It Takes a Village of Bad PR

Perhaps you've heard about this fella Dave Carroll. Dave had a guitar destroyed by United Airlines once, and when they refused to reimburse him (on multiple occasions) for the instrument he relies on for his livelihood, he used his livelihood to fight back. He wrote a little ditty called "United Breaks Guitars" and posted the video on YouTube.

More than four million watched the video in a few days, and United's stock dropped 10%. But even though I wrote those two facts as one sentence, they are probably totally unrelated events. But it's fun to think that Dave had that sort of power.

United has since offered Dave compensation for his guitar.

People have this idea that being on the road in a band is glamorous. And a family member of mine has done some pretty serious touring with some pretty well-known acts. In other words, he's done everything from the drive-yourself-van-touring to the high-end-take-care-of-everything-for-you arena shows. It's not an easy life at all. And even at its best, it just ain't glamorous.

And, in fact, this same family member had a similar issue with Delta airlines a few years ago. I can't remember the exact details of the story, but Delta either lost his guitar amp or killed it. Letters and phone calls had absolutely no effect on Delta's response. They claimed no responsibility.

Unfortunately for Delta, this family member knew a reporter on the music business beat at Nashville's largest paper. As you might expect, the Nashville musician market is pretty important for any airline that flies through Nashville.

Delta's response was swift. He was compensated and received a phone call from the CEO and a letter of apology.

I think I can extrapolate from two examples to see a pattern. Airlines say, "Fuck you" until fucking you costs more than not fucking you. With customer service like that, it's almost hard to believe the airline industry is in such rough shape.

Actually, I wonder if I can extrapolate further to see the pattern in the overall US economy - a whole lotta "Fuck you," followed by, "Now bail us out, please, i.e. fuck you again until we're back on our feet ready to keep fucking you."

They Haven't Classed Up the Joint Too Much

I took a solo trip to Bailout Ballpark on Saturday and had another lovely visit. There were some autism awareness activities going on, which were pretty sweet.

About a half hour before game time, Sebastian Bach of Skid Row fame (not sure if you can really say he's of Jekyll & Hyde fame) took the field and sang a couple of Queens covers (We Will Rock You and We Are the Champions, of course), 18 & Life (the Skid Row hit), and another song I didn't recognize. It's probably from a new album.

But let me just say for the record: Sebastian Bach fucking rules. I mean, the songs weren't particularly good or anything, but he had the toughest job in the house there for a solid ten or fifteen minutes. The stadium was still mostly empty, and there were exactly zero people sitting in the seats he played to directly.

From my seat I had a pretty good view of the Taste of New York food court at the stadium, and that's where the throngs were. Shake Shack trumps Sebastian Bach, apparently.

God bless him, though. Sebastian was doing everything he could to get the tiny crowd excited. In that high-pitched hair-band voice of his, he screamed, "YOU READY TO ROCK THIS GAME, NEW YORK??" to which the crowd offered back a very tame, "Yay..." No matter how quiet the response, that Sebastian Bach kept on calling out for that response, bless his heart.

A couple of guys from the Howard Stern Show were involved in the awareness day, too, so naturally Sebastian Bach changed the words to include a little "Bababooey" also. Bababooey drank it up.

When it was finally time for the ceremonial first pitch, Bababooey (that's Howard Stern producer Gary Dell'abate, if you're not familiar with the show) took the ball. The stadium had filled up by this point, so Bababooey was pitching to a full house.

Now, it's pretty common for the ceremonial first pitch to fail to make it to the catcher on the fly. People who haven't ever thrown off a mound (or haven't since Little League) usually fail to compensate for the angle. So there tend to be a lot of bounced ceremonial first pitches. Most fans accept this and cheer anyway, even Mets fans.

Bababooey threw what had to be the single worst ceremonial first pitch I've ever seen in my life. Not only was his form horribly awkward, but the ball went off in a direction I didn't even think possible. It ended up so far from the catcher that it was an umpire who caught it.

And boy, did the boo birds rain down on Bababooey's head.

