Heroes and GOATs, Part 4: Don't Axe Me Why

A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us. Franz Kafka

I love books, devouring at least a couple of dozen every year. But I still found this quote was a bit much. Arty, Snooty, Masochistic, No Fun, etc. You know, the Severn Deadly Buzzkills. 

When I plop down on the couch with a book, it's often with a Yeungling and a jumbo bag of Chex Mix. I'm not thinking come on Franz! Bring it on! I want to enjoy the reading experience, because it's gonna be a while before I finish. Whereas, as I described in the last post, one album can wreck you and then another bring you joy, in the space of little more than an hour. 

Plus, books are way more, well literal, so I'm more likely to enjoy them via my brain than my heart.  And the reverse is true for music. It was more of a 50/50 deal back when I was younger when emotions ran high no matter what the art form. In any case, both then and now, I can relate to this quote much more when I think of it as pertaining to albums instead of books. But don't blame Franz. Books were his albums.

Last time I also gave some shade to all time best-selling albums. Some clarification may be in order. When I looked at the list again I saw very few bad records. Oh, there were many to which I was indifferent, but there were quite a few good ones. Rumours, Thriller, Tapestry, etc. Jeez what's not to like? Their placement on the list is an argument for the notion of music being "universal".

But here's the question I always ask myself, and now I'm asking you:

Do any of these albums just destroy you? Do any of them re-arrange your molecules? Or as our friend Franz would put it above, do any take an axe to that frozen sea within you? I could be wrong but I'm thinking no.

Last time I asked how you first experienced your favorite music. Was it with friends? As part of a community? Out on the street, perhaps via a passing vehicle (my recent experiences with the latter notwithstanding)?

It happens more when you're 13 than when your 65. And when I turned 14, I experienced this community less and less. When the whole world didn't recognize Allman Brothers at Fillmore East as one of the all-time great records, I realized that me and the world needed some time apart. This was merely my version of teenage rebellion. A silly overreaction but the joys were becoming more solitary and more personal.

Do you and your larger community still agree on what was good? If yes, I congratulate you. It must be great to be able to always enjoy music with other people, and to come out the other side of it intact. If you compare your GOAT lists everyone will smile and nod very sincerely because even if they don't all love the same thing, they'll know the same thing and be able to relate to it.

But to me, your personal GOAT list should be weird and embarrassing. If not, you're just not listening hard enough. 

It's not that everything you listen to should threaten you with an axe. But everything that does will make it to my GOAT list. 

And Franz has one more thing to say to us: 

Was he an animal, that music could move him so? He felt as if the way to the unknown nourishment he longed for were coming to light.

Heroes and GOATs, Part 3: 10,000 Listens and Almost As Many Reasons

Me

You

Last time I was trying to explain how we can't expect other folks to like our favorite music. On the bright side, I'm sure all the people driving past my house blasting music have read that post and have seen the error of their ways.

And in addition to the obstacles I mentioned, there's another one. Time, or if you prefer, opportunity.

Thinking back to my niece, I have to ask myself why would I expect her (or you) to react any differently than she did? Especially when on my first listen to The Who Sell Out, I found it kind of weak and derivative? It took a few listens for it to click, and I like the Who. So why would I expect a person who is new to a piece of music to react to it the way I do now after 10,000 listens? (That's a Malcolm Gladwell joke. I'm sure it's no more than 7,500.)

But even beyond that why should I expect you to feel the same way I do even if you did listen to it 10,000 times?

The reason we have favorite albums is that they plumb some deep emotions and memories unique to us as individuals. It's a personal reaction, so it only follows that your GOATs would differ from mine. Should we come up with a new term? Greatest of My Time? Greatest of My Life? Hmm, GOMT and GOML don't just roll off the tongue like GOAT.

And that's how it ought to be. If your list is comprised solely of those records that always top the GOAT lists I'd venture to say you're a music liker, not a music lover. Music likers are like people who don't use hot sauce. They want to feel comfortable, not destroyed. They're in it for the subject matter. Is the song pro-Love? Anti-war? Well then, it's gotta be good, right?? If it's "anti-bad things" I have to like it. That's how I know I'm on the right side. Next stop: Hooray for everything!

It's like the movie Ghandi, which I still haven't seen and am not particularly interested in seeing (although it probably does pass the "Jaybee Bound To a Chair" test, which at my present age must be amended to include a "bathroom break" provision). Sure, it's about a great guy doing great things, but you'll never catch me saying, you know what I want to do right now? I want to see Ghandi!

Where was I? Oh, yes! Your reaction SHOULD be unique. Do you like all the usual suspects, by which I mean those records that have sold the most? (Eagles Greatest Hits, Vol 2 I've got my eye on you.) If so, I'm not sure I want to talk music with you. 

