Buy Mike's Paul Newman!

My father-in-law, Mike, about whom I wrote previously, died on June 20. This was expected but sad nonetheless. Mike was very much a participant, rather than an observer, in the game of life. As a result we are fortunate to have tons of "Mike stories" to remember him by.

And we're in the process of generating one more Mike story! TR threw a party for his son's first communion last month, where I wound up talking watches with a mutual friend as well as FOG:TB Juan Carlos. I mentioned Mike's watch, a Paul Newman Daytona, and our family's interest in selling it without getting ripped off. Turns out both guys know the head of Christie's watch group and he lives around the corner from zfamily. They put us in touch and the watch expert is a fantastic guy. I brought the watch to his house, he verified it isn't a fugazi, and it will be auctioned online starting June 28 through July 12. They even took some nifty glamour shots.

Remarkably, it appears to have the highest estimated value of any lot in the auction. Not too bad for a $295 purchase that was worn daily for 40-some-odd years.

You can follow Mike's watch here. Feel free to bid--you can use a credit card! The whole zfamily hopes the auction results in one more awesome Mike story.

The Great Ones Never Rest On Their Laurels

You may have heard this music news tidbit in the last month, and when you did, you may have thought of me.  I've made no secret of my opinion of this "man."  But he just keeps doing things to reaffirm that I'm right.  (And I'm not alone.)

Just over three years ago, Beach Boy Mike Love won the title of Biggest Douche in Rock and Roll.  In a landslide, amazingly.  Earlier this summer, I took in the Beach Boys' 50th Anniversary Tour stop in Virginia Beach, and afterwards, I conceded that I enjoyed every bit of it, even the parts that Mike Love sang.  But we couldn't just end on that high note, could we?

About a month ago, it was reported that after the completion of the current slate of tour dates, Mike Love would be sacking original B-Boys Brian Wilson, Al Jardine, as well as longtime BB musician David Marks.  He will be going back to his usual touring band . . . the one he's toured with for years under the name The Beach Boys . . . you know, the one with Mike Love, Bruce Johnston, some other guys, and no Wilsons. 

The incendiary headlines that followed weren't overstatements, though.  I mean . . . Mike Love fired Brian Wilson and Al Jardine.  It's actually difficult to find a parallel.  It's like Ringo firing Paul and George and touring with his All-Starr Band under the moniker The Beatles.  That's not a stretch.  It's Dan Quayle dumping GHWB for the '92 run.  It's me ousting Teej and Rob and insisting that I am Gheorghe: The Blog. It's outrageous, egregious, preposterous.

Naturally, the ballcapped one, having seen the backlash from the public, tried to justify what he did.  And this is why, after having taken the high road, I'm chiming in after the fact. From the letter he took the time to publish in the Los Angeles Times:

"I did not fire Brian Wilson from the Beach Boys. I am not his employer. I do not have such authority. And even if I did, I would never fire Brian Wilson from the Beach Boys. I love Brian Wilson. We are partners. He's my cousin by birth and my brother in music."

Blah blah blah.  Of course you did.  But here's the best part.  The fans loved seeing everyone back together, according to Rolling Stone...

"But Love says an ongoing reunion tour is 'impossible' because of other Beach Boys shows he had already booked that started to bump up against the reunion dates."

Are you kidding me???  Which iteration would the venues rather have on stage??? Which would the fans rather see??? 

"Look, man, I know David Lee Roth is back with the band, but I bought a ticket to see Gary Cherone, and that's what I want to see!"  "Hey, it's great that Steve Perry has agreed to tour with you guys, but I don't think you understand.  We booked the guy from American Idol, and that's who we want."

I understand that Mike Love might have existing contracts with the stiffs who have been portraying Beach Boys for years in what amounts to the best publicized cover band in America, but here's the deal: buy out their contracts, you money-grubbing asshole.  You, the bald, bearded, scumbag who was too stingy to shell out money for your daughter's transplant and she died as a result, need to defy all odds and past performance and do the right thing, even if it costs you.  The 50th Anniversary Tour is the last chance you have to engender some will that's not hideously ill.  Some karma that isn't soul-eroding.  This is all you've got.  If you fuck this up, you may well die soon . . . and neither quickly nor painlessly.

Clarence has spoken.

Brian Wilson has, too.  He wrote a great letter as a form of reply, worth a quick read in its entirety to see how a man who's been called genius since 1966 can be humble, grateful, reflective, conciliatory, and earnest . . . and how the same man who's been called crazy since 1969 can be articulate, level-headed, and reasonable.  We should all be so crazy.

As far as I know I can't be fired--that wouldn't be cool. The negativity surrounding all the comments bummed me out. What's confusing is that by Mike not wanting or letting Al, David and me tour with the band, it sort of feels like we're being fired.

It's Al and my opinion that all of us together makes for a great representation of the Beach Boys. While I appreciate the nice cool things Mike said about me in his letter, and I do and always will love him as my cousin and bandmate, at the same time I'm still left wondering why he doesn't want to continue this great trip we're on. Al and I want to keep going because we believe we owe it to the music. In any case happy anniversary, I loved it and I think we knocked it out of the park for what it's worth.

Amen, brother.  God only knows what that dipshit would be without you.

