Friday, January 31, 2020

Gheorghe Explains: News in Decline

Recently in this space, veteran ink-stained wretch Dave Fairbank offered an insider's view of the sad fate of the American newspaper. He closed that post about Alden Global Capital's increasingly (and negatively) impactful place in our nation's news industry by saying, "I have no idea how Alden’s tenure will affect my friends and former co-workers in Newport News and Norfolk. I would like to think that they’re far enough down the food chain to grant them some reprieve from the butcher’s knife. Both shops have been through several rounds of cuts and layoffs through the years, so little fat remains. But given the bloodless chase for profits and satisfied investors, nothing would surprise me."

As we learn today, he was right not to be surprised.

Local newspapers are shrinking and disappearing at a troubling rate, which I wrote about here recently, after hedge fund and newspaper strip-miner Alden Global Capital bought into Tribune Corporation and by extension my old shop, the Newport News (Va.) Daily Press, and companion rag, the Norfolk Virginian-Pilot.

I bring it up again because, in advance of Alden coming on board this summer, Tribune offered buyouts to journalists with eight or more years’ experience. Within the next couple of weeks, my old newsroom and that of the Pilot are going to be gutted beyond even what I imagined. Friends and colleagues are going to be out of work. Local journalism will suffer. People will be less informed.
There have been several rounds of buyouts and staff purges over the past 20 years, and many of us chose to weather them and take our chances. This time, however, editors and administrators who weren’t simply spouting the corporate line advised reporters to take the buyout. Reporters and photogs were told that if they chose to stick it out, instead of receiving months of severance pay and benefits depending on length of tenure, that it is quite possible they could get pink-slipped and receive only two weeks’ pay and a box to haul out their stuff.

Any excuse to post this pic of Fairbank and Teel will do
From what I’ve been told, the sports departments will lose at least four veteran reporters – three from the Daily Press, one from the Pilot – who have a combined 120 years’ experience, beaucoup awards and irreplaceable institutional knowledge. One of them, my compadre and former roomie David Teel, was recently honored as state sportswriter of the year for the 13th consecutive year. He’s covered the ACC for 35 years. He’s a member of the state Sports Hall of Fame. Administrators, coaches and athletes return his calls because they trust him and know he’s good at his job. You might think that he’s the sort of figure that management would want to keep around, to convey at least the appearance of professionalism amid massive change. In fact, he asked if he could remain until the end of basketball season. Clean break, and all that. He was told, hard no, and here’s the buyout paperwork and here’s how and where to file it.

I have no sources about the reasons and timing of this round of buyouts and staff reduction, so I’ll be the kind of journalist I generally abhor and hazard a guess: the buyouts were conditional for Alden’s buy-in. Cutting staff now means that Alden cannot be blamed, technically, for doing so later. Alden also didn’t want buyout salaries, bennies, and “dead” money on its books when it comes on board.

(Side note: I’m happy to be told I’m wrong and welcome other possible explanations from those who visit this speakeasy and are more astute than me on corporate financial matters – which encompasses pretty much all of you.)

It was a bit of a whirlwind. Announce buyout plan Jan. 13. Paperwork sent out to eligible employees Jan. 21. File by Feb. 3. Gone Feb. 7.

The verbiage from the company is as confounding as it is discouraging. The Prez and CEO of Tribune Publishing sent out a memo saying that business is improving, but expenses remain high. That company-wide layoffs are a last resort, but here’s a buyout package for tenured staff. That they’re committed to digital products and subscriptions, but there’s still a lot of money tied up in the print product and they must reduce expenses in anticipation of continued decline.

The new editor-in-chief of the Pilot and Daily Press sent out a memo announcing the departure of several staff members. It contained the following:

“In the coming weeks, we will assess workflow and realign the newsroom as needed to continue      creating exceptional journalism. Change can be challenging but it’s necessary for our future success.”

Yes, because nothing conveys creating exceptional journalism like encouraging exceptional journalists to walk.

There are days when I miss the job. Conversations, storytelling, big games, explaining things to people, the adrenal rush of deadlines, the satisfaction of doing a job well. I no longer miss the business of newspapers and what it has become, the lives disrupted and ultimately readers and populace cheated. Saddens me greatly.

Thursday, January 30, 2020

Ripped from the Headlines II

[To be read in the voice of either Sir David Attenborough or John Houseman.]

Long ago, in early September of 1988, the man you now know as "Rob" or "rob" was but a wee lad of 18 years. He'd traveled many miles to matriculate at the second-oldest college in these American States, and the dormitory placement system in use at the time had him bunking with not one but two mates of the room.  For our purposes here, we shall refer to them as "Weisy-D" and "P-Dog" to protect the nearly innocent.

Room 300: elsewhere a lounge, but in this residence hall commemorated to the honor of the 5th President of these American States and an alumnus of the College, it was a bedroom "suite." To you and to me, that elegant denomination belied its true differentiation from the other 25 occupied bunkrooms and boudoirs on the hall. A glorified dormitory den stuffed with overripe flesh like grape leaves in the sun by any other name would still be as un-sweet.  A slightly larger room with no closet and no sink or mirror... tag it with "suite," and its occupants shall be none the wiser.  Ah, but were they?

