Bump and Grind, It's Good for Your Mind: Whitneypedia

Here's some shit you might not know.

Bruce Springsteen wrote "Hungry Heart" for the Ramones. Which is just awesome. But then he thought he'd go ahead and keep it. And record it. And crush it. Check out this kick ass 1980 version of it.

David Bowie offered Ian Hunter's band Mott the Hoople his song "All the Young Dudes." You know, geniuses like these two guys (and Prince) can do that, what with all the great spare tracks they have lying around. Here's the thing: he first offered them "Suffragette City," and they said, "No thanks, what else you got?" Cheeky little bastards. So they took his second option and made a Top 10 hit out of it. Bowie's unreal.

You can hear the Bowie influence on this, well, in part because you can hear Bowie on it. He sang backup.

You know who covered this tune in 1990? Legendary producer Bruce Dickinson. Well, actually, bad ass Iron Maiden singer Bruce Dickinson. (He never produced, especially not "(Don't Fear) The Reaper" with Gene Frenkle.)

Anyway, Ian Hunter, Mott the Hoople's frontman, had a successful solo career you might know nothing about.

Or do you . . . not?

Perhaps you've heard the cheesy hair metal remake of this song that torched a bar it was so hot. Here's Ian Hunter's 1975 original.

He also was the original behind this song, which you might have heard co-opted by the Presidents of the USA and Drew Carey...

But wait! Hunter's "Cleveland Rocks" came out in 1979. But this song came out in 1977! What gives, dude? Which one is it???

Ian Hunter later said that the real song was the Cleveland version, and that the England version was to satisfy a record label who thought that Cleveland doesn't sell. (They may have had a point.)

Anyway, this next one doesn't have much to do with this theme, except that like Bowie and Hunter, Marc Bolan was a glam rock god. Gone before his time, but he squeezed some juicy stuff into his (2 weeks shy of) 30 years. As Bowie write and Hunter sang, "The television man is crazy / Saying we're juvenile delinquent wrecks / Man I need a TV when I've got T. Rex."

There's little I can show you more brilliant and intriguing than this one. If I've aired it before, please forgive. Take one part T. Rex superstar freakazoid and add in the piano playing superstar for the ages and oh yeah a dash of primo mulleted Fab Four drumming. Make it super weird and also make it one of my favorite T. Rex tunes. (The Femmes did a nice cover in the '80s.) 

Hard not to watch.

You won't fool the children of the revolution, aka the gheorghies...

Now ya know.

Until the next time, listen well and learn a little "useless knowledge," as my father calls it.

Bad Scooter and Killer Joe and You and Me

The world misses Joe Strummer. So says this guy, at least.

The Clash singer and guitarist, the BBC radio host, the philosopher, the punk rock warlord.

The ridiculous dresser, the cool customer, the outspoken humanitarian.

"Without people, you're nothing." -- Joe Strummer

Here's 53 seconds of Joe in a quick off-the-cuff plea for folks to pick their heads up and be better.



Joe and I share some of the same musical appreciations. Which Joe articulated in his own goofy, inimitable way.

Those appreciations were reciprocated. I'm sure I missed this originally, since, you know, it's the Grammys, but I should not have.

"This is for Joe." -- Bruce Springsteen, 2003

Elvis, Bruce, Grohl, and Little Steven rocking rather rambunctiously.


The world still has Bruce Springsteen in it, and a whole lot of other good ones. Grateful for that. It feels like we need them now more than ever, even if we can't go see them do their thing.

"People can change anything they want to. And that means everything in the world."  --Joe Strummer, in the year that he died

Make some noise this week, gheorghies. Life is waiting to hear from you.

Makin' Music For Money

Here in Gheorghe: The Blog's music bureau, we trend off the beaten path more than on it, Frost-style. Exceptions exist, such as our dedicated efforts to keep you informed on Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductions, why the Grammys suck, and a few other mainstream music bits here and there.

More often we dwell in punk rock, hip-hop of yesteryear, and underappreciated alt-rock gems. But for today, let's look at some of the high-profile, high-dollar acts coming to an expansive venue in a large, metropolitan city near you.

Listed below and submitted for your approval are the top-grossing tours of 2018.

