Thanks to the article mentioned in my previous post, I have a new favorite band of the hour.
The Hold Steady.
Their website.
Their myspace blog.
The writer of the article described them as "blink-182 covering Springsteen while thinking of Joe Strummer." I'm not sure I hear much blink-182 in there, but there is a hint of Social Distortion. It's really fantastic stuff.
Happy summer to all. And always keep your ears open for the good, new stuff. It's college radio, clubs, and the internet for me. I gave up on mainstream radio a long, long time ago. And I haven't looked back.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Tom Waits Is Good For Jogging
Jed Gottlieb, music writer for San Diego CityBEAT, writes on his picks for the perfect (and not so perfect) collection of summertime songs for your iPod. And yes, he is joking when he tells friends that "Tom Waits is good for jogging."
Here's the article.
Here's the article.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
My Philosophers All Have Guitars
I am fighting my way through A History of Western Philosophy by Bertrand Russell, all 895 pages of it. It actually reads a bit easier than I had expected. On more than one occasion, I have picked up something by Nietzsche or Plato, only to find that I couldn't begin to make sense of much of anything I was reading and then choose to abandon it.
Russell, however, writes in a way that is much easier for me to comprehend. It's still a bit over my head, but the ride is quite enjoyable nonetheless. The thing is that I'm not sure I'm ready for it. I may have to thumb through it a bit now and really try to give it a better shot at a later date. The philosophers who move me and whose words resonate with me most aren't in this book. I don't read their words and feel as if I am studying for a test. They are today's singers. They are on your iPod or are found on myspace.com. Or if you are lucky, you can find their CDs at Phonoluxe or some other used CD store.
I come home from my workdays and my great reward is sitting down at my computer and listening to singer-songwriters doing their thing. They ask the same questions that a lot of the great philosophers seem to ask. And I hang on every word. Why are we here? Are we truly responsible for our actions? Who knows us better than we know ourselves?
My poets and philosophers are relative unknowns like Geoff Baker, Peter Himmelman, and Michael McDermott. They are contemplative and they are so good at communicating their ponderings. I listen to them and I don't feel like a corporate drone. I feel like matter trying hard to matter. I struggle to look past the Coke and Nike commercials that permeate our world, close my ears to the noise, and try to catch a glimpse of my purpose in life.
Peter Himmelman sings, "the most precious things are always in disguise." And I think of my current state of mind:
I am guilty of letting myself get overwhelmed by my overwhelming ability to work a lot of hours each week for a surprisingly low amount of money. This does nothing to help the financial strength of my family. For whatever reason, I am a seemingly intelligent man stuck in the apparent safety of an entry-level position. (Anyone want to help me put my resume together?) With a mortgage to pay and moving expenses upcoming, with gas prices high and savings account low, and with 30 miles between work and home in an old car each day and night, I worry all of the time of financial collapse. I worry about who I am to my family and how I rate as a provider. Sometimes the weight of my worry is all that I can feel.
But this morning, I took thirty minutes to lay on my bed and listen to Geoff Baker on my bathroom CD player before leaving for work. My wife came in to lie down next to me and rub my back while my mind was a million miles away, taking in the songs and thinking about life. Then my two year old ascended the stairs and announced himself in our doorway with a smile and a big "Hi guys!" He entered the room and played with a focus on nothing but happiness. And for the next fifteen minutes or so, I was at peace. If my question was, "what is contentment?," then this was my answer. Paradise found. And Geoff Baker sang "How I Remember You Now."
Russell, however, writes in a way that is much easier for me to comprehend. It's still a bit over my head, but the ride is quite enjoyable nonetheless. The thing is that I'm not sure I'm ready for it. I may have to thumb through it a bit now and really try to give it a better shot at a later date. The philosophers who move me and whose words resonate with me most aren't in this book. I don't read their words and feel as if I am studying for a test. They are today's singers. They are on your iPod or are found on myspace.com. Or if you are lucky, you can find their CDs at Phonoluxe or some other used CD store.
I come home from my workdays and my great reward is sitting down at my computer and listening to singer-songwriters doing their thing. They ask the same questions that a lot of the great philosophers seem to ask. And I hang on every word. Why are we here? Are we truly responsible for our actions? Who knows us better than we know ourselves?
My poets and philosophers are relative unknowns like Geoff Baker, Peter Himmelman, and Michael McDermott. They are contemplative and they are so good at communicating their ponderings. I listen to them and I don't feel like a corporate drone. I feel like matter trying hard to matter. I struggle to look past the Coke and Nike commercials that permeate our world, close my ears to the noise, and try to catch a glimpse of my purpose in life.