Speaking of which, this "suite" was, in fact, immediately and universally prefixed that autumn with "sweet" to create a trite but divertingly homonymous appellation -- one applied in a slapdash manner to mild amusement then, but one which would stand the test of reminiscent folklore time and stick for all time. Funny thing, foreshadowing.

"The Sweet Suite Blues," a gritty ballad lamenting the state of affairs on Monroe 3rd West. Certainly you recall its elevation up the local charts in the spring of '88. The band's name escapes me, something arbitrary and asinine for sure.

So there was Rob. There he was. There he was. There he was.  In... the Sweet Suite.

He, today heralded as the tiny dictator who reigns supreme in postcount and moral compass over this blogatory organization. Well, he had a fair bit less... organization... back in this day-du-hey.  "Tiny dictator," mind you. Not "tidy dictator."

Diminutive as he was and is, his slop didn't encroach too terribly on his collegial suitemates' invisible lines of demarcation.  He just had, as the kids back then were wont to say crassly, "a little pile of his crap in the corner."

And it was either one of the aforementioned mates or the other, either Weisy-D or P-dog, this old scribe cannot recall which.  But whoever it was, it was he who labeled this mess with a simile of sorts.

And in labeling that mess, he unknowingly labeled the man behind the mess with a silly sobriquet, and in doing so, he also unknowingly -- for how could he possibly have the perfect foresight to see thirty-one-and-a-half years later, far off in time in the year of our Lord 2020 -- but yes, he labeled the man behind the mess with a moniker that would attach itself to Rob forever. Like a tattoo.  But more permanent, perhaps.
"It's like his little squirrel's nest over there."
And that pithy little quip, and the synonymous wildfire that spread from it, dear friends, is how our friend Rob and our blogmate rob came to be known across the land as "Squirrel."

The tale of our Squirrel, if you will, goes on from there. But this, this here, is his origin story.

It makes one wonder what curious episodes of distant yesteryear led to other such nicknamings. Case in point. We may well never know Mr. Grimstead's backstory, but I'm confidently sure of one thing. It has simply got to be a better story than this one was.

Rest in peace, other "Squirrel."

-----------------------------------------------------------

Tuesday, January 28, 2020

Ripped from the Headlines

Punk rock gets a fair amount of play around the gheorghosphere, and it certainly did over the last few days. Hope you took a few minutes to watch tomorrow's community leaders play the role of patient boy.

I usually click on Google News sometime in the morning to make sure I haven't missed anything. That said, lately these days my scans have been fewer and more cursory. The news is too bad, too ugly, too depressing. Even the non-Trump tribulations are items like the fact that 34 years ago today, the space shuttle Challenger exploded.

I do, however, enjoy the modern technology feature of search returns and news feeds being tailored to taste.  And as such, I get punk rock news -- of which there is not a ton, mind you. This isn't Kings Road, 1977.

One of today's headlines, though, made me chuckle.  To begin with, punk band names are the best. And then there's the unintended, more literal interpretation.


Unfamiliar eyes would be rather horrified. Which is, of course the intent of it all.  God love the Circle Jerks. They were even name-checked in a Camper van Beethoven song in 1985.

Some punk and hardcore acts take it a bit far, going full-offensive, but those aren't particularly gheorghey.  Even the Dead Kennedys rile some people beyond musical consideration.  For now, we asked local DJ Les Coole to check in with his favorite punk rock band names of all time:

  • Misfits
  • The Clash
  • Social Distortion
  • Butthole Surfers
  • Meat Puppets
  • Circle Jerks
  • Bad Religion
  • The Slits
  • The Damned
  • Therapy?
  • Slightly Stoopid
  • The Runaways
  • Suicidal Tendencies
  • Dirty Rotten Imbeciles
  • Buzzcocks
  • Germs
  • Fugazi (Fouled Up, Got Ambushed, Zipped In)
  • Cock Sparrer
  • Richard Hell and the Voidoids
  • The Cramps
  • Random Idiots
  • The Stooges
  • Scrod Rocket
  • Rancid
  • Pogue Mahone
  • Black Flag
  • 999
  • Southern Culture on the Skids
  • Agent Orange
  • Minor Threat
  • Pavement
  • Ween
  • The Skids
  • The Ruts
  • The Dead Milkmen
  • Ramones
  • Bad Brains
  • GWAR
  • [20 bands that start with Anti-...]
  • The Boomtown Rats
  • Flogging Molly
  • The Sex Pistols
  • Napalm Death
  • Bikini Kill
  • Greasetruck
  • The All-American Rejects
  • Agnostic Front
  • Generation X
  • The Hives
  • Killing Joke
  • Hole
  • Sham 69
  • The Vibrators
  • Dead Kennedys
  • Beastie Boys

Now more than ever, rebellion seems about right.  Anarchy in the GTB.

Saturday, January 25, 2020

Faux-gazi Filler for the Weekend

The past was terrific.


