Month: November 2002

Categories
Editorial Opinion

The Lottery’s a Good Bet

When we made the decision back in 1990 (the second year of the Flyer‘s existence) to exhaustively cover the various elections of that year, we made a second, related decision: While we would neither dissemble on matters of public import nor attempt to conceal our attitude, we would not tell our readers how to vote.

We have reconsidered our nonendorsement policy from time to time but, ultimately, have found no cause to reverse it. The unexpected good service of some elected officials and the unanticipated follies of others have, in fact, underscored the soundness of our original judgment on the matter.

But the current debate over the lottery referendum on the November 5th ballot touches on matters so much larger than the specific language or limited intent of the initiative itself that we find we must have our say in the matter.

We are partly emboldened to do so because the organized secular opponents of the lottery made a cynical judgment months ago that if they could make the lottery’s chief exponent for the last two decades — state Senator Steve Cohen — the issue and proceed to besmirch his character, they had the battle as good as won. (We’re not making this up; it’s in black and white in a manifesto meant to be circulated only among lottery opponents but which fortunately leaked to the outside world.)

Senator Cohen may have his foibles, like the rest of us, but we only commend his steadfast pursuit of his goal, his overcoming of intractable legislative opposition, and his good-faith willingness to refine the issue. The lottery proposal that ultimately passed the legislature stands to benefit public education, in emulation of Georgia’s highly successful Hope scholarships, which are funded by that state’s lottery.

Senator Cohen has argued trenchantly that the lottery debate is a reprise of those controversies that, in earlier generations, raged concerning female suffrage, integrated lunch counters, rock-and-roll, and the like. Civilization did not decline with the advent of the aforementioned; it measurably improved and strengthened itself. Cohen has persuasively disputed opponents’ arguments that mainly the poor would patronize the lottery, that the sons and daughters of the middle class would be the exclusive beneficiaries of lottery-funded scholarships, or that public interest in the lottery would wane, requiring larger payoffs, more inventive offerings, and increasingly desperate efforts by the state to entice potential customers. He cites figures from the Georgia experience that indicate the reverse of all these tendencies.

The opponents of the lottery are on firmer ground when they question the extent to which the state would actually benefit financially. In truth, Tennessee’s ongoing fiscal dilemma is severe enough that lottery proceeds might be a relative drop in the bucket of need. But that’s no reason to let the cup pass from our lips.

As for the argument that a lottery would corrupt the state or subvert our public morals — please. Tunica, Mississippi, a few scant miles to the south, is already catering to our citizens’ gaming appetites (as has the dog track in neighboring West Memphis, Arkansas) and has so far neglected to channel the proceeds back into Tennessee education or any other publicly useful purpose.

The lottery is, in the best sense, a forward step. It is the right move at the right time for the people of Tennessee, and we think a vote for it is both positive and timely.

Categories
Opinion

Summerland Grove

A high priest lights sage for the Samhain (Halloween) ritual.

A group of about 25 people, young and old, some in jeans, others a little more dressed up, sit in folding chairs arranged in a circle in a serene backyard in a quiet Memphis neighborhood. Their faces are lit by the glowing tiki torches used to light the back porch and, of course, to ward off those pesky West Nile-infected mosquitoes. They’re listening intently to a pale-faced, maternal-looking woman in a long, flowing blue skirt. She is talking of her spiritual path — giving her testimonial, if you will.

No, this is not an adult Sunday-school class. These are members of Summerland Grove, Memphis’ only pagan church, at their monthly Sunday-night meeting, and they’re listening to the words of a woman named Tammy, who has traveled from another pagan church out of town to deliver a speech.

The group is made up of Wiccans, “druids,” and members of other pagan religions. They worship a number of deities that represent two parts of one whole: a Goddess and a God.

These witches are not the old green-faced hags of lore, with pointy black hats and riding rickety broomsticks past the full moon. Nor do they sacrifice babies or virgins or have wild orgies at the stroke of midnight. They’re simply people who happen to have an intense love for Mother Earth. Some might even call them tree-huggers.

The members of Summerland Grove come together to worship their deities and share in common rituals, the same reasons members of most other religions congregate. Only, paganism is a little different from most other religions.

Goddesses and Spells and Sabbats! Oh, My!

“All right, everybody! Line up according to your astrological sign. I need Fire signs over here, Air signs here, Earth there, and Water over there,” says the High Priestess Gaia as she directs participants in the Samhain (pronounced SOW-en) ancestor ritual.

Witches in ceremonial robes of varying color and texture hustle around the crowded dining hall in a cabin at Meeman-Shelby Forest as they attempt to follow Gaia’s instructions. They’re attending Summerland Grove’s annual Festival of Souls, the celebration of Samhain (Halloween), the pagan new year.

Once they’re lined up, they’re given some instruction regarding the ritual they are about to take part in. There’s no goofing around, and anyone who arrives late is not allowed inside the circle. Gaia makes sure no one’s allergic to sage or pomegranates, which will be used in the ritual, and then goes over the order in which things will happen.

After a quick bathroom break, they are led outside to the ritual circle, which is lined with candles and torches. Once everyone’s in formation, the high priestess and high priest begin to call upon the Lord and Lady, and the ritual — which involves individuals calling upon their ancestors for guidance in the coming year — commences.

Explaining the specifics of the ritual could take up a book, but, in short, it’s a set of practices witches perform to clear their minds of secular thoughts and connect them with their deity. It’s sort of like prayer, only it involves tools such as incense, wands, candles, and athames (ritual knives — not used for actual cutting). Some witches may also wear cloaks during ritual, but they’re not required.

“Ritual takes me out of the mundane. I lived in the mundane for a damn long time, and I still do. Now I have breaks, and these breaks provide me with sanity. By totally getting out of myself, even if it’s only for an hour a month, I come back refreshed,” says Trudy Herring, a jovial church elder, who serves as Summerland Grove’s council president.

To understand ritual, you must first have a general understanding of the pagan belief system. It may come as a surprise to many, but pagans or witches do not worship the devil. In fact, they don’t even believe in the devil.

“Pagan” is an umbrella term that refers to a number of different faiths: Wicca, druidism, even Native American faiths. Basically, a pagan is someone who practices a polytheistic religion. Instead of paying homage to only one god, as in the Christian, Jewish, and Muslim faiths, pagans honor any number of deities, all of which are considered parts of one larger deity, who is separated into feminine and masculine aspects: the God and the Goddess, also known as the Lord and the Lady.

“It’s a revival of the pre-Christian religions, the time when Earth was revered as a Goddess or a deity and when natural phenomena were given deity status,” explains church elder Scott Sumers, a tall, lanky fellow wearing a safari hat and a blue-jean shirt.

