ’80s, the younger generation of extreme metal acts would most assuredly include Kreator near the top of the list. Oh, and if you haven’t already figured this out, none of this has much to do with the current breed of “metal” bands who sport backward baseball caps, ill-fitting jumpsuits, and extreme facial hair — or the ones that think they understand hip hop. “I do not care for it — no,” Petroza offers when asked his opinion of the nü-metal and rap-metal scenes. But he grows considerably more modest when speaking of the young bands, mostly Scandinavian ones, that have drawn upon Kreator as a primary influence.

Kreator perfected a very technical, very German brand of progressive thrash that was far less accessible than the melodic, Iron Maiden-flavored style that fellow countrymen Helloween briefly brought to worldwide ears in the late ’80s. Kreator’s audience transcended European insularity, but, at least in the States, it has remained a particularly underground phenomenon. Kreator fans were Slayer fans were (pre-success) Metallica fans and so on. This breed of ’80s metal fan was very serious and seriously unconcerned about how tall their hair was. These were kids who moped through the suburban wasteland in jackboots, listened to traded tapes on a waterproof walkman, and threw butterfly knives into wooden fences. Think River’s Edge not The Decline Of Western Civilization Pt. II. If pictures speak volumes, then I invite your eyes to the one below, so that everyone is clear about what kind of metal this is not.

After an unrewarding stint on a major label in the early ’90s, Kreator flirted with industrial music, as underground metal was wont to do in the middle of the decade. Setting experimentation aside, Petroza and the gang returned to the strong sound of pure metal. Last fall’s Violent Revolution is a tight set of riffs and songwriting that is catchier and more accomplished than your average death-metal band, plus it takes the piss out of whatever Slayer is doing these days.

“It is not a return to form, as a lot of people are saying,” Petroza insists. “It is a combination of the old Kreator and the new.” Fair enough. The big, loud, beautiful production helps to place Violent Revolution in the future, and the singing is hoarse but far removed from the accepted guttural growl of a band like Cannibal Corpse. (There’s nothing more depressing than seeing a man in his 30s barking into a microphone like a laconic troll.)

Joining Kreator for this potentially ear-shattering metal bill in Memphis is Destruction — another old-school German proto-death-metal trio who have been kicking about as long as the headliners (albeit with less success and influence). The presumptuously named “Hell Comes To Your Town” tour has seen a couple of obstacles thus far — a broken-down bus and the cancellation of a show in upstate New York because the promoter wanted the bands to play on a 9-by-13-foot stage — but, hopefully, it will roll into town without a hitch and fill the Hi-Tone with pure metal, thick smoke, and unironic devil-sign-throwing.

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Music Record Reviews

Short Cuts

Sea Change

Beck

(Geffen/Interscope)

Poor Beck. He sounds like a walking existential crisis.

Sort of a less funky Mutations, the folky, bluesy Sea Change is arguably his best album to date — certainly his most mature — the very introspective, cathectic work of an artist distancing himself from the clumsy kid he once was. Mutations‘ wonderfully evocative “newfangled wasteland” is now a dark and stormy sea fraught with allusions to Shakespeare’s Tempest: “Drown, drown/Sailors run aground/In the sea change/Nothing is safe/Strange waves/Push us every way/In a stone boat/We’re thrown away,” Beck mournfully intones on “Little One” while haunting voices and military drums augur a watery grave — but that saltwater taste is only from the tears he doesn’t want to cry anymore.

In truth, the comparison to Mutations doesn’t do the new album justice. It’s a different, more ruminative animal: the record of a Beck besieged — and coming out of it as sound as a bomb shelter, albeit scarred, rattled, and relying on well-worn phrases to express the devastation of lost love. The wildly creative, sometimes nonsensical lyrics of the past are not here. They can’t be. With Beck so subdued, they would not ring true.

The rich acoustic, countryish sound that prevails throughout Sea Change is a perfect landscape for the melancholy message being telegraphed across it. Layers of sound, beguilingly atmospheric, hover over each tune like supernatural influences. Nigel Godrich — who also produced Mutations, worked on Radiohead’s OK Computer and Amnesiac, and engineered Carnival Of Light, the third LP from once-glorious shoegazers Ride — is an excellent match for Beck’s deeply personal work, not afraid to add a little swooning orchestration and dabs of electronica sure to be criticized as pretentious “overproduction” by some. The killer, funk-lite “Paper Tiger” is bolstered by vaguely East Indian strings reminiscent of those on Elton John’s Madman Across the Water, while “Lost Cause” rides an infectious yet simple dual-guitar melody. Beck’s subtle baritone is stronger than expected on such lingeringly sad ballads as “All In Your Mind,” in which he laments, “I cannot believe/You got a devil up your sleeve/And he’s talking to me … And I wanted to be/A good friend.” Ouch: You can feel the knife in his back. One of the songs in which drums break up the plaintive weariness is “Already Dead,” a gorgeous little dirge. “Sunday Sun” warps the predominant sobriety back toward the trash-culture musical appropriation of Beck’s earlier work, ending in a collision of feedback and effects after some of the album’s more soaring, cock-strong vocals.

Sea Change‘s cloak of sadness may be a little restricting for some on the first listen, especially the Odelay addicts out there, but persevere: It would be a much sadder day if Beck were to repeat himself. Exploration of self is one of the keys to making irreproachable art, and you can’t blame a man for looking inward … and showing you what he found there.

An instant classic. — Jeremy Spencer

Grade: A

Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Yeah Yeah Yeahs

(Touch & Go)

Music writers frequently substitute the term “rawk” for “rock” to differentiate the heaving behemoth of the music at its most physically assertive from the umbrella term for the genre and overall culture — to separate the men from the boys and the women from the girls, as it were. In the case of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, though, I tend to think of the neologism as a combination of “rock” and “awkward.” There’s an innate gawkiness about both guitarist Nick Zinner’s spiky riffs and Karen O’s shaky vocals, and that’s both the most appealing thing about them and the most suspect.

What’s appealing is also what’s immediate. Yeah Yeah Yeahs is formally punk: five songs in 14 minutes, rama-lama guitar/drums, yelped vox, “gimme, gimme, I wanna do stuff” lyrics. But unlike neo-garage bands like the Strokes or the Hives, there’s little chewy center to their rock candy. A bootlegger can mount Christina Aguilera’s vocals atop the Strokes’ backing melody because they’re every bit as pop as she is. Try that with the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and they’d throw Aguilera off and break her collarbone.

Which means that we’ll be spared the spectacle of Karen O collaborating with Desmond Child on theme songs for Spider-Man sequels; wish I could predict the same for Julian Casablancas. But when she squeals, “What I need tonight’s the real thing/I need the real thing tonight/Yeah, yeah, yeah” on “Bang,” are we supposed to burst into applause at her self-conscious primitivism? Or should we merely suspect she’ll be going back to art school soon enough — that she doesn’t have nearly as much invested in this as she says she does? Maybe I’m just being an overintellectual churl. Maybe Karen O really does just want to rawk. Incontestably, for these five songs and 14 minutes, she does. But I wouldn’t be surprised if she never does it again, nor would I feel all that betrayed.