But I do not weep for the future.


Happy Saturday. Get out there and kick this much ass.

Friday, January 24, 2020

Better Know Your Minor League Baseball Mascot: It's All Happening, Part I

One of our most beloved recurring features returns, with a twist made necessary by the sheer magnitude of the outpouring of creativity (read: visions of merchandising dollar signs) shown by baseball franchise management across our fair land. There's so much new and amusing (and new and absurd) mascottery happening today that it's impossible to select just one to highlight. 

Here, then, are a few of the mascots and/or team haberdashery that've caught our eyes of late:

The Jamestown (NY) Tarp Skunks kick things off, the newest team in the Perfect Game Collegiate Baseball League. I don't know what it is, either, but it does offer us more opportunities to enjoy silly mascots. Jamestown is the hometown of former major leaguer Howard Ehmke, who allegedly invented the infield tarp. Which in Jamestown's ballpark is a place where skunks dwell, apparently.

We've featured Florence, Kentucky here before (honestly), so imagine our glee when we learned of the local Frontier League team, the Florence Freedom, was renamed the Florence Y'alls. Legend has it that when the town of Florence put up a water tower in 1974 they were forced to change its message from Florence Mall to Florence, Y'all because the namesake mall hadn't been built yet. Go with it, man. Now, 46 years later, that legal kerfuffle has birthed genius.

The Pacific Coast League has a team in New Orleans, which is like a reverse Utah Jazz kind of thing. The team used to known as the Zephyrs, but in 2016 became the New Orleans Baby Cakes. That name beat out Crawfish, King Cakes, Night Owls, Po'boys, Red Eyes, and Tailgators. 

Things I learned today: Binghamton, Endicott, and Johnson City, New York are collectively known as the Triple Cities, and the Triple Cities are known as the Carousel Capital of the World. Hence the erstwhile Binghamton Mets becoming the Binghamton Rumble Ponies in 2018. Rumble Ponies, it turns out, has something to do with carousels. I didn't learn what.

I also learned that there's a branding company called Brandiose, based in San Diego, that's responsible for a lot of the silliness spreading across logoland. I have applied for a job there. I'll keep you posted. Brandiose came up with the Tarp Skunks, in addition to the Texas League Amarillo Sod Poodles (Soddies, for short). A sod poodle is another name for a prairie dog, dontchaknow. 

Lots, lots, more to come on this topic, but we'll cut it here for now in the name of postcount.

Thursday, January 23, 2020

Judging Eli

Eli Manning retires this week after a storied NFL career.  It seems like just yesterday he and pop Archie were pulling the somewhat douchey "Eli should be able to decide where he plays" a la Joe and Jack Elway. Ah, the time, she does fly.

Like John Elway, Eli Manning played in the NFL for 16 seasons. Like Elway, he stayed with the same team for his entire career.  (As well they both should have.)

Like Elway, he quarterbacked teams to a pair of Super Bowl victories. He bettered Elway with not one but two Super Bowl MVP trophies.  Giants fans will always have a soft spot in their hearts and their heads for Eli's improbable wins.

Elway: 51,475 yards, 300 TD passes, 226 interceptions, 79.9 QBR
Manning: 57,023 yards, 366 TD passes, 244 interceptions, 84.1 QBR

Eli "Lester" Whitney
Not sure I would have guessed how well Eli measures up against ol' Elwood, for whatever these statistics are worth.

How does Manning measure up against other people in history named Eli?

Well, there's industrialist Eli Lilly, actor Eli Roth, and university benefactor "Dancing with" Elihu Yale.  There are many others, listed here for your convenience.

The one you know best of all from days of old is Eli Whitney.  Mr. Cotton Gin. The reason I get called "Eli" now and again by clever, clever sorts.

There are many ways to judge a man.  You certainly have yours.

But here's how I gauge Eli Manning's ultimate standing in history. One of the dumber, goofier sketches on SNL in the last decade, and Eli performing sans hubris like an idiot in a clip that always tickles my funny bone:

Wednesday, January 22, 2020

RIP Terry Jones

Terry Jones, one of the founding members of Monty Python and a co-director of Monty Python and the Holy Grail, passed away last night at the age of 77 after a battle with dementia. No time this morning for a proper sendoff, so I implore the various k-nig-its in these parts to chip in. Here's Jones as Sir Bedevere, putting a witch on trial.

Tuesday, January 21, 2020

Mac Miller Gets a Respectful, Posthumous Jon Brion Treatment

Unlike some of you, I don't have teenage daughters and I'm not a Floridian hip-hop fan, So, as with most musical things, I was late to the Mac Miller bandwagon. I hopped on after he passed away a little over a year ago. I dig some of the stuff I've heard, although I think it appeals more to a younger generation. My kid likes it and I lie to my wife that the lyrics are not that bad.