1. Ed Sheeran
2. Taylor Swift
3. Jay-Z / Beyoncé
4. Pink
5. Bruno Mars
6. Eagles
7. Justin Timberlake
8. Roger Waters
9. U2
10. The Rolling Stones
11. Kenny Chesney
12. Journey / Def Leppard
13. “Springsteen On Broadway”
14. Foo Fighters
15. Sam Smith
16. Guns N’ Roses
17. Drake
18. Helene Fischer
19. Phil Collins
20. Depeche Mode
21. Luke Bryan
22. Billy Joel
23. Imagine Dragons
24. Metallica
25. Celine Dion

I went to see U2 and Springsteen on Broadway last year.  Both delivered the goods mightily.

Anybody catch any of the other acts on the list? Headed to one or more in '19?  I'd like to believe that I've attended my last show when it's more helpful to look at the oversized screen near me than the teensy-weensy band on a stage over the hills and far away. But you never know.

Actually, I'm always interested in whatever musical events, large or small, you people are attending (not musicals, mind you), so please share what's on your rock and roll docket the coming months.

Up next for me: Pink Talking Fish next Saturday. Always fun.

Half a Century, Wholly Missed

Today, December 15, 2016, would have been Evan Lloyd's 50th birthday.  Man.  That woulda been some throwdown.

For the uninitiated, though you've certainly heard this guy's name tossed about here and there. . . Evan was a senior in Tribeville when Rob, Dave, Hightower, Dougie Fish, and I were freshman idiots on the same hall, and he took us under his wing right away.  He ushered me into his fraternal family, then grad-ee-ated and went off to Hokie Land, at first to become an Art Vandelay style architect; then, when the mini-recession of the time hit, his fate was to move into construction management.  Anyway, his subsequent tours of booty in Arlington, sLower Maryland, and Atlanta included stupendous episodes of utter dipshittery.  As a rule.

In the early to mid-nineties, Ol' Ev -- or Earl, as he was called by some -- helped found both the Magnificent 7 keg croquet extravaganzas (7-person teams competed at croquet and had to each finish a full keg) AND the Santa Stumble bar crawls; he himself turned each of these marvelously intoxicated events into all-timers on an annual basis because of audacity, puckish humor, stubborn dedication to arbitrary, silly regulations he'd impose, passion for friendship, and his genuine article sense of humility and wonderment at the world and the comrades who populated it.

Homecomings, birthday outings, Springsteen shows, NASCAR races, Ohio State football losses -- any reason to hope in his red Dodge Ram and drive 8 hours would be more than cause to be there in fine form, cases of Pabst in tow (pre-hipster-resurgence).  God bless Evan Lloyd, he loved me like a little brother and I'll not know his like again.

Today, on his 50th, I'll drink 50 beers for him.

Okay, fine, that's not feasible, even for me.  Whatever I do, I'll do him proud and salute him all the way.  I already put the Ev-dent into every can of beer I consume, total force of habit at this point.  I'll incorporate more of the many Evanisms into the night's activities.  Where did I put that croquet set?

Here's to Ev.  May those you love linger longer than he, but may they impart upon you nearly as much entertainment and appreciation.  Or, as he would borrow from Quint, "Here's to swimmin' with bow-legged women."

I'll close with two emails sent from the man himself, one for whom technology like electronic mail was a passing lark.  The first is simply goofy Evan, the second is one of the more bittersweet things I keep handy.  Here goes:

Evan Lloyd  11/08/99 at 10:24 AM
To: lammienet@mpmcapital.com
CC: whitdog69@yahoo.com
Howdy Fellows,
Here goes my first LammieNet transmittal.  'Tis nice to be here (on the net, that is, not in the Dekalb County Public Library which is my closest computer since some lowlifes broke into our job trailers and swiped our computers). Although I haven't the time to get on here much, I've enjoyed reading your recent rants and will try to pipe in when I can.  Yes, Mr. Softie, I said 'pipe in'.

I had a swell time in the 'Burg last weekend.  Surely y'all noticed whose family had the best showing and hung the toughest.  That was my family.  In fact, between Gym Bitner, myself, Whit and Rodell, our clan showed some 30 years of alumni status, 24 of which was still up & at it at the house at 4 AM. Quick-Draw Mo Lester didn't last near that late, but everyone there surely noticed how skillfully he shoe-horns 20 hours of drinking into 14 hours of consciousness.

Those current brothers were alright.  At 4:45 when I left, they still had some 30 cases of beer in the cave shitter and were breaking shit like ceiling tiles and the commode on the bar, AC/DC loud and proud.  Nice collection of young chicks, too.  Surprising, in fact.  My favorites were the knee-socked, pony-tailed little girl costumes - about 4 of them and way hot hot.  Another thing I enjoyed was the fact that Unit L is no longer Sigma Nu, but full of girls, yet at 6@9, the brothers still fence off our back porch turf - Lord help them if some coeds should walk through.