Now that I've explained why we won't like each other's music, I shall explain why I do love TWSO. Here's my By Definition Incomplete Because You Can't Explain the Ineffable List:

1. It's melodic. ("Sunrise", "Relax", "Rael") Melody is a weakness of mine. Like dark chocolate. 
2. It's got one of the all-time great (see? I'm doing it, too!) Who songs "I Can See for Miles", which, although it packs a punch, isn't even the high point.
3. It's funny (dirty jokes like "Mary Anne...", silly commercials, tattoos and "Odorono" a beautiful love song whose plot hinges on deodorant, etc.) I'm a Monty Python fan, and a big proponent of silliness, which may disprove the idea that all humor starts in misfortune.
4. To balance this all out, it's got some real feeling, like "Sunrise", which is a great love song, as is "Our Love Was, Is". Both have relatively little instrumentation, so sonically they provide contrast. Plus, I'm a big softy at heart.
5. For a concept album, it's quite unpretentious, since the concept itself is so ridiculous: it's meant to sound like you're listening to the AM radio. Not FM. The reason most prog rock wears thin after a while is that it's so serious. That kind of thing is perfect for most teenagers (with me absolutely included). But the true wisdom that comes with age punctures pretention.
6. It portends Tommy in the best possible way. "Rael" uses a Tommy motif or two (and on the CD version, "Glow Girl" gives a twist to the opening line to Tommy). Some may disagree and find this to be Pete Townshend recycling material, which is understandable given how many versions of Tommy he's come up with over the years. But it's done so well here I give him a pass on it.
7. Great production. Which to me means that the production serves the music. By the way, Tommy has "great" production, too, even if the Who themselves don't think so. It's relatively muted compared to TWHO, as it should be since it's the story of a deaf and dumb boy.
8. It may have saved my life. Many years ago I stayed up all night working on a creative writing assignment. I usually put on music when I would do this. At one point I put on Randy Newman's first album which immediately made me want to give up and kill myself right then and there. Perhaps I should explain why. I'm a big RN fan but that first album is forbidding. Just a case of absolutely wrong album at the absolutely wrong time. I followed it up with TWSO, which completely turned my mood around. Thanks, Pete!
9. The overall mood is joy. Not the religious/reverent kind or the whoop dee doo kind or the sixties vibe that barely survived the mid-seventies. Just joy, perhaps for just being alive, or for the ability these young people had to pull this kind of thing off. I need all the joy I can get.

This list is not meant to persuade you. It's just an explanation of why it works for me. 

Beyond the content of the album itself, there's also the matter of timing. It came out in early 1968 but I didn't hear it until 1982. Had the ten-year-old me heard it when it was first released, I would not have appreciated the "commercials" (like how my brother-in-law objected to the "commercials" in Robocop). The music itself might have been lost in the post Sgt Pepper tidal wave, kind of how the Stones' Their Satanic Majesties Request was relegated - unfairly - to the back ranks of Stones albums. Or worse, my peers may have dismissed it, thus relegating it to "quaint embarrassment" status.

Instead, the 25-year-old me heard it long after the last trace of sixties euphoria died away. And it provided a jolt/reminder that that euphoria was not a figment of my imagination. 

So, what about your GOAT? Did you hear it when it was released? That would imply you were hearing it with your friends and a community of listeners can certainly move something up the all-time list.

How old were you? Were you a dumb ten-year-old like me? Or a slightly less dumb 25-year-old like me?

What was going on in your life? Were you in a bad place? Or maybe a joyful place? What specific memories will this music trigger? 

Since I wasn't there, your favorite album is bound to hit me differently. Who knows, though. I might end up loving it. If so, it would be for completely different reasons.

Anyway, here is the The Who Sell Out as it was originally released.

And here's the expanded version, which if anything improves the original, which has got to be a first.

So, today's assignment is to listen to each one, oh let's say 5,000 times each, and let me know what you think.

Heroes and GOATS, Part 2: More Words About Buildings and Food (On Fire)

Disclaimer:

When we last left off, I was disingenuously pontificating (really, is there any other way to do it?) about heroes, heroism, and sandwiches, roughly in that order. 

And it only gets worse from here. But before it does, let me first provide you with a mini reward for your patience so far. Enjoy. (And even here, they can't avoid compiling a GOAT goat list.)

Anyway, the whole thing came about when I tried to shoehorn together two unrelated thoughts via a bad pun. Sadly, it's not the most desperate thing I've done.

Well, in for a penny, in for another penny, I say. So let's now look at the other side of the coin.