Many believe Wicca stemmed from druidism, but its exact origins are unknown. Wiccans are pagans who share the basic belief that one can do whatever one wishes so long as it doesn’t bring harm to anyone else, an idea known as the Wiccan Rede (“And if it harms none, do as ye will”). The Rede is the heart of the Wiccan religion and is the one concept that most witches embrace. The rest is up to the individual. The practice and belief systems of witchcraft tend to be eclectic.

If there’s one thing that automatically comes to mind when most people think of witches, it’s “magick” and spells. But these witches cannot move books with their minds or cast spells to make you win the lottery.

“Magick is not the Harry Potter type of magick, although I really want to know how to blow on a candle and make it light,” says Herring, laughing. “Basically, it mixes the three parts of the human together: heart, mind, and spirit. It doesn’t change the physical world around you, but it reprograms my mind to get what I need or what I want.”

For example, if a witch wanted to bring more love into her life, she could perform a love spell. But this doesn’t mean that she actually believes the next Brad Pitt look-alike that comes along will swoon at first glimpse. She believes the spell will simply give her more confidence, making it easier for her to find love. Magick “works” on the principle that it’s easier to get what you want if you truly believe in yourself, and it’s generally performed through a ritual of some sort.

Most pagans use ritual on a daily basis, but there are eight major holidays, or Sabbats, on which witches meet to perform ritual. The witches of Summerland Grove join together on these special days of the year to feast and honor their deities, as they do each year at the Festival of Souls. Other pagan holidays include Ostara (the Christian Easter), which is celebrated with colored eggs and all the usual Easter fare minus images of the risen Jesus, and Yule (Christmas), which involves an exchange of gifts and a large feast.

After death, pagans believe they go to a place called Summerland (hence the church’s name), the pagan version of heaven. In Summerland, the spirit rests as it reflects on its past lives while waiting to go into the next one. Pagans generally believe in reincarnation, and with each new body they inhabit, they believe they gain new knowledge.

“By gaining as much knowledge as I can, I am brought closer to godlike status. Eventually, I think we will be absorbed by the whole: the Akasha, the Spirit, or the Chi,” explains Sumers. The idea is similar to the Hindu system of reincarnation, in which the ultimate goal is to become the godlike Brahman.

So if they’re just reincarnated nature-lovers, where do all these crazy stories of sacrifice and devil worship come from? Herring and Sumers believe many of the misconceptions about paganism stem from ignorance and old beliefs dating back to the days of the Inquisition.

“The Catholic Church spent a great deal of time eradicating paganism from Europe, and a lot of the stories that came back were about pagans sacrificing humans. Did they do that? Probably so, but only in extreme cases,” says Herring.

Another of Herring’s theories about how pagans are misunderstood concerns their worship of a horned god associated with preparation of the harvest and protection of wildlife. She believes early Christians may have mistaken this god for the devil.

“I think a lot of fear and misunderstanding about paganism comes from not being exposed to it. A lot of people have been brought up to believe that anything non-Christian is satanic or evil. They don’t wish to learn about it, because by learning about it, they believe they too become evil,” says Sumers.

Summerland Grove: How It All Started and Where It is Now

Church was supposed to start at 7 o’clock, but most of the cars began pulling in around 7:30 p.m. They call this Pagan Standard Time, meaning that things get started when they get started and end when they end. As people arrive, they’re greeted and then take a seat in the circle of chairs arranged on a church member’s brick patio. While they wait for church to begin, members talk. Cigarette smoke and myriad conversations fill the air.

Finally, Herring rises and announces that the meeting will begin. After several announcements are made, all eyes turn to the guest speaker. Tammy captivates her listeners for nearly an hour as she discusses her personal belief system, using anecdotes from significant spiritual moments in her life — like the time when a grandaddy longlegs, perched on her drinking glass, helped her to understand the vast web created by the human search for spirituality.

And although her path may have been different from that of other church members, she is embraced and accepted. “Celebrating Diversity in the Pagan Community” is Summerland’s motto. Other than sharing the central pagan belief of honoring the earth, the elders decided that the only requirement for church membership was that members be themselves and respect others for who they are.

“The basic goal we want for any member is to find themselves and become the best person they can possibly be. That will benefit the community as a whole, even the mundane community. Being the best person you can be is the closest thing to divinity,” says Sumers.

Although the original coven was Wiccan, the group decided the church should be considered pagan, opening it up to more people. The church began as a small coven of witches in 1994. Covens usually have a leader, and the rules are strict. But these members wanted a different kind of coven.

“Someone suggested starting a leaderless coven where we were all on the same level. I was very frustrated with the whole leadership of covens, so we decided that, no matter what, we’d always be on the same level,” says Sumers.

And so a leaderless coven was formed. But after a member claimed to be having trouble with the Department of Human Services due to her religious beliefs, the group decided that they should go a step further and become a legal church in hopes of curtailing future problems. After drafting bylaws, filling out paperwork, and paying a registration fee, the group became a legal church.

Summerland claims 220 members, 84 of whom are active and have paid a yearly membership fee of $15. The fee pays for the quarterly newsletter, the mailing of membership certificates and cards, and Summerland Grove bumper stickers.

“Before, we didn’t charge for membership; it usually just came out of our pockets. When membership was free, we had over 2,000 members. That got costly real quick,” says Sumers.

The group has council meetings once a month, at which elected officers plan church events. And the church also hosts special ceremonies such as weddings, known as “handfastings,” because during the ceremony the couple’s hands are fastened with a cord.

Members interested in leadership positions within the church are given the opportunity to advance by using the church’s Realm System. It’s divided into five levels, each named after an element (Earth, Air, Fire, Water, and Spirit).

With each level, members read certain texts. Some other requirements: “spend a lot of time with Mother Nature” or “write, lead, and perform two rituals.” Members who have passed the Fourth Realm (Water) are considered high priests or priestesses. Those who’ve passed the Fifth Realm (Spirit) become church clergy.

“I’ve often said one of the hardest parts about paganism is that the book of paganism is written on your heart. It’s not published by anybody. So you really have to trust yourself. The [Realm] System is an excellent way to go through that process,” says Herring, a member of the clergy.

Summerland Grove has generally been well accepted by the community at large. They regularly participate in charity events and volunteer work, such as cleaning up the Chucalissa Indian Village in South Memphis and collecting canned foods for MIFA each year.

“I think it has an awful lot to do with the fact that we really have striven not to be the scary people. You wouldn’t pick me out for a witch walking down the road,” says Herring, jokingly. “Grandma, yeah, but not one of them witch people.”

Summerland Grove, like other national pagan organizations, strives to get rid of the old, negative ideas about witches. They’re trying to create a more positive image — that they’re simply worshipers of nature and revivers of the ancient Goddess-worshiping religions, not devil-worshiping freaks.