Now, the point of my writing:  The 5th Annual Santa Stumble will take place on December 11th in Richmond. This is probably the most unique and amusing gala I know.  It was started by Chris Blake, VA Psi 1989's younger brother Doug (whose maroon neck makes Chris look like a fargin' preppie) in '95 with 9 igits in Santa suits staggering bar to bar.  It has steadily grown (like kudzu in Mrs Tell) to last year's 122 and is truly a joyous time.  Some establishments like us, some simply don't.  A few arrests about every other year. Past Lammie participants include Stewbacca, Lester, Overton, Elmo, Spoid, Squirrel, Gormley and Saunders.  They'll surely recommend that the $25 Wal-Mart seasonal costume investment is all worthwhile (and re-usable - this'll be  Stumble #5 for my chirp-stained, cigar stanked uniform). We meet at a bar in the Fan called Easy Street, where the owner donates a few kegs, and then a bus or 2 takes us downtown.  It's cool.  Elmo one year was late, missed the bus, yet easily found what bar we were in because the DJ on the radio told him where we were.  The bus takes you back to Easy Street at closing time; it's pretty well organized.  I'll report later on the exact free beer meeting time.
Merry Christmas,
Earl

elloyd@tcco.com  09/22/00 at 9:15 AM
To: whitdog69@yahoo.com
Subject: Happy #30

Well wishes to you on your 30th birthday!
My good friend, your presence in my world has brought me magnificent enjoyment.  Comfortable comraderie, abundant humor, loyal companionship, millions of terrific memories;  I treasure your friendship a great, great deal.  May the next two-thirds of your life be filled with love, happiness, World Series titles, and everything you want.  I'm looking forward to celebrating your day with you this weekend, as well as your 40th, 50th, 75th, . . . birthdays.
Your Big Brother, and your friend,
Evan

Cheers, people.
Lester Polyester

Chicken Friday Steak

Pop Culture for today...


New book out this week - Bruce Springsteen, Born to Run.
Read it.  NYT Review.



New movies out today - American Honey, which didn't catch my eye in a trailer but reviews quite well, and Masterminds, which I was hoping would be good but which has reviewed somewhat poorly.
View it at your own peril.


New album out today - Drive-By Truckers, American Band 
Hear it.  Reviews thus far.  (All are very positive, but we wait for Z's.)


Dave hasn't reviewed much lately, so we thought we'd sub in here.

This Won't Suck

On July 22nd Springsteen & I, a documentary created by and for Bruce Springsteen's loyal followers, will be simulcast to cinemas around the globe. In anticipation, Rolling Stone has five minutes of exclusive footage from the long-awaited documentary, produced by Ridley Scott, which puts into sharp focus the camaraderie and common ground that Springsteen disciples share.



Web link is here.

(h/t to Rollingstone.com)

I Pull Out the Grammy and I Squeeze Off Six

The Grammys pretty much piss me off.

How a group of obvious know-nothings wield such apparent power is beyond me -- although calling it "power" is relative. There's an inversely proportional weight to the Grammys, since the less one is familiar with music, the more stock one places in these awards.

The most publicized gaffe in Grammy awarding came in 1989, when Metallica's beloved (by metalheads and then some) album . . . And Justice for All was snubbed in the Grammy category of Best Hard Rock/Metal in favor of Crest of a Knave, a middling, post-crest effort by . . . Jethro Tull, natch. While the Metallicans, critics, and rock fans all over scoffed at this misstep, it was the continuation of a pattern for the National Association of Recording Arts and Sciences. Here's the M.O. of the NARAS:

1. Completely overlook the musical standouts of the times.
2. Years later, attempt to rectify these grievous errors with subsequent awards for later, lesser works, thereby ensuring that you . . .
3. Completely overlook the musical standouts of the times.
4. Rinse; lather; repeat.

Jethro Tull may not suit your musical tastes at all (flutes and hard rock, two great tastes that don't go great together), but rock aficionados can't deny that their 1970's work -- which enjoyed significantly more critical and commercial success -- would've been a far more likely candidate than Crest of a Knave, subtitled "Is Anybody Still Listening?" So Metallica gets snubbed, the world of metalheads is outraged (though how does one tell the difference than, say, any other day?), and Metallica gets seven Grammys in the next decade -- most of them for decidedly weaker output. The cycle continues. (Though the whole mess did spark one of the best acceptance speeches two years later, when Lars thanked Tull for not putting an album out that year.)

