(Much) earlier today in Gopeng, Malaysia, the opening ceremonies for the 2025 International Rafting Federation (IRF) World brought together more than 75 competitors from 20 countries. Teams in four categories (Youth, Junior, Open, and Masters (40+) will compete over the next week in four different disciplines (Sprint, Head to Head, Slalom, and Downriver) to crown champions. And among the competitors are three FOG:TB from Truckee, CA.
Our guy (and my distant cousin) Christopher Old made a living as a whitewater rafting guide on the Gauley River in West Virginia, the Biobio River in Chile, and at a couple of rivers in Northern California for the first decade or more after we graduated from William & Mary. He met his wife on one of his trips in Chile, and they've raised three outdoorsy kids in the Sierras.
Turns out he didn't give up his affinity for fast water, as he was named to the U.S. Men's Master's team for the World Championships. To boot, his teenaged twins took their place on each of the Boys' and Girls' Junior boats. It's a family affair on the Kampar River this week, and a hell of a cool story for the extended Gheorghieverse.
Keep your dial right here for race results and photos over the coming week.
Our closest local friends, non-Marls edition, have a kid named Rory who goes to the University of Pittsburgh. They were a theater kid in high school and love to perform. Pretty good recipe for a lead singer, as it turns out. Rory's band, Straight Decline, just released an EP entitled Mid-Semester Crisis. Here's the first single, "There Are No Mathematical Jokes, Only Mathematical Punchlines (Calculus Song)". If you like Midwestern Emo, you'll enjoy.
And here they are performing a live set at The New Low in Pittsburgh:
It's not often that the local news is a purveyor of punk rock history, but I suppose stranger things have happened. Hell, just look around.
Last night on DC's NBC affiliate, reporter Mark Segraves gave us this story about the forthcoming release of two long-lost Bad Brains live shows from The Bayou in the early 80s.
I did not see that coming, but it's a uniquely local story about one of the pioneering bands of the punk era, and it's got some amazing footage of Bad Brains frontman jumping from the balcony of that late, legendary venue.
Fully expect Mr. KQ to jump into the comments and let us know he was at one of the shows that comprise the new release, which will drop Friday on National Record Store Day. Get some.
The FIFA men's World Cup has expanded to 48 teams for next year's event in the U.S., Mexico, and Canada. Don't overthink it: as the great Georgio Chinaglia was wont to say, it's the money, you moron.
I think it'll be bad for the event, at least in the early stages. More mediocre teams against the world's top sides means more lopsided results. It's a bit reminiscent of the women's version in 2019, when the U.S. memorably pasted an overmatched Thailand by a 13-0 tally. I don't know if Germany will drop a baker's dozen on New Caledonia, but I also don't think I'd care to watch that match.
The silver lining to FIFA's greed-grab (or, more simply said, FIFA) is that we get more celebrations as teams unaccustomed to the World Cup stage qualify for the event for the first time, or the first time in decades.
And so I give you celebration this fine morning:
Cape Verde qualified out of Africa, the first time the Blue Sharks have ever made the big bracket.
Ireland trailed Hungary heading into stoppage time, then scored twice to keep their hopes alive. Go to the 4:00 mark to see Troy Parrott's third goal of the game, the one that means the Irish qualify for the UEFA knockout round.
Cape Verde set a record as the smallest nation to ever qualify for the World Cup. And then Curacao beat it. The island nation has a population of 155,000, or roughly one third of that of my county. I'm putting a squad together for 2030.
Scotland and Denmark were knotted at two late in their match, with the Scots needing a win to clinch qualification. See the video at 18:51 for Kieran Tierney's go-ahead goal and 21:50 for Kenny McLain's clincher from midfield.
And finally, no nation had to overcome more than Haiti, who haven't played in a World Cup since 1974 and weren't permitted to host any qualifying matches due to unrest at home. They went ahead and qualified anyway.
A recurrence of a segment! Other than Dave's parody, that is. I do have a number of these truncated albums stored as Spotify playlists, but they each need a bit of backstory. (If only someone would abridge Whitney's backstory like he does the music...) So let's dig into the next one.
Artist: Fleetwood Mac
Album: Tusk
Released: October 12, 1979
Length: 1 hour, 14 minutes
Vinyl Discs: 2
Backstory: By now, the saga of Fleetwood Mac is well-worn, overly-trod ground. But what a story is theirs! It really has it all... short of a murder, perhaps.
On the surface, the Mac story is simply:
Blues band forms in London in '67
Named after drummer Mick Fleetwood and bassist John McVie
The orig
Some records, some repute, a couple of surprise hits
Founder/leader Peter Green departs three years later
Blues no longer, pop all the way
Additions, subtractions; Bob Welch and Mac's wife sustain them
Some records, some repute, a couple of pop hits
More lineup changes and disarray, until...
Lindsey and Stevie join the band in 1975!
The rest is pop history.
Oh, wait. That's when it got really crazy. Chart-toppers, international stardom, millions upon millions of dollars, cocaine, drama, bad breakups within the two intra-band couples, cocaine, in-fighting, resignations, expulsions, cocaine, affairs within and without the band, time off, comebacks, everyone banging everyone, and cocaine. And that's the tip of the iceberg.
One year ago, Apple Original Films announced that there was a Fleetwood Mac documentary in development. One of those "definitive" ones. Seminal. All that. [Not a single piece of news on that rock doc in the year since. Oh well. My guess is that the loony Mac-ers make any such endeavor... difficult. ] But we shall see. Until then, you have this.
One story about Fleetwood Mac:
2 weeks into their 1973 tour, the band found out that guitarist Bob Weston was sleeping with Mick Fleetwood's wife Jenny Boyd.
Jenny Boyd's sister is Pattie Boyd, George Harrison's former wife. George wrote "Something" and other songs about her.
...but Eric Clapton, one of his best friends, was in love with her and wrote "Layla" about her.