Turns out Mac was deep in the process of making a new album with Jon Brion when he passed away. Brion is a guy I've known for many years. As a Paul Thomas Anderson fan, I remember Brion as the guy who did the score for Punch Drunk Love. Turns out Brion also contributed to PTA films Boogie Nights and Magnolia. In addition, he has worked on I Heart Huckabees, Step Brothers, ParaNorman, Lady Bird and many, many others (unclear if he wrote Boats 'N' Hoes though). Jon is out there, as many musicians are, as evidenced by his discussion of his work in Punch Drunk Love, seen below.



Given my respect for PTA, I have respect for the folks he respects. So I take notice when Brion does his thing. And as a music producer, Brion certainly had some work to do to get this last album (Circles) out after Miller passed. From what I've read, he had disparate sets of lyrics and beats and did some interpretation to string it all together into twelve tracks. Perhaps it is not what Miller wanted, but it may be what his fans needed.

I downloaded the album and have listened to much of it. More ambient, mellow and bluesy than I would've expected. Mac does as much/more singing than rapping. There is a sadness pervasive, but maybe that's just the baggage I'm bringing in, knowing I'm listening to a dead guy's last few recording sessions.

The album is an evolution of his sound and I think many of you will dig it. But sadly, it's also a coda for a life that ended too soon.



Monday, January 20, 2020

Animals Are Better Than People

And when the wombat comes, he will find me gone, sang Stewart Copeland in On Any Other Day.



As it turns out, a part of the lyric that starts that same song is appropriate here. "Complete bullshit" is an apt description of any disparagement of the wombat.

Wombat burrows are extremely large, which has been a literal lifesaver to a wide range of fauna desperately seeking to escape the widespread fires that have ravaged Australia over the past few weeks. Wallabies, echinadas, various species of lizards, even butterflies have found refuge in wombat-built 20-30m long tunnels. And the wombats themselves have been gracious hosts.

Fuck yeah, wombats.


Sunday, January 19, 2020

Brett Blizzard Built This House

UNC-Wilmington men's basketball team is terrible. Before yesterday, they were 0-7 in CAA play, routinely getting their doors blown off by a league that - let's face it - ain't exactly Murderer's Row. The school fired head coach CB McGrath after a dismal 80-63 loss at Elon left the team 5-14, 0-6 in the league. 

McGrath was replaced by assistant coach Rob Burke, who's only previous collegiate head coaching experience came at Spartanburg Methodist College, where he led the Pioneers to a 112-67 record over six years. Burke graduated from Chowan University in 1998, where his primary claim to fame was playing with G:TB's very own Mark Hughes.

In Burke's first game as head coach, UNCW took Hofstra to the wire, losing by two points on the final play of the game. Then, yesterday, the Seahawks beat perennial conference power Northeastern in overtime for their first CAA win of the season. 

And Burke was a pretty great post-game listen:

Saturday, January 18, 2020

Presented Without Comment

I like the cut of Monsieur Idoux's jib.

Friday, January 17, 2020

A District Ex-Pat, Wishing Ruefully

One of the not-that-many reasons I lament having left big city life in 2005 can be summed up in one online stroll.
  1. Go to any of the websites/apps featuring a calendar of live arts performances for a city/region*.
  2. Select Norfolk, VA.
  3. Peruse.
  4. Select Washington, DC. (Or New York, NY; Philadelphia, PA; or even Raleigh, NC for that matter.)
  5. Peruse.
  6. Review comparatively.
*My site of choice has been Pollstar for years, but I also call upon JamBase and others for no real reason from time to time.

I miss out on a massive slew of during-the-week or inconvenient-weekend shows in larger areas.  The most prominent acts of our time only hit the big stadia where they can get the most bangin' bang for their buck. Even the bands that are throwin' back mid-range gravitate elsewhere first. It's simple economics.

Norfolk/Virginia Beach/etc. -- once known as Tidewater, then christened Hampton Roads 30+ years ago, occasionally called Coastal Virginia or SEVA, then rebranded ham-fistedly as "The 757" this past December . . . whatever it's called, it suffers from the French syndrome known as cul-de-sac-itis, as we are a distanced offshoot on the East Coast rock and roll corridor of I-95, and we are a road to nowhere. This pleases some xenophobic residents, impacts supply chain, and limits performing arts visitors. Sad but true.

So we starve, musically speaking, or we overpay. In 2012, a local venue paid $140,000 to land The Black Keys. That seems steep for this middle-sized burg to be plunking down on someone not prefixed as Sir and who dropped their first record post-9/11. Again, just for dollars and cents reasons. But I had GA Floor tix and dug that show.

Perhaps someday Pharrell and company can help elevate this corner of the state up from a cornerstone of Colonial American history into something more culturally and rock-relevant. This was a start. In the meantime, I'm left to lean on my monitor like it's the plate glass of a storefront and window-shop at concerts in other towns.

Case in point: The Exile Follies

Three indie-rock stalwarts whose commercial heyday... okay, indie acts don't have a commercial heyday. Let's just say those of you who drift (Rob) or even dwell (Squeaky) in the realm of sub-superstar bands of the 80's and 90's know these three cats from back then.