Peter Himmelman sings, "the most precious things are always in disguise." And I think of my current state of mind:
I am guilty of letting myself get overwhelmed by my overwhelming ability to work a lot of hours each week for a surprisingly low amount of money. This does nothing to help the financial strength of my family. For whatever reason, I am a seemingly intelligent man stuck in the apparent safety of an entry-level position. (Anyone want to help me put my resume together?) With a mortgage to pay and moving expenses upcoming, with gas prices high and savings account low, and with 30 miles between work and home in an old car each day and night, I worry all of the time of financial collapse. I worry about who I am to my family and how I rate as a provider. Sometimes the weight of my worry is all that I can feel.
But this morning, I took thirty minutes to lay on my bed and listen to Geoff Baker on my bathroom CD player before leaving for work. My wife came in to lie down next to me and rub my back while my mind was a million miles away, taking in the songs and thinking about life. Then my two year old ascended the stairs and announced himself in our doorway with a smile and a big "Hi guys!" He entered the room and played with a focus on nothing but happiness. And for the next fifteen minutes or so, I was at peace. If my question was, "what is contentment?," then this was my answer. Paradise found. And Geoff Baker sang "How I Remember You Now."
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Q: What's The Definition Of Perfect Pitch?
A: When you toss a banjo into a dumpster and it doesn't hit the sides.
Bobby loved banjo jokes. Bobby loved all jokes. He could have an intimidating disposition (I honestly never really got entirely used to it), but tell him a good joke and he would prove the meaning of infectious laughter. Behind his tough grey beard was a lot of silliness and playfulness. I heard a lot of anecdotes of pranks pulled while sitting at the dinner table with him as I was growing up. Those anecdotes are not for me to tell here, by the way. They are not my stories. But I can't wait for some Nashville session musician to write a book about the wild goings-on during the days when Bobby Thompson, my stepdad, kicked around this town as one of the greatest banjo players ever to hit the scene.
I only saw him in the studio once. I was a teen with zero love for country music, but went along anyway probably preferring to stay home and listen to Dokken instead. I sat politely in the small room with the mixing board along with five or six other people and watched as the producer and engineer worked their magic with all of those buttons and knobs. For a young music fan, this quickly became a very fascinating place to be. They worked so fast that it all just seemed like random manipulations, but of course they knew that board so well that what they were doing was in fact purposely precise professionalism. (Alliteration unintended.)
Although I cared not at all for country music, I soon heard music that blew my young ears away. These players on the other side of the glass were out of this world as they took to their instruments. It was that night that I first heard a steel guitar as it should always be heard. I heard a man play electric guitar up close and personal that was every bit as rocking as anything I was hearing on Headbangers' Ball on MTV those days. And I heard Bobby make music with his banjo that even made the seasoned pros hush up and focus on him as if they knew just how special it was to be able to be so close to such a unimaginably stellar artist. When Bobby played and we got to watch and listen to him from such close proximity, it more than made up for all of the other great moments in music history that we had missed for one reason or another. Of course, some of the guys just knew to pay attention because if Bobby made a mistake, he'd be sure to do some pretty good cussin'. And no one wants to miss out on that.
Watching Bobby and his fellow session players that night didn't make me a country music fan. The wonderful stuff I heard pretty much got edited down to the same old 3:05 of your basic radio friendly crud. But I did feel my respect for him swell just a bit. I already respected him for basic reasons of politeness, but watching him work took that to a much more genuine level. As the years passed, he taught my brother, Matt, how to play the guitar, and I know that Matt couldn't have had a better teacher. He's a fantastic player and a wonderful person. And he's got Bobby to thank for a lot of that.
Bobby Thompson died about a year ago from complications due to multiple sclerosis. He fought it for almost half of my entire life. I watched he and my mom fight that disease so hard...so hard and so long. I am struggling now to put together a sentence that explains what they went through, but that just is not possible. Quite simply, I am humbled. As much pain as they faced as a couple dealing with his MS, it was met with equal amounts of love. It was a lot of pain and it was a lot of love. Still is, of course.
I am grateful to have known him as well as I did. He and my mom loved each other so much. Of course, she still hurts missing him. And so do the rest of Bobby's friends and family members. He was a pretty special guy. I miss him, too.
Bobby's CD: Thompson Picks
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
The Weight Of It All
Those who are close to me know that the family and I are packing up and leaving Murfreesboro for pastures just east of Nashville. This is because we are tired of spending so much time in our cars (and so much gas) going to our respective workplaces.