I actually felt a little bad for the guy. Back when it was on terrestrial radio, I would occasionally listen to the Howard Stern Show, and Bababooey is a massive Mets fan. I don't know if he's ever thrown out the first pitch before, but I'm sure it's been a dream for a long time. And he blew it. Man, he blew it bad.

After Mets ceremonial first pitches, the pitcher takes a photo with the catcher and ball as a souvenir. Bababooey's face was on the jumbotron at that moment, and he was bright red and looked absolutely miserable, forced smile notwithstanding. Poor bastard.

This is one morning I wish I had Howard to listen to. They are almost certainly busting his balls. After all, Artie Lange was there to witness the thing up close, and that guy was apparently an all-star third baseman in high school.

I'm just glad, though, that the pre-game included Sebastian Bach and Bababooey. With that fancy new stadium, it would be too easy to invite, say, Vampire Weekend and Ira Glass. For the Mets, it's really gotta be Sebastian Bach and Bababooey.

Late update: Because you know you want to see it, here's the disastrous pitch from Bababooey. Unfortunately, you can't hear the Baba-boos. Still, that's some pitch.

Digital Detox - Round 3 to... Hey! It's Bela Fleck!

Rest of the evenings and mornings were totally fine without the TV and internet. Those guys are a bunch of jerks.

But of course it's Saturday, and I'm blogging, so I guess I just ended my Digital Detox, especially since a few minutes ago I tried in vain to find out when the Mets ticket office opens out at New Shea.

So, where was I?

Right, the rest of the Digital Detox. Well, the missus totally bailed on me. I came home late from work one evening to America's Next Top Model on TV. I tell you what: even three seconds of Tyra Banks is no way to break a Digital Detox!

Anyway, we ate dinner with the TV off, but then the missus wanted to see which of those skinny bitties was getting chucked off the show. So I listened to music in the bedroom and read my book.

Right, so my book... I haven't actually read any fiction in quite some time. I've found it difficult to sit down and get absorbed into fiction. It's like my brain can't focus long enough. Or maybe it's just that when I've been trying I've been reading total crap.

So what do I pick up to read? Underworld by Don DeLillo. This thing is like 12,000 pages long. I'm also loving it. It's great getting lost in fiction again. But I'll be reading that for the next seven or eight years. So that's nice.

But yesterday, via The Nation on Facebook (see, the Digital Detox was really just more digital toxicity while at work), I got the missus and me some free tickets to Throw Down Your Heart, a swell little documentary about Bela Fleck's journey tracing the roots of the banjo back to Africa and playing a whole lot of swell music with amazing musicians there.

The best little bit was that Bela (and his brother the documentary director) did a Q&A after, and then Bela played a live tune for us all. I think this Bela Fleck character knows a thing or two about the banjo.

Those little free things in New York can really remind you why it's awesome here.

I Can't Even Bitch Right

It figures that when I rail against the Grammy Awards cool people like Robert Plant and Alison Krauss win big.

Stupid Grammy Awards. Stupid me.

Stupid.

Where's the Good Music At?

The Grammy Awards are on television tonight. Is there a less relevant awards show on the planet? I mean, the Emmy Awards lose a lot of credibility for ignoring The Wire for five years, but at least some of the other winners and nominations are related to shows that are, well, good. Milli Vanilli won a Grammy, for crying out loud. They were crap before people knew they were complete fakes.

Even just the idea that the Grammy Awards are on television is getting under my skin today.

Grrrr...

Oh, He's the Boss Alright

The big sis took the missus and me to see Bruce Springsteen at Giants Stadium last Sunday night. I had it in my head to do a long review.

There is way too much to say, so I'll leave it at this: Bruce Springsteen kicks all kinds of ass in all sorts of directions. Seeing him and the E-Street Band in their natural habitat (i.e. New Jersey) is about the most awesomest thing in the world.

Thanks, big sis.

I Come From the Land Down Over There

Children of the 80s will remember the Australian band Men At Work. After all, this is the group that introduced most Americans to Vegemite. A Musack form of their hit "Down Under" plays today under Qantas Airlines ads. "Who Can It Be Now?" is a question I ask myself every day.