Grant-Lee Phillips
Band: Grant Lee Buffalo
GLB Songs I Like Best: "Mockingbirds," "Truly, Truly"
Also: His solo album Nineteeneighties acoustically covered alt-rock tunes from... guess when. "Love My Way" stands out. Plenty of other chill albums through the years.
Fun Fact: He's of Native American heritage and a direct descendant of those who walked the Trail of Tears. And he's cool.

Kristin Hersh
Band: Throwing Muses (with the fantastic Tanya Donelly)
TM Songs I Like Best: "Bright Yellow Gun," "Mexican Women," "Not Too Soon"
Also: She has a fairly robust solo catalog, but the first song off her first album is my favorite -- "Your Ghost," with Michael Stipe on the chorus.
Fun Fact: She once sent a direct Twitter message to me about something I said. (It wasn't "cease and desist."). She's cool.

John Doe
Band: X (with the fantastic Exene Cervenka)
X Songs I Like Best: "White Girl," "The World's a Mess, It's in My Kiss," "Under the Big Black Sun," "4th of July," etc.
Also: Solo stuff and collaborations abound. Saw him do "Gimme Shelter" live, and it was blistering. Like "The Golden State" a lot.
Fun Fact: I almost ran him over backstage in Tipitina's in 2008. My starstruck response to him: "Hey, it's John Doe... I mean, uh, sorry." And he chuckled. He's cool.

The aforementioned Gimme Shelter before the aforementioned near-collision:

In 2002, after each of their bands had pretty much ceased to be, these three happened upon each other and launched a small, quiet tour of intimate venues called The Exile Follies.

I read about it much later. Sounded intriguing.  As described by Phillips:
I suppose there was a curiosity about pooling our strengths together in such a way that it allowed for some creative elbow room. The old tradition of songwriters in the round, where everyone sits in a circle and swaps songs was hard for any one of us to imagine. We came from the sticky clubs, where the speakers were always on the blink and chairs were a liability. We decided to tweak it a bit.
Our show was broken up into individual sets, just one of us on stage until the moment when the next performer would take the mic. As a transition, two of us would perform together. Vaudeville stuff. The running order came down to a coin toss until we settled into a comfortable rhythm. The evening would culminate with all three of us performing together.
They're running it back this year. Aaaaaand, circling back to my point, they are only hitting:
  • DC - Tues, Feb 4
  • Philly - Weds, Feb 5
  • NYC - Thurs, Feb 6
  • Boston - Fri, Feb 7
  • Cleveland - Weds, Feb 12
  • Chicago - Fri, Feb 14
Oh, well.  Had I not moved, I'd definitely drop $32 and hit the City Winery in DC on a Tuesday for virtually on-stage seats and tables and bevs and rock and/or roll.  

Anyway... go check it out, big city types. Maybe I'll see you there.

Thursday, January 16, 2020

The Night is Alive. It's Loud and I'm Drunk.

Beach Slang is an up-and-coming band from Philly. The backbone of the band is vocalist/guitarist James Alex. I usually don't trust anybody who has a first name for a last name, but I dig this dude and the band's raucous electric rock sound.

As with most musical things in my life, I randomly came across this band just recently. Not sure if it was a magazine or The Ringer's web site. But I read a positive review and downloaded their first full album, 2015's concisely titled The Things We Do to Find People Who Feel Like Us. It kicks all kinds of ass. I'm not good at writing about music, but the album has the same edge, grit and energy as the early Gaslight Anthem material. It is a concise 10 songs that span a mere 27 minutes. All killer, no filler. They're carrying whatever torch The Replacements lit forty years ago, which is noble, if only to me.

The song below is from that album, and its lyrics spawned the title of the post. Simple phrase, but something we can (or could, at one time) relate to, even in our middle ageishness.



Their fourth and latest album, The Deadbeat Bang of Heartbreak City, just dropped. It sounds like a stew of many rock sounds I've loved since my childhood: Guns n Roses, Arctic Monkeys and 80's pop, to name a few. Good stuff and also worth a listen.

Since NPR's Tiny Desk series has a lot of street cred in these parts, here is James Alex doing that gig. Personally, I think the songs are better suited to the full electric rock treatment, but they still sound pretty damn good here.

Wednesday, January 15, 2020

Whitney's Second Coming

At Gheorghe: The Blog you can count on us to break the news, quite badly sometimes.

The results are in, and they're . . . we'll, they're in.  Last you saw a Rock Hall headline, Dave Matthews Band won the 2020 Fan Vote overwhelmingly, with over 1,000,000 votes cast online.  So that means they're in (and Rob's happy), right?

Ha ha.
Ha ha ha.

It means DMB got exactly one (1) ballot put into the mix with their name on it. Among 1,000.  What a colossal waste of time for the legions of fans that figured they could will DMB into the RnRHoF with their "voting" or perhaps their "bots," to keep the recent rules-bending theme going. The lesson: there is no rhyme and reason to the Fan Vote, and it's a typical situation for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. What would you say?

Anyway, let's go to the big board.