Bruce Springsteen first won a Grammy in 1984, meaning everything from the opening guitar notes of "Blinded By The Light" in 1973 through the last howl of Nebraska must have been relatively subpar. That '84 win was for "Dancing in the Dark," which was a huge hit, but not wholly representative of his work, wouldn't you say? He has since won 19 (!) more for the following works:

• "Tunnel of Love"
• "Streets of Philadelphia"
• The Ghost of Tom Joad
• The Rising
• "The Rising"
• "Disorder in the House" (with Warren Zevon)
• "Code of Silence"
• "Devils & Dust"
• The Seeger Sessions: We Shall Overcome
• Wings For Wheels: The Making Of Born to Run
• "Radio Nowhere"
• "Once Upon a Time in the West"
• "Girls in Their Summer Clothes"
• "Working on a Dream"

. . . and Bruce was nominated again this year, this time for his box set The Promise: The Darkness On The Edge Of Town Story. Fans of irony will note that it’s a box set focused around his 1978 album . . . which did NOT win any Grammys. These days Bruce could release old tapes of himself vomiting on the tour bus after the No Nukes concert in ’79 and it would win a Grammy. It just feels like utter retribution for past oversights, which only perpetuates the problem.

There have been other egregious make-up calls in recent Grammy history, like: Steely Dan's comeback album win after the 70's drought, Ziggy and Bunny Wailer both winning where Bob could not, Tom Petty not getting over the hump until he was a Wilbury, Floyd winning a decade after Roger Waters left, Nirvana winning after Kurt was dead, Santana cleaning up 25 years after his heyday, and The Clash getting a wink for a documentary long after their records had been shelved by the Association. Check out the Stones' Grammy trophy case for an eye-opener. A time-capsule view through the Grammy lens would see 1994 as the year two one-hit wonders, Salt-N-Pepa and The Rolling Stones, made it big. NARAS misses the mark more often than it hits, and my first thought is: who’s in this association, and why aren’t they listening to very much music every year?

Then there are the categories. Any casual viewer asks the same questions every year:

• What’s the difference between Record of the Year and Song of the Year? [Record goes to who made the music, Song goes to the writer. Why can’t they change it to Songwriting? Imagine your audience is Teej after papal ballots. Keep it simple.]
• Best Rock Performance and Best Rock Song? [Same story. Why they wouldn’t at least keep “Record” consistent is beyond comprehension.]
• There’s really a category for Best Rap/Sung Collaboration?
• Other than me, does anyone call it “rap” any more?
• There’s really a category for best album notes?
• There’s no category for Best Hard Rock/Metal album? (Jethro Tull objects.)

Now let’s take a look at the 2012 Grammys. (The awards are tonight.) As always, I have a few major complaints.

Here’s top on the list. Mumford & Sons, “The Cave.” Great song. Nominated in four separate categories this year. Good choice. For last year or the year before. This song was recorded and released in 2009! The Grammy rules, of course, stipulate that if the music was released in any way after October 1 of the prior year, they are eligible for nomination. Mumford & Sons’ Sigh No More came out in 2009 and started making waves in 2010, but the record company – almost as if by design – waited and released “The Cave” as a single in October 2010. This rant is already too long, but singles have no place in the world of rock and roll any more. So if your album comes out in 2009, the music on it should be eligible in 2010. End of story. Not 2011. Not 2012. NARAS, be big enough to say, “Killer song. We missed it. Our bad.” Now, because of this late entry, acts like the Jayhawks, Dawes, Feist, TV on the Radio, Mayer Hawthorne, Trombone Shorty and the Drive-By Truckers get ignored. Just stupid.

In a similar vein, Bon Iver has been nominated for Best New Artist. Bon Iver. Whose outstanding debut album made the Gheorghemas Day 12 list . . . in 2008. And we weren’t the only ones touting Justin Vernon for this work three or four years ago. He was pretty huge in most circles of music. In 2008. Best New Artist. “Hey, he’s new to us at NARAS . . . we don’t hear all that much new music!” Just stupid.

Then there are simply the differences of opinion. Anyone who thinks that Coldplay’s “Every Teardrop Is a Waterfall” – one of their most sissified, faux-U2 efforts ever – is the Best Rock Performance/Song of 2011 should not be given any authority to award anything. Coldplay is about as “Rock” as Geoff is. During Gheorghemas I granted you that “Paradise” was a guilty pleasure. This song is weak, and the Association is simply throwing the nomination Coldplay’s way because it’s easy.