“We have different beliefs, but we try not to go around and ‘boogie-boogie, hocus-pocus’ people. That’s not helping our image any, and that’s honestly not what we believe,” says Sumers. “We don’t believe we’re different from anybody else.”

For more information about Summerland, visit the Web site at Summerland.org.

Categories
News The Fly-By

Fired Up

I sincerely enjoy fall. When the summer haze lifts and the sunlight comes in low, the world looks clean, sharp, and new to me. When the daytime temp drops below my sweat threshold, I’ll get outside more and enjoy my little piece of the world. And one evening real soon, I’ll be treated to one of my simple fall pleasures, which is smelling a little oak smoke drifting out of a neighbor’s fireplace.

Now, some of you might be wondering, “Why doesn’t Jowers build his own oak fire instead of going around sniffing other people’s fires?” Well, I’ll tell you: I live in an 88-year-old house, which has an unlined brick chimney. I’m afraid to burn wood in it, and I don’t want to pay somebody a couple thousand dollars to line the chimney with stainless steel or some high-tech chimney mud. So, don’t you know, we Jowerses have gas logs.

Now, some of you chimney sweeps are thinking, “You still need to have your chimney lined! A chimney for gas logs ought to be as good as a chimney for real wood logs!” I know that. But since my gas logs don’t make embers that could set my house on fire and since they don’t make flammable creosote, I’m willing to take my chances without the liner. So far, the Jowers gas logs have performed admirably and they haven’t harmed any Jowerses or pets.

I’m not afraid of my own gas logs, but I am afraid of some of the gas-log installations I’ve seen. First on my list: The dreaded vent-free gas logs. Vendors use the term “vent-free” like it’s a good thing to have a fire in your house and have no vent for it. No, bubba, no. Ventlessness is not a feature. It’s a downgrade and a clear and present danger besides. Fires make carbon monoxide. Carbon monoxide can kill people. That means fires need vents, even cute little gas-log fires.

Even so, if you go to a fireplace shop looking for gas logs, chances are somebody will try to sell you some vent-free gas logs. They’ll tell you that the vent-free units are affordable, and people love ’em. They’ll tell you that they’re safe, and they’ll say it’s because they have oxygen-depletion sensors. I’ve read the promotional literature for vent-free gas logs, and I know the sensor is supposed to shut off the flame if oxygen in the room gets too low. Problem is I don’t trust oxygen-depletion sensors. First of all, I wouldn’t bet my life that a cheap add-on gizmo on a set of gas logs will work. Second, people can die from carbon monoxide poisoning in a room that has lots of oxygen in it, as long as there’s plenty of carbon monoxide.

Then there’s this: Gas fires don’t just make carbon monoxide; they also make water vapor. Running a vent-free gas log set is a great way to load up your house with excess moisture and grow a nice crop of mold, mildew, and fungus. Some of those exotic molds can make a person sick.

Another worrisome thing about vent-free gas logs: Hardly a week goes by that I don’t see a whopping big set of those logs stuffed into a tiny 80-year-old fireplace. The gas logs hang way out onto the hearth. You people with oversized gas logs, listen to me: It is not okay to have a gas flame burning out on your hearth. Sooner or later, a child, a pet, or somebody in a bathrobe will walk too close to the fireplace and end up on fire. If you’ve got a tiny little fireplace, get some tiny little gas logs. If you shop around, you can find some that will fit into a fireplace that’s only nine inches deep.

Better yet, stay away from vent-free gas logs altogether. If you’re going to have gas logs, you need a real-enough chimney, one that will let the carbon monoxide and the water vapor out. You’ll need one other thing: a little clamp on the fireplace damper to hold the damper open ever so slightly. That way, if you forget to open your damper (as people often do), the flue will still be open. You can buy the little clamps at any fireplace shop.

If you don’t have a chimney but you’ve just got to have something that looks like a fire, get an electric log set. No gas, no emissions, nothing but honest-to-goodness fake fire. If you want to see a video clip of electric logs (and I know you do), go here: Innohearth.com/elg.html.

If you’ve got a chimney and you want gas logs, get the rip-roaring, yellow-flaming, gas-guzzling full-size ones like I’ve got. Open the chimney damper wide and max out the gas flame. All that hot air going up the chimney will set up a stack effect and create one heck of a draft. When you feel the cold air coming in around the windows and doors, do what I do: Crack a window, and you just might catch a whiff of a neighbor’s real oak fire.

Categories
Letters To The Editor Opinion

Postscript

Tort Reform

To the Editor:

If a newborn baby does not get the proper care it needs in a Mississippi Delta hospital because there is no OB/GYN, then something needs to be done. Call it tort reform (Editorial, October 24th issue). Call it “common sense” reform. Call it “wanting something for nothing” reform.

When a doctor can’t get malpractice insurance because of the unbelievable settlements that have been handed down in Mississippi court cases, then there is a problem no matter what you call it.

Ron Parker

Memphis

Baptist Stereotypes

To the Editor:

In response to Marcello Arsura’s letter to the editor in last week’s Flyer, I’d like to point out two major errors in judgment: Mr. Arsura’s, for writing this letter, and the Flyer‘s, for publishing it.

First, Arsura’s assessment that the two “middle-age women” in the Grand Casino advertisement were hypocrites because they “looked a lot like Baptists” was a ridiculous stereotype. Isn’t it obvious that Baptists can look like a man or woman or a child of any age or race? Furthermore, the Flyer printed the ad, not the Baptists!

Second, why can’t the Baptists voice their opinions without narrow-minded people like Arsura condemning them? I am not a Baptist but I am an American, and I believe that the Flyer should be more responsible than to print a letter based on prejudice. Arsura should respect the right of all people to contribute to debate over matters of state policy no matter what their religious convictions are.

Daniel Jones

Memphis

To the Editor:

What are Baptists supposed to look like? I wish I could ask Arsura to answer my question. I find his comments to be extremely offensive and would feel the same way if someone had written that others looked a lot like members of a different faith.

Arthur H. Prince

Memphis

Rare Form

To the Editor:

It is rare that I find myself in agreement with the John Ashcrofts and Rush Limbaughs of the world, but when people in this country — citizens or not — swear allegiance to some foreign religious leader then carry out attacks against innocent civilians, they deserve to be treated no differently than the detainees at Guantanamo. And if those who look like them or dress like them all fall under suspicion, it is not profiling. It is simply common-sense law enforcement.

Therefore, I call on President Bush to begin rounding up and deporting Catholic priests immediately, and I expect the carpet bombing of the Vatican to begin with all deliberate speed.

What’s that? They meant Muslim terrorists? Oh. Never mind.