Michaelangelo Matos

Grade: B+

Listening Log

Call and Response — Bangs (Kill Rock Stars): The Bangles go garage on a quick-and-dirty EP from the Olympia scene’s most straightforward rockers. It’s 16 minutes of sludge on first listen, but rad tunes soon emerge from the grease and grime. (“New Scars,” “Kinda Good,” “Dirty Knives”)

Grade: B+

I, John — John Forte (Transparent Music): Recorded on the quick before heading up for a 14-year drug-trafficking bid and faced with a crushing but far from unprecedented fate (see Slick Rick, among others), this onetime mediocre-rapping Fugees protégé embraces soul and reggae and makes a record of redemption and farewell songs worthy of the gravity of his situation. (“What a Difference,” “Reunion,” “Harmonize”)

Grade: B+

All Of the Above — J-Live (Coup d’Etat): This underground hype/middle school teacher isn’t a backpacker or gangsta, b-boy or thug — just your average, everyday MC kicking (agreeable) rhymes over (laid-back) beats. (“Satisfied,” “How Real It Is,” “MCee”)

Grade: B+

I Phantom — Mr. Lif (Def Jux): Hip hop goes to college, with only the best results. Whether outlining the perils of wage slavery, ballin’ on a budget at the club down the street, or revealing that “underground rapper” wasn’t the career choice his parents had in mind, this Beantown-based rookie-of-the-year contender paints a realistic portrait of how hip hop’s overeducated, underemployed other half lives. His flow evokes Native Tongues; his music rocks harder. (“Live From the Plantation,” “New Man’s Theme,” “Status”)

Grade: A-

Highly Evolved — The Vines (Capitol): Rock is back? If this retread of tired-on-contact “modern rock” tropes is the future, come back, Britney; all is forgiven. Did white guitar rock really get so bad that nostalgia for post-Nirvana product like Bush and Stone Temple Pilots could be mistaken for “evolution”? When it explodes, it’s more pipe bomb than “The Hives Declare Guerre Nucleaire.” And when it drags? Oh, boy And their Brit-rock/Beatles impressions suck. As Australian imports go, more listenable than Silverchair but no match for Kylie Minogue. (“Outtathaway,” “Get Free”) —Chris Herrington

Grade: C

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Politics Politics Beat Blog

Center Ring

The first of five planned debates between the two major-party U.S. Senate candidates is now in the can. After a televised encounter Monday night in Chattanooga, it is clear that Democratic candidate Bob Clement, currently the congressman representing Nashville, has his work cut out for him in hoping to overtake his Republican opponent, former Governor Lamar Alexander.

One of the ironies of Clement’s situation was highlighted by polls taken during the past few weeks and showing his political future ebbing and flowing on wildly fluctuating findings. One day’s survey would show him almost 20 points behind Alexander, another only eight, and the Clement camp’s chief lobbying point was that, as the candidate himself urged on a recent evening in Memphis, “when our name-recognition is the same with a group of voters, we come out even.”

What is astounding about this is that Clement has run for — and held — statewide office before, has been the capital city’s man in Washington for more than a decade, and is the son of one of Tennessee’s most legendary governors in modern times, Frank Clement, a magnetic orator whose keynote speech at the 1956 Democratic Convention mesmerized the nation’s listeners.

The senior Clement was still serving as governor during the late ’60s when an automobile accident terminated his life and career simultaneously. Indeed, it was almost entirely on the basis of the family name that son Bob was able to launch his own political career in the years following his father’s death, winning election as a Public Service Commissioner and mounting a credible challenge for governor.

As the Democratic nominee for the 7th District congressional seat in 1982, he was upset by a Republican who later became governor, Don Sundquist, but his race that year, followed by his subsequent service in the Nashville-based 5th District, should have guaranteed wide name recognition in the state’s two most populous areas.

The fact is that Clement, though arguably in possession of a quite lustrous vita (he also served terms as a director of the Tennessee Valley Authority and as president of Cumberland University), has a persona problem that stems not from any dearth of ability (his gifts are generally recognized) or even from his diminutive stature (he stands at considerably less than six feet) but from the fact that he seems low-profile by nature, almost bashful — an introvert in an extrovert’s profession.

One difference between Clement and Alexander was dramatized during the televised debate Monday night in the periodic cutaway shots of either candidate reacting to what the other was saying. Alexander appeared to have the actor’s gift of knowing when he was on camera; he seemed polite, attentive, shrewd, and skeptical as needed. When he smiled, it was in good-natured acknowledgment of the developing plot line.

Clement, on the other hand, seemed to pout and glower whenever his adversary was making a point that he deemed off the mark or unfair in what it suggested and to purse his lips when he was just listening. At several points, the camera caught him rolling his tongue in the hollow of his right cheek — a maneuver that in close-up looked huge and almost volcanic.

In short, Alexander at all times had his public face on, while Clement’s private self kept wandering into the proceedings like a lost child. It was a situation that could be interpreted to either man’s credit or to either’s blame, but in any age when appearances count for as much as issues, the cosmetic edge clearly belonged to the former governor.

Even the logistics of the TV studio in Chattanooga worked to Clement’s disadvantage: Those who have seen them both in the flesh are aware that Clement is as ruddy of complexion as Alexander is, but the side of the set on which the congressman sat seemed to be bathed in an antiseptically yellow light, while the former governor had the benefit of pinker and more natural-looking hues, a state of affairs that somewhat equaled out on those rare occasions when Clement was able to stand center stage and field a question from a guest in the studio audience.

Echoes Of the Primary

From time to time, Clement has picked up and hurled at Alexander one of the barbs thrown at the Republican nominee by his erstwhile antagonist in the GOP Senate primary, U.S. Rep. Ed Bryant.

The kiss-and-make-up etiquette of partisan politics requires that intra-party rivals support each other even after the most bitter of primaries, and that between Alexander and Bryant was one such. Speaking at a recent luncheon meeting, the outgoing 7th District congressman dutifully endorsed — and sported the stickers of — both Alexander, whom he so recently was chastising on an almost daily basis, and congressional colleague Van Hilleary, the GOP gubernatorial nominee with whom Bryant played Alphonse-and-Gaston a few seasons back, when both men, equally ambitious, were eyeing both a Senate and a governor’s race for 2002.

Though Bryant was no doubt sincere, the exercise had a bit of a pro forma feel to it, and Clement, perhaps overoptimistically, has frequently made appeals on the stump to the erstwhile Bryant voters, professing to represent their populist interests against the putatively more elitist and establishmentarian Alexander.