She eventually left the Quiet Beatle for Slowhand, and he wrote "Wonderful Tonight" about her.
Can anyone claim to have more rock hits written about them? What a muse.
The '73 US tour was immediately cancelled whilst in Lincoln, NE. And it wasn't just that Weston was sacked; the band was done. With a couple of dozen tour dates unfulfilled.
Then... amazingly... Mac manager Clifford Davis "claimed that he owned the name 'Fleetwood Mac' and the right to choose the band members." And so he threw together a band of randos to go out and play Fleetwood Mac songs at those shows.
That lawsuit debacle gave them time to clear their heads and forced them to relocate to California. Which led to the intro of Mick Fleetwood and Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks... as highlighted in the music doc Sound City. Reviewed expertly here.
Another story about Fleetwood Mac:
During this Tusk era, the band was partying so hard that when Christine McVie started dating Beach Boy Dennis Wilson -- a partier legendary on this plant and maybe several others -- those close to Wilson later said that the extreme coke life that FMac had going on trampolined him into a next-level state that continued until his terrible wasteful and sad demise in 1983. If you can one-up a friggin' Beach Boy with your drug habit... Jesus, man.
#shouldabeenmike
So... Tusk. 1975, the renewed Fleetwood Mac lineup comes out with an eponymously titled record. Massive hit. Two years later, after the romantic implosions could've ripped the band apart actually made them creative wellsprings, Rumours. Which made the prior album look like a Random Idiots release. There are big hits and then there is this one.
As sober as 1977 got
Two more years of touring, cashing checks, and Tony Montana facedives, but then it's time for a new album. How do you follow-up a megasmash?
By basically fucking off and dicking around in the studio and having little splintered factions of the full band get together here and there!
For other acts, this would be catastrophic, but when you are a band of ace songwriters and seasoned players at the top of their game... even a misstep sells 4 million copies and has some good shit on it.
It was certainly categorically rougher than the smewthe mewsic on Rumours. And it lacked the catchiest of melodies and wicked sharp FU heartbreak lyrics. But mainly, it was just too damn long. You try to rein in a band that just sold 10 million copies with their last go at it. Double album it is!
There were stories about using studio trash cans as percussion instruments and such. And tracks rough-cut at home studios, then brought into the fancy digs and... kept pretty much as is. There was a sense of being more new wave and... well, not punk, but with a somewhat punk DIY approach. (As much as this band could muster that.) Plus band members generally hung over or messed up all the while, and a plethora of guests stopping by, and the usual madness when a high-profile rock and roll band does anything.
Tusk era... yikes
But they pulled off what is mostly an unsung but worthy effort. Give it a listen... as reduced to a single LP!
My story: My folks didn't have Tusk in the record collection, the one I raided routinely from 1982-1988 (and later inherited). The self-titled and Rumours, of course. But I never heard this sprawling set back then.
In college, you got access to exponentially more music, and freshman year someone lent our buddy Hightower Tusk on CD. (Let's face it, he "borrowed" it and still has it somewhere.) With the aid of Milwaukee's Best, we blared the title track ad nauseum on the hall. The story of the USC marching band at Dodger Stadium was phenomenal. (Check out Stevie's baton twirling.)
Fast forward to 2003. Camper van Beethoven had just reunited after a decade of dormancy (and Cracker spawning), an event worthy of saluting with my attendance at a couple of their live shows. Soon thereafter, a new CD of theirs appeared on shelves... Tusk. A note for note rendering of Camper van playing the Mac. Weird.
(The liner notes said they'd uncovered the tapes from a snowed-in weekend in 1986. Not true, it turned out -- this was done when they got together in 2002 to bone up on their CvB tunes after reforming and just went ahead and did this. Weirder.)
I bought it, predictably. Oh, the disposable income back then. It's a mess, but fun, sort of. Kind of. I mean, it's Lowery belting out the Buckingham./Nicks/McVie lyrics without the benefit of their vocal prowess and strewn together instrumentation. It's reasonably cool.
And most importantly, it made me go back and dig into the original for the first time. Like Mikey, I liked it! But it was long and sprawling. Not cohesive and taut.
What if, though...?
Last rec: as always, listen to it loud.
Fleetwood Mac, Tusk on One Record
Side A (22:08)
1. The Ledge
This is my second-favorite rock song called "The Ledge," I really dig this loose sound. This is not the high-production gloss of the Mac that you hear on albums that immediately preceded or followed Tusk. It is layered only with Lindsey Buckingham's madness. He got rid of everyone else's takes at his song and kept his home studio output on all instruments and vocals. Well, the official lineup on this song is:
Lindsey Buckingham – guitars, bass, drums, lead and backing vocals
Mick Fleetwood – possible snare drum
Awesome. Punkish rock anti-pop and the perfect way to start this insane record.
2. Think About Me
Veering right back into the expected F-Mac production... albeit with a wee touch of muscle and some cool Christine McVie lyrics. She is missed.
3. Sara
Now this sounds like Fleetwood Mac. Stevie lilting over Lindsey's electric and acoustics. Some ethereal back vox. A song either about Nicks' baby with Don Henley that never was, or her best friend Sara who slept with Mick Fleetwood while Stevie was doing the same. Either way, it's the one real hit from this mess of a release.
4. That's All for Everyone
Yep, everyone. Well, not everyone -- Buckingham was responsible for lead and backing vocals, electric guitars, charango, kalimba, additional bass guitar, piano, drums, and percussion. The rest of his mates chimed in where they could. It's the "fun" in "dysfunctional."
5. I Know I'm Not Wrong
This one didn't even have the trimmings of Stevie, Christine, John, or Mick helping out. LB plays everything, including harmonica. And yet with a chorus: "Don't blame me / Please be strong / I know I'm not wrong." Effffff you guys. No song was ever more Lindsey Buckingham.