The short of it is that this has not been a smooth time. We put our house on the market but never really looked hard at new places to live until someone finally put an offer on ours. Our realtor told us that this is how most people do this and not to get nervous about accepting an offer before putting an offer down on another home ourselves. So we accepted the offer and Paige looked after school in her area for places we might be interested in. There weren't very many in the Mt. Juliet area in our price range and size needs and with time marching on, we expanded our search. We found a couple and ultimately put an offer on one. But the owners counter offered and in the end, it just wasn't meant to be. With homelessness approaching, and the window of time closing for what is needed to buy a house at all, we felt the enormous pressure and decided to go the apartment route and look for houses again in a few months.
A couple of days ago, after a few dead ends, Paige found a nice apartment complex a few miles between our workplaces. We would both drive fewer than ten miles to work each day as opposed to the thirty that we had been doing from Murfreesboro all this time. Now, the only stresses left for us were just basic moving expenses and the actual heavy lifting associated with it all.
And then today happened. Turns out that the people who are buying our house had the sale of their house fall through. And now the soonest that they might be able to move in here would be July 1st, not June 1st. And this after we had just giving the apartment people $150 of non-refundable money. This after so much stress and time and tears and relief. Back to stress, time and tears, relief will be put off until a later time.
Now the house is back on the market and I hope someone offers more money than the current offer. We'd be allowed to take the higher offer and maybe finally see a positive to this whole thing. So I guess we're back to looking for a house to settle into by July 1st or an apartment by the same date if we don't find one in time. And I'm back to 8 a.m. showings where I have to act as a fugitive from my own home on six hours sleep. But maybe it's for the best. I pray that it is.
The short of it is that this has not been a smooth time. We put our house on the market but never really looked hard at new places to live until someone finally put an offer on ours. Our realtor told us that this is how most people do this and not to get nervous about accepting an offer before putting an offer down on another home ourselves. So we accepted the offer and Paige looked after school in her area for places we might be interested in. There weren't very many in the Mt. Juliet area in our price range and size needs and with time marching on, we expanded our search. We found a couple and ultimately put an offer on one. But the owners counter offered and in the end, it just wasn't meant to be. With homelessness approaching, and the window of time closing for what is needed to buy a house at all, we felt the enormous pressure and decided to go the apartment route and look for houses again in a few months.
A couple of days ago, after a few dead ends, Paige found a nice apartment complex a few miles between our workplaces. We would both drive fewer than ten miles to work each day as opposed to the thirty that we had been doing from Murfreesboro all this time. Now, the only stresses left for us were just basic moving expenses and the actual heavy lifting associated with it all.
And then today happened. Turns out that the people who are buying our house had the sale of their house fall through. And now the soonest that they might be able to move in here would be July 1st, not June 1st. And this after we had just giving the apartment people $150 of non-refundable money. This after so much stress and time and tears and relief. Back to stress, time and tears, relief will be put off until a later time.
Now the house is back on the market and I hope someone offers more money than the current offer. We'd be allowed to take the higher offer and maybe finally see a positive to this whole thing. So I guess we're back to looking for a house to settle into by July 1st or an apartment by the same date if we don't find one in time. And I'm back to 8 a.m. showings where I have to act as a fugitive from my own home on six hours sleep. But maybe it's for the best. I pray that it is.
Karl Wallinger Knows The Future
- The clocks will all run backwards
- All the sheep will have two heads
- And Thursday night and Friday will be on Tuesday night instead
That song was released back in 1990. And the last line tells me that Karl Wallinger knew that TiVo was coming.
Monday, May 22, 2006
World Party, A Few Continents Shy
Last night's World Party show was met with such anticipation. I had seen them previously on two occasions one night in 1991 and still rank that night as one of my top ten musical experiences ever. And now, 15 years later, Karl Wallinger and gang finally played again in Music City. Mr. Wallinger has certainly weathered some bad stuff over the years. He suffered a life threatening aneurysm, he split from his record label, some bandmates and his former record manager secretly re-recorded one of his songs with Robbie Williams (a fact that he seems a bit bitter about except for the bit about the huge success of it and the royalties that certainly came his way as a result), and his own personal manager and mentor, Steve Fargnoli, died of cancer.
But here he was, on the stage at The Mercy Lounge, doing what he does. This time a bit stripped down. As the title mentions, he introduced his World Party as being a few continents shy. No bass. No drums. Just he and his guitar, one man playing electric guitar, and a third playing fiddle and mandolin. Having heard how full his songs are with full band, I was a bit disappointed about this, but quickly forgot all about that after the band got going. Each song sounded fantastic.