I think this is what it’s all about. It’s easier to nominate the Chili Peppers, Wilco, Death Cab for Cutie, Kings of Leon, My Morning Jacket, Eminem/Dre, George Strait, and Radiohead for whatever they did last year, even if it’s starkly subpar to their earlier work. They are known entities and people won’t say, “Who???”, but if you nominate Jessica Lea Mayfield or Of Monsters and Men, the masses might ask just that. Take some chances, and do your fucking job, NARAS.

Credit where it’s due: amazingly, the Association did come across The Civil Wars, nominating them in both the folk and country categories. And The Decemberists. But like I said, more misses than hits. Maybe I’m just bitter that NARAS keeps leaving Random Idiots out. I don’t know.

I suppose while the Grammys fall short of my hopes for them, they're certainly far closer to perfection than the other music awards programs that have surfaced. (Billboard, the American Music Association, and MTV all issue flimsy knock-offs.) I'm not quite sure why that is; in the world of cinema recognition, the Academy occasionally errs and is held to task by the Golden Globes, BAFTAs, and Independent Spirit Awards, which are all worth their salt. In music, there seeming is only the Grammys, and that's why I expect more and get frustrated with less. Every year.

Next Whiny Rant Coming Soon: The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame!

A Curious Confluence

Nils Lofgren is a pretty cool guy. I kind of figured it before -- I mean, anybody who can claim legitimate membership in both Crazy Horse and the E Street Band has to be fairly impressive. But hearing him interviewed on GTB-heralded WXPN Thursday afternoon, I learned he's a solid, very humble dude who still speaks of the awe that it was and still is to play guitar onstage with Neil Young, Bruce Springsteen, and many other acclaimed rock and rollers.

But Nils is quite accomplished in his own right. His DC area band Grin and his solo work have garnered some critical kudos, and he's a respected guitarist in the business. If Rob's not a fan, he should be, what with Nils about an inch shorter than he is. All in all, Nils Lofgren isn't just an Italian-Swedish rock guitarist from DC with a cool name -- he's a fairly Gheorghey fellow.

All of that said, here's a pair of completely awesome Did You Know facts about Nils Lofgren. He grew up in Garrett Park, MD, not far from the District. In 1978, with the sad sack Washington Bullets surging in the standings en route to their only NBA title ever, Nils penned and recorded "Bullets Fever," a musical tribute to the team. It's fantastic.

I have uploaded the mp3 because I don't think it's available for purchase anywhere, but if someone can point me to a place where it is, I'll gladly delete this song. (And buy a copy immediately.) You can also go to Wizznutz's jukebox that features more than one version of the song, and go read more about Nils and the song here at Mohut.



The second piece of trivia is even closer to home for many on the GTB roster. Also back in the 1970's, Nils also wrote and recorded the jingle for Jhoon Rhee's TaeKwonDo studios -- a locally famous song and commercial featuring "Nobody Bothers Me" as the catchy chorus/slogan. Jhoon Rhee is known as the Father of American TaeKwonDo, but more pertinently, he is also known as the father of Chun Rhee. Chun is the little boy winking at you in Nils' TV ad below, and he's also one of our fraternity brothers. Like Nils, he's a humble guy, even as he knows he can floor you with the one-inch punch and put his foot through your face in half a second. He's running the Jhoon Rhee TKD studios these days, so sign up today so that nobody bothers you.

I'll Sleep When I'm Dead

One of the tenets that some of us – especially those who have lost people before their time – generally operate under is to live well, as life is all too short. Appreciate the good things while you have them, stop and smell Rose’s . . . those kinds of credos that most people say but far fewer employ.

Regrets . . . I’ve had a few, but most of them that stick in my memory are of paths not taken, events passed up on for reasons that seem silly in retrospect. Weddings, road trips, sporting events, and, quite frequently, concerts. The moment-in-time gatherings that you hear about later and wonder why on earth you missed it.

Case in point, the Primus / Fishbone show at the Boathouse circa 1991. I had an exam the next day. There’s no way I studied / didn’t drink / passed the test, right? From what the guys said, it was an all-timer.

On Saturday I got into an intoxicating (-ed) conversation about rock and roll icons I’m glad I got to see before they were gone. Jerry, Joey, Jimmy (before he went for the gold and started to suck), etc. Our friend Otis stands atop the heap, having seen Elvis as a young kid.