In any case, Clement has, as indicated, appropriated some of Bryant’s weaponry, repeating the 7th District congressman’s charges that Alexander was out of step with the Senate, which passed by a 97-0 vote on a corporate-reform measure that Alexander disapproved of, and strongly suggesting, as did Bryant, that the former governor had amassed his fortune by means of sweetheart deals that may have leveraged his governmental connections.

In Monday night’s debate, as previously, Clement made much of a recently renewed $102 million contract between the state and Education Networks of America (ENA), a company on whose board Alexander sits for an annual salary of $60,000. Alexander should give the money back, Clement suggested, “but it hasn’t happened.”

For the record, Alexander has denied anything improper and has noted, as in the televised debate, that Clement, like himself, is a “multimillionaire.” He made an attempt to turn the tables by recalling what he said was Clement’s membership on the board of directors of a bank owned by the Butcher brothers, Jake and C.H., once-prominent Tennessee Democrats whose banks later failed, leading to federal fraud convictions for both men.

An apparently surprised Clement denied any such membership, but the Alexander campaign later e-mailed reporters copies of a photograph from the 1973 annual report of the City and County Bank of Knox County, showing a youthful Bob Clement as one of several “directors.”

Though Clement quibbled about the meaning of the picture — and the nature of his relationship to the bank and to the Butchers, whom he ended up on the wrong side of, politically, losing to Jake Butcher in the Democratic gubernatorial primary of 1978 — and Alexander has pooh-poohed the nature of his ENA involvement, the fact is that both men have profited from private-sector opportunities their public prominence made easier for them.

There is no great surprise in this — it is one of the unspoken perks of public life, conspicuously so in the careers of most recent American presidents, for example — and there is nothing necessarily improper about it. In any case, the fallout from Monday night may make it more difficult henceforth for Clement to link Alexander with “Enron capitalism” — though the former governor seems to have been measurably more active in the corporate sector than the congressman.

Clement may have more luck with another stratagem inherited from Bryant. In the primary, the GOP congressman made much of a remark made by Alexander early in the year to Knoxville News-Sentinel reporter Tom Humphrey, who quoted the two-time presidential aspirant as saying, “I wanted to be president. The Senate will have to do.”

Bryant interpreted the remark as demonstrating the arrogance of a lordly Alexander deigning to go slumming for what he regarded as a consolation prize. This is how Clement would prefer it be seen, as well.

As it happens, Alexander first learned of the possible repercussions of his statement while on a visit to the Flyer office during the primary. Informed of Bryant’s first broadside on the subject, the former governor was clearly taken aback. He had made the statement near the end of a long interview at the close of a long day’s worth of campaigning, he said, and had just let his guard down.

In subsequent interviews, Alexander would amend his response, suggesting that he had been indulging in some kind of levity. (That seems to be the favored approach these days of political figures confronted with potentially embarrassing quotations.) There is no reason why the statement should not be taken at face value, however, and no particular reason why any odium should attach to it. By definition, anybody who has tried for the presidency — as Alexander did in the 1996 and 2000 cycles — and failed is settling for less by seeking another public office later on.

A Moderate’s Reemergence

What has intrigued some in the current race is the obvious ease with which Alexander has worn his Senate candidate’s mantle — contrasted with the relatively awkward and unconvincing manner of his two presidential races, in which, having compiled a moderate record as the successful two-term governor of Tennessee, he chose to run as a conservative’s conservative — even to the point, in 1996, of advocating the abolition of the Department of Education he once headed and, in 1999, of denouncing then rival George W. Bush‘s phrase “compassionate conservatism” as a case of “weasel words.”

In his primary campaign this year against Bryant, Alexander was compelled once again to stress his conservative credentials but, since then, has reemerged as a reassuringly middle-of-the-road figure — capable, for example, of stretching hands across partisan boundaries to form a “coalition” with Memphis Mayor Willie Herenton, a nominal Democrat and former city schools superintendent who professes admiration for Alexander’s educational reforms as governor during the ’80s. Herenton’s son Rodney, as well as his longtime aide Reginald French, briefly chairman of the Shelby County Democratic Coordinating Committee this year, are members of a newly formed “Shelby County Citizens Coalition” for Alexander.

Meanwhile, those red-meat Republicans who always distrusted Alexander for the very moderation he practiced as governor, when he had to make common cause with Democrats to get his programs enacted, have apparently been mollified by his stated allegiance in this campaign year to the programs of the Bush administration.

The difference between administrative and legislative functions being what it is, there is relatively little likelihood that a Senator Alexander would run afoul of his party’s conservatives, though he — like Clement — has shown signs of wanting to brake the administration’s headlong rush toward confrontation with Iraq. (While giving lip service to the president’s pronouncements, Alexander has advocated a greater role for Congress and America’s allies in the shaping of a military policy, and he makes a point of saying that his own interest is in domestic policy and in “winning the peace.”)

Clement has proved a doughty campaigner, and his wife, Mary Clement, has won numerous admirers for her strength and sagacity on the campaign trail (though she, like her counterpart Honey Alexander, has been underemployed as a campaign surrogate). He has legitimate policy differences with Alexander — notably on providing prescription-drug insurance for seniors through Medicare and imposing a form of price controls on drugs — but his own history as a sometime fellow traveler with the Bush administration (on the initial Bush tax cuts, for example) makes it difficult for him to draw graphic contrasts.

With a month to go, it would seem to be the mellifluous-voiced Alexander’s race to lose, but the undecideds in an electorate that has seen Republican Hilleary close the gap with Democrat Phil Bredesen, the long-term leader in that race, may reserve judgment for a few more weeks yet between candidates Alexander and Clement, both of whom are doggedly working the middle of the road.

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Music Music Features

Sound Advice

A onetime habitué of the Memphis bohemian folk and coffeehouse scene that helped spawn Jim Dickinson and Sid Selvidge, among other local-music fixtures, Bob Frank put out one album in 1972 for the folk label Vanguard then promptly disappeared from the music scene. Relocated to Oakland, California, Frank’s lone foray into recorded music became something of a cult item, and now, he’s back. Frank’s new album, Keep On Burning, was recorded at Dickinson’s Zebra Ranch Studio, with Dickinson producing and a who’s who of area talent — including North Mississippi Allstars Luther and Cody Dickinson, ex-Riverbluff Clan members Tommy Burroughs and Jimmy Davis, and scene cohorts Selvidge and Jimmy Crosthwait — lending support.

The album is a gentle, irreverent, and wide-ranging collection of “folk music” — a Civil War ballad, a trucker song, outlaw songs, and idiosyncratic gospel, with echoes of ragtime, Dixieland, and jug-band music — and fits comfortably in the tradition of boho folk and outsider country that encompasses locals in the Mudboy & the Neutrons sphere of influence, East Coasters like the Fugs and the Holy Modal Rounders, and West Texas cowboy poets like Terry Allen and the Flatlanders.