The show was not sold out like I had assumed it would be, but it was a good crowd nonetheless. I saw an old friend from my record store days. I looked around and really missed being among crowds like this most nights. Everyone around me seemed to live and breathe music. And I felt that youthful energy in me that I too often forget about. The Mercy Lounge really is my Fountain of Youth.
I got there early to watch the crowd build. I sat on the deck and saw Karl and his bandmates standing in front of their bus taking pictures of each other with the club in the background. I listened to the music playing over the sound system as the venue got less and less empty. The bartenders were about as friendly as any bartenders in Nashville. At some clubs, you almost expect (and maybe appreciate) the sullen "I'm too cool for you" vibe that you get from some servers. But here, I always melt a bit when the bartenders give me that very friendly and genuine smile while hearing what I'll have. And I am always more than happy to tip accordingly. I don't know their names, but they are as cool and kind as they are beautiful. And they are quite beautiful.
But back to the show. As soon as World Party took to the stage, I abandoned my barstool and made my way to the front of the stage. For the next hour and a half, I stood and took the music in. How my emotions are affected by this wonderful mix of words and chords, I'll always be thankful. I noticed one woman sitting in a chair that she had pulled up to the very closest spot to the stage and she just looked up and smiled and hung on Karl's every verse. Maybe it was her short, dark hair or something else, but as I watched her in her musical bliss, I thought of how my mom would be just like that at any given concert watching someone she loves. And just like that, here I was at a World Party concert, thinking of how much I love my mom. That was not a revelation, mind you. Of course I love my mom; I just didn't expect to be thinking about that while at a club show.
Toward the end of the show, I also noticed a young couple embracing. It was a nice moment. But on a more studied glance, I saw that the girl was crying just a little bit. I caught her glance and gave her a polite smile which she returned. I turned my head back to the stage, feeling like I had glimpsed too private a moment already. But I glanced again and saw that her man was wiping his eyes under his glasses, too. They were certainly dealing with something and I wish them well. I saw a lot of love in that public but tearful embrace. "Love Street" was the song and I think I will forever think of them when I hear that song again.
Speaking of hugs, I received one as well. (What a night, right?) Facing the stage, soaking it all in, all of a sudden a man makes his way forward from behind and seems to be hugging everyone he passes on the way. Certainly, I am caught off guard as he puts one arm around me while walking by. I look to my right to meet his eyes and he squeezes my left shoulder a bit, gives me a smile, and makes his way forward doing the same thing to each person he passes. The vibe here is so much about peace and love that no one seems to mind. All, including me, smile back and finally he gets to the front to meet his buddies. Observing them for a bit, it is apparent that the three of them are quite drunk. At least he's not a mean drunk. I'll accept an innocent hug any day.
All of the songs were well received. Everyone here is a fan and everyone is happy that Karl Wallinger has brought his World Party to Nashville. We all do our little sways to the music and pay attention to the words and politely clap as each song comes to an end. What I wasn't ready for was how much every person really took their excitement to another level when we heard "Is It Too Late?" near the end of the concert. We are not people who just buy singles. We buy albums and listen to them all the way through. And when I think of World Party, I don't think of any one song that really defines them. So it was funny and strange to me to really feel that elevated energy level for any one song in particular. But this was the song where several people started singing along and the swaying back and forth was much more bold and intense. I wonder if it's like that at all of his shows and I wonder how much the band members feel the rise in energy when they play it. It's got to be awesome for them if so.
So thanks to the band for what they did for me last night. And thanks to The Mercy Lounge for its part in another of my great musical memories.
Here's the link to the account of the first time I saw World Party (twice in one night!) back in 1991.
But here he was, on the stage at The Mercy Lounge, doing what he does. This time a bit stripped down. As the title mentions, he introduced his World Party as being a few continents shy. No bass. No drums. Just he and his guitar, one man playing electric guitar, and a third playing fiddle and mandolin. Having heard how full his songs are with full band, I was a bit disappointed about this, but quickly forgot all about that after the band got going. Each song sounded fantastic.
The show was not sold out like I had assumed it would be, but it was a good crowd nonetheless. I saw an old friend from my record store days. I looked around and really missed being among crowds like this most nights. Everyone around me seemed to live and breathe music. And I felt that youthful energy in me that I too often forget about. The Mercy Lounge really is my Fountain of Youth.
