I've recently been watching the final three seasons of The Sopranos just to remind myself how good the show was and how exactly the series ended. And to end the debate, Tony dies at the end of the series. End of discussion.
This song is playing when Michael drives off the road in Season Six, Part 2, leading to his death at Tony's hands. It is Mr. Morrison covering Pink Floyd's classic.
Talk to a football fan of a certain age and they'll tell you that the greatest running back they ever saw was Earl Campbell.
He combined overwhelming power with speed and deceptive grace. Here is a play that sums up Campbell: the speed to get to the outside and the power to send the defender flying. His running style, which required a posse to bring him down, took its toll and he only had six good years in him (78-83).
My father's generation speaks of Campbell in the same reverent tones that my generation speaks of Bo Jackson. Both may have been the greatest running backs to ever carry the ball. But each brings forth feelings of sadness. Fans are always tantalized at the prospect of how good Jackson could have been if he had not suffered the hip injury against the Bengals. And Campbell brings up sadness for having to see him realize his potential, but play beyond that point. No one wants to remember him struggling for the Saints. There was no slowdown. Campbell went from Hall of Fame running back to mediocre has-been seemingly over night.
And the savagery takes a toll. Steve Young, Troy Aikman, Al Toon --all forced from the game by repeated, malicious head injuries. Nor should we stop with the brain. Look at Johnny Unitas, with his chronic limp and his ruined right arm. Johnny Unitas' body was broken for your pleasure.
It's the flip side of being a famous athlete. For all of the adulation that comes with being Earl Campbell or Brett Favre or Dick Butkus, there is the enormous physical toll. Just as the cheers stop, the physical pain begins. It is the Faustian bargain that they make. But it cannot be denied. Their body was broken for your pleasure.
"Rob, top five musical crimes perpetuated by Stevie Wonder in the '80s and '90s. Go. Sub-question: is it in fact unfair to criticize a formerly great artist for his latter day sins...is it better to burn out or fade away?"
Because I only dabble in music, I am woefully behind the times. I am sure that I am going to talk about albums and music and issues that the real music blogosphere probably hashed out long ago. My options are to shut up and let it be or I can talk about it anyways. I pick Option 2, because Option 1 would mean that I have virtually nothing to contribute to the blog except Muppets videos.
At what point does an artist get critical leeway to do vanity projects? Much like Potter Stewart and hardcore porn, it is hard to define a vanity project, but you will know it when you see it. When Springsteen did the Seeger sessions, it was Exhibit A of what a vanity project is. Bruce Springsteen singing folk songs sounds like a bad SNL skit. Springsteen's voice is clearly geared toward the classic rock that made him famous -- he has no more of the twangy acoustic voice that good folk requires than he has the ability to flap his arms and fly to the moon.
But somewhere a long the way, Springsteen earned the right to record an album with one of his idols, Pete Seeger. Again, to harken back to the pornography comparison, I don't know where/when Springsteen crossed that line where he gets that free pass, but he did. (The fact that most of the music on the Seeger sessions is almost painful to listen to didn't keep it from getting critical acclaim, but that is a story for a different post).
It isn't hard to see why artists do vanity projects. When you get to the point that you are so famous that you can meet anyone you want and you can do anything you want without having to worry if you will be forced to fire your butler, it is appealing to do things that you have always wanted to do. Bonus points if you get to hang out with your heroes while doing it.
As an aside, there is nothing wrong with a vanity project that makes legitimately good music. Even if Ray Charles hadn't earned the right long ago, his Genius Loves Company album would be exempt because it was one of the best CDs in years. The Seeger Sessions, by comparison, was not good music, but Springsteen earned the right to explore those kinds of projects.
But where is that line that makes it acceptable for an artist to do a vanity project and get a free pass? I am generally not comfortable with gut instinct tests -- indeed, many young American men and women are patrolling Baghdad right now because of a gut instinct test -- so I like some test or method of determining something. It doesn't need to be a precise mathematical formula, just a list of factors. But if you started listing artists and asking if they had earned the right to do a vanity project and get that "you earned the right to do what you want seal of approval," I would only go with my gut. Elton John? Sure, he's paid his dues. Gnarls Barkley? Uh, no. Lets work on getting a second album out. Eminem? Ehhhhh.....God, that would be a tough one.
It's hard to even think of what factors would be used in this test. I can pretty much concede that if you have been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, you can probably get a free pass to do vanity projects -- you've done your time, you've proven yourself. I wish I could end this post with a flourish, where I wittily answer the questions I have posed. But I've got nothing. I'm thinking out loud more than anything else and if anyone can rescue me from the recesses of my mind -- a very scary place to be -- I would forever in your debt, I Dream of Jeannie-style.