So what did we learn?  Well, other than that the Fan Vote is a crock of dancing nancies, we learned that I'm getting to know these jokers.
  • I pegged DM, the Doobies, Whitney, and Biggie.
  • I backed the wrong proto-punk act when I said MC5, not T. Rex... and MC5 now stands for 5 nominations without entry, while T. Rex had never been nominated. They gotta be pissed.
  • I picked the wrong member of this co-headlining tour... I went sentimental, which they do not do in the RnRHoF.
  • I thought Judas Priest was worthy. But I guess I've got another think comin', or another "thing" comin' if you're Rob Halford. Maybe that's why they kept him out.
That's all for now. I'm your G:TB (Gheorghe: Tiger Beat) roving reporter Whitney (no relation).  Rock on.

Tuesday, January 14, 2020

Shazam!

Two of my friends, a husband and wife team that zwoman and I refer to as The Elegances, were early iPhone adopters. I didn’t understand the hoopla at first. Jenny Elegance showed me the great camera and how good photos looked on the big screen. It was cool but I wasn’t blown away. Then she showed me the map feature with GPS directions. I was really impressed—-I have no sense of direction and this is the type of thing I could really use. Then Danny Elegance came over the top with Shazam. My mind was blown. I said something like “Yo, this thing just sniffs the beats out the air and gives you the song?!? I want that beat sniffer!” FOGTB JP quickly replied “The beat sniffer, that’s my dog!” This is funny because his dog Hank liked to sniff the crotch of our friend Julie Beats. I guess you had to be there.

All this is to say that Shazam is great and it was the motivating force behind my first iPhone purchase. Over a decade later, Dave apparently just learned about Shazam and started blogging about it. Better late than never.

I still love Shazam. Here are some of my recent finds:

“It Was Wrong to Love You” by The Jay Vons (of course they’re on Daptone, here's the song live)



“Talk That Talk” by The Du Droppers (nothing like the Rihanna song)



“There’s No One Like You” by Redd Kross



“Tom Drunk” by U-Roy (the “Fortified Live” sample!)



“Castin’ My Spell” by Johnny Otis



“I’m a King Bee” by Slim Harpo (the original!)



“Night walkers” by Kiki Hitomi (I can't come up with a coherent parenthetical for this one)



“All the Way from Memphis” by Mott the Hoople (sounds like the influenced White Reaper)



Dave and I probably aren't the only Shazammers around here. What did you find lately?

Monday, January 13, 2020

So many questions

What would make you think you could do this?
How would you go about doing it?
Why would you try?
Who is this guy?
And so on.

Sunday, January 12, 2020

Dogblogging

I will write a post at some point about my experience as a first-time dog owner (spoiler: it's pretty great), but for now, please enjoy this grainy video of my puppy's first experience with snow. 


Thursday, January 09, 2020

Fashion is Dumb Two-Fer

Sent from TR, my #1 FID correspondent...worst job ever trying to put on a bow tie.

The Gore Vidal? Or is it the Paul Reubens?

And, honestly, I don't know what the hell is going on here. Is that first one a bud? Is that followed by a turd and then kale? Just terrifying awful shit.

Wednesday, January 08, 2020

A Little Gheorghemas Wrapping Paper Left Over

Didn't want to clunk up Day 12 with too much inanity, so we have some leftovers. 

First, another thing I always enjoy seeing: artists giving a shout-out and going to see other bands. I remember standing next to comedian Lewis Black and watching him gleefully watch Tedeschi Trucks in Golden Gate Park minutes after he delivered a side-splitting comedy set.  Good stuff.

I saw both of the bands below (all three. technically) in 2020, and they were terrific. Glad we have some crossover appreciation, and I agree with the DBT assessment.  (Camper/Cracker in DC in 10 days.  DBT's there in February.)


On another note, I thought I would issue the year-end report card, not as a means to scold people, but as a sincere shout-out to the tiny dictator who keeps this sputtering engine chugging along.  Seriously... our boy contributed 57% of the postings on Gheorghe: The Blog.  Major kudos to Rob. And thanks.


And finally, year-end playlists of the best tunes of the previous 365 are a dime a dozen, but here's 9 cents' worth of good music from 2019.  As a bonus, here are also 100 songs I enjoyed from the past decade.

Monday, January 06, 2020

The Twelve Days of Gheorghemas: Day Twelve

On the twelfth day of Gheorghemas,
Big Gheorghe gave to me

Twelve Concert Visuals
Eleven Months of Elevating the Art of Blogging
Ten Years of Dipshits
Nine (six, really) goats goatating
Eight Autographs Showing How Sad My Childhood Was
Seven Books for Reading
Six Vinyl Discs
Five golden (Cream Yellow, really) cylinders for Squeaky
Four players playing
Three Nutty Squirrels
Two Chilean bangers (literally)
And a British lass slingin’ hot meat

You knew it would be music-related, right? It wasn’t just me that turned more posting attention to tunes this year – G:TB sported 102 of 193 posts this year that predominantly featured something musical. It’s the #1 content piece, followed by sports, cars, where we visited, William and Mary, food, anything squirrel-related, dumb fashion, Gheorghe Muresan, and vajazzling.

We like music.

