There is so much fuckery loose in the land that it's hard to reckon with it all. Probably not great for one's mental health to even try to do so. But every so often something stops me cold, standing as a stark reminder that we are so very beyond the pale.
To wit, I can't believe this is a sentence that actually has meaning: Last week, Iran released a new lego diss track, this one aimed at U.S. Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth.
We live in a time where the character and actions of the United States Secretary of Defense are cause for another sovereign nation to mock him. Accurately, at that.
On this date one hundred eleven years ago a baby might have been born in west central Mississippi who would become one of the most influential figures in American music and helped lay the groundwork for rock ‘n roll. We say “might” because record-keeping was spotty in the early 20th century for black people in the rural south, and the man himself gave conflicting information about his origins.
Date and place aside, Muddy Waters’s impact on American music is indisputable. He brought Mississippi Delta blues north and electrified and amplified it in the 1940s, becoming the King of Chicago Blues. He toured England in the late ‘50s and introduced the music to British kids, including lads who used the title of one of his best known songs, “Rollin’ Stone,” to name their band. He recorded blues classics such as “I’m Ready,” “Hoochie Coochie Man,” “Mannish Boy” and “I Can’t Be Satisfied.” He influenced scores of musicians in the 1960s and ‘70s, who played his songs and performed with him and incorporated his style into their own. He assembled great bands with performers who became household names within the blues and rock communities.
He was born McKinley Morganfield and grew up on the Stovall Plantation near Clarksdale, Miss., raised by his grandmother when his mother died shortly after his birth. His grandmother, Della Grant, gave him the nickname “Muddy” as a youngster because he often played in a nearby creek. “Waters” was added later when he began playing music at local houses and juke joints.
He taught himself to play harmonica and guitar and was influenced by Delta musicians such as Robert Johnson and Son House and Charley Patton. He worked the fields and drove a tractor during the day and performed nights and weekends.
Waters’s big break came in Aug. 1941 when archivist Alan Lomax came to Mississippi to record Delta blues musicians on behalf of the Library of Congress, recording him and several others on the porch of his shack.
When Lomax played the recording for Muddy, the musician’s mind was blown. He told Rolling Stone magazine years later that his first recording sounded like anyone else’s he had heard, and he began to think that he could be a professional musician.
Two years later, he moved to Chicago, part of the immense migration of black people north and west from 1915-1970 (If you’re interested in a broad social, cultural and economic examination of the Great Migration, I highly recommend “The Warmth of Other Suns” by Isabel Wilkerson). He began playing in Chicago clubs and shortly thereafter bought his first electric guitar and plugged into amps, because he said acoustic instruments couldn’t be heard over the din of crowded, noisy clubs.
Waters began recording in the late 1940s with a new label called Aristocrat Records started by brothers Phil and Leonard Chess that later became the iconic Chess Records. His first notable band included harmonica whiz Little Walter Jacobs, pianist Otis Spann, guitarist Jimmy Rogers and bassist and songwriter Willie Dixon, who penned several of Muddy’s signature tunes. He toured England and came home to perform at the acclaimed Newport Jazz Festival and record one of the first live blues albums, “Live at Newport 1960,” which includes a killer version of “Got My Mojo Workin’.”
Waters experienced a lean period during the 1960s, as record executives attempted to marry his sound with harder-edged rock. But in the late ‘60s and extending through the remainder of his life (he died in 1983), he returned to his roots with numerous collaborations, tours and records with those he influenced, among them people such as Eric Clapton, Mike Bloomfield, Paul Butterfield, Buddy Guy and Johnny Winter. The Stones’ Mick Jagger, Keith Richard and Ronnie Wood appeared with Muddy at the famous southside Chicago club the Checkerboard Lounge in 1981.
The dilapidated sharecropper’s shack where Waters grew up became a tourist attraction in the 1980s before its remains were moved to the Delta Blues Museum in Clarksdale. When ZZ Top guitarist Billy Gibbons visited the old shack, he was encouraged to take a couple of planks, which he had fashioned into guitars known as “Muddywood.” They were used to raise funds for the museum and where one is also on display.
Clapton once said, in a quote that appears on a plaque at the site of the old shack: “Muddy Waters’ music changed my life, and whether you know it or not, or like it or not, it probably changed yours, too.”
I'm a fan of language, especially slang, so I enjoy following the youngs' neologisms. Although one of my faves is "don't yuck my yum" I'm going to do so in this post.
Which is not a political post! You probably think I'm going to gleefully detail Bryon Noem's love of bimbofication but you're wrong. If that's how he gets down, so be it. I do, however, find it gobsmacking that of all the things associated with Kristi Noem over the past 14-or-so months, this is what brings her shame.
I take to my keyboard to instead yuck a different practice. I have long maintained, and I'm sure Danimal agrees, that water is the homeowner's greatest enemy. It can cause problems originating in the house or from any direction outside the house. You know you're middle aged when you see a foot of snow outside your house and perseverate about how it will all end up in your sump pump someday.