Michael B. Conway

Memphis

Support Local Music

To the Editor:

Memphis has the best local music in the country and the worst local support. Many Memphians are in the dark about the success of the local bands they see. It’s depressing that local audiences seem unaware that a band from Memphis was voted the “Best Band to Watch” in a European magazine in both 2000 and 2001.

I’m not surprised when local bands believe their hometown audience doesn’t care about them and would rather hear bad covers of worn-out popular songs. They would rather play on the road, where they receive more encouraging audience feedback.

Memphians should strive to make local musicians feel welcome at home before they make their home elsewhere. Remember to support emerging local artists, like those who played at NARAS’s Independent Music Forum Showcase last weekend. If you like what you hear, let your local musicians know. Memphis needs to continue to remember its musical history while encouraging its musical future.

Randi Lynn

Memphis

Deeply Saddened

To the Editor:

I read the unfortunate news concerning Officer Michael Wilson (City Reporter, October 10th issue) and was deeply saddened. I met Michael in 1986 through a group of friends at the arcade at Poplar and Highland. I would bump into him at various times at Memphis State, where he was either taking classes or writing parking tickets. He got so into his job, he ticketed his cousin Wade’s car. (During a football match, Wade retaliated with a vicious tackle that left Michael on crutches.)

The last time I really sat and talked with him was in 1991, and life was not good for him. He admitted that he was disturbed by what he saw on the streets. He was never rude. He was just simply not the same person. My condolences to his friends and family.

Franco G. Scalzo

Louisville, Kentucky

The Memphis Flyer encourages reader response. Send mail to: Letters to the Editor, POB 1738, Memphis, TN 38101. Or call Back Talk at 575-9405. Or send us e-mail at letters@memphisflyer.com. All responses must include name, address, and daytime phone number. Letters should be no longer than 250 words.

Categories
Music Music Features

Local Record Roundup

As a national figure, Jim Dickinson is best recognized for his work producing or otherwise collaborating with other artists –a roll call of greats that includes Big Star, the Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, and the Replacements –or, more recently, for his role as patriarch of the North Mississippi Allstars. But locals and hardcore music fans know he’s been a formidable artist in his own right as well, particularly in his role with Memphis’ more-a-legend-than-a-band Mud Boy & the Neutrons.

Dickinson reintroduces himself this month with Free Beer Tomorrow (Artemis; Grade: B+), his first solo studio record in 30 years, released on a label that boasts such complementary artists as Steve Earle, Warren Zevon, and the Allstars. Free Beer Tomorrow is likely to be categorized as a blues record in many quarters, but it deserves the overused term Cosmic American Music if anything does: a blues-based roots-music collection that carries echoes of gospel, ragtime, Dixieland, and jug bands. This is the kind of blues record that you get from a lifetime music fan with a first-hand recollection of pre-urban-renewal Beale Street.

“I got old, and I done got gray,” Dickinson howls on the opening “JC’s NYC Blues,” “but if you wanna see me fool around/Better come and lay your money down.” And that sets the mood: This is a raunchy, earthy, energetic record, one that has some of the mood, if not quite the genius, of Dylan’s “Love & Theft”. Dickinson’s well-worn voice sounds better as a growl than as a croon, which is one reason the Joe Callicott opener and the Peter Stampfel yowler “Bound to Lose” sound so invigorating, while the softer “It’s Rainin'” may be for true believers only. Backup vocals on several cuts sound a little questionable to these ears, but pretty much every other musical decision is just right, even when it’s all wrong.

In all honesty, Reekin’ with Love (Jazzoid Records; Grade: A-), the latest from local staples Di Anne Price & Her Boyfriends, is one of those records seemingly produced to be sold to locals and tourists at gigs, not consciously seeking out a larger audience the way the other records in this column are. It repeats songs recorded on previous Price discs and is meant to give those who’ve likely bought it at a Price gig a souvenir of the experience (especially with the joyously leering “bonus tracks” and live-set staples “Spinach Medley” and “The Key Hole Song”) — a (priceless) opportunity to recreate a Price show in their own home. And that’s all fine, because Di Anne Price is still a genius interpretive singer, still the most shocking treasure that Memphis’ professional music culture has to offer. And the comforting and assuring accompaniment of Boyfriends Tom Lonardo (drums), Jim Spake (saxophone), and Tim Goodwin (bass) still combines with Price’s piano-and-vocal magic for the sexiest music in Memphis.

Price has a chilling, smoky voice equally adept at bawdy, barrelhouse blues and light jazz and pop touches (check out “My Man Stands Out” for the latter), but the key to her greatness is her refusal to show that voice off. Price always digs deep into the guts of a song and deploys the supernatural sense of timing that all the great singers have, knowing just when to drop a vocal grace note.

Though there are three fine Price-penned songs here — “Elaine,” a Price/Lonardo original about a 1919 Arkansas race riot, the menacing “You Better Help Your New Woman,” and the rockabillyish title track — Reekin’ with Love is certainly not the most original, the most ground-breaking, or the most forward-looking local record anyone will here this year. But these 72 minutes of music, while not as vibrantly recorded as Price’s last release, are second only to the Reigning Sound’s Time Bomb High School as the most enduring, consistently pleasurable local listen of the year.

Though he’s since returned to his native Oregon, Mark Lemhouse leaves us with one of the year’s best local blues releases, Big Lonesome Radio (Yellow Dog; Grade: A-). Through his work with outfits like the Bluff City Backsliders and the Handy Three, Lemhouse proved to be an accomplished and tasteful talent, a sure competitor to Richard Johnston as best young, white blues player on the scene. And this solo debut brings that promise to fruition, with Lemhouse equally convincing whether blowing through the electric boogie of “What’s the Matter with Papa’s Little Angel Child” or snaking his way through an acoustic number like “Baby Sister Blues.”

Accompanied by a cast of ubiquitous local players — including Handy Three comrade Scott Bomar (who also produced the record) on bass and Backsliders Jason Freeman, Michael Graber, and Clint Wagner on banjo, mandolin, and violin, respectively — Lemhouse takes the listener on a consistently reverent but playful journey through the blues tradition, mixing originals with interpretations of classics from the likes of Fred McDowell, Johnny Shines, Yank Rachell, and Charley Patton.

And Lemhouse branches out smartly from this blues base: giving Tom Waits’ “No One Can Forgive Me But My Baby” the hill-country treatment while staying faithful to the rockabilly of Charlie Feathers’ “One Hand Loose.” Lemhouse shows even greater range on sharp originals, particularly the tango “Jealous Moon” and the waltz “Edwin’s Lament.”