6. Sisters of the Moon
We will round out our Side A with some more Stevie. A haunting little number thanks to her crooning and Lindsey's Strat work. A good tune released as an unsuccessful single. (A theme.)
Side B (18:44)
1. What Makes You Think You're the One
We'll start the second side of the record just like we did the first. Loose and rude Lindsey B. Tusk producer Ken Caillat claims that Buckingham took aim at his ex-lover in this song and "imitated Stevie's distinctive vibrato, giving it a bleating, goat-like quality, and her rudimentary piano quality, which he knew made her self conscious." Not very nice.
2. Over & Over
Again, we slide back into the lovely Christine. Silky. This song led off the double-album Tusk. What a head fake. I won't do that to listeners!
3. Not That Funny
Wait. Wait a minute. Is this Lindsey Buckingham singing "Don't blame me" yet again?? In not even a distant cousin relative of "I Know I'm Not Wrong," but more of a half-sister kind of way? Unreal. Apparently someone felt like a pariah in 1979. This amuses me greatly.
4. Walk a Thin Line
A much sweeter sound than lyric. According to Wikipedia, "Walk a Thin Line" was inspired by a Charlie Watts drum fill on "Sway", from the Rolling Stones album Sticky Fingers. This drum fill caught Buckingham's interest, and he intended to feature the part on one of his Tusk songs. Now ya know.
5. Tusk
This is one of my favorite rock songs of all time, just for the pure fun of it. A great album closer. Should've been, now it is.
Not long after the time he killed Prince, the artist formerly known thereas got to work in his Paisley Park studio to produce a compilation of the work done under his once and future name. According to Prince Vault, the video was creating to satisfy the wishes of the promoters of 1995's Ultimate Live Tour, who wanted him to play the hits. Instead, the video was played as an introduction to those shows. The resulting mashup was released as a CD single called The Purple Medley. And until this week, I'd never heard it, nor of it.
Just in case you're in the same boat, enjoy this funky mix.
When I began this post I was going to write one of my usual attempts to be dry and witty but decided that a picture is more effective in this situation.
That's a helluva lede! If you read on you'll learn "New Milford Police Officer Desmond Kivlehan was on patrol when he saw Luke Randall, of Harrington Park, hit a parked 2023 Toyota around 12:20 p.m. Monday, Nov. 10, Captain Kevin Van Saders said." Sounds like a typical Monday to me.
Johnny Law "discovered vodka bottles and a large quantity of cocaine in individually wrapped bags inside the vehicle." But that sounds typical for a DeLoran driver, no? There's more!
Randall, who was also listed as a wanted missing person from Harrington Park, was arrested at the scene.
He was charged with DUI, careless driving, reckless driving, failure to possess insurance and registration, driving without a license, and other related traffic offenses.
On Nov. 3, Randall was charged with DUI, careless driving, throwing objects from motor vehicle, and driving without al license in Harrington Park, records show.
Vodka bottles, 87 baggies of cocaine, and two DUIs in seven days ... all in a DeLorean? I don't agree with those choices (except maybe the DeLorean) but Luke sounds like the life of the party.
Every town has its quirky local landmarks. These are the kinds of things that make a place more than just a pin on a map. In the case of my little burg, an institution is reclaiming its rightful location.
From 1947 to 1994, The Mighty Midget kitchen stood at the Y-shaped intersection of Market and Loudoun Streets in Leesburg, standing sentry at the westbound entry point into downtown. The aptly named takeout spot was fashioned from the fuselage of a World War II vintage B-29 bomber and served burgers, dogs, and fries.
The structure was retired and sat in storage for several years before it found new life a few blocks away as part of the Hamburg Döner, a German street food and beer joint. I had more than a few brats from its tiny kitchen during the Döner's annual Oktoberfest. After the Döner closed in 2019, the kitchen itself stood dormant.
That's about to change. At this very moment, work crews are installing the newly-renovated Mighty Midget at its original location. The metal of the fuselage is gleaming, almost as if it's found a renewed purpose, a happy little kitchen. Avis Renshaw, owner of another Leesburg icon, Mom's Apple Pie (which shares a parking lot with the relocated Mighty Midget, will run what she calls, "the original food truck without wheels" when it reopens next year.
I'm very much looking forward to a mini-summit with Marls at the Midget. Worlds will be coming together, and my town will be all the better for it.
Ignacia Fernandez is competing in the Miss World Chile pageant in her home country. Last week, she performed in the talent portion of the show. As you might expect, she's gorgeous. As you may not expect, she's the frontwoman of Decessus, a death metal band. So here's what television audiences across Chile saw on November 2:
Here she is with her bandmates. This is 'Dark Flames', from their newest album.
Books, covers, etc. Take this energy into your weekend, my friends.
Greetings, gheorghies, on this fine and fair Friday that also happens to be G:TBday. Remember, G:TBday?
It's Gheorghe: The Blog's Birthday!
This here blog turns 22 today. I remember my 22nd birthday, I was (still) in college (still) and was (still) drinking at the Greenleafe in Williamsburg. I remember thinking that I got as inebriated or more so than I even did on my 21st. Way to aim high.
22 years ago the country was mired in a lot of political and military doings that divided the country -- specifically, the war in Iraq. What a mess that was.
Oh, were it all that quaint and simple these days. It's like when Kyle Reese went back to the mid-80's to find and protect John Connor's mom -- yeah, L.A. was a dangerous and weird place then, but compared to the morass of the future, hallelujah.
Side Note: what about a mash-up where Reese and the Terminator overshoot the mid-80's and go to 1955 and encounter George McFly and Lorraine and Biff and Doc Brown? Could be amusing.
Aaaaaand I just now googled that. And of course it already exists. In more than one iteration! The robots are already taking over!
G:TB brains would've done that funnier, methinks.
Anywho... it's a silly and obvious understatement to say that the world is a different place than it was on November 7, 2003. I mean, 22 years prior to that day was November 7, 1981. When "Private Eyes" by Hall & Oates topped the charts and Raiders of the Lost Ark was still big at the box office. And the World Series had recently been won by the Los Angeles Dodgers. Oh, wait...