But here's something I didn't know for 25 years. Colin Hay, the lead singer and songwriter for the Band Down Under, isn't Australian at all. He hails from Kilwinning, Scotland.

I feel as though some fraud has been perpetrated on the ten-year-old version of myself who bought the "Business As Usual" cassette all those years ago with his hard-earned allowance. I was buying the Australianness of it all.

I'm beginning to think that maybe Scotland really does have a claim on just about everything.

A B&E Woodwindist

The other night, the missus and I went to a little jazz basement here in Edinburgh with two of her brothers and her sister-in-law. It was a perfectly pleasant night on the town, and we were all in agreement that the band was quite good, while the singer was a little on the ridiculous side. He was one of those singers who won't listen to his accompanying band because he loves the sound of his voice too much. That's especially a problem when the voice is only OK to begin with.

Anyway, one of his featured musicians was a bald woodwind player. He played the saxophone and the flute very skillfully. This in itself might have qualified him for a Bald & Effective label.

But then, about three songs into the set, we noticed that he was missing the ring finger on his left hand. He compensated by playing with two different knuckles on his middle finger. Try bending your middle finger at both knuckles separately. I'm telling you: his lack of finger slowed him down not one iota. The man was impressive.

The double bass player was excellent, too, but he had all his digits and all his hair, so who cares?

Sonic Assault

As I've mentioned, I'm on many political email action lists. Recently, I got an email from James Taylor on behalf of the Natural Resources Defense Council. He was decrying the Navy's use of mid-frequency sound waves, which kill whales. Says James:

The Navy's sonic assault on whales should be stopped immediately... I am so distressed by the acoustic onslaught the Navy is now waging beneath our planet's oceans.

Well, James Taylor, I'm distressed by the acoustic onslaught you're waging at concerts across this country. Your sonic assault on us should be stopped immediately.

Hoo-ah! BANG! Zzp-POW! Wocka-wocka-wocka!

Yes, I signed the damned petition.

Now That's Rock-n-Roll

Dude. Keith Richards snorted his father.

He's still got it.

I'm a Convert

chicks
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

Yes, dear B&E readers, I've re-accepted Jesus Christ as my personal savior. That Mel incident really got me thinking...

The Dixie Chicks totally rule.

The Chicks played Madison Square Garden Tuesday night, and via my brother-in-law who's currently touring with them (thanks, brother-in-law and a shout-out to my sister for marrying a badass), the missus and I got some free tickets. Kick ass. Totally kick ass.

Obviously, with my own personal need for Bush-bashing, I've been aware of the "incident" that got the Chicks shunned by the country music establishment (many stations still refuse to play their music). But I'd never made the leap to hear the music. Generally speaking, country music ain't my bag. Classic country I like quite a lot, but I had assumed that the Chicks were sort of like Garth Brooks and other country "artists" that make me cringe.

Dude, I was so wrong. The Chicks can play, their songs are catchy, and their backup band is tight tight tight. Their keyboardist once "played for some TV thing Elvis was doing back in '68." Yeah, that would be the legendary Elvis comeback concert. They did a few bluegrass numbers that had my mouth agape.

Apparently, The Chicks have been canceling shows here and there because of lagging ticket sales. Mostly in the south and midwest. So instead they're focusing on the places they're particularly popular right now -- the northeast US, Canada, and Europe. If they come to a city near you, go see them play. It will please you. Seriously kickass.

The missus was also impressed by their shoes. They were all in spike heels, and the banjo player had red soles on hers. And on stage they're all totally hot.

By the way, I think that's my brother-in-law in the left-hand background of the photo. Those curls look vaguely familiar.

Last Train Home - A Shill

philly
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

Yesterday, the missus and I drove to the City of Brotherly Love to see my sister's gig. She's been playing with a band called Last Train Home when she can fit it in with her teaching schedule at Vanderbilt, where she flaunts her post-graduate degree and road experience, lecturing to impressionable collegians about the history of rock music.