I got there early to watch the crowd build. I sat on the deck and saw Karl and his bandmates standing in front of their bus taking pictures of each other with the club in the background. I listened to the music playing over the sound system as the venue got less and less empty. The bartenders were about as friendly as any bartenders in Nashville. At some clubs, you almost expect (and maybe appreciate) the sullen "I'm too cool for you" vibe that you get from some servers. But here, I always melt a bit when the bartenders give me that very friendly and genuine smile while hearing what I'll have. And I am always more than happy to tip accordingly. I don't know their names, but they are as cool and kind as they are beautiful. And they are quite beautiful.
But back to the show. As soon as World Party took to the stage, I abandoned my barstool and made my way to the front of the stage. For the next hour and a half, I stood and took the music in. How my emotions are affected by this wonderful mix of words and chords, I'll always be thankful. I noticed one woman sitting in a chair that she had pulled up to the very closest spot to the stage and she just looked up and smiled and hung on Karl's every verse. Maybe it was her short, dark hair or something else, but as I watched her in her musical bliss, I thought of how my mom would be just like that at any given concert watching someone she loves. And just like that, here I was at a World Party concert, thinking of how much I love my mom. That was not a revelation, mind you. Of course I love my mom; I just didn't expect to be thinking about that while at a club show.
Toward the end of the show, I also noticed a young couple embracing. It was a nice moment. But on a more studied glance, I saw that the girl was crying just a little bit. I caught her glance and gave her a polite smile which she returned. I turned my head back to the stage, feeling like I had glimpsed too private a moment already. But I glanced again and saw that her man was wiping his eyes under his glasses, too. They were certainly dealing with something and I wish them well. I saw a lot of love in that public but tearful embrace. "Love Street" was the song and I think I will forever think of them when I hear that song again.
Speaking of hugs, I received one as well. (What a night, right?) Facing the stage, soaking it all in, all of a sudden a man makes his way forward from behind and seems to be hugging everyone he passes on the way. Certainly, I am caught off guard as he puts one arm around me while walking by. I look to my right to meet his eyes and he squeezes my left shoulder a bit, gives me a smile, and makes his way forward doing the same thing to each person he passes. The vibe here is so much about peace and love that no one seems to mind. All, including me, smile back and finally he gets to the front to meet his buddies. Observing them for a bit, it is apparent that the three of them are quite drunk. At least he's not a mean drunk. I'll accept an innocent hug any day.
All of the songs were well received. Everyone here is a fan and everyone is happy that Karl Wallinger has brought his World Party to Nashville. We all do our little sways to the music and pay attention to the words and politely clap as each song comes to an end. What I wasn't ready for was how much every person really took their excitement to another level when we heard "Is It Too Late?" near the end of the concert. We are not people who just buy singles. We buy albums and listen to them all the way through. And when I think of World Party, I don't think of any one song that really defines them. So it was funny and strange to me to really feel that elevated energy level for any one song in particular. But this was the song where several people started singing along and the swaying back and forth was much more bold and intense. I wonder if it's like that at all of his shows and I wonder how much the band members feel the rise in energy when they play it. It's got to be awesome for them if so.
So thanks to the band for what they did for me last night. And thanks to The Mercy Lounge for its part in another of my great musical memories.
Here's the link to the account of the first time I saw World Party (twice in one night!) back in 1991.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
World Party Soothes My Heart
I'm listening to their latest right now, and I will hear them perform tonight at The Mercy Lounge.
Life is beautiful with music like this around.
Life is beautiful with music like this around.
Saturday, May 20, 2006
Curing What Ails Me
I'm a bit under the weather this morning. And so I do what always works so well for curing my illness. I walk downstairs, find my laptop, and listen to The Waterboys. Specifically, I play Room To Roam, their 1990 release. Mike Scott and his band of wayfarers sound so good, reminding us how good an Irish band can sound, bringing back the beauty of the mandolin, infused into the perfect mix of true folk and youthful rock n' roll energy. I'm feeling better already.
Rhapsody music writer Chad Driscoll describes them much better:
Restless as the seafaring nomads whose chanties and airs they borrowed from, the Waterboys called no one style of music their own, but roamed the oceans and passage of time for sources of inspiration. Mike Scott and his ragtag troupe of aging folkies, pub buskers, and salty punks crafted with an artisan's care scrappy Folk-Rock that resonated with romantic, vaguely new age themes. Fisherman's Blues (1988) -- containing interpretations of Van Morrison, the Beatles, and W.B. Yeats -- captures them at their most adventurous. On the title track, Scott's tearful whelps and scotch-scorched vocals reach a fevered emotional pitch that infects the entire album. At a time when rock 'n' roll had brought to the brink of extinction instruments like the mandolin, bouzouki, and accordion, the Waterboys repopulated music with them, giving their songs a timeless quality. The results were never less than majestic.