Frank will play four shows this weekend as part of a homecoming trip. He’ll do an in-store at Shangri-La Records at 5 p.m. Friday, October 4th, and play later that night (9 p.m.) at Earnestine and Hazel’s. On Saturday, October 5th, at 7 p.m., Frank will play the Blues City Café. And Sunday, October 6th, he’ll play the afternoon slot at Huey’s Midtown.

Another homecoming of sorts this week is that of local songsmith Cory Branan, who returns from a residency in Los Angeles for his first local appearance since baring his chest for Rolling Stone as the issue’s “hot singer-songwriter.” With the national release of his debut album, The Hell You Say, set for later this month, Branan gets reacquainted with local audiences by opening for Texas troubadour Robert Earl Keen at the New Daisy Theatre Friday, October 4th.

Or for something completely different, hip-hop fans can head to Denim & Diamonds Saturday, October 5th, for a hip-hop package show featuring Bone Thugs-N-Harmony, 8Ball & MJG, Lil’ John & The East Side Boyz, Lady May, and Now City. For a slightly different breed of hip hop on the same night, the Young Avenue Deli will feature St. Louis’ Core Project and locals Speak When Spoken To. — Chris Herrington

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We Recommend We Recommend

All A Board

Ai-goo cham-nah,’ sighs the middle-aged Korean man sitting next to me. It’s a common Korean expression, and presently it means something between ‘Oh shit’ and ‘Jesus.’ It’s the kind of sigh that takes all the breath his tar-stained lungs can muster. ‘What should I do?’ he asks himself in Korean. He inhales slowly on a half-gone cigarette. ‘It looks like I’m dead.’ He reaches into a worn wooden bowl and runs his fingers through the smooth glass stones.”

The above is a scene from an L.A. Weekly story about a Korean Go Club. Its writer, Queena Sook Kim, had gone on a mission to cross the ancient board-game club’s smoky boundaries.

Me, I just picked up the phone and made an appointment to meet with the Memphis Go Club. From what I had read, I imagined a dimly lit room filled with middle-aged chain-smoking Asian men cursing in their native language as they rattled their hands around in bowls filled with black and white stones. I imagined they’d be placing bets left and right as they strategically placed their stones on the large, wooden boards in front of them. And also from what I’d read about some of the Go clubs in Asian communities on the East Coast, the playing could go on for days.

But the Memphis Go Club turns out to be a small group (all men, though not by design) that meets at Garibaldi’s Pizza on Wednesday nights. And they don’t chain-smoke or place bets. They just meet to play. In fact, only two of the regular 10 or so members were at the brightly lit pizza joint when I arrived at 7 p.m., their normal meeting time. Go player Chris Watson says the group’s loose structure allows members, whose careers range from university professors to musicians to unemployed, to come in when it’s convenient for them.

Go, which originated in China and is believed to be the oldest game in the world, is a two-player game of strategy in which the goal is to capture the most territory on a wooden grid composed of 19 vertical lines intersecting with 19 horizontal lines. Territory is gained by placing black and white stones on any of the 361 points where the lines intersect. Players arrange stones to surround the most territory while attempting to capture enemy stones. A game ends when both players can make no further moves and say “I pass.”

It’s a game that requires logic and problem-solving skills and involves no luck of the draw (after all, you can’t be dealt a full house with stones). Many players contend that, although the rules are simpler than chess, it’s much harder to master.

“While chess is more one army versus another, Go gets more complicated because of the openness of the board,” says Charles Rinehart, a member of the Memphis Go Club. “It gets more complicated as you go along, and the fact that you can play anywhere on the board makes it more like guerrilla warfare. You can have a little skirmish going on in one corner and another skirmish in another corner.”

The game dates back about 4,000 years, and legend has it that it was invented by an emperor who wanted to help his mentally challenged son gain some intuition. When the game caught on in Japan around 740 A.D., its popularity grew to exceed that in China. At one time, the annual Go champion in Japan was given a cabinet position. It’s still very popular there today, akin to poker games in America, including the smoking, gambling, cursing men spending hours on end engrossed in a game. The game is also taught in Asian military schools as an exercise in strategy, and Asian newspapers commonly feature Go columns similar to the bridge columns in American papers.

The Memphis club, which is officially certified by the American Go Association (AGA), was started years ago when Rinehart and a friend responded to a poster they’d seen hanging in a now-defunct ice-cream shop. The poster called for all interested Go players to meet at an area bookstore. The club grew through word of mouth and eventually found its home at Garibaldi’s. Now the club’s playing site is listed on the AGA’s Web page, and Rinehart says it’s not uncommon for traveling Go players to stop in when they’re in town.

As an official AGA club, they can receive assistance for teaching materials if any member decides to give Go lessons. Currently, they teach beginners as they come in. They can also host official AGA Go tournaments, which they hope to do someday.

Watson and Rinehart both played in last year’s AGA national tournament, but neither brought home any prizes. And it wasn’t because they’re not any good. Go is simply a hard game to master, especially if it’s not learned at an early age. Both men picked up the game later in life. Rinehart’s been playing for 12 years now, and Watson, who learned from Rinehart, has only been playing for five.

“Go has a nice balance between intuitive and analytical ability. As you get older, you tend to become more analytical and you lose some of the intuition you had as a child. You can teach a child Go, and they can become quite good quickly,” says Rinehart.

Because Go involves so much intuition and because there are so many possible opening plays due to the openness of the very large board, computer programmers are stumped as to how to program software that can play a decent game. In 1997, the computerized chess game Deep Blue beat world chess champion Garry Kasparov, but programmers have yet to create a Go program that can beat even average players.

Rinehart tells me he used to think nothing of going at the game for hours when he first learned, and Watson says he’d love to be able to play through the night if he could take a day off work. Then Rinehart offers to play me a game. I shy away, preferring to sit back and watch more experienced players. They say the game’s addictive, and new players often play for hours trying to achieve the perfect game.

But I’m not ready to Go.

For more information on the Memphis Go Club, check out usgo.org.

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Sports Sports Feature

City Sports

Trial By Fire

Thirty years in the football wilderness, and this is all U of M football fans have to show for their troubles?

By Kenneth Neill

While driving to Legion Field last Saturday night in Birmingham, my local host for the evening pointed out that Vulcan, the massive statue of the god of fire that usually towers over Birmingham from high atop Red Mountain, was absent from his pedestal these days, off being “repaired” after a hundred or so years of reminding Central Alabamans from whence their meal tickets had come. Alas, I suspect this mythological man of steel was not resting comfortably in some ironmonger’s workshop last Saturday but inhabiting at least one if not several green-and-gold jerseys down on the gloomy turf at Legion Field.