Categories
Music Record Reviews

Short Cuts

Giants of East Africa

Orchestra Super Mazembe

(Earthworks)

In 1991, Earthworks released the compilation Guitar Paradise of East Africa, a title that was less hyperbole than a plain statement of fact. One of the disc’s highlights was “Shauri Yako,” an early-’80s number from the Kenyan-out-of-the-Congo 13-piece Orchestra Super Mazembe that lasted nine and a half minutes yet ended way too soon. Length aside, there’s nothing particularly grandiose about “Shauri Yako” at first. The vocals are nasal and a little homely, the interweaving guitars aren’t nearly as showy as those of OSM’s neighbors in Kinshasa would be a little later in the decade (compare the slick fretwork of Diblo Dibala on Kanda Bongo Man’s and Loketo’s albums), and the dynamics are subtle enough to pass you by the first couple times. It’s pretty hypnotic, though. Soon, you find both the vocal melody and the guitar breaks stuck in your head. After a while, it’s hard not to want to hear it again. And then again. And again after that.

Giants of East Africa, OSM’s new greatest-hits collection, achieves the same effect, only a lot faster and more frequently. “Shauri Yako” is still the highlight, but, surrounded by such strong material, such distinctions seem trivial. The hypnotic grace notes that kick off “Kassongo,” the group’s first single, announce the record’s m.o.: paradise found again. Like much of the set, “Kassongo” starts off as a mesmerizing shuffle before the guitars (led by Bukasa wa Bukasa “Bukalos” and supported by riffers Loboko Bua Mangala and Komba Kassongo Songoley) shed their shackles and segue into a kicky little groove, over which lead vocalist Lovy Longomba (aka “Ya Mama”) shouts his pleasure. Throughout Giants of East Africa, it’s hard not to identify with him. — Michaelangelo Matos

Grade: A

Going Driftless: An Artist’s Tribute to Greg Brown

Various Artists

(Red House Records)

Just who is Greg Brown? you might ask. If you aren’t a folk-hound, a native Midwesterner, or a fan of Prairie Home Companion, you probably don’t know. Brown is a veteran singer-songwriter from Iowa who’s put out 19 or so solo albums and whose songs — quintessentially American, poignant, and cutting at the same time — have been covered by everyone from Carlos Santana to Willie Nelson to Shawn Colvin. Brown’s mama played electric guitar, his father was a Pentecostal preacher, and his discovery of Mississippi bluesman Big Bill Broonzy at the tender age of 10 sealed his fate as a future roots-music man. His music is intensely personal, whether dealing with big issues like the struggle to keep small towns alive or the hassles involved in the minutiae of everyday life and relationships. Brown’s tunes are firmly rooted to a place: the heart of the American Midwest. He worked for years doing music for Garrison Keillor’s Prairie Home Companion on NPR and is the founder of Red House Records, an indie label known for its roster of cutting-edge folk artists.

What a feast of artists come to this table. Many stellar female singer-songwriters make appearances here, including Lucinda Williams, Mary Chapin Carpenter, and Victoria Williams. Royalties from this tribute album go the Breast Cancer Fund of San Francisco (hence the all-female cast), and what a change it is from the usual charity platter, which is often cobbled together and features MOR artists like Celine Dion to appeal to mass tastes. Finally, here’s a charity/tribute album for thinking people that’s actually very good. Highlights include Gillian Welch doing the lazy “Summer Evening,” Ani DiFranco’s chilling interpretation of “The Poet Game,” and Iris Dement’s high-lonesome yodeling on “The Train Carrying Jimmie Rodgers Home.” The lesser-known artists here give excellent performances too, especially Karen Savoca’s sassy rendering of “Two Little Feet” and the lovely, translucent voice of Leandra Peak, who closes the album. In fact, there are no snoozers here at all — a minor miracle given that 14 artists are involved. —Lisa Lumb

Grade: A-

Black Letter Days/Devil’s Workshop

Frank Black and the Catholics

(spinART)

Being the next writer to blow smoke up Frank Black’s arse for his work with the Pixies is not a prospect I’m too jazzed about, nor is it a particularly engaging place to start a review of his two new albums, especially on the cusp of his solo career’s 10th year. But what shape would Black’s solo career have taken if his 1993 solo debut hadn’t come on the heels of his ground-breaking run with the Pixies?

Chances are we wouldn’t be hearing anything from Black. He would have given up without that extra push and label attention that come standard with the Previously Fronted Extremely Influential Band package.

But Black shines supreme when placed within the context of the Cue Ball Triumvirate: Black, David Thomas, and Bob Mould. Besides the unifying baldness, all three led phenomenal bands — Thomas’ Pere Ubu and Mould’s Hüsker Dü (and, perhaps, Sugar) — and have tackled lengthy solo careers. Thomas’ has been “difficult,” which, for our purposes, is another word for “bad,” and Mould’s has had its ups, downs, and unflattering oddities (see this year’s Modulate). Black, if not just plain good, has at least made interesting music worth the attention of an open ear.

And now Black’s unexpectedly prolific stretch of post-Pixies albums reaches numbers eight and nine with the simultaneously released Black Letter Days and Devil’s Workshop. That spokesperson for AA rock, former Replacement Paul Westerberg, pulled this same stunt earlier in the year. What’s with these guys? Is it a secret society? The We Fronted Post-punk Bands of Holy Grail Status So Let’s Go Drive Some Golf Balls Club? But perhaps that’s a little unfair to Black, because, however improbably, both of these new albums are keepers.

The logic behind the split is clear: This music wouldn’t work as a sprawling double CD; listeners need a choice, and they get one. You want no filler in short order? Go with Devil’s Workshop, crooked pop finished in 30-something minutes. Black’s shameless but workable Stones rips are omnipresent throughout both records, and the numerous phases within the Stones’ oeuvre that are worthy of pilfering certainly hold a lot more staying power than the Pere Ubu and Velvets reference points prominent on Black’s earlier work, Pixies included. (You go through Pere Ubu and Velvet Underground phases; there should be no Rolling Stones “phase” — the love should last.) Devil’s Workshop is like Some Girls with a Pixies twist. It’s a big shot of aging Jagger Swagger administered right into Black’s mildly slanted pop musings and yammering acoustic rave-ups.

Conversely, Black Letter Days will require a little more homework. For starters, it’s epic, as much music as one CD will hold. The cover art: black-and-white photos of industrial chain-link fences and concrete drainage ditches. Some songs are long; most are nasty and dark, with a touch of faux blues, making Black Letter Days‘ probable sonic antecedent the drugs-coming-out-of-our-ears ’69-’73 Stones. But it’s not just plagiarism. Gifted songwriters like Black make their pickings sound new. The moving or catchy air of the songs will strike you long before their blueprints do. — Andrew Earles

Grades: Black Letter Days: B; Devil’s Workshop: B+

Categories
News The Fly-By

Born to Be Mild

Biker. The term brings images of beefy, rowdy men in leather chugging beer and raising hell in Hog-infested parking lots of rough-and-tumble bars to mind. Now, meet the not-so-badass members of the Southern Cruisers Riding Club (SCRC), a family-oriented motorcycle club that got its start in Memphis and has chapters in 44 states and five foreign countries.