The homeowner's second greatest enemy is bugs. Roaches, silverfish, termites, cave crickets, centipedes. And ants. Every year I wage chemical warfare against odorous house ants, or Tapinoma sessile to the entomologically inclined, by applying ecologically disastrous amounts of Amdro Ant Block to the foundation of zhome to minimize their appearance in zkitchen. I cannot stand those little bastards.
I therefore yuck the practice of collecting ants. So widespread is this preposterous hobby that there exists a commercial endeavor called AntsRUs.com offering for sale ants and, mindbogglingly, termites, as well as equipment to house these pests. Some of these ants start at £159.99! A hundred and sixty quid to bring a bug into your house!?! Bollucks! Closer to home, some loon in Ohio also sells ants and blogs about them too. Ahnts: The Blog.
So profitable is this formic fetish that an illegal black market of ants exists to service these oddball collectors. Giant African harvester ant queens sell for $220, probably because they are "many people's dream species." Not my dream, maybe yours.
The next time your spouse complains about all the space taken up by your baseball cards, golf clubs, snow tires, CDs, or any other detritus you've accumulated over the years, tell them that you'll get rid of it all if you can start an ant collection.
Usually when we use the phrase "music as memory" here, it's a reference to the way certain songs transport us immediately back to a place and time. We originally coined it in a post that celebrated three amazing records all released on September 24, 2011. (For what it's worth, that's one of the best posts ever committed to electrons on this here blog, and I don't (just) say that because I'm one of the authors.)
Today, though, a new take on music's memorial properties. Last week, Sir Paul McCartney dropped a new single. Entitled, "Days We Left Behind", it's a gauzy look back at the beginning of his musical career.
There's no question that McCartney is one of the giants of the game, and the fact that he's still putting out new music more than 60 years after The Beatles exploded onto the scene is damn well remarkable. The dude is 83! So I'm not one to criticize. Though I do wonder: is this a sweet and melancholy walk down musical memory lane? Or do you find it all a bit maudlin?
If you're into collecting things you're probably familiar with the concept of "new old stock" or "NOS," which Wikipedia defines as "aged stock of merchandise that was never sold to a customer and is still new in original packaging. Such merchandise may not be manufactured anymore, and the new old stock may represent the only current source of a particular item .... Another definition of NOS is new original stock, referring to aged original equipment parts that remained in unsold inventory. This inventory may sell at a premium in a vintage or collectables market, such as among antique vehicle collectors where enthusiasts seek to repair their vehicles with original parts."
Spotify served up "If You Don't Want Me To" by Joanna and I thought to myself, "Jeez, are these guys Stone Roses fans or what? They sound like a late 80's Manchester band."
It turns out they are a late 80s Manchester band! You never heard of them because the album they recorded in 1990, "Hello Flower," was never released. But now it is. NOS music! I dig it and most of you will too.
When our readers ask, we deliver. Case in point, Z recently suggested I review the current state of affairs for the football clubs Gheorghies support, either of their own volition or because I bequeathed (saddled?) them a side. This is a thing I can do.
Because Z asked, we'll start with his Norwich lads. They scuffled last season in the Championship (English soccer's second division), finishing 13th of 24 teams, but only eight points from relegation in a very crowded mid-table.
The Canaries are a bit better this season, currently sitting in tenth on 54 points with seven matches to play. They won't see promotion this season, but they've stabilized a bit. American striker Josh Sargent came back to MLS after several seasons on the south coast.
And their fans are funny:
Shlara's (and Prince William's) Aston Villa are in the quarterfinals of the Europa League, and currently in the mix for a Champions League berth next season. The Villans have been a bit up and down of late, but their 54 points are good for fourth in the Premier League with seven matches to play.
Fulham are having another very solid season, only four points from a spot in next year's Europa League and all but guaranteed of survival. But they're playing as if they're in their Ibiza Era. The final seven weeks of the season look to be a lot of "ah, well, that's a shame" in footy form.
As for Whitney's Leicester, I suppose that wide eyes emoji might be a good visual reference. The Foxes are currently in 22nd of 24 teams in the Championship. If that holds, they'd be relegated to League One, which...yikes.
Dave's Brentford are quietly buzzing along. The Bees are two points ahead of Fulham, and very much in the mix for a place in European competition next season. Big London and Gheorghie Derby in two weeks, as Brentford host Fulham in a match neither fan base would've expected to matter as much as it might.
Meanwhile, near the penthouse, fancy man Danimal's Manchester City is stalking Arsenal for the top spot in the division. While the Gunners are the odds on favorites to take the title, up nine points at the moment, City did just defeat Arsenal to win the Carabao Cup, the first major trophy of the English year.
Marls was a Newcastle supporter before we had a chance to attach a different label to him, and his lads are stretched. After a decent Champions League campaign, they've stumbled to 12th in the Premier League after a bitter defeat to local rival Sunderland in the Tyne-Wear Derby. Skipper Eddie Howe is bemoaning his club's spending on talent, never a good sign.