Gheorghe: The Blog nostalgists often polish off Rob's memorable first post, the GTB mission statement and reissue it -- hell we did that when we first coined G:TBday in 2018.
But what about subsequent posts? The very second post is one worth looking at 22 years later.
Take a peek:
I'd say it holds up pretty well. Kudos, tiny dictator. And nice mention of the Wiggles. (The Wiggles documentary is worthy, if sweet and void of gripping controversy.)
I harbor no illusions about how shitty the next year is gonna be with a declining and addled POTUS and his evil henchmen (are there any of the kind of henchmen) one mid-term electoral defeat away from an avalanche of oversight. But today we mark in celebration.
Zohran Mamdani has freedom that nearly every high-profile pol doesn't: he has no Presidential aspirations because he's ineligible to win the office. So he doesn't have to pander or triangulate. One of the remarkable aspects of his mayoral campaign in New York is the consistency of his messaging - perhaps matched only by his seemingly genuine affection for all the people of his city.
Here's the speech he gave after he won last night. You really should make time to watch it.
And for good measure, here's the righteous Billy Bragg sharing Woody Guthrie's evergreen message.
My daughter texted me in the early hours of the morning, saying, "feels like freshman year". She was referring to yet another drubbing suffered by Colorado's football team, who fell at home to Arizona by a 52-17 score that wasn't even that close. The Buffs have been outscored 105-24 over the past two weeks, and fell to 3-6 on the year.
Travis Hunter ain't walking through that door. So what happens next for a program that's great at hype and proving to be less so on the field.
It's no secret that head coach Deion Sanders has dealt with a number of health issues over the past several years. He had two toes amputated in 2021 due to issues related to blood clots while he was the head man at Jackson State. Then, at the start of this season, cancer led to surgery to remove and reconstruct his bladder. The 58 year-old still gets around reasonably well, and his carriage reminds one of a man once one the world's most athletic humans, but those kinds of traumatic interventions must take a toll.
Sanders' kids are no longer in Boulder, except for his namesake who runs the Buffs' social media program (and runs it well). That same kid, Deion Sanders Jr. echoed online fan sentiment last night, reposting a fan's message on X that said "absolutely embarrassing" and adding a one-word statement of his own: "very".
Coach Prime has unquestionably been a boon for Colorado's athletic department, the university's public image, and even the local economy. But after this season, the Buffs will have one winning year in three to show for all the buzz. Sanders is a brilliant marketer and brand-builder. He's brought some talented athletes to campus, and a coterie of big-name assistant coaches. As the evidence continues to mount, however, it's becoming clear that he's a mediocre in-game coach, and that's probably being kind - the Buffs routinely mangle clock management, rarely make impactful adjustments, and don't ever come from behind to win games.
So we're left with a proud man in physical decline who has admitted he doesn't like to recruit and increasingly looks like he's not up to the gameday demands of big-time football, but is clearly an asset that supports the university's broader aims. A modest proposal, then.
Make Coach Prime CEO Prime.
Colorado AD Rick George should create a new role for his rainmaker, letting him lead the program as chief executive while hiring a coach to manage the details in practice and during games. This would reduce Prime's physical workload, allow him to focus on the things he's best at, and give the Buffs a better chance to compete in the Big 12.
The job would appeal to a certain type of young coach who wants someone else to deal with the public-facing responsibilities of the job so he can focus on football. Boise State's 37 year-old Spencer Danielson is 21-6 as a head coach, and says he's happy out of the limelight. He fits the profile, though.
George has shown a willingness to take big swings and call plays not in the standard AD manual. He's tied himself at the waist with Sanders, and he's got to see that the current situation is growing untenable. Plenty of people have disregarded G:TB's advice (looking at you, Democratic Party) to their detriment. Rick George would do well to heed it.
NPR calls the new project from Waxhatchee's Katie Crutchfield with her sister Allison "far better than your standard side project". Recording as Snocaps, the sisters released an eponymous new record yesterday. It's a vibe. Hat tip to the Squeak for hipping us to it. Turn it up loud as you roll out into the sun-dappled autumn leafscape to enjoy a sublime East Coast Saturday.
Got a selection of odds and ends for you over the next few days. Gonna do a bit of yin-yanging, if you will. Even if you won't. Not stopping me.
Today, we'll start with the bleak, the dark, the cowardly buffoonery that's helping to enable it.
Sarah Kendzior is a journalist, author, and researcher. She's studied and written extensively on the rise of Donald Trump and his coterie of ghouls - and the cultural conditions that enabled it. She writes a newsletter on Substack, and posted a beautifully stark piece yesterday, which included the following thought:
A government shutdown was always the goal. The premature ending, the stripping for parts, the theft without pretense of duty. The open abandonment of the public good. The apathy at abandonment and the avarice in apathy. The slaying of seasons, the torture of time, the collapse of chronology: when promises turn to premises and premises to pixelated dust. There is honor in real dust: this is not that.
When you are ruled by a technocratic death cult, the concept of leverage changes. A general strike does not pose the same threat to the powerful when their goal is to destroy the national economy. A protest does not have the same impact when officials are devoid of shame. A spectacle does not hold the same power when AI lies are generated with a whisper to a soul-stripping robot. A vote is an illusion when elections lack integrity. Calling your representative is a grim farce when your representative serves transnational oligarchy — and sells it American sovereignty.
We'll follow up that softly-whispered damnation with a more forceful condemnation from Ta-Nehisi Coates. Speaking at an event in Minneapolis, Coates offered this measured and typically cutting critique of the institutions and individuals whose cowardice has defined this era:
I might've chosen any one a dozen other fucking things to close with, but here's one that gives us tragedy and comedy in equal measure. Last week at a protest in Oakland, an ICE agent appears to have shot a tear gas canister into the face of local minister Jorge Batista, the aftermath of which you can see below (there's video, but it's not a fun watch).