How else do you explain the Tigers getting their brains beaten in by a football team coming off a 34-0 loss at Louisiana-Lafayette? How else do you explain the 31 points scored by an anemic UAB offense ranked 116th in the country? How else do you explain the miraculous way that virtually every bounce of the football — fumbles, interceptions, near-miss sacks — went UAB’s way?

Bad bounces notwithstanding, I have watched Tigers football for over two decades and never, ever seen a more dispirited effort or, for the fans, a more disheartening performance. Just before halftime, after UAB’s coach, Watson Brown, milked the clock and gigged the Tigers with a dispiriting last-minute TD, putting the Blazers ahead 28-17, I retreated, along with many road-weary Tigers fans under the decrepit gray-concrete stands on the U of M side, to sample a “loaded” hot dog, rumored to be the best dog in C-USA. It was.

We were in shock, no doubt. But we were calm. Along with my blue-clad peers who made up the majority of the crowd (forget that 14,179 attendance figure quoted in the CA; there weren’t half that many warm bodies in the stands), I returned to my seat, assuming — and hoping — that this was all nothing more than a bad dream.

If the first half was a bad dream, the second was a nightmare. UAB kept running the ball straight up the middle, and the Tigers defense, obliging fellows all, kept getting out of the ballcarrier’s way as expeditiously as possible. It got so bad that our sorry little gaggle of blue-clad masochists started cheering whenever we held the mighty Blazers to less than seven yards a carry. Even then, we didn’t cheer too often.

I was a little nervous before the season, when so much was being said about the team’s prospects and so little was being said about the defense. Now, five games in, I can see why; this Tigers defense looks utterly rudderless. Watching these guys go through the motions Saturday night, I asked myself, What would Danton Barto think of this crap? Barto, Tigers linebacker extraordinaire of the early 1990s, was a consummate team leader. I remember one sad but entertaining game in the old Orange Bowl in 1993, when the team was getting its proverbial clock cleaned by Miami. I can still see Barto in the third quarter, exhorting the troops as if the score were tied. It wasn’t, of course (the Tigers lost 41-17), but, trust me, that defense delivered a light-years better performance than the one this sorry bunch gave last Saturday.

On offense, the team at least has a leader in Danny Wimprine and a talented one at that. But I must ask what offensive coordinator Randy Fichtner has been doing to mess with his squad’s heads lately.

Time after time, the whole team leaned expectantly toward the sidelines as the clock relentlessly clicked down, waiting for Fichtner to re-call the play. No telling how many of the team’s 11 players actually knew what was going on when the ball was snapped. My guess would be an average of eight, at best. Why continue bothering with a no-huddle offense — designed to “unnerve” the opposition — if one of its primary products, clearly, is team confusion?

Furthermore, if I live to be 100, I will never understand why Fichtner’s troops line up at least a third of the time in a no-tailback formation, clearly telegraphing Wimprine’s intention to pass. Why do this when you have two of C-USA’s best running backs on your roster? Maybe I’m just a little slow.

And, yes, the Tigers still have special-teams problems. In the game’s turning point, early in the second quarter, punter James Gaither chased into the end zone a snap that had sailed over his head then inelegantly whiffed as he tried to kick the ball over the end-line, thereby neatly converting a sure safety into a UAB touchdown. No offense to Gaither, who kicked impressively in the second half, but these are the kinds of mistakes that are getting downright monotonous. They say you can’t coach stupidity, but how come our team’s brain trust seems to be working so hard at it?

Coach West, if and when you read this, try to avoid the temptation to come after me with a gun. I think I speak for all U of M fans when I say we think the world of you and of the job you’re doing with the program.

But enough is enough, Coach. Losing to a bunch of pissants from Birmingham is not something we were expecting — and neither were you, I suspect. But if lose we must, when we least expect it, let’s lose with some class. We can deal with losing. We longtime Tigers fans are certainly used to it. But only if it’s the Danton Barto way. Not just going through the motions.


What I Like

Some things to be glad about when it comes to sports.

By Ron Martin

Despite the fact that it appears the sports world has become filled with lowbrow, self-absorbed types who think they live under different rules than the rest of us, there are plenty of reasons for me to be glad to be associated with the games people play.

I’m glad Rip Scherer brought Tommy West to Memphis, despite the UAB debacle. I’m glad there is a plaque hanging on the wall of the Tigers basketball practice facility dedicating it to Larry Finch. I’m glad to see the U of M’s Murphy Complex get its needed facelift.

I’m glad the latest NCAA report on athlete-graduation percentages showed Vanderbilt with 100 percent over the last six years. I’m glad Jerry West moved to Memphis and Bud Adams didn’t. I’m glad high school football and basketball are so popular in Memphis and that we don’t live in a city trying to do away with both because a wayward school board can’t see the positives in teenage athletics. I’m glad Wayne Weedon is the city schools’ athletic director.

I’m glad the following don’t call Memphis home: Alan Iverson, Randy Moss, Bobby Knight, and Lou Holtz. I’m glad the following do call Memphis home: R.C. Johnson, Shane Battier, Lorenzen Wright, Tiffany Brown, and John Calipari.

I’m glad we have the Liberty Bowl Memorial Classic and the Southern Heritage Classic. I’m glad we have the Redbirds and Grizzlies. I’m glad DeSoto County has the RiverKings. I’m glad we have the Spring Fling and that the rest of Tennessee is mad about it.

I’m glad the St. Louis Cardinals won their division. I’m glad Sammy Sosa finally spoke out, asking for teammates worthy of his talent. I’m glad there was no baseball strike. I’m glad Bud Selig has no direct effect on life in Memphis. I’m glad the New Orleans Saints look like a football team. I’m glad the Minnesota Vikings don’t. I’m glad Brian Griese’s okay after tripping over his dog for the second time. I’m glad I’m not his dog.

Flyers The Memphis-Shelby County Library has a new reading room called the Grizzlies Den. The library and a number of other charitable organizations received $200,000 from the NBA team last week. Combined with the $5 million pledge to build the Memphis Grizzlies House at St. Jude, the team is acting like it wants to make a difference here, not just a buck.

It’s one thing for the U of M to get beat by Ole Miss and Southern Miss, but at UAB, the team played as though they didn’t want to win, which is unacceptable. I spend a lot of time with the team, so to say I was shocked is an understatement, because I know how hard they work.

Ramblings Nashville talk-show host Phil Valentine after the Titans’ loss to Cleveland: “Now, Nashville and Memphis have something in common: We don’t want the Titans either.”

Categories
Theater Theater Feature

That Smarts

What’s left when genius has gone? Insanity? Can genius be inherited? And insanity? David Auburn’s Proof, currently at Playhouse on the Square, leaves the answers to these questions to the audience.

Thank you for giving us something to ponder.