The Teej has been a Nottingham Forest guy from way back, to when we used to call him Little John. Forest are having a weird one. Like Villa, they're in the Europa League quarterfinals after defeating Danish power Midtjylland last week. But back at home, they've been in our near the relegation zone for most of the season. Their mercurial (read: batshit insane) Greek owner Vangelis Marinakis has fired three managers already this season.
Forest's win over Tottenham Hotspur vaulted them to 16th place, three points from the drop, but there's real work still to do.
And speaking of Spurs, who I believe count Rootsy and Squeaky as backers, that club is a fucking shambles. One year removed from winning the Europa League, and only a week after being eliminated from the Champions League, Spurs are in 17th, only one point away from relegation. Worse still, they're unmoored and playing like absolute ass. The other teams in the relegation fight have been hardened by their experience at the bottom of the table. Spurs' expensive roster is in no way prepared for what's to come over the next two months - their relegation would be seismic.
Upheaval within college sports has created all manner of change for both participants and observers, not the least of which is a quantum leap in billable hours. Attorneys and entire firms have profited from those who contend that capitalist practices should extend to those who do the work regardless of their age, as well as from those who dug in their heels behind the thought: How come we can’t do it the way we’ve always done it?
Conference realignment and consolidation, player pay and unrestricted movement, and Indiana University football ascension were always going to be jarring and difficult to grasp, not to mention expensive. But once colleges accepted television money to broadcast games and that money grew into multi-billion-dollar contracts and eight-figure payouts, it would inevitably lead to somewhere close to where we are now.
Though on balance the developments are good, or at least more equitable, for the labor force, i.e., athletes, there would in turn be fallout that altered perspective and fandom and perhaps even the attraction of a team, a sport or an event. Which brings us to the NCAA Tournament and the gradual demise of the lower-tier conference program that makes a surprise run.
The tournament nearly always ends up as a showcase of the sport’s best and most talented teams, but one of its beauties has been unlikely runs by programs outside the national spotlight: George Mason to the Final Four in 2006, Davidson and Steph Curry to the Elite Eight in 2008, VCU going from the First Four to the Final Four in 2011; Florida Gulf Coast (“Dunk City”) to the Sweet 16 as a 15-seed in 2013, eleven-seed Loyola-Chicago to the Final Four in 2018, St. Peter’s to the Elite Eight as a 15-seed in 2022.
No such disruption this year. The Sweet 16 is all power conference programs. The closest we got was 12-seed High Point of the Big South Conference taking out Wisconsin in the first round, then playing Arkansas close before falling in the round of 32. VCU and Saint Louis of the Atlantic 10 both won their first-round games before getting bounced decisively by Big Ten teams in the second round.
The notion that Texas is a Cinderella because the Longhorns are an 11-seed is laughable. They’re a member of the SEC and have one of the largest athletic budgets in the country. They’re the privileged kid who scuffled along in college all year, but still got a cushy summer internship because of family connections.
The last time there was a significant party crashing was 2023, when San Diego State and Florida Atlantic made the Final Four and Princeton advanced to the Sweet 16. For the second consecutive year, no team seeded 13-16 won a tournament game in the main draw.
Get used to it.
The formula for under-the-radar teams making a tournament run used to be a veteran group that had played together for several years and whose age and experience could offset the talent disparity against marquee programs, or a mid-major program that landed an under-recruited prospect or two to supplement an already solid roster. That’s become more difficult to pull off because of the transfer portal and budgets and NIL money that permit power conference schools to pay players.
Indeed, the Sweet 16 is littered with players who began their careers elsewhere – not only jumps between power conference schools but smaller programs. Arizona has players from Harvard and Campbell. Michigan State has players from Harvard and Florida Atlantic. Alabama has transfers from Cal State Fullerton and Pepperdine. Nebraska has players who started at Rhode Island and Tulsa. Iowa State stud Joshua Jefferson began his career at St. Mary’s.
Maybe the most visible example of movement and money is at Iowa, which knocked off defending champ Florida. Hawkeyes coach Ben McCollum won four Division 2 national championships at Northwest Missouri State, and two years ago was hired by Drake of the Missouri Valley Conference. Several of his players followed him to Drake, where they won the league title in his first season and upset Missouri in the NCAAs. Iowa hired him a year ago, and star guard Bennett Stirtz, who began his career with McCollum at Northwest Mizzou and went with him to Drake, followed him to Iowa along with three other Drake players. The kid who hit the winning shot against Florida last weekend was previously at Robert Morris.
Point being that continuity and team development take hits in the present landscape. High-level recruits move because they see a better opportunity or more money elsewhere. Productive mid-major players are plucked away by power conference programs who seek to fill holes with seasoned players and can pay more. NIL money may keep some players who don’t have pro talent in college longer, but the guess is that players who stay at a school for three or four years and true NCAA Cinderellas will dwindle. The tournament remains the best event in sports, but loses a touch of magic and unpredictability in service to the young folks who provide the thrill. A fair trade.
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