Heroes and Villains

Last night I watched immeasurable douche Mike Love perform to many thousands of people, and I loved it.  Weird.

As I mentioned yesterday, there were two reasons that I set aside my disdain for the performer and shelled out quite a few bucks to take my whole gang (my two kids, girlfriend, her two kids, and a French exchange student . . . more on that later) to the Virginia Beach Amphitheater – my least favorite venue in the area – to sit in 96-degree heat and watch a show put on by a reasonable facsimile of a group my parents enjoyed in the 1960’s.

As I type that, it seems even more implausible that I dug it, but I did.

The first reason I jumped at the chance to see the 50^th Anniversary tour of the Beach Boys was that I hadn’t ever before.  Those of you who’ve seen my ridiculous, not-quite-obsolete collection of compact discs knows that I am what they call a “completist” (my parents call it “idiot”), passionate about getting pretty much everything into my collection.  I’m just as bent on seeing shows. Although the spending money I had (and blew) in the 1990’s pre-kids has largely waned, and it’s not quite as simple these days, I still have a dosage of fanaticism that neither doctors nor prudent significant others can cure.

I’ve said it before, I take some sort of bizarre personal contentment in the fact that I saw Jerry Garcia and Joey Ramone (not to mention Dee and that curmudgeon Johnny) before they passed on to the great gig in the sky.  I’ve seen some bucket-list RnR HoFers who are still kicking, acts like Springsteen and The Who and Neil Young and Ray Davies and Bob Dylan (who was lousy, but still . . .).  I planned to see the Stones with Flynn but waited too long.  I’ve seen the Allmans with Dickey, the Beasties with MCA, and The Black Crowes with both Robinsons. I saw Jimmy Buffett and Aerosmith before they were total jokes.  When I missed bands before they parted ways, I was happy to see them when they regrouped: The Police, The Pixies, The Pogues, Phish . . . really, and band that begins with a P.  And Devo, and Violent Femmes, and Camper van Beethoven, and many more. I’ve seen Ween and the Flaming Lips, which everyone with a sense of humor should do.

 

There are still many more on that list.  But now I’ve seen the Beach Boys.  Check.

Our friend Otis has a story I always remember, because it’s the king.  He saw Elvis in concert.  He was 7 or 8, and his folks took him to the show.  Yes, this makes him even older than I am, but it’s also a pretty cool conversation piece.  My parents never saw the King in concert, and none of their friends that I know did, either.  But one of my fraternity brothers did.  Kinda cool.

And here’s the segue to the second reason I was there last night: because I could bring my children.  When my daughter Zoe was too young to know any better, I began the process of influencing her musical tastes unduly.  And the first band she ever loved was The Beach Boys.  Favorite song: “Help Me, Rhonda.”  And the look on her eyes when I told her we were going to see them in concert far, far outweighed the look on my completed rolled-up eyes when Mike Love told the crowd last night that he loved his first car back in the 50’s but loves the Bentley he now drives even more.  (Seriously, what a prick.)

Yes, once or twice last evening I wanted the sweltering heat to claim a heart attack casualty in an Aloha shirt and a red baseball cap onstage . . . but mostly I was thrilled to be there.  We had seats in the 10^th row or so, and my little girl was, like Loverboy, lovin’ every minute of it.  As the dads out there know, that would be reason enough to go, and reason enough to enjoy it.

Except . . . I really liked the show.  For myself.

The band(s) sounded spot-on, and included that appendix because there were – count ‘em – 14 people on stage.  Somewhere in the middle of the show, it dawned on me . . . ah, this is probably the assemblage of Mike Love’s touring band, Al Jardine’s as well, and maybe even Brian Wilson’s guys.  These people have been “Beach Boys” or something akin to it for, in some cases, decades.

Anyway, it was a big group with the three truly original living members and a couple of other “original” guys; I guess it’s hard to keep Bruce Johnston out of that club when he’s been playing with the group for 47 years or so.  The sound was big, and it sounded great.

Somewhere in the midst of it, I had to let my guard down against Mike Love, dammit.  He simply is the voice everyone has known on so many of those old hits.  That nerdy, nasally voice that displays less vocal talent . . . but you know what?  They’re classics, and they blazed through 46 songs (!) in two sets and an encore and left nothing on the table.  Love’s banter made me want to dismember him and burn his ballcap collection (they showed yearbook photos on the big screen – he was pretty damn bald in high school), but in the moment of “I Get Around,” when the lights got bright and the crowd was cheering, eh . . . it was fun, fun, fun, and the reason I go to shows as often as I can.

 

In 1988, when Axl was on top, he was a total dick – but he was an awesome lead singer.  I listen to “Mr. Brownstone” and think that if he could’ve held it together, I’d be going to hear him today . . . but he didn’t.  (You can’t be an ass AND suck.)  Same with a lot of people on the list – I don’t want to have a beer with them, but when they’re on . . . yeah, I’ll buy a ticket.

So, make no mistake, last night only confirms that Mike Love is still a douche.  But he fronts my daughter’s first favorite band, an all-time music group for the ages, and a collection of old dudes who can still put on a show the reminds me why I love rock and roll.

Happy Independence Day.