In October 1998, Memphian Rick “Rickster” Perry purchased a bike and began anew after a 15-year break from motorcycling. After several weeks of riding alone, he yearned for the fellowship of a riding club. But he wanted something more than a group of guys to hang out with. He wanted a family-oriented group where wives and children could be involved. So he got a few friends together and formed the Southern Cruisers Riding Club, a group dedicated to including family in every aspect of their events.

“I’ve been in a couple other riding clubs. It was a bunch of guys that enjoyed getting together and hanging out in a bar or whatever. But there’s more to riding than just hanging out in a bar,” says Bubba Prescott, the Memphis chapter’s events coordinator. “I joined this group a year and a half ago because I was looking for a group where my wife could ride also.”

The idea of a family-oriented group caught on, and word spread. Soon enough, Jerry London from Knoxville contacted Perry about starting a chapter in his area. Then a phone call came from Tim Jones in Rome, Georgia, who was interested in starting a club. Eventually, chapters began to form outside the South and outside the U.S. Today, there are 326 chapters nationally and 14 overseas, including chapters in Australia, Canada, the Czech Republic, France, and the Philippines.

The group has held true to its pledge of including family in everything they do. The 189-member Memphis chapter has several “family days”: Dads, moms, kids, and even grandmas and grandpas can load up their bikes and ride out to a cookout.

“A lot of the wives join as riders or passengers. We don’t require that you have your own bike to join, but we do have maybe a half dozen women that ride their own bikes,” says Jimmy Mashburn, the Memphis chapter’s first officer.

This commitment to family has led to a few basic rules: no illegal activity, such as drug use or alcohol consumption before a ride, and no “MC” or “1%” patches on riding garb.

“MC,” which stands for “Motorcycle Club,” is commonly displayed by members of rowdier groups that require more loyalty than the Southern Cruisers. The “1%” patch goes back to a 1947 American Motorcycle Association comment that 1 percent of bikers were hooligans. Today, Hell’s Angels, the Booze Fighters, and several other clubs proudly wear patches bearing the “1%” logo.

“Motorcycle clubs are different from riding clubs,” says Mashburn. “Motorcycle clubs take you into loyalty and what they call the brotherhood — members for life. They do what they do, and we don’t want anyone to relate us to a motorcycle club. We don’t claim any territory. We’re just out having a good time.”

In a riding club, members still have a sense of brotherhood, but no one’s going to put a price on someone’s head for relinquishing his or her membership, and there are no enemy clubs to be on the lookout for. Participation in group activities is voluntary. Members ride at their convenience.

Although the SCRC claims it’s only about having a good time, a couple of local events each year involve more than personal or family enjoyment. In fact, the bulletin board on the club’s Web site is filled with messages that indicate several bikers actually shed a tear over this year’s Cruisin’ for a Cure, which raised money for St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital. On October 11th, over 300 bikers showed up from across the country to participate in the third annual ride from the Marriott at Perkins and American Way to St. Jude. Bikers stretched for miles in their journey to the hospital, and over $45,000 was raised through donations from bikers and auctions hosted the night before.

The Memphis group also visits the Ronald McDonald House twice a year to take the children on rides around the parking lot.

“Just seeing their faces light up after having all those treatments and everything It’s just unbelievable the joy that you get,” says Prescott.

When members of the Memphis SCRC aren’t helping children, they get out to simply ride together. Rides are organized by anyone with an idea of where to go. They also participate in “Bike Night” at Joe’s Crab Shack (7990 Horizon Center Blvd.) on Wednesdays.

“What everybody has in common is a motorcycle, and because of that motorcycle, we meet people from around the world that we never would have met before,” says Prescott. “It’s just unbelievable the friendship that you acquire through riding. That’s what the Southern Cruisers are all about: the friendship and the riding.” n

For more information on the SCRC, check out the local Web site at SouthernCruiser.com or the national site at SouthernCruiser.net.

Categories
Music Music Features

Sound Advice

Cincinnati’s Over The Rhine has built up a considerable cult following over their decade-or-so existence, and on the evidence of their most recent album, 2001’s Films for Radio (released on Virgin, the band’s second flirtation with the major-label game), it’s not hard to see why. Lead singer Karin Bergquist’s charismatic, sometimes florid vocals are ear-catching, and husband/musical partner Linford Detweiler’s songwriting is literary and delicately religious. These forces combine to form a gently arty, folkish rock sound likely to appeal to fans of the Cowboy Junkies, Sarah McLachlan, or 10,000 Maniacs. Earlier records are reportedly heavy on acoustic instrumentation, but Films for Radio is richly fleshed out, its more complex atmospherics never taking away from the band’s sure tune-craft. Over The Rhine will be at the Hi-Tone Café Friday, November 1st.

Those looking for a bit more rambunctious time this week are advised to camp out at Young Avenue Deli. Local faves Lucero, back in town amid touring to support their just-released sophomore album Tennessee, will have a Halloween-night throw-down at that Midtown watering hole. It promises to be a raucous affair. And you could stick around the next night for Mr. “Because I Got High” himself, Afroman. The Mississippi-based one-hit wonder is either a good-time novelty act or an unbearable frat-party aberration, depending on your perspective. Vote with your wallet. — Chris Herrington

If you collected all of Bob X’s fantastically ghoulish Hell on Earth posters, the band listings would read like a who’s who of Memphis rock-and-roll for the past dozen years. You’d see an amazing collection of punk bands, blues revivalists, metal bands, living legends, art rockers, indie rockers, novelty acts, and garage groups. And that’s just for starters. Hell on Earth, an event that has become the Halloween party for the Memphis rock set, is equally famous for decadence and debauchery. This year’s stellar lineup leans in the punk/garage direction with The Limes, The Grown-Up Wrongs, and the always-amazing Tyler Keith and the Preacher’s Kids. The dirty South’s latest rap diva, Chopper Girl (aka Holland Taylor), will swap couplets with retro rapper Hunchoe the Phenom and a few special guests. Though he’s not listed on the poster, word on the street has it that super-rapper Al Kapone will drop by to lend a rhyme as well. Since Memphis’ virtually all-vanilla rock scene and double-chocolate rap scene almost never swirl (except at the occasional Porch Ghouls show or the odd Three 6/Saliva tag team), this year’s Hell on Earth could be a historic occasion. It all goes down on Friday, November 1st, at the Premiere Palace. —Chris Davis

Categories
We Recommend We Recommend

Death, Be Not Proud …

I don’t mean to be indelicate, and I certainly don’t mean to scare you. Okay, it’s Halloween, and perhaps I do mean to scare you. But facts, grim or not, must be faced: Someday, you will be as dead as a spade, as cold as a fish stick lost in some remote corner of the Frigidaire. You will lie numb as rubber in your satin-lined box, rouged up like a D.C. floozy on election night, a wad of cotton rudely stuffed into — and excuse me for saying this — the “body cavity.” Worse than that, you’ll be forgotten. After all you’ve said, done, wanted, imagined, lost, and longed for — forgotten. The common will be erased entirely, the important reduced to trivial facts begrudgingly learned by sleepy students and promptly misremembered.