For me, the one that got away was Joe Strummer and/or The Clash. Word in the Strummerville circles was that a reunion was . . . well, if not imminent, then a distinct possibility. Joe and Mick had buried the hatchets of years past, Topper was cleaned up, and Paul was still hanging around the industry. Then Joe Strummer had a fatal heart attack right before Christmas nine years ago, and that was that. I couldn’t fall back on memories of The Clash at William & Mary Hall in 1982, because I wasn’t there. Too young back then, and by the time I was in high school, that was that for The Only Band That Matters. I should’ve sought out a Joe solo show but never did. Shoulda coulda woulda. That was that.

Which leads me to yesterday. Father’s Day, and I awoke to a newspaper story about the Big Man heading off to the promised land. Very sad stuff for those who knew him, and kind of a bummer for those who would have loved to see him stroll down the archway one more time. I’m just pleased I got to see the E Street ensemble a number of times.

In September of ’99, I missed the first couple of days of a family Maine trip to make my 3rd Springsteen show of the week. Took some heat. Worth it. Bruce had just reunited with the full band, and it was their first East Coast tour. Our friend Cricket had a ticket connection, and she generously got me tickets to a trio of shows at the MCI Center in DC.

The third night I was in the 13th row, and our late, great chum Evan rode his motorcycle up from Georgia to see the show with me. He remains the biggest Springsteen fan I’ve met, though I’m certain his equivalent exists in scores of towns in the Garden State, around Philly, and in states and countries everywhere. Anyway, if you aren’t the superfan of the band you’re seeing, it’s a close second to be with someone who is. Insights and Pabsts were shared all night, and it was another brilliant set from the greatest collection of showmen (and showwoman) I’ve witnessed.

Which leads me back to yesterday. My morning featured quick visits with my dad and then my stepdad, handing them some Johnnie Walker black and cards that included more heartfelt sentiments than I’ve offered them in the past. The recent spate of good friends losing their dads and my own two experiencing health issues certainly warranted it. Okay, it was warranted regardless, but sometimes dudes can be stubborn.

After that, I took my daughters to the beach. Can’t beat it.

Finally, we get to my point: I was pretty beat, had a few in me, and thought about blowing off nighttime plans in favor of an early bed. Nah . . .

Instead, I went to see Phish at Portsmouth, VA’s NTelos Pavilion. One of the best venues I know, for those looking at their favorite bands’ dockets. Intimate amphitheater on the river. Meanwhile, I’d never seen Phish before; I know a fair bit of their stuff but had missed out on the space landings at Hampton Coliseum in years past. Last night was worth the trip.

I thought the show was phenomenal. Sounded amazing, huge energy, and although they didn’t do any of the stage antics of their lore (e.g., descending to the stage in a large hot dog), they pulled one stunt: they brought their four fathers on stage for a little banter and appreciation, followed by their children. Winsome.

And here’s where it wraps up . . . in a modest, not showy way, they paid tribute. Middle of the first set, without ado, they started in on “Thunder Road.” They had no sax to perform “Jungleland” or something more Clarence’s style, nor would they want to even try. After the song:

“Thanks, you guys. Thanks for puttin’ up with a little shakiness. We learned that from a place of real love. That was for the great Clarence Clemons, who passed away yesterday.”

And then directly on to the next song. I was surprised and impressed. Mainly I’m just glad I went last night. Surrounded by a slew of friends, many beverages, and a rock and roll show I’d not seen before, I was living well, since life is all too short.




. . . and so is Rob. DAMMIT, I tried, little buddy, I just couldn't make my way through it.

What to Watch/TiVo/DVR Tonight

There is a smorgasbord of sports on tonight, but I suggest that you music fans carve some time/hard drive space for the HBO documentary The Promise: The Making of Darkness on the Edge of Town. The documentary details the studio effort behind the making of this 1978 album which spawned classics like Darkness on the Edge of Town, Prove it All Night, The Promised Land and the epic Badlands.



Springsteen had released three albums at this point in his career, the last of which was the mammoth Born to Run, which skyrocketed him to worldwide fame. But after a year-long recording hiatus due to a lawsuit against an ex-manager, he was ready to get back to work. So we get to glimpse the life of a late 20's small-town guy who is struggling with an avalanche of fame, trying to stay connected to his blue-collar roots and, most importantly, trying to write some good tunes.

Early reviewers say that non-Springsteen fans may find the documentary a bit tedious, but I think you should watch it just to see the look the dude was rocking back in the day.

Springsteen Pays Tribute to a Fallen Friend (Long)

I'm not sure how many ardent Springsteen fans there are among the multitudes of G:TB readers, but I thought this story was worth relaying.