Here's to great music, influential friends, and feeling better as the day goes on.
Rhapsody music writer Chad Driscoll describes them much better:
Restless as the seafaring nomads whose chanties and airs they borrowed from, the Waterboys called no one style of music their own, but roamed the oceans and passage of time for sources of inspiration. Mike Scott and his ragtag troupe of aging folkies, pub buskers, and salty punks crafted with an artisan's care scrappy Folk-Rock that resonated with romantic, vaguely new age themes. Fisherman's Blues (1988) -- containing interpretations of Van Morrison, the Beatles, and W.B. Yeats -- captures them at their most adventurous. On the title track, Scott's tearful whelps and scotch-scorched vocals reach a fevered emotional pitch that infects the entire album. At a time when rock 'n' roll had brought to the brink of extinction instruments like the mandolin, bouzouki, and accordion, the Waterboys repopulated music with them, giving their songs a timeless quality. The results were never less than majestic.
- Chad Driscoll
Incidentally, ex-Waterboy Karl Wallinger brings his World Party to Nashville's Mercy Lounge this Sunday night. I'm feeling like it's the early '90s all over again. Old friend and fellow record store employee Kirk Anderson turned me onto the beautiful sounds of The Waterboys back in '91. We would hang out at his apartment after work and listen to so much music each night. A few beers and so much music. Because of him, I know The Waterboys and World Party. I know Luka Bloom and Billy Bragg from listening to their tapes and CDs on his stereo. I haven't seen him in years but I think of him every time I hear these artists and bands.Here's to great music, influential friends, and feeling better as the day goes on.
Friday, May 19, 2006
After All, Coke Is The Real Thing
I don't think of myself as very needy in regards to carbonated beverages. I have my share of pop throughout the day but I drink just as much water as anything else.
But today I am home with the kids while my wife is at work. In her car are the two car seats, so I feel essentially under house arrest. We are out of Cokes. We always have water, but right now I want a Coke. How badly? Well, if the kids and I go for a walk and a neighbor happens to have a canned Coke sitting in an open window sill? I'm taking it.
(OK, I'd leave a dollar in the window, but still. I would not be asking if I could buy it. I would be taking it and drinking it right there. I might be addicted.)
But today I am home with the kids while my wife is at work. In her car are the two car seats, so I feel essentially under house arrest. We are out of Cokes. We always have water, but right now I want a Coke. How badly? Well, if the kids and I go for a walk and a neighbor happens to have a canned Coke sitting in an open window sill? I'm taking it.
(OK, I'd leave a dollar in the window, but still. I would not be asking if I could buy it. I would be taking it and drinking it right there. I might be addicted.)
Closing Time
Important eateries that have served me well and have since departed:
- Dipper Dan's Ice Cream Parlour
- The Campus Grill
- a diner in Melrose whose name I cannot recall
Sudan Crisis On Fresh Air
Listen to this very important conversation about what's going on in Sudan. I heard bits and pieces of it while I was working yesterday and rightly moved by how badly people are being treated on a daily basis in this troubled but hopeful world.
Clyde Kennard, Exonerated
On May 4, 2006, I wrote about Clyde Kennard. I had read about his wrongful conviction and how he died imprisoned three years into his seven year sentence.
Then, on May 16, 2006, I read uplifting news. In short:
Then, on May 16, 2006, I read uplifting news. In short:
On Wednesday, May 16, 2006, Judge Robert Helfrich agreed with a motion brought by a legal team led by former Mississippi Governor William Winter, former Federal Judge Charles W. Pickering, and former Mississippi Chief Justice Reuben Anderson, and overturned Kennard's conviction, declared him innocent, and expunged the record of his arrest. The honest and fair District Attorney, Mr. Weathers, truly represented the people of Mississippi by agreeing to the motion and also stating his firm belief in Clyde Kennard's innocence.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Phil Collins, Always Topical
All this talk of immigration and illegal aliens. I don't pretend to have the answers. I only know that every time the subject comes up lately, I just hear this song in my head.
Let's go back to 1983 and hear Genesis sing "Illegal Alien" together.
Let's go back to 1983 and hear Genesis sing "Illegal Alien" together.
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