Knowing all that, it’s comforting (if only coldly so) to know that when your bones have crumbled, there will be at least one person who cares about you. Someone who will pluck the weeds from your grave and protect your monument from disrespectful vandals, nature foremost among them. Meet the cemetery super: He’s part mechanic, part real estate agent, part gardener, part park ranger, and part historian, and he’s here to make sure you look your very best for eternity. You might just want to thank him in advance.

“I used to just think of it as cutting the grass,” says retired Elmwood Cemetery superintendent James Earl “Sonny” Hanback, who after 50 years of service still puts in a few days a week at the historic 150-year-old cemetery. “It hit me one day how much this really means to people,” he adds, explaining that a beautiful cemetery can be a tremendous comfort to families who have lost loved ones. “And it’s also something that would have meant a lot to …” No need to finish. I’m sure you know whom he means.

Sonny left his academic career behind at 15, when he started cutting grass at Elmwood. “I never liked school very much,” he says. Life among the tombs, though, was appealing enough, and while he allows that “you’ll never get rich doing this,” tending to Elmwood’s 80 acres has paid the bills for half a century. There was even a time when he and his family lived on the grounds in the caretaker’s house. “I guess maybe I didn’t get some dates [because of my job],” Sonny jokes. “The girls would say, ‘Where do you work?’ I’d tell them, and then they’d say, ‘Oh, no. No way, unh-unh.'”

This minor caveat didn’t intimidate Sonny a bit. In 1985, he invited his son-in-law, Todd Fox, then happily employed as an apartment manager, to become his protégé at the cemetery. Todd bit, and 17 years later, he and Sonny now discuss the possibility of someday passing the baton to one of Todd’s sons. What began as a deterrent to romance has grown into something of a family tradition. “When he first asked me to come on, I thought he was kidding,” Todd admits. “I said to myself, A cemetery? I don’t know. But I was always willing to try anything once to see how it works. I look at it like I was taking care of a park, but I keep it in the back of my head that people’s loved ones are interred here. But I don’t think of it as a place for the dead so much as a place for the living. It’s a comfortable place, and we like to keep it that way. People don’t really come here to grieve; they come here to visit. Enjoy the park, spend time with their memories.”

Though they may get a little break during the hottest part of a dry summer, keeping the grounds is an ongoing struggle. It takes three self-propelled mowers and three standard mowers a week to make the rounds. Three men with weed-trimmers make their rounds in two weeks. By then, it’s time to start over again. Sinking graves have to be filled in, and broken monuments have to be repaired. And there are always surprises that have to be dealt with: “There was one woman,” says Todd, “and her husband died. Her son was just a toddler at the time, and she said, ‘I wish it wasn’t such a sad occasion for him.’ ‘Well,’ I said, ‘We could hang a swing in this tree,’ and she said, ‘Could you?’ Next thing I knew, I was at the hardware store getting the things to hang a swing before the funeral the next day. Well, that tree eventually died and we had to take the tree down, but we got the stuff to make a frame, and we hung the swing back on it.”

Over the years, Elmwood’s two superintendents have come to know many of the cemetery’s more frequent visitors. Todd calls them the “regulars,” and he names off half a dozen or so. Sonny remembers a woman who would visit several times a day. She would park her car, disappear for a few minutes, then leave again. Curiosity got the better of him, so he followed her one day and discovered that she would walk past her mother’s grave, offer a little wave, then go on about her business. “It’s a part of these people’s lives,” Todd says, “and a part of their family history. They love to see the park looking nice.”

Of course, it’s not just the living the superintendents get to know. Sonny has a fascination with the nearly mythological “Boss” Crump, whose towering monument is one of the first things any visitor to the cemetery sees. Todd has found himself drawn to the grave of an outlaw: “I’m a fan of the Old West,” he says, “and they say Kit Dalton rode with Frank and Jesse James. At one time, they offered $50,000 [for him], dead or alive, but he was pardoned, became active in the church, and died of old age.”

Both men admit to having a favorite part of the cemetery, and both have at one time or another been drawn to striking monuments, but as Todd points out, nobody, no matter what their station in life, is shown favoritism here. “We keep the cemetery up,” he says. “There’s no status here. Everybody gets special treatment.”

There are 20,000 available lots at Elmwood, but plans are in place to ensure that the gates don’t close after the last grave has been dug. “Thirty-five percent of your land sales goes into perpetual care,” Todd explains. “We get endowment funds, trust funds, and contributions. Someday, there will be enough interest alone to run the cemetery.”

So, as autumn falls upon us and we begin our ritual contemplation of mortality, here’s a little food for thought: If your cemetery super is half as conscientious as either Sonny or Todd, you may rest assured that on that fateful day when your mortal coil is shuffled off, you may rest assured.

Categories
Sports Sports Feature

Jump Ball

On the basketball court, he’s a somewhat diminutive figure, but Elad Hasin, the newest member of the 2002-’03 University of Memphis basketball team, manages to stand out, as he lofts jumper after jumper long after the rest of the team has left.

Another grueling practice has ended for the Tigers, the second session of the day, which has been the routine for this eclectic mix of players since October 12th. Among the Tigers’ imposing physical presences are 7′ senior center Earl Barron (who seems even taller this season), 255-pound senior power forward Chris Massie (who’s locked in a spot on everyone’s All-calf-muscle Team), and 6’10”, 260-pound freshman center Almany Thiero (there’s a reason this muscle-bound rookie is shirtless in the team’s promotional ads).

Then there’s Hasin, 22, who lists himself at 5’10” (“after a good stretch in the morning”). He won’t ever get to display his shooting prowess for the U of M, but as much as any Tiger, Hasin embodies the toughness and maximum effort that Memphis head coach John Calipari demands.

Hasin, who has coached prep basketball team Hapoel Jerusalem for four years, will spend this season with the Tigers and Calipari, immersing himself in American college basketball. But even before arriving in Memphis and meeting Calipari, Hasin has played and coached basketball Calipari-style — like his life depended on it. Hasin does everything with urgency. He has seen first-hand how quickly life can be snatched away.