G:TB has always been a big fan of Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band. Sadly, the band recently lost their long-time keys player, Danny Federici, to a fatal form of melanoma. Bruce gave the eulogy at the funeral. The speech is so good that it warranted inclusion on this web site. Bruce came through in a giant way to pay tribute to his long-time friend and bandmate. The text of the eulogy is included below. We hope you enjoy it.

"FAREWELL TO DANNY"
Bruce Springsteen's Eulogy to Danny Federici
April 21, 2008
Red Bank, NJ

Let me start with the stories...

Back in the days of miracles, the frontier days when "Mad Dog" Lopez and his temper struck fear into the band, small club owners, innocent civilians and all women, children and small animals.

Back in the days when you could still sign your life away on the hood of a parked car in New York City.

Back shortly after a young red-headed accordionist struck gold on the Ted Mack Amateur Hour and he and his mama were sent to Switzerland to show them how it's really done.

Back before beach bums were featured on the cover of Time Magazine.

I'm talking about back when the E Street Band was a communist organization! My pal, quiet, shy Dan Federici, was a one-man creator of some of the hairiest circumstances of our 40 year career... And that wasn't easy to do. He had "Mad Dog" Lopez to compete with.... Danny just outlasted him.

Maybe it was the "police riot" in Middletown, New Jersey. A show we were doing to raise bail money for "Mad Log" Lopez who was in jail in Richmond, Virginia, for having an altercation with police officers who we'd aggravated by playing too long. Danny allegedly knocked over our huge Marshall stacks on some of Middletown's finest who had rushed the stage because we broke the law by...playing too long.

As I stood there watching, several police officers crawled out from underneath the speaker cabinets and rushed away to seek medical attention. Another nice young officer stood in front of me onstage waving his nightstick, poking and calling me nasty names. I looked over to see Danny with a beefy police officer pulling on one arm while Flo Federici, his first wife, pulled on the other, assisting her man in resisting arrest.

A kid leapt from the audience onto the stage, momentarily distracting the beefy officer with the insults of the day. Forever thereafter, "Phantom" Dan Federici slipped into the crowd and disappeared.

A warrant out for his arrest and one month on the lam later, he still hadn't been brought to justice. We hid him in various places but now we had a problem. We had a show coming at Monmouth College. We needed the money and we had to do the gig. We tried a replacement but it didn't work out. So Danny, to all of our admiration, stepped up and said he'd risk his freedom, take the chance and play.

Show night. 2,000 screaming fans in the Monmouth College gym. We had it worked out so Danny would not appear onstage until the moment we started playing. We figured the police who were there to arrest him wouldn't do so onstage during the show and risk starting another riot.
Let me set the scene for you. Danny is hiding, hunkered down in the backseat of a car in the parking lot. At five minutes to eight, our scheduled start time, I go out to whisk him in. I tap on the window.

"Danny, come on, it's time."

I hear back, "I'm not going."

Me: "What do you mean you're not going?"

Danny: "The cops are on the roof of the gym. I've seen them and they're going to nail me the minute I step out of this car."

As I open the door, I realize that Danny has been smoking a little something and had grown rather paranoid. I said, "Dan, there are no cops on the roof."
He says, "Yes, I saw them, I tell you. I'm not coming in."

So I used a procedure I'd call on often over the next forty years in dealing with my old pal's concerns. I threatened him...and cajoled. Finally, out he came. Across the parking lot and into the gym we swept for a rapturous concert during which we laughed like thieves at our excellent dodge of the local cops.

At the end of the evening, during the last song, I pulled the entire crowd up onto the stage and Danny slipped into the audience and out the front door. Once again, "Phantom" Dan had made his exit. (I still get the occasional card from the old Chief of Police of Middletown wishing us well. Our histories are forever intertwined.) And that, my friends, was only the beginning.

There was the time Danny quit the band during a rough period at Max's Kansas City, explaining to me that he was leaving to fix televisions. I asked him to think about that and come back later.

Or Danny, in the band rental car, bouncing off several parked cars after a night of entertainment, smashing out the windshield with his head but saved from severe injury by the huge hard cowboy hat he bought in Texas on our last Western swing.

Or Danny, leaving a large marijuana plant on the front seat of his car in a tow away zone. The car was promptly towed. He said, "Bruce, I'm going to go down and report that it was stolen." I said, "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

Down he went and straight into the slammer without passing go.

Or Danny, the only member of the E Street Band to be physically thrown out of the Stone Pony. Considering all the money we made them, that wasn't easy to do.