A different angle of the confrontation reminds us that ICE and its agents aren't some unbeatable monolith. Rather, they're largely undertrained, scared, and overmatched. See, as an example, what certainly appears to be the urine stain on the shooter's pants, right where it would be if one were to piss oneself in fear.
We're gonna beat these losers. Because there are more of us than there are them, and because the cause of righteousness will bring more and more people to it as time goes on. In the meantime, keep calling out their cowardice, disgraceful un-Americanism, avarice, and general goddamn weirdness.
Year One of the Brian Earl Experiment at William and Mary showed promise, as the Tribe debuted a new coach, an entertaining, up-tempo style of play and a return to the top half of conference standings.
Following a successful run at Cornell, Earl convinced a handful of key contributors on a roster that had scuffled along under previous coach Dane Fischer to stick around and to give him and his system a chance. The holdovers and a wave of transfers produced the program’s first winning record since 2020 and the Before Times, pre-Covid, when Tribe all-timer Nathan Knight roamed the landscape.
William and Mary finished 17-15 overall and a spunky 11-7, good for fourth place, in the distended patchwork that is the Coastal Athletic Association.
The Tribe’s calling card was pace and perimeter shooting. More than half of their shots were 3-point attempts. They were third in the nation in 3-point attempt rate (.517). They were fifth nationally in 3-point field goal shots per game and tied for 15th in 3-pointers made per game. Seven players attempted at least 80 shots from behind the arc. They were also 45th in “pace” – the number of possessions per 40 minutes – and second in the CAA in scoring (77.7 ppg) (Brief aside: I’m well aware that “Tribe” is a singular nickname and therefore an “it” and not a “they;” I adhered to that inconvenient propriety for 30 years in my previous life and I’m thankful that management here at the digital tree fort is more grammatically lenient).
Encores and continuity are tricky in the new era of NIL and rampant player transfers, components that prematurely drove away championship coaches Jay Wright at Villanova and Tony Bennett at Virginia. By nature, transfers are upperclassmen and sometimes graduate students with one or two years of eligibility remaining. Coaches often aren’t simply filling a few roster spots with a transfer or a couple of freshmen recruits, but bringing in a vanload of fresh faces who see opportunity and are happy to wear the school laundry for a season or two.
Such is the case in Williamsburg. The Tribe cycled out eight players from last season’s team, including five of the top seven scorers. They lost 80 percent of their scoring and almost 70 percent of their rebounding. Earl brought in eight new players – seven transfers and a freshman, nearly all of whom are guards and wings with perimeter chops and decent shooting eyes. Returning leaders are a trio of seniors, 6-4 Kyle Pulliam (9.9 ppg, .313 pct from 3-point range), 6-5 Chase Lowe (8.4 ppg, 5.2 rpg) and 6-2 Kyle Frazier (4.7 ppg, 33 pct 3-point shooter).
Newcomers who figure to contribute include 6-7 junior wing Tunde Vahlberg Fasasi from LaSalle (5.9 ppg, 2.7 rpg, 34.8 pct 3-pt shooter), 6-6 graduate student Jo’El Emanuel from Fairleigh Dickinson (11 ppg, 5.1 rpg, 36 pct from 3), 6-6 graduate student Cade Haskins from Dartmouth (9.6 ppg, 3.5 rpg), 6-4 junior Reese Miller from Blinn CC (41.6 pct 3-point shooter) and 6-0 graduate student Jhei-R Jones from D2 Winona State (10.9 ppg, 4.5 rpg, 3.1 apg).
Two additions who may have outsized importance are junior transfer Kilian Brockhoff, a 6-9, 235-pound German making his third stop after seasons at UC Santa Barbara and Saint Louis, and Kaleb Spencer, a 6-8, 225-pound freshman from, believe it or not, here on the sandbar and who did a year’s prep work at highly regarded Fork Union Military Academy in Virginia.
For all of Earl’s reliance on a quick pace and perimeter shooting, his system requires a solid post presence for offensive balance and rim protection. It’s not a coincidence that the Tribe limped home last season, losing its last four and six of its last nine, after a season-ending injury to productive 6-8 forward Noah Collier. Without a consistent backup, opponents took advantage at both ends, extending their defense to challenge W&M shooters and working inside on offense.
Earl’s frequent all-court pressure is designed more to goose pace than to turn over opponents and generate easy offense; the Tribe committed almost as many turnovers as they forced last season, and though they scored a lot, they also allowed a lot (76.4 ppg) and their field goal defense was in the bottom half of the conference. Makes for interesting viewing.
The Tribe opens at home Nov. 3 vs. Georgian Court University, which I believe houses the athletic department for Downton Abbey, and has non-conference dates against state rivals Richmond, Old Dominion, Radford and Norfolk State. There’s a trip to Queens, N.Y., to face Rick Pitino and St. John’s, as well as road games at George Washington (G:TB Northern Va. chapter alert!), Duquesne and Bowling Green, and a date versus Texas El Paso at a Jacksonville, Fla., tournament.
William and Mary was picked fourth in the CAA behind Towson, defending tournament champ UNC Wilmington and College of Charleston. Earl set a worthy standard in his first season, but again he must identify a cohesive rotation from among a slew of newcomers and returnees eager to make a significant impact. If the “bigs” develop, the Tribe has a chance to build on last year and not simply hoist and hope.
Dispatch from the State Where Wilbur and Orville Mightily Tried to Take Off: A couple of recent developments have roiled the citizenry here in North Carolina, and that doesn’t even include Bill Belichick’s tenure in Chapel Hill. I’ll try to keep it brief, as y’all come to this site for politics and current events like guys go to IKEA for simplicity and serenity.