We like listening to music, reading about music, watching videos of music, occasionally writing and recording music, and especially going to concerts. It’s what we do, by and large. It’s definitely what I did this year:
29 shows all told. I’m pleased with that, though one of a couple of shows I had tickets to and then couldn’t make (Rhett Miller especially) could’ve propelled me into the 30’s. Whatever. A few years back, times were less blissful for me, and I wrote on Day 12 about not having seen jack squat for live music. I’m extremely pleased that this has changed.

My favorite show of the year was the December G:TB Summit in Montclair, New Jersey for The Cult. I saw better shows with worse company plenty. That one was just right for all-around camaraderie and enjoyment. Kudos to Zman for rallying folks and buying advance tix. We should've done a post about it.

Second would probably be Elvis Costello and Blondie with Rob. Or the Rootstone show! I definitely should have done a full review of our man Rootsy's show in March. My bad, buddy.

I got to see an increasing number of friends make/play great music.  You may recall one FOGTB released an album.

The Les Coole open mic was good nerve-wracking fun. Album is delayed til 2020, but we have 8 or 9 rough cuts in the can. Soon enough I'll fish 'em out and finish the project.

On to Gmas... I am a lousy concert photographer/videographer.  I don't like doing it, since it both detracts from the experience and sometimes annoys the artists. (Tweedy, I'm talking about you.) But I often end up snapping a quick one and being done with it.  The results: eh. They spark a memory, that's about all you can say about them.

So... enjoy the show(s). Dig my avant-garde assembly of them.

The Avett Brothers
Citizen Cope

Big Head Todd and the Monsters


The Cult
Father John Misty
Jason Isbell
Les Coole and The Cukes
Rootstone Jug Band


Cracker
Melvin Seals and JGB


Wilco
That's 11. Here's #12, a video I took of the inimitable Nels Cline performing one of my favorite Wilco songs... and his signature solo.


Let's keep up the music in 2020. 

Unearthing new stuff and sharing it. Unearthing old stuff and sharing it. Reviewing it. Making it.  Photographing it. (Someone else besides me.)  Seeing shows together as a roving band of half-drunk gheorghies.  I have tickets to They Might Be Giants in DC with Rob and The Black Crowes in Va Beach unless they implode again. Seeing the Hoodoo Gurus down here in November.  Beyond that: Cold War Kids, The Allman Betts Band, Southern Culture On the Skids, Sturgill Simpson, The Revivalists, Waxing Poetics, The Lumineers, . . . join me, gheorghies?

The last day of Christmas, officially speaking, was yesterday. We're just a day off for Gheorghemas. Here's hoping everyone's holiday was less serious and that there were songs to fill the air.  Cheers.

Sunday, January 05, 2020

My Amazon Account Turns 22 This Year. What Did I Buy On the 'Net Twenty Years Ago?


I recently took a cyber trip down memory lane by reviewing my Amazon.com purchase history. I stumbled on it while looking for an old order. My first Amazon.com order was in July 1998. I had a couple chuckles and a few guffaws looking back and seeing what the young buck version of TR got excited to buy on-line at the end of the last millennium.

My earliest memory of Amazon was that it was a "CD and book" outlet. I also remember buying things in bundles to save on shipping. No idea if this was accurate. But let's review my first three orders of 1998, as well as a bonus one from 2000.

Order 1 (7/9/98): Filling in some musical gaps. I was still living with Zman in the sad upper story of a sad house in the sad town of Mt. Vernon, NY. I was driving an old Jetta with a dented rear fender. I would escape the sadness in this Jetta by driving to the beach frequently to get blacked-out drunk with my high school friends. So I was listening to a lot of tunes on the Discman I plugged into my car via the tape player. I bought three CDs in this, my very first, Amazon order: Maxwell's Embrya, Widespread Panic's self-titled album and the Beatles' Let it Be. Two for partying and one for lovemaking. I guess. I paid $39.51 for this order. Today, I could download all three to my phone in a minute, as part of my monthly Apple Music subscription.


Order 2 (7/30/98): Seeking profundity. Later that summer, I spent $34.56 for William Burroughs' Yage Letters, Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged and a Bob Dylan biography called No Direction Home: The Life and Music of Bob Dylan. I distinctly remember reading each of these books, so I guess it was money well spent. This was well before I started buying high-brow non-fiction that I wanted to read, but lacked the discipline to finish (looking at you, 1,152 pg Winston Churchill bio collecting dust on my shelf).


Order 3 (12/31/98): Wish I could get a mulligan on this order. I spent $28.53 on Ozomatli's debut CD and a book called The Bodybuilder's Nutrition Book, co-authored by Franco Colombu, who trained with Arnold back in the day. In reality, Franco's diet was a steady intake of anabolic steroids, but that chapter never made it into the prose. While I did like Ozomatli a bit at the time (remember Como Ves?), the money used for this order would've much been better spent at the White Horse Tavern, which was around the corner from me at the time.