GOATS:

It's past time that I brought up the whole Greatest Of All Time concept, at least as it applies to albums. 

And - as usual - the internet is taking a questionable-to-begin-with concept and making it even worse.  Sound familiar? 

I'll limit my annoyance to Twitter for now and just say that whether it's a pathetic bachelor in his pajamas/ mom's basement/fifties, or a soul-less marketing bot, both seem intent on pushing fairly lame records as GOATs, or at least underappreciated masterpieces.

Narrator's voice: But man has been thrusting his musical preferences upon his fellow man from time immemorial, and in this first scenario (let's call it "Scenario 1") Jaybee plays the protagonist/victim:

It was early in 1987 and I was minding my business at work when this otherwise nice guy (we'd bonded over the '86 Mets) marched up to me, raving about this great song I just had to hear. (Pro Tip: If anyone ever approaches you wielding that phrase, do yourself a huge favor and fake a heart attack, because you can be pretty sure you don't have to hear it.) He'd come armed with a loaded cassette player and headphones, cornered me by my desk, and insisted I listen. To this, it turned out.

Not quite 30 years old, I was into what we'd now call alternative rock. You know, jangly guitars, Michael Stipe mumbling, that sort of thing, etc. This song was slow and stately. The quivering-with-emotion vocal demonstrated excellent enunciation (something I always look for in a song). The basic melody was okay, if a bit exhausting with all the jumping from one octave to another higher one. Music as mountain climbing. Overall, the song was insisting upon itself, while my taste ran to music that was, if anything, ashamed of itself.

The Red Lady just wasn't doing it for me.  I'm not saying it's a bad song. It just wasn't my jam, as the young people say. Perhaps you might like it. Maybe even love it. It might even be on your GOAT list. It just isn't on mine.

But there was my friend, staring at me, stunned by my meh reaction. He slinked away with his cassette player between his legs, shaking his head, wondering how this could possibly be, while I called out behind him "Hey, it's not you, it's me!"

Narrator's Voice: In this second scenario (which we will call "Scenario 2") Jaybee, having not really learned anything the first time around, is now the perpetrator:

It was the late 1990s, or so. I was in the backyard prepping the barbeque for my in-laws who were visiting. As usual, I had music on, and this time it was the then recently re-released, expanded CD version of what I consider the greatest album of all time: The Who Sell Out. 

My niece Sara, then in her late teens, came out to the backyard to bring me barbecue sauce or a fire extinguisher, I forget which. Serendipitously, at that very moment, "Relax" - possibly the most sublime song on the album - was playing. What a moment! The best song on the best album is playing, and since music is universal we were about to experience a major musical bonding across the generations, right?

Well, I peered at her through the smoke to focus on her reaction to the song. Nothing. Maybe a wave to the fireman, but that was it. That is, until later, when, while drying off, I overheard her giving her statement "... my uncle was listening to some corny-ass music when he caught on fire".

Now, after spending these many years telling you about the music I love, I realize I'm just another guy armed with a cassette player, or in my case, a pack of hot dogs. And that your listening to my all time favorite album might only leave you perplexed / mystified. Here. Try it right now.

See what I mean? (Of course, I'm assuming you're not jumping around your house in/on ecstasy.)

Why meh? Music's universal, right? Well, I hate to tell you this, but no.

Let me repeat that: MUSIC IS NOT UNIVERSAL.

I know. You're thinking Wait just one second Jaybee! As brilliant as you are, you may have finally gone off the rails here. OF COURSE, Music Is Universal.

To which I say, no, music is barely local.

Let's take food as an example. Food is universal, right? We all have to eat, don't we? And we have figured out how to make it an enjoyable experience. But that doesn't mean we're all going to enjoy all of the same things (with the obvious exception of certain hot Italian sandwiches). 

Do we all like Indian and Japanese and Thai and Mexican and Spanish, etc.? Probably not. We each have our favorite types of food, but even within those types, there are some dishes we don't care for. 

So while the enjoyment of music is something that's universal. There are very few musical moments that are universal. Some songs. Maybe some albums? Bands? The only one I can think of is Sly and the Family Stone, circa 1969. And since then, we've let ourselves be split up into our different little market segments anyway, so that one barely counts. There are even Beatle-haters.

Outside of one's teens years - when our tastes are still forming - it's quite rare to hear something that profoundly changes your musical preferences. No matter how good a song may be, if it's outside our comfort zone, we're more likely to hear just the most basic formal elements (instrumentation, singing style, beat, etc.) of the genre rather than the specifics of that piece of music - and just enough of those for us to fit it into the stereotype we already have of that genre. At which point, we say "it all sounds the same". Of course it does, dummy!