The state legislature voted this week to redraw the Congressional district map, in lockstep with the Big Orange Oaf’s directive for Republican-controlled states to do so to maintain, if not increase, the GOP’s narrow hold of the House of Representatives. The current map is already tilted to give Republicans ten seats and Democrats four; the new map is likely to give Republicans an eleventh seat and take away one Democrat rep. It just so happens that the rep is Black, and the redrawn districts split up the African-American constituency.
This wouldn’t be a big deal if state legislative maps weren’t already gerrymandered to hell and back. North Carolina is essentially a purple state. As recently as 2022 the Congressional breakdown was seven Democrats and seven Republicans. Vote totals in all Congressional races combined are generally within a few percentage points one way or the other. Yet Republicans hold super-majorities in both the state House (71-49) and state Senate (30-20) – thanks, further gerrymander! – and two years ago re-drew the Congressional map for the current 10-4 advantage.
The legislature has also done its darnedest to kneecap the Democratic governor (previously Roy Cooper, now Josh Stein) to do anything beyond voice strongly worded opposition.
Democrats may sue to overturn the map, but in a dandy little turn of self supervision the Republican-controlled State Supreme Court ruled a couple years ago that the Constitution doesn’t expressly prohibit partisan monkeying with voting districts and that courts cannot force change or alter maps, that only the legislature can do so.
The message to Dems, as Marco the Albanian said to Liam Neeson in “Taken” – Good luck.
Meanwhile, more than a year after Hurricane Helene ravaged areas of western North Carolina, state and local officials are still waiting for Federal funds promised by FEMA.
According to a Washington Post story, millions of dollars in cleanup and recovery funds are hung up by bureaucratic delays and obstacles, which has forced the state and various counties to assume much of the costs so far and stretched budgets beyond their capabilities.
Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem, who oversees FEMA, has said that the review process and further scrutiny are needed to root out waste, fraud and abuse. In a statement to the Post, FEMA said that it’s prepared to support states with critical disaster needs, but that its Disaster Relief Fund “is not infinite.”
Coupled with President Bone Spurs’s remarks earlier this year about possibly shuttering FEMA, and states and local governments taking more responsibility for disaster recovery in the future, folks in North Carolina and elsewhere are a mite skittish about whether the Feds will pony up. Staff cuts to the Federal workforce, FEMA included, have further slowed and complicated the allocation process. Also, Noem, who I wouldn’t trust to oversee cleanup of a garage never mind a multi-billion-dollar disaster, has to sign off on any expenditure over $100,000, and such requests also now go through a DOGE vetting process.
The Post also reported that so far the Federal government has covered only 10 percent of the damage from Helene, compared to 70 percent of the damage caused by storms such as Katrina, Sandy and Maria.
All of which leans into an evolving notion of “You’re On Your Own.” It’s a curious addendum to the current regime’s campaign mantra of “America First.” If the wealthiest nation on the planet is going to slash foreign aid and pull back from alliances and concentrate on matters within, then what parts of America and which Americans come first? To be sure, there are indicators, many of which aren’t promising for those of limited means and influence. Depending on one’s level of discouragement, it might be enough to hop on one of Wilbur and Orville’s machines and take off for distant shores.
Next in our ongoing series celebrating Gheorghie progeny (KoGTB?), we give you an up and coming band of rockers from the land where Treehouse Brewing makes Julius and its numerous variations. Friends, I give you...The Public.
(The guitarist on the far right is Dooger's kid, Owen. These lads have a genre.)
I've been sitting on Hanshin Tigers news, not because I want to keep it secret but because I'm lazy.
The Tigers won the Central League pennant ... on or around September 9. This was the fastest anyone ever clinched the CL pennant in NPB history and a bye in the first round of the playoffs. There was a celebration.
More recently they swept the Central League playoffs, also known as the Climax Series. You probably thought that was a collection of VHS tapes hidden in the back of TR's closet. Climaxing successfully earned the Tigers a berth in the Japan Series which starts October 25. I'm sure that exactly zero of us will watch a minute of these games given the time zone differences but all we really need are the highlights.
I love the album format: it’s the perfect length for a listening session: 40 - 44 minutes.
It’s enough time for an artist to develop a theme, but the whole thing fits into the typical human attention span. I also like the idea of Side A and Side B and how producers and artists can curate the song order so there’s momentum at the beginning of each side of a record (or tape).
I almost exclusively listen to albums– I rarely put on a particular playlist or let that smooth-talking Spotify AI DJ control my audio experience. An album feels like a journey with an artist at a particular time and place; there's coherence and there's control.
Albums often have a definitive timbre– the murky, muddy sound of Exile on Main Street, the shimmering, fuzzy reverb-drenched wall of guitar on Loveless, the post-modern new-wave Americana of Damn the Torpedoes . . . I like enveloping myself in a particular tone and time, and I often get obsessed with a particular album for a month or so and listen to it daily.
Last year, I couldn’t stop listening to Pink Floyd’s Animals; this summer, I went through the Rush catalog and got obsessed with Fly By Night– which mainly sounds like AC/DC if they went prog-rock, with a couple of songs that are reminiscent of The Allman Brothers.
A weird Rush album.
Right now, I am mainly listening to Zamrock, specifically the W.I.T.C.H. album Lazy Bones!!
Highly recommended.
I am listening to Zamrock because of Zman. He introduced me to it on our road trip to Boston. And, moving forward, I am always listening to Zman . . . because of Zamrock!
Anyway, this is a long way of saying that I love Whitney’s creative mission to pare down double and triple albums into the regular LP format. Double albums are too long for one listening session– they are a commitment– and I often pass on listening to them and choose something shorter. Honestly, I often forget how many great songs are on double and triple albums because I rarely listen to them– aside from Exile on Main Street and Blood, Sugar, Sex, Magic (which is just barely a double album).
I guess the moral here is something I am not great at. Sometimes you have to “kill your darlings” in the name of expedience and practicality– and so people enjoy and listen to your masterpiece. As Hamlet says to his mom, sometimes you have to “be cruel to be kind."