Or Danny receiving and surviving a "cautionary assault" from an enraged but restrained "Big Man" Clarence Clemons while they were living together and Danny finally drove the "Big Man" over the big top.

Or Danny assisting me in removing my foot from his stereo speaker after being the only band member ever to drive me into a violent rage.

And through it all, Danny played his beautiful, soulful B3 organ for me and our love grew. And continued to grow. Life is funny like that. He was my homeboy, and great, and for that you make considerations... And he was much more tolerant of my failures than I was of his.

When Danny wasn't causing chaos, he was a sweet, talented, unassuming, unpretentious good-hearted guy who simply had an unchecked ability to make good fortune and things in general go fabulously wrong.

But beyond all of that, he also had a mountain of the right stuff. He had the heart and soul of an engineer. He learned to fly. He was always up on the latest technology and would explain it to you patiently and in enormous detail. He was always "souping" something up, his car, his stereo, his B3. When Patti joined the band, he was the most welcoming, thoughtful, kindest friend to the first woman entering our "boys club."

He loved his kids, always bragging about Jason, Harley, and Madison, and he loved his wife Maya for the new things she brought into his life.

And then there was his artistry. He was the most intuitive player I've ever seen. His style was slippery and fluid, drawn to the spaces the other musicians in the E Street Band left. He wasn't an assertive player, he was a complementary player. A true accompanist. He naturally supplied the glue that bound the band's sound together. In doing so, he created for himself a very specific style. When you hear Dan Federici, you don't hear a blanket of sound, you hear a riff, packed with energy, flying above everything else for a few moments and then gone back in the track. "Phantom" Dan Federici. Now you hear him, now you don't.

Offstage, Danny couldn't recite a lyric or a chord progression for one of my songs. Onstage, his ears opened up. He listened, he felt, he played, finding the perfect hole and placement for a chord or a flurry of notes. This style created a tremendous feeling of spontaneity in our ensemble playing.

In the studio, if I wanted to loosen up the track we were recording, I'd put Danny on it and not tell him what to play. I'd just set him loose. He brought with him the sound of the carnival, the amusements, the boardwalk, the beach, the geography of our youth and the heart and soul of the birthplace of the E Street Band.

Then we grew up. Very slowly. We stood together through a lot of trials and tribulations. Danny's response to a mistake onstage, hard times, catastrophic events was usually a shrug and a smile. Sort of an "I am but one man in a raging sea, but I'm still afloat. And we're all still here."

I watched Danny fight and conquer some tough addictions. I watched him struggle to put his life together and in the last decade when the band reunited, thrive on sitting in his seat behind that big B3, filled with life and, yes, a new maturity, passion for his job, his family and his home in the brother and sisterhood of our band.

Finally, I watched him fight his cancer without complaint and with great courage and spirit. When I asked him how things looked, he just said, "What are you going to do? I'm looking forward to tomorrow." Danny, the sunny side up fatalist. He never gave up right to the end.

A few weeks back we ended up onstage in Indianapolis for what would be the last time. Before we went on I asked him what he wanted to play and he said, "Sandy." He wanted to strap on the accordion and revisit the boardwalk of our youth during the summer nights when we'd walk along the boards with all the time in the world.

So what if we just smashed into three parked cars, it's a beautiful night! So what if we're on the lam from the entire Middletown police department, let's go take a swim! He wanted to play once more the song that is of course about the end of something wonderful and the beginning of something unknown and new.

Let's go back to the days of miracles. Pete Townshend said, "A rock and roll band is a crazy thing. You meet some people when you're a kid and unlike any other occupation in the whole world, you're stuck with them your whole life no matter who they are or what crazy things they do."

If we didn't play together, the E Street Band at this point would probably not know one another. We wouldn't be in this room together. But we do... We do play together. And every night at 8 p.m., we walk out on stage together and that, my friends, is a place where miracles occur...old and new miracles. And those you are with, in the presence of miracles, you never forget. Life does not separate you. Death does not separate you. Those you are with who create miracles for you, like Danny did for me every night, you are honored to be amongst.

Of course we all grow up and we know "it's only rock and roll"...but it's not. After a lifetime of watching a man perform his miracle for you, night after night, it feels an awful lot like love.

So today, making another one of his mysterious exits, we say farewell to Danny, "Phantom" Dan, Federici. Father, husband, my brother, my friend, my mystery, my thorn, my rose, my keyboard player, my miracle man and lifelong member in good standing of the house rockin', pants droppin', earth shockin', hard rockin', booty shakin', love makin', heart breakin', soul cryin'... and, yes, death defyin' legendary E Street Band.