“It was tough when my best friend died in a terrorist attack,” says Hasin. Fellow prep coach David Eluz was killed during his mandatory service in the Israeli military. “He was one of eight soldiers in Tel Aviv who were run over by a bus that a terrorist had hijacked,” says Hasin. “I said a few things at the funeral about us both dreaming of being professional coaches,” Hasin adds. “That was our plan.”

Hasin contacted Calipari through Simi Rigger, a mutual friend and Hasin’s former Five-Star basketball camp coach, hoping to continue that plan in Eluz’s memory. Having long admired Calipari, particularly his offensive style, he hopes to keep learning under the Memphis coach.

The opportunities to learn should be plentiful this season.

With a starting rotation that is still largely undecided, Calipari admits he has spent a majority of the preseason teaching fundamentals. “Offensively, we are going to have to be different [from last season],” Calipari says. “We are going to have to be an execution team as opposed to an isolation team like we were last year.”

How long will it take for the Tigers to assimilate this new offensive style? That question is just one of several this enigmatic team will have to solve throughout a potential roller-coaster season. Last season, after being snubbed by the NCAA tournament despite winning 22 regular-season games, the Tigers won the National Invitational Tournament, knocking off South Carolina to finish 27-9 for the most school wins in 16 years.

“We won a national title — not the one we wanted — but we were playing our best basketball at the end of the year,” Calipari says.

Now, Memphis wants that “other” championship, but the odds are against that happening this year. There will be no automatic 20 points from one-year wonder Dajuan Wagner, who captured the college basketball media’s attention last season before taking his potential Rookie-of-the-Year skills to the NBA. The Tigers will also miss graduated forward Kelly Wise and his 10 rebounds and 11 points a game.

“Last year, we could isolate Dajuan, we could isolate Kelly Wise, and we could also isolate Chris Massie,” says Calipari. “That’s not happening with this group. Now, we’ve got to execute and create good shots for each other off screens and plays. And we’ve got to demand that they do it. There is no other option.”

Navigating the early portion of the schedule, which includes nonconference games against Syracuse and Illinois, may be the biggest hurdle. And it could provide a foundation for optimism, if the Tigers succeed with two likely starters on the bench.

Sophomore guard Billy Richmond, a Vanderbilt transfer and Memphis Hamilton High graduate who averaged 8.8 points, 2.4 rebounds, and 2.2 assists in SEC play, has practiced with the team since January but won’t be eligible until the Tigers’ December 14th game at Missouri. “I’m just going to try to dominate the game on both ends of the floor, personally,” Richmond says, adding, “I’m just glad to be back home, playing for Coach Cal. I’ve always wanted to play here.”

A suddenly resurgent Massie, who has dominated in preseason play with strong post moves, a smooth short jumper, and tenacious rebounding, must pass 21 hours in the fall semester to become eligible and then must sit out the next two games — against Missouri and Ole Miss — for participating in the June NBA predraft camp.

“[Massie] has absolutely been humbled,” Calipari says. “I wish he was like this last year — for him and for us — because he would probably be in the NBA right now. He has cleared his mind and he’s not listening to people who tell him how to play,” he adds. “He’s just playing ball and looking good.”

The team’s other two seniors, Barron and back-from-the-dead forward John Grice, are both integral. Those early games should provide Grice with the opportunity to prove that last year’s abysmal, eight-game campaign was an aberration. He shot 21 percent from the field and made only 10 percent of his three-pointers — this from a player who was supposed to provide the Tigers with outside scoring.

But it’s Barron and his now-you-see-me-now-you-don’t performance history that may be the key to the Tigers’ season. Barron is the team’s most experienced player, having played in 102 games, including 47 starts. And barring injury, he should have at least 29 more.

But how long will he play once the ball is tipped?

That hinges on which Barron shows up — the one who scored a career-high 25 points against South Carolina in the NIT championship or the Barron who had no points and one rebound in the previous game, a 78-77 semifinal win over Temple.

“I have to go out every game and leave it out on the floor,” Barron says. With a professional basketball career hanging in the balance, Barron understands what’s at stake. “I know what it takes to get to the next level,” he says. “It’s up to me whether I want to play or not. I know what I’ve got to do.”

Among the other returnees, junior point guard Antonio Burks is the unsung leader-by-example (and increasingly by words). Calipari has often referred to Burks, who averaged five assists and 8.4 points last season, as the “quickest and toughest on-the-ball guard defender in the country.”

Last season, Burks took a secondary role in the backcourt to Wagner. This year, he’ll be asked to do more, including running the offense with precision, negating defensive presses, creating open shots for his teammates, and making his own open shots from inside the arc. So far, so good this preseason.

Burks’ backup, freshman Clyde Wade, doesn’t figure to play prominently while learning Calipari’s system, but the other three Tiger freshmen may all eventually start.

The most electrifying of these is Rodney Carney, the Midnight Madness sensation who introduced himself to Tigers fans with a smooth, sliding, and gyrating dance in pregame introductions. The 6’7″ wing forward later left a lasting impression with an emphatic, Jordanesque dunk from the free-throw line.

“Everybody wanted me to do that Indiana dance,” Carney says. “That was what me and my friends used to do at my high school in Indiana. It looks so weird, but I was hyped.”

Carney doesn’t plan on letting the hype die down either. “I want to be Conference USA Freshman Player of the Year,” he says. “I want to be known throughout the nation.”

Freshman center Thiero should also provide a considerable presence down low, if not with pure basketball skills then at least with his hulking size. But he has been hampered by a stress fracture in his right shin. Both Thiero and Richmond (who is also suffering from a leg injury) have worked through a gauntlet of exercises designed by “Rock” Oliver, the Tigers’ director of performance enhancement.

The local freshman product, 6’4″ guard Jeremy Hunt of Craigmont (who’s been dubbed “Skinny Penny”), has shown a propensity for doing something the original “Penny” Hardaway rarely did — hustle on defense and dive all over the court. He has also shown a nice outside shot, connecting on four straight three-pointers at one point in the Tigers’ open scrimmage.

And it’s that kind of floor-burn-inducing effort that the Tigers have to bring to every game and practice in order to be successful. “We just want to get better as the season goes on,” Calipari says. “We have a really tough schedule. We still have the Conference USA schedule the way it is [Memphis does not play Marquette or UNC-Charlotte], which means that we could still win 22 games and not make the tournament again. So all I am going to say is that we are going to play a great out-of-conference schedule, win as many as we can, win as many in the league as we can, advance as far as we can, and hopefully be in the NCAA tournament.”

Hasin, who traveled thousands of miles to see Memphis succeed firsthand, expects nothing less. “I think this team will make the NCAA tournament,” he says.

Note to Tigers football fans: Those interested in reading about the U of M’s loss to Cincinnati, 48-10, should check our Web site at MemphisFlyer.com.