At first, the story seems all too familiar. Robert (Dave Landis) is a famous mathematician whose genius got lost in the maze of madness. Robert is dead. What he left behind are two daughters: While Claire (Anne Dauber) was succeeding in New York, Catherine (Kim Justis) was stuck in Chicago with her sick father, with Hal (Jonathon Lamer), a young mathematician who worshiped Robert, and with 103 notebooks. It sounds very much like the storyline of A Beautiful Mind.

The timing of the two works is tangled. Auburn wrote Proof in the summer of 1998, and it premiered at the Manhattan Theatre Club in the spring of 1999 before it moved to Broadway in the fall of 2000. It won the Tony Award for Best Play and the 2001 Pulitzer Prize for Drama. Sylvia Nasar’s biography of the schizophrenic Noble Prize-winning mathematician John Nash Jr., A Beautiful Mind, on which the movie was loosely based, was published in June 1998. Ron Howard’s movie premiered in December 2001.

The topic — on screen, on paper, on stage — is the sticky question of where genius ends and insanity begins. In Proof, it’s hard to believe that the play could deal with anything more.

The once-genius Robert tried to find the answers to everything — beautiful mathematics, the most elegant and perfect proofs — in the decimal numbers on library books.

“He used to read all day,” says Catherine. “He kept demanding more and more books. I took them out of the library by the carload. We had hundreds upstairs. Then I realized he wasn’t reading: He believed aliens were sending him messages through the Dewey decimal numbers on the library books. He was trying to work out the code.”

Auburn’s first act provides a glimpse into this dysfunctional group, in which everybody is focused on Robert, the brilliant dead man. Hal, who at age 28 feels he is past his mathematical peak, tries feverishly to find a phenomenal proof in the notebooks Robert left behind. Catherine doesn’t have much hope that he’ll find something, because after the library book phase came the “writing phase: scribbling 19, 20 hours a day. I ordered him a case of notebooks, and he used every one.” While Hal’s interest in the notebooks weakens, his interest in Catherine becomes obvious.

So you sit in your seat thinking, Okay, it’s going to be a beautiful love story. The against-all-odds kind of thing. You can live with that, especially since Lamer does a great job portraying a clumsy, geeky mathematician in love. You get comfortable, assuming that the second act is going to meander along in the same fashion. Claire, the evil, successful sister who didn’t give a damn about her sick father, will probably try to destroy the sweet happiness, but in the end, everything will turn out fine.

But Auburn doesn’t let you off that easily. The story spins in the opposite direction right before intermission, making you wish that the break could be skipped.

When you leave, you may wonder what this was all about. Catherine, 25, is a young woman who has spent the past five years of her life caring for a sick father: “I lived with him. I spent my life with him. I fed him. Talked to him. Tried to listen when he talked. Talked to people who weren’t there. … Watched him shuffling around like a ghost. He was filthy. I had to make sure he bathed.” Catherine, who dropped out of school to take care of this man, didn’t have friends, didn’t seem to have a life beyond this insane genius. It’s her father, after all. Her successful sister has been far away during all those years. Far enough to not have to deal with this man.

So who’s the genius and who’s insane? It’s the ultimate question for Catherine. Can she have one without the other? Does she want either one? And then, aren’t men supposed to be the great geniuses? As Hal says to her:

“Really original work — it’s all young guys.”

“Young guys?”

“Young people.”

“But it is men, mostly.”

“There are some women.”

“Who?”

Through October 27.

Categories
News

Grey-dogged

I showed up at the Dallas bus station at 2:05 a.m., admittedly intoxicated but easily in time for a 2:20 bus to Albuquerque, and I was told to go to Gate 7.

I went to Gate 7, but when I reached the driver, who was taking the tickets, he said I was in the wrong line. So I asked the lady with the clipboard which line to get in for Albuquerque, and she said Gate 2.

At the end of the Gate 2 line, I was told, “No, you need the Amarillo bus. This is the Phoenix bus.”

A baggage man grabbed my backpack to lead me to that bus, but we arrived at an empty bus lane. The express bus to Albuquerque was gone. The next one? A local bus (which stops at every half-ass town along the way) was at 5:30 a.m., more than two and a half hours later.

Two and a half hours at the Dallas bus station, drunk and bitter, when I should have been sleeping soundly on an AmeriCruiser headed for Albuquerque. Instead of arriving at 5 p.m., when my friend expected to pick me up, I would get there at half past midnight, with very little sleep and even less happiness. The later bus would take four more hours to get there and involve a three-hour layover in lovely Abilene.

I was being tormented, again, by that most treacherous of the travel gods, the Great Grey Dog.

The 4 to 5 a.m. hour was the toughest. I was the nervous-looking dude in the corner with a laptop, smacking on my gum and occasionally pounding the table and punctuating this action with an emphatic expletive — which, this being a Greyhound station, brought no attention to me whatsoever. I did have a small audience: a man who asked about my computer and then asked if I had any spare coins in my pocket. Someone was talking loudly to himself, but I tried not to look. I couldn’t tell if it was the man with the cane and the weightlifting belt or the Dennis Weaver look-alike with the briefcase.

Some old buddies had, after an insane night that can’t be discussed here, more or less poured me into the Dallas station, and I was flying high on that special on-the-road confidence that tells you, “Yes, even with all the wackiness and way too many beers, I WILL be on that bus, and I WILL go on to the next adventure as planned.” Well, you know what happened to that. Instead of crashing on the bus to Albuquerque, I found myself buying eggs, sausage, a biscuit, orange juice, a bowl of Fruit Loops, and four extra-strength Tylenol in Dallas just before dawn. I also got to hear about a guy’s impending eye surgery at the VA hospital in Dallas — not that I asked. You have to love the bus.

I finally got to sleep on the Dog — after checking twice with the driver to make sure it was the right one — and all I remember of the ride to Abilene is that there was snow blowing around when I woke up briefly in Mineral Wells. In Abilene, it was sunny and 18 degrees, and the wind was blowing at what I would call a sustained 25 mph, with gusts up to brain-freezing.

News updates from the Abilene paper: Two cows were run over by an 18-wheeler the night before, and a 21-year-old man was in custody after allegedly swatting the heads of his wife and 6-month-old son “in a dispute centering on the death of a chicken.” I can’t make things like this up.

Back at the Abilene station, things took a turn toward the pessimistic. When I handed my ticket to the driver and asked — paranoia check — if this was indeed the bus to Albuquerque, he laughed a mostly toothless laugh and said, “Sure is — good luck!”

A few minutes later, he explained this comment in the following reassuring remarks to the seven of us on board (I’ll try to write in his accent, but bear in mind that you’re listening to a 63-year-old Greyhound driver who just said he can remember when driving from Dallas to Fort Worth was an all-day affair):

“Well, folks, th’road from h’yar to Lubbock should be allraht b’now — ah ‘magine the wind down blowed it drah — but when ah left Lubbock this mawnin, half the town was covered w’ black ahs [that would be ‘ice’]. From Clovis on in to Albuquerque, y’all may have to all sit in the way back to weight ‘er down — heh heh heh. She purdy much come from Lubbock to h’yar this mawnin goin’ sahdways through the snow and ahs. Heh heh heh.”