It’s a ruthless endeavor, paring down some bloated behemoth of an album into something that is more in line with the human attention span, and while Whitney might cause some controversy with his song selections, I want to say very explicitly that I truly admire his vision and I am fully on board with this project.
He tackled George Harrison’s triple LP All Things Must Pass, and while he did a passable job paring down this extremely lengthy work, he left off my favorite song: “Beware of Darkness.”
Egregious.
You need the darkness to balance out the lightness! The yin, the yang, all that shit. If you’re going to have “My Sweet Lord” and “What is Life,” then you need a counterpoint to those songs. Mirth in funeral, dirge in marriage, equal scale delight and dole. All that.
No worries, though, I came up with an easy fix. I copied his playlist and added “Beware of Darkness.”
Good artists copy, great artists steal.
I also think the name of my playlist is much classier than his on-the-nose and rather clunky “All Things Must Pass as a Single LP.”
Not very catchy.
Here’s my (much improved) revision of his absolute travesty. With a much classier title.
I’ve talked the talk, and now I’m going to walk the walk.
You might be thinking: Dave’s an asshole, criticizing and stealing Whitney’s hard work, and then adding one song and claiming it as his own.
Or you might admire my moxy. You might be thinking: Dave’s a killer! Or perhaps you’re just thinking: Dave’s a mess! All of these are fair thoughts about Dave.
Obviously, to earn your respect back, I had to pare down a double album all by myself, without Whit's initial guidance. So I did just that. I took a crack at it, and now you can judge my artistic sensibility. I'm putting myself out there.
I wanted to do an album I love, but one I rarely listen to because of the length. I decided on Physical Graffiti.
I fucking love Led Zeppelin. Killer riffs, alternate tunings, mud shark mayhem, hotel room hijinks, wailing vocals, plenty of artistic theft, and the creation of a mystical dark subterranean musical universe that rivals no other band. Hammer of the Gods.
But my go-to album Zeppelin album is Houses of the Holy. I can’t explain how much I love entering the sun-drenched, swirling, and layered weirdness of that world. And it’s 41 minutes long. Physical Graffiti is double this. 82 minutes for those of you who are math-averse (and for those of you who are math-rock averse, do NOT listen to Tera Melos).
So I gave Physical Graffiti a couple of listens and made some hard decisions. This thing needs to be cut down to size.
Here we go . . .
Custard Pie – carnal with a killer riff. Got to have it.
The Rover – alternating between funky and epic. Fantastic.
In My Time of Dying – psychedelic slide guitar, fucking sweet. Houses of the Holy – catchy and wonderful. No brainer. Trampled Under Foot – Zep does Stevie Wonder, most excellently.
Kashmir — NOPE! YUCK! A boring, bloated faux-Middle Eastern dirge. Repetitive, obnoxious, ponderous. This thing is more appropriate in the film Spinal Tap than on a Zeppelin album. The lyrics are mystical bullshit, promising nirvana but delivering nothing. And I truly hate how Robert Plant delivers them. This song is right out, the tribe has spoken . . . Kashmir, you are fired, voted off the island. No soup for you. Take a seat on the bench, you did NOT make the starting line-up. Even THINKING about this song annoys me. This song should be put in a supermax prison and only allowed to interact with Jethro Tull's "Aqualung." I wish I could use the "Eternal Sunshine" brain eraser to erase the so-called "melody" of this song from my brain. Droning, obsequious, bombastic, turgid, insipid . . . there are no words. Fuck this song.
In the Light – this is how you do an epic 8-minute song. Builds up to something magnificent. It’s in the movie!
Bron-Yr-Aur – lovely and intricate acoustic instrumental piece evoking the cottage where many of the songs were recorded. Short and perfect.
Down by the Seaside – serene and then surprising, catchy and hazy, sounds like it belongs on Houses of the Holy. Enough said.
Ten Years Gone – love this melancholy darkness. Ten years man!
Night Flight – this song rocks. Rescued from the Zeppelin IV sessions. Meet me in the middle of the night. Killer.
The Wanton Song –sinister and ferocious guitar, inscrutable wailing lyrics, spot-on drum fills, this song crushes it.
Boogie with Stu – a bit of a goofy throwaway number, but because it lightens the mood after the fury and ferocity of “The Wanton Song” and also because it features The Rolling Stones' piano player Ian “Stu” Stewart, this song is both sonically necessary and symbolic of the time period and must remain in this spot.
Black Country Woman – a great reminder of what Zeppelin is all about, a transcendental, otherworldly rendering of the blues, this song seems to channel some ancient emotions . . . and only Robert Plant could pull this off, without sounding like he was culturally appropriating black culture. Impressive and authentic.
Sick Again – a perfect ending to this debauchery. A gritty, sleazy rock tune about teenage groupies that also turns reflective and a bit woeful.
Whew. This was NOT easy. But I managed to pare Physical Graffiti down from 82 minutes to 76 minutes. It was hard work, and I may not be cut out for this.
Good luck, Whit.
I’ll be offering encouragement . . . and plenty of criticism when you fuck up, as you continue on your mission for the rock gods.
I was dicking around on the Bluesky last night while the Blue Jays were going all Hitchcock on the Mariners and stumbled upon one of the frequent post-bait questions one sees on socials. A user named Liz Ryerson said, "a poll idea that just popped into my head: since we've collectively been doing 90's nostalgia for awhile as a culture, what's your secret/stealth best 90's album? not something necessarily widely super critically beloved but is nonetheless great and defining for you?"
To which I responded with Sugar's "Copper Blue" and posted this video:
Woke up this morning and made breakfast - my standard fare: plain Greek yogurt with berries, granola, and honey, cup of coffee, glass of water. Checked in on Bluesky again to find that a user named nooneofcons.bsky.social had replied to my post with this:
I clicked through the link to learn that a) Sugar has reunited, b) they're planning to tour, and c) they've released a new single entitled "House of Dead Memories":
Did I...post that into existence? What an exciting turn of events!