Bonus order (3/27/00): I survived Y2K, so time to lean into drugs. I spent $44.55 on The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, On The Bus: The Complete Guide to the Legendary Trip of Ken Kesey..., and Stir Crazy: Cooking With Cannabis. I remember this order because it shipped to my work address b/c I didn't have a doorman at my Manhattan apartment. Thankfully it arrived at my cubicle unopened. I learned a lot from that cooking book, but only ever made brownies. My brownies always turned out good - too good some times. I was living with Spoid at the time, so I knew I was in a judgment-free zone to pursue creative baking.


What gems do you all have hidden in your Amazon's order history?

Friday, January 03, 2020

The Twelve Days of Gheorghemas: Day Eleven

On the eleventh day of Gheorghemas,
Big Gheorghe gave to me

Eleven Months of Elevating the Art of Blogging
Ten Years of Dipshits
Nine (six, really) goats goatating
Eight Autographs Showing How Sad My Childhood Was
Seven Books for Reading
Six Vinyl Discs
Five golden (Cream Yellow, really) cylinders for Squeaky
Four players playing
Three Nutty Squirrels
Two Chilean bangers (literally)
And a British lass slingin’ hot meat

Back by popular demand, y'all, our year-end review of the batshit crazy editorial calendar we managed to fling together. You already know we dropped 193 posts, but as with every year I do this, I'm pretty darn impressed with some of what we did. Nice work, ladies and gentlemen.

On with it, then, starting, as one does, in January.

We eased into the year with a couple of Wrenball posts, then Whitney went hard, advocating for legal shrooms.

He then followed with two more posts in a row. What got into Whitney in January? I think you know the answer.

Heffalump!

What car would Dave drive? Spot. On.

February came next, as it does.

Here's Dave Fairbank's music collection.

Sheriff Callie's Wild West imitates life.

Tinder, but for cows.

I know some people with Wikipedia entries.

After February, there was March. As you'd expect.

Zman shot the sheriff, didn't go to jail.

Zman endorsed Mayor Pete, too.

They fucking fired Tony Shaver. Not over it.

RIP Carmine Persico.

I'm a damn hero.

Very, very Teej content.

April was next. No surprise there.

What car should the Teej drive? A goddamn sui generis one.

Minneapolis travel guide.

Squirrel camp!

FOGTB Lecky released an album.

Fairbank gave us a reading assignment. Gotta lot of pushy Daves around here.

May, as expected, followed.

Oh, brother.

Squirrel-related audio up your ass followed immediately by whimsy up your ass. Ass week!



Gheorghe explains the democratic presidential primary.

The president* is a goddamn disgrace.

Abe hung up his top hat.

Oddly, July was next. Kidding. It was June.

My kid can dance.

More Fairbank book reviews to make us feel shitty about the world. Thanks, Dave!

Allagash!

In retrospect, Whitney published a ton of music-related content this year. He wrote about 1989 here.

July really did happen now.

Dude bought a monorail and made it into cabins. My man.



Hey, baby, it's the Fourth of July. For good and for bad.

zfoodporn.

zdadtravel, parts onedeux, and three.

We wrote some good shit about dadding this year. You'd think we were maturing. you'd be wrong. But this from TR was cool.

TR also turned us on to Marcus King. MVP of July, that TR.

RIP Sweetpea.

Our resident Mike Love fan reviewed the douchebag's latest album.

Allagash! With pictures!

August was hot as fuck. Also next as fuck.

Teej is (has) a star.

That pie is poisonnnnn.

We ran back an all-timer in honor of the Iowa State Fair.

Speaking of state fairs, I made my maiden voyage to Minnesota's.

September, not as hot, just as next.

RIP Lud and Scoop.

And RIP Daniel Johnston.

Baby Yaz gave us the feels.

Our Official Rugby World Cup Preview had length, but not much accuracy. Kinda like Whitney off the tee.

In 987 words, zman made the case for Trump's guilt. Had we not entered Bizarro World three years ago, this would be all she wrote.

Tim Kaine sings the hits.



October, predictably, was next in line.

I haven't done the math, but I'd bet good American money that TR's posted the most about random surgical procedures here in these parts.

In a similar vein, I'm not sure anyone's done as deep a dive on an SNL skit as TR did here. Big start to the month.

The Cowboy Motherfucking Cafe, y'all.

I went to Spain, made one small post about it, tried to write more, ran out of steam.

Finally, at long last, November.

We previewed the Wrens' season, saying that 10 wins and a 9th-place finish in the CAA would be counted as a good year. They won their 10th game last night by hammering the league's preseason number one on the road. As always, I don't know a damn thing.

ANOTHER BILLS/BROWNS PREVIEW!

My kid's gonna leave me soon. Not prepared for that.

Our man in the OBX explained the desertification of American news. Sobering shit, this.

Guess who wrote about perineum sunning?

Apropos, I think, that we ended our fiscal year with This Decade in Wrenball.

And so, like sand through an hourglass, so goes another year in our lives. The 15th year of publishing here included our fair share of dipshittery, sober-minded exposition (not very much, but enough that the FCC let us keep our license), filler, and good, old-fashioned camaraderie.

God Bless us every one. Here's to another 15.