With these comforting images, I leave you for now. My laptop is running low on battery power, and as my battery fades, so do I. With any luck — make that with any GOOD luck — I will see the Rocky Mountains when the sun comes up tomorrow, and then all will be well. The Rockies are beautiful, they’re covered with snow, and they’re a hell of a long way from Dallas and Abilene.

Categories
Opinion Viewpoint

Insecurity Plan

No. This is not acceptable. This is not the country we want to be. This is not the world we want to make.

The United States of America is still run by its citizens. The government works for us. Rank imperialism and warmongering are not American traditions or values. We do not need to dominate the world. We want and need to work with other nations. We want to find solutions other than killing people. Not in our name, not with our money, not with our children’s blood.

We want to find a way so that killing is the last resort, not the first. We would rather put our time, energy, money, and even blood into making peace than making war.

“The National Security Strategy of the United States — 2002” is repellent, unnecessary, and, above all, impractical. Americans are famous for pragmatism, and we need a good dose of common sense right now. This Will Not Work.

The announced plan of the current administration for world domination reinforces every paranoid, anti-American prejudice on this earth. This plan is guaranteed to produce more terrorists. Even if this country were to become some insane, 21st-century version of Sparta — armed to the teeth, guards on every foot of our borders — we would still not be safe. Have the Israelis been able to stop terrorism with their tactics?

Not only would we not be safe, we would not have a nickel left for schools or health care or roads or parks or zoos or gardens or universities or mass transit or senior centers or the arts or anything resembling civilization. This is nuts.

This creepy, un-American document has a pedigree going back to Bush I, when — surprise! — Dick Cheney and Paul Wolfowitz were at the Department of Defense and both such geniuses that they not only didn’t see the collapse of the Soviet Union coming, they didn’t believe it after they saw it.

In those days, this plan for permanent imperial adventurism was called “Defense Strategy for the 1990s” and was supposed to be a definitive response to the Soviet threat. Then the Soviet threat disappeared, and the same plan re-emerged as a response to the post-Soviet world.

It was roundly criticized at the time, its manifest weaknesses attacked by both right and left. Now, it is back yet again as the answer to post-September 11th. Sort of like the selling of the Bush tax cut — needed in surplus, needed in deficit, needed for rain and shine — the plan exists apart from rationale.

In what is indeed a dangerous and uncertain world, we need the cooperation of other nations as never before. Under this doctrine, we claim the right to first-strike use of nuclear weapons and “unannounced pre-emptive strikes.” That means surprise attacks. Happy Pearl Harbor Day. We have just proclaimed ourselves Bully of the World.

There is a better way. Foreign-policy experts polled at the end of the 20th century agreed the great triumph of the past 100 years in foreign policy was the Marshall Plan. We can use our strength to promote our interests through diplomacy, economic diplomacy, multilateral institutions (which we dominate anyway), and free trade conditioned to benefit all.

None of this will make al Qaeda love us but will make it a lot more likely that whoever finds them will hand them over.

This reckless, hateful, and ineffective approach to the rest of the world has glaring weaknesses. It announces that we intend to go in and take out everybody else’s nukes (27 countries have them) whenever we feel like it. Meanwhile, we’re doing virtually nothing to stop their spread.

Last month, Ted Turner’s Nuclear Threat Initiative had to pony up $5 million to get poorly secured, weapons-grade uranium out of Belgrade. Privatizing disarmament: Why didn’t we think of that before?

The final absurdity is that the plan is supposed to Stop Change. Does no one in the administration read history?

Molly Ivins is a columnist for the Fort Worth Star-Telegram and a member of the Creative Writers Syndicate. Her work frequently appears in the Flyer.

Categories
Politics Politics Beat Blog

POLITICS: Center Ring

CENTER RING

The first of five planned debates between the two major-party U.S. Senate candidates is now in the can, after a televised encounter Monday night in Chattanooga, and it is clear that Democratic candidate Bob Clement, currently the congressman representing Nashville, has his work cut out for him in hoping to overtake his Republican opponent, former governor Lamar Alexander.

One of the ironies of Clement’s situation was highlighted by polls taken during the past few weeks, showing his political future ebbing and flowing on wildly fluctuating findings. One day’s survey would show him almost 20 points behind Alexander, another only eight, and the Clement camp’s chief lobbying point was that, as the candidate himself urged on a recent evening in Memphis, “when our name-recognition is the same with a group of voters, we come out even.”

What is astounding about this is that Clement has run for – and held – statewide office before, has been the capital city’s man in Washington for more than a decade, and is the son of one of Tennessee’s most legendary governors in modern times, Frank Clement, a magnetic orator whose keynote speech at the 1956 Democratic Convention mesmerized the nation’s listeners.

The senior Clement was still serving as governor during the late ‘60s when an automobile accident terminated his life and career simultaneously. Indeed, it was almost entirely on the basis of the family name that son Bob was able to launch his own political career in the years following his father’s death, winning election as a Public Service Commissioner and mounting a credible challenge for governor.

As the Democratic nominee for the 7th District congressional seat in 1982, he was upset by a Republican who later became governor, Don Sundquist, but his race that year, followed by his subsequent service in the Nashville-based 5th District, should have guaranteed wide name recognition in the state’s two most populous areas.

The fact is that Clement, though arguably in possession of a quite lustrous vita (he also served terms as a director of the Tennessee Valley Authority and as president of Cumberland University), has a persona problem that stems not from any dearth of ability (his gifts are generally recognized) nor even from his diminutive stature (he stands at considerably less than six feet) but from the fact that he seems low-profile by nature, almost bashful – an introvert in an extrovert’s profession.

One difference between himself and Alexander was dramatized during the televised debate Monday night in the periodic cutaway shots of either candidate reacting to what the other was saying. Alexander appeared to have the actor’s gift of knowing when he was on camera; he seemed polite, attentive, shrewd, and skeptical as needed. When he smiled, it was in good-natured acknowledgement of the developing plotline.

Clement, on the other hand, seemed to pout and glower whenever his adversary was making a point that he deemed off the mark or unfair in what it suggested, and to purse his lips when he was just listening. At several points the camera caught him rolling his tongue in the hollow of his right cheek – a maneuver that in closeup looked huge and almost volcanic.

In short, Alexander at all times had his public face on, while Clement’s private self kept wandering into the proceedings like a lost child. It was a situation that could be interpreted to either man’s credit or to either’s blame, but in an age when appearances count for as much as issues, the cosmetic edge clearly belonged to the former governor.