My niece heard a band from the sixties singing a very sixties melody with very sixties chord changes, etc. Why would she like it? Back then she was listening to her version of the sixties, which, in her mind, is better than mine. And she is correct.

So you might ask Jaybee,what would it take for me to expand my horizons and become wise like you?

As I once told Pink Floyd before they were famous, "It takes Time."

Heroes and GOATS, Part 1: Some Words About Buildings and Food

Caveat Emptor:

Too late! You've been had. I usually try for a clever (for me) title but now I'm just being downright misleading. What's more, the only thing these two concepts have in common is their overuse.

You were taken in because you remember the little item that used to/still(?) appears in the sports section of the Daily News after a "big game" like the Super Bowl, World Series, NBA Finals, Stanley Cup, Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show, etc.

Said item contained two drawings, side by side. One was of the "Hero" - the person who saved the game, and the other was the "Goat" - the one who lost it.

The one above comes from Game 1 of the 1986 World Series, with the Boston Red Sox pitcher Bruce Hurst, whose fine pitching muted the Met offense. On the right is New York Met shortstop Tim Teufel, whose error allowed the winning runs to score.

And it sure boils things down, doesn't it? No game analysis or "team effort" bullsh*t here. Just who saved the day, and, for those whose day was not saved, whose fault it all is. There's something very Catholic about it if you ask me. The Savior and the Sinner, sports edition.

But that was a day in a lifetime ago. I read the News back then, oh boy. New York sports teams occasionally made the grade and played in these games. Times have changed. 

I'll not let this prevent me from offering my almost worthwhile thoughts on these two concepts in their current incarnations. We can do Heroes, just for day one.

Heroes:

We heard a lot about "heroes" right after 9/11. And deservedly so, since many people were doing heroic things. Over time, though - like many accolades before it - the term got overused and misapplied. (Those music bloggers! They're the real heroes!)

One way you could tell that things were getting out of hand was when the term would get applied to an already famous person. How often have you seen newspaper articles or news clips about movie stars who fall ass-backward into some dicey situation only to then be thrust forward and portrayed as the hero of said situation? Print the legend, as they say. As a general rule, though, if they were famous, they were not heroes. I'd make the case (if I weren't so lazy) that actual heroism is in inverse proportion to fame.

In the aftermath of 9/11, the fictional character Jack Bauer from the show 24 was held up as a hero. Politicians who should have been doing their jobs would instead say how much we could use a Jack Bauer type to solve our problems. ("Mr. Mayor, we were discussing jaywalking..."). 

The Heroic spectrum/slippery slope/sliding scale whatever you wanna call it goes something like this: 

Speaks His Mind > Cuts Through Red Tape > Maverick > A Man of Action > Vigilante > Fascist

Yeah, it gets dark pretty fast.

Hence my weariness/wariness of the term.

Even when the person is a hero, we slap each other on the back and forget to figure out what made said heroism necessary in the first place. All too often such stories, when plumbed for the facts leading up to the heroic act, point to institutional failure. 

Much like those heartwarming stories of kids selling lemonade to cure cancer, once we hear about it, and our hearts are duly warmed we forget to ask what should be the obvious question: Why the hell is a KID trying to fix this problem?? The answer, of course, is: Because the adults have failed to.

By all means, buy the lemonade, but then vote out the congressperson who cuts cancer research. He/she isn't campaigning on that platform, per se. He/she is usually calling it "tax cuts".

The same goes for the grown-up hero. It's great what they do, but it's often something that wouldn't have needed doing if the rest of us addressed the problem in the first place. We shouldn't just thank him/her. We should f*cking apologize, too.

So, when I hear the word "hero" I have to suppress a shudder. And I'm supported by some famous (and occasionally fictitious) people:

• Dumbledore: not a fan. 
• Brecht: not a fan. 
• Not even Tina Turner. Okay, that's a stretch.

I will now put in a good word for those heroes I can always and unreservedly applaud, knowing there's no political or institutional failure being covered up. They break down into two categories:

Hot:

• Chicken (or eggplant, or shrimp, etc.) parmigiana has to rank way up there, right? And let's pause to appreciate the oxymoronic phrase "chicken hero".
• Meatball
• Do the roast beef sandwiches from John's Deli count?

Cold: 

• Speaking of roast beef, my go-to has lettuce, tomato, mayo, salt, pepper (provolone optional)
• A personal favorite: Red peppers, fresh mozz, prosciutto, sun-dried tomatoes, green cracked olives, basil, olive oil and balsamic vinegar

And. That's. About. It. Unless I've somehow convinced you to try goat parmigiana.

And tomorrow for something completely different.