Something I should point out, as an aside, is that my sister got the looks, brains, and talent in the family. She's a total badass.

I knew nothing of Last Train Home prior to the gig last night, and if being good guys was all it took to be a famous band, Last Train Home should be at least as big as Gary Glitter, if not bigger.

Their core is a three-man rhythm section (with vocals). Then they add players based on availability. So last night's crew included my sister on keyboard and accordion, a lead guitarist who blew out his amp, and a large fella on the pedal steel. Alt-country is the style of music. You know, country folk that can rock out. And it was great. They made driving back to New York at 3am a breeze. Parking in Sunnyside at 3am, however...

Opening for Last Train Home was a woman named Julie Lee. She sounds a little like Allison Kraus, and other than the love songs to Jesus, she was great, too.


Later: I forgot the shill part. Buy their albums.

He's Got Some Super-White Choppers, Too

joeperry
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

Joe Perry finished up a whopping two-city tour last night (Boston and New York) to promote his solo album. Joe also has a line of salsas, although he didn't mention those during the gig. I can't hear this morning.

Joe's crowd banter is hilarious, because he just sort of comes off as this mellow, slightly awkward dude, like, "I was feelin' sorta upset one day so I wrote a song about it," or "I'm a little embarrassed to play this one for you because it's called 'Ten Years' which is how long I've been with my wife and I love her a lot," or "I once heard Johnny Cash play a song about seeing the whole world and I could relate so I thought I'd write a song about that, too, only rock n' roll." He constantly referred to the band (which included my brother-in-law) as "some good friends of mine," like they were all just hanging out.

Then he'd totally rock out. I've never seen Aerosmith live, but I have to assume that, since they've been around as long as they have been, Joe's at least partially responsible for many of the guitar-playing cliches, and he pulled out all those, too -- the hopping backwards on one leg that AC/DC really made famous, the falling to his knees, and the playing behind his head. He had a different guitar for almost every song (I've seriously never seen so many guitars in one show), and when he played the single (which he opened and closed with), for the solo, he spun one guitar to his back, and grabbed a second, playing the rest of the song draped by guitars.

It was old school rock music, which I always enjoy a lot. Webster Hall was shaking.

Joe's totally cut, by the way. At one point, he ripped his shirt open to reveal his washboard abs. Hell, if I was his age with washboard abs, I'd rip my shirt open, too. In fact, if I had washboard abs now, I'd probably rip my shirt open.

The guest list was huge and workers-of-the-door tried to tell me I wasn't on it. After explaining for the fourth time that I was probably on the band's list (I could tell she wasn't listening to me), she found me on a single typed page in the back. Since Webster Hall is a club also, the workers-of-the-door are these hipper-than-thou hotties (male and female) who wield vast quantities of enormously annoying power. Downstairs from the venue, in another venue, PlayGirl was having a GIRLS NIGHT OUT party.

Keep your eyes out for the DVD (of Joe, not PlayGirl). And don't forget his line of salsas.

Irish Chamber Orchestra

I'd just like to give a special shout out to the Irish Chamber Orchestra who played at Carnegie Hall last night. Bill Whelan of Riverdance fame had a US premiere of a new piece as part of the evening. Whatever you think of Riverdance, this new little fella he wrote that's a sort of fusion of traditional Irish and contemporary classical music, called Carna, was freakin' brilliant, and featured some Irish lilting and a hot fiddler called Zoe Conway. She was born in the 80s, so I'm guessing she's gonna have a bit of a career ahead of her yet. Kudos also to my brilliant wife, who scored free tickets to the show and allowed me to enjoy my first experience at Carnegie Hall. It was one of those things that remind you how great New York is.

making slow, sweet music

I went with a few folks to fairfield, connecti-cult last night to hear some classical music (don't ask). the soloists were great, and the orchestra seemed to do pretty well with the fast movements of the symphonies being played. when it came time for the slow bits, however, the musicianship sort of fell apart. my wife pointed out that playing slowly is much more difficult than playing quickly, which, when you think about it, is true about so many important things.