Even the logistics of the TV studio in Chattanooga worked to Clement’s disadvantage: Those who have seen them both in the flesh are aware that Clement is as ruddy of complexion as Alexander is, but the side of the set on which the congressman sat seemed to be bathed in an antiseptically yellow light, while the former governor had the benefit of pinker and more natural-looking hues, a state of affairs that somewhat equaled out on those rare occasions when Clement was able to stand center stage and field a question from a guest in the studio audience.

Echoes of the Primary

From time to time, Clement has picked up and hurled at Alexander one of the barbs thrown at the Republican nominee by his erstwhile antagonist in the GOP Senate primary, U.S. Rep. Ed Bryant.

The kiss-and-make-up etiquette of partisan politics requires that intra-party rivals support each other even after the most bitter of primaries, and that between Alexander and Bryant was one such. Speaking at a recent luncheon meeting, the outgoing 7th District congressman dutifully endorsed – and sported the stickers of- both Alexander, whom he so recently was chastising on an almost daily basis, and congressional colleague Van Hilleary, the GOP gubernatorial nominee with whom Bryant played Alphonse-and-Gaston a few seasons back, when both men, equally ambitious, were eyeing both a Senate and a governor’s race for 2002.

Though Bryant was no doubt sincere, the exercise had a bit of a pro forma feel to it, and Clement, perhaps over-optimistically, has frequently made appeals on the stump to the erstwhile Bryant voters, professing to represent their populist interests against the putatively more elitist and establishmentarian Alexander.

In any case, Clement has, as indicated, appropriated some of Bryant’s weaponry, repeating the 7th District congressman’s charges that Alexander was out of step with the Senate, which passed by a 97-0 vote a corporate reform measure that Alexander disapproved of, and strongly suggesting, as did Bryant, that the former governor had amassed his fortune by means of sweetheart deals that may have leveraged his governmental connections.

In Monday night’s debate, as previously, Clement made much of a recently renewed $102 million contract between the state and Education Networks of America (ENA), a company on whose board Alexander sits for an annual salary of $60,000. Alexander should give the money back, Clement suggested, “but it hasn’t happened.”

For the record, Alexander has denied anything improper and has noted, as in the televised debate, that Clement, like himself, is a “multi-millionaire.” He made an attempt to turn the tables by recalling what he said was Clement’s membership in the ‘70s on the board of directors of a bank owned by the Butcher brothers, Jake and C.H., once prominent Tennessee Democrats whose banks later failed, leading to federal fraud convictions for both men.

An apparently surprised Clement denied any such membership, but the Alexander campaign later emailed to reporters copies of a photograph from the 1973 annual report of the City and County Bank of Knox County, showing a youthful Bob Clement as one of several “directors.”

Though Clement quibbled about the meaning of the picture – and the nature of his relationship to the bank and to the Butchers, whom he ended up on the wrong side of, politically, losing to Jake Butcher in the Democratic gubernatorial primary of 1978 – and Alexander has pooh-poohed the nature of his ENA involvement, the fact is that both men have profited from private-sector opportunities that their public prominence made easier for them.

There is no great surprise in this – it is one of the unspoken perks of public life, conspicuously so in the careers of most recent American presidents, for example – and there is nothing necessarily improper about it. In any case, the fallout from Monday night may make it more difficult henceforth for Clement to link Alexander with “Enron capitalism” – though the former governor seems to have been measurably more active in the corporate sector than the congressman.

Clement may have more luck with another stratagem inherited from Bryant. In the primary the GOP congressman made much of a remark made by Alexander early in the year to Knoxville News-Sentinel reporter Tom Humphrey, who quoted the two-time presidential aspirant as saying, “I wanted to be president. The Senate will have to do.”

Bryant interpreted the remark as demonstrating the arrogance of a lordly Alexander deigning to go slumming for what he regarded as a consolation price. This is how Clement would prefer it be seen, as well.

As it happens, Alexander first learned of the possible repercussions of his statement while on a visit to the Flyer office during the primary. Informed of Bryant’s first broadside on the subject, the former governor was clearly taken aback. He had made the statement near the end of a long interview at the close of a long day’s worth of campaigning, he said, and had just let his guard down.

In subsequent interviews, Alexander would amend his response, suggesting that he had been indulging in some kind of levity. (That seems to be the favored approach these days of political figures confronted with potentially embarrassing quotations.) There is no reason why the statement should not be taken at face value, however, and no particular reason why any odium should attach to it. By definition, anybody who has tried for the presidency – as Alexander did in the 1996 and 2000 cycles – and failed is settling for less by seeking another public office later on.

A ‘Moderate’’s Re-emergence

What has intrigued some in the current race is the obvious ease with which Alexander has worn his Senate candidate’s mantle – contrasted with the relatively awkward and unconvincing manner of his two presidential races, in which, having compiled a moderate record as the successful two-term governor of Tennessee, he chose to run as a conservative’s conservative – even to the point, in 1996, of advocating the abolition of the Department of Education which he once headed and, in 1999, of denouncing then rival George W. Bush’s phrase “compassionate conservatism” as a case of “weasel words.”

In his primary campaign this year against Bryant, Alexander was compelled once again to stress his conservative credentials, but since then has re-emerged as a reassuringly middle-of-the-road figure – capable, for example, of stretching hands across partisan boundaries to form a “coalition” with Memphis Mayor Willie Herenton, a nominal Democrat and former city schools superintendent who professes admiration for Alexander’s educational reforms as governor during the ‘80s.

Meanwhile, those red-meat Republicans who always distrusted Alexander for the very moderation which he practiced as governor, when he had to make common cause with Democrats to get his programs enacted, have apparently been mollified by his stated allegiance in this campaign year to the programs of the Bush administration.

The difference between administrative and legislative functions being what it is, there is relatively little likelihood that a Senator Alexander would run afoul of his party’s conservatives, though he – like Clement – has shown signs of wanting to brake the administration’s headlong rush toward confrontation with Iraq. (While giving lip service to the president’s pronouncements, Alexander has advocated a greater role for Congress and America’s allies in the shaping of a military policy, and he makes a point of saying that his own interest is in domestic policy and in “winning the peace.”)

ClemeNt has proved a doughty campaigner, and his wife, Mary Clement, has won numerous admirers for her strength and sagacity on the campaign trail (though she, like her counterpart Honey Alexander, has been under-employed as a campaign surrogate). He has legitimate policy differences with Alexander – notably on providing prescription-drug insurance for seniors through Medicare and imposing a form of price controls on drugs – but his own history as a sometime fellow traveler with the Bush administration (on the initial Bush tax cuts, for example) makes it difficult for him to draw graphic contrasts.

With a month to go, it would seem to be the mellifluous-voiced Alexander’s race to lose, but the undecideds in an electorate that has seen Republican Van Hilleary close the gap with Democrat Phil Bredesen, the long-term leader in that race, may reserve judgment for a few more weeks yet between candidates Alexander and Clement, both of whom are doggedly working the middle of the road.