I tried to get AI to superimpose the Teej's face on the model's below, but it wouldn't let me. So score one for our AI overlords. Kneel before Zod, or something.
Might as well start with a doozy, right? 2 hours. 3 LP's. Whew.
Backstory: George, known as the quiet Beatle, or if you watched the Get Back documentary, the super whiny one that Paul pushed around, had a treasure trove full of tunes by the time the Beatles busted up in the year of our tiny dictator’s birth (Anno Dictato 1970).
And… he put them all . . . all . . . all on this record! All of them! Include some Sides E and F sludge. Man.
George was in a truly spiritual frame of mind in the late 60’s. He was hanging with Norah Jones’ dad and meditating and taking some acid and most relevantly, incorporating a sitar and other Indian classical instruments into rock and roll. It wasn't just the sound of it, though. He was imbued with religion and Hare Krishna and peace on earth.
The lyrics of All Things Must Pass are mostly about: God, loving God, praying, and really loving God. You hear a song and start to think it’s an ode to a gal, and ah yeah, it’s instead a paean to a god. Which is obviously perfectly fine. There just isn’t a ton of complex lyrical content. All Things Must Pass is really about one thing. Dear lord.
When you’re a Beatle (you’re a Beatle all the way?), you have lots of things:
Talent.
Money.
Fame.
Wives.
Gold records.
Access to famous recording studios and producers.
But also really gifted friends. Ones who will oblige you and play on your records. This album is star-studded, to include:
his future wife-swipin' buddy Eric Clapton
5th Beatle Billy Preston
4th Beatle Ringo Starr
Gary Wright ("Dream Weaver," "Love Is Alive")
Klaus Voormann, German bassman extraordinaire
Jim Gordon, stud drummer til he lost his fucking shit
Peter Frampton, age 20
Pete Drake, pedal steel (played on "Lay Lady Lay," "Stand By Your Man" so many more)
Badfinger dudes
Bobby Keys, super sax man on Exile and 100 others
Hell, it goes on, see here -- to the point where Dave Mason said he doesn't know what tracks he's on because "there were so many people in the studio." So they all got together in London town and pumped out a plethora of rock music.
My story: I never really listened to this album before this year. Everyone knows “My Sweet Lord,” and a few of you know about the landmark lawsuit that the Chiffons’ levied at George for ripping off their hit “He’s So Fine.” Score 1 for ABKCO, later seen destroying The Verve.
Other tracks you know from this solo debut include the title track and especially the stellar “What Is Life" -- my favorite all-time George-solo tune and one immortalized in Goodfellas.
I am mostly a post-Beatles fan of Paul and Wings, even with some of his slight fare and silly love songs (actually love that one). Over the last couple of years, I have honed in on Lennon's work before and after his "Long Weekend" and Hollywood Vampires stint and A Toot and a Snore in '74 sagas -- a chapter of Whitneypedia worth mining another time.
And Ringo is just Ringo, god bless 'im. You can hear everything worthy he's done since 1970 in 14 good minutes. ("Photograph" is outstanding, albeit footnoted with Harrison's co-write.)
George? I never gave him the time. Even though his name is G(h)eorg(h)e. I know.
Until this project. And I'm glad I dug in. Here we go, with a newly re-arranged and massively truncated album that rivals any Après-Beatle offering.
George Harrison, All Things Must Pass as a Single LP
Side A (22:12)
1. What Is Life
This song just seems like a killer album opener to me. And so it is now.
2. I Live for You
I follow it up with… an outtake? Yep, good shit. Pete Drake pedal steel. Get some.
3. My Sweet Lord
At #3, we go with the big hit. Hare Hare Krishna Krishna, the thing about the Lord, he’s so fine.
4. Ballad of Sir Frankie Crisp (Let It Roll)
My favorite discovery on this little journey! Frank Crisp, a “microscopist,” and the original owner of Harrison’s London home. Now that is lyrical fun! Love this tune. Let it roll, indeed.
5. Run of the Mill
Now this one really deviates from the peace and love! A nifty little tune with some brass, it sounds pretty Beatles-y. Maybe because it was written when the Fab Four were breaking up; it’s a major slap squarely at Paul. Love it. You go, George.
6. Awaiting on You All
Okay, let’s hustle back to the pew. A rocking little number. Lyrics remind me of our pal Hightower’s ex-gal Allison, who’d joined a cult and shaved her head in the late 1990’s. He went to see her and was catching up, and he told her he was a schoolteacher. She replied curtly, “Okay, but wouldn’t it be better if you were teaching people to chant to God?”
Side B (20:19)
1. Isn't It a Pity (Version 1)
A lovely song. A long song. A Phil Spector-long song. It’s 7:11. You know, like they were recording so long, so late at night, they had to go get Twinkies and burritos and Cokes and then made the song that runtime. Ringo, Billy Preston, Gary Wright. Version 2 is shorter and has Clapton. Eh, I like this one.
2. If Not for You
A cover of a Dylan tune. Is it a cover if it’s by your friend and he only released it one month prior? I don’t know. I like George’s version way better. A toe tapper, and his slide sounds great. Listen for a young Peter Frampton on acoustic guitar. (If you can.)
3. Hear Me Lord
Really enjoy this one. This is a beautiful spiritual with killer keys (piano, keyboard, and amazing organ) and some electric licks from E.C. A great cut.
4. All Things Must Pass
Closing it out with the title track. I wish I loved this song more than I do, but it’s integral to the album and a good message for today.
Wow. What a tight little banger. Wait, what? Seriously, though, it's too bad Sir Martin, a gheorghe in his own right, didn't stop by Abbey Road Studios in the summer of '70 and hack away at the scraps to make this sharp piece of British steel. 42 minutes and 31 seconds lean.
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