After reading CS's post on Van Morrison, here is some more tidbits about Van Morrison:
1. His biggest hit ever "Brown Eyed Girl" was originally titled "Brown Skinned Girl"...think about that next time you are listening to the oldies station...
2. This one is directed to CS directly...check out any of the albums relating to "The Bang Sessions"...be it this one, this one, or this one...it is a combination of his best songs ["Brown Eyed Girl" and "T.B. Sheets" come from these sessions] as well as some of the worst songs ever recorded by any human during any period of time including the 1940s, The Gilded Age, and The Cretaceous...Check out "The Big Royalty Check," "Shake It Mable," or "Dum Dum George" as some of the worst offenders.
These bad songs aren't traditional bad songs...these are purposely bad songs as Van recorded them to get out of his record contract with good old Bang Records...
The Onion AV Club once had a great post* in which it discussed how most pastimes, especially music, can be divided into two groups: the likers and the lovers. The likers are the casual fans. They are the ones who confirm trends. When a liker is into it, you know that "it" has hit the big time. And the lovers are the ones who revel in the minutiae that give them their lover status. An excerpt:
But it illustrates the difference between being a music liker and a music lover. I’d say 95 percent of the world are music likers. They like playing music while driving, cleaning the house, exercising, drinking, working, and pretty much any other activity that music can accompany without being the sole focus. Music likers buy 10 CDs (at most) every year, and it’s usually stuff they hear everyday on the local top 40 station or greatest hits collections by classic rock bands. Music likers don’t read music magazines or get into arguments about music trivia. They like music, but it’s not something worth putting too much thought into. The remaining 5 percent are music lovers. These people are irrational fans,(short for fanatic) and they buy CDs every week, read music mags, and seek out passionate discussions about music. These people will judge you based on your CD collection (whether they admit it or not), and they can sniff each other out based on the ability to name bass players and/or pre-1980 prog/funk/metal/soul artists. (The like-love split isn't specific to music. It applies to everything: movies, TV, books, fine art, theater, food, beer, whatever.
I will fully admit to my status as a liker (I don't think you could come up with a more stereotypical music liker/lover combo than me and Matt). I rarely discover truly new bands unless a "lover" friend points them out to me because they think I will enjoy the music (i.e., my friend BethAnn telling me that she thought I would like Tally Hall). And my "discoveries" are artists/bands that any music lover knew about long, long, long ago. Eons ago. When I discover music, it is likely because an oldies or classic rock station plays a catchy song that I either had never heard or haven't heard in 10 years and I remember a lyric or two, come home and Google it. Or I come across it in popular culture.
Like everyone else, I had heard Brown Eyed Girl long ago, but it wasn't until a West Wing episode that I really discovered Van Morrison. In We Killed Yamamoto, Amy Gardner cranks up Caravan and Moondance. I liked the sound and bought a Van Morrison album before the week was out. And I haven't stopped being a fan since. My 91 Bonneville -- this is a blog written by men who proudly drive crappy cars -- has a tape deck and my tape of The Best of Van Morrison was worn down by repeated listening in the time before I bought an iPod. I once took my younger brothers to Milwaukee for a weekend of baseball games. That cassette served as the soundtrack for the four-hour drive. I'm sure my brothers would be fine if they never heard Van again.
Van Morrison is a bit like the Bible: no matter what your mood is, you can probably find a Van Morrison song to fit your tastes. He does blues (like the embedded video of Van doing a great rendition of Gloria with John Lee Hooker), he does religion (Full Force Gale is probably the best song I have ever heard about the sanctuary that God provides), he does the mystical (Astral Weeks), etc. His Tupelo Honey album featured several country songs -- not this Garth Brooks type of pop/country, but George Jones-style country. Morrison wrote "Chopping Wood" about his father and it always reminds me of my working class dad. He does whatever he finds interesting. If tomorrow Van Morrison became obsessed with punk rock, I would expect to see a Nirvana-style album released within a year, followed by a tour that started in Seattle. Not only does this bring him respect, but you can hear the passion in the music. Knowing that he didn't write any songs or produce any albums simply because a label exec thinks he can get it on the radio does make it a more enjoyable experience to be a fan (and I'm guessing a more enjoyable experience for Van!)
I do and don't envy a journalist who interviews Van Morrison. Make the interview about him and he will quickly become combative and awkward. But if you ask him about his music, not only will you hear some very insightful answers about his music, but you might get a little out of him about himself.
I'm not saying anything that any Van Morrison fan doesn't know about the man. Despite being one of the most influential musicians in this era (his diverse catalog has influenced many musicians and he deserves to be listed among the Beatles, Rolling Stones, Springsteen, etc. in his influence on other musicians), he remains an enigma. I could no more describe his voice than I could explain love -- it's impossible to know where to begin. But this music liker will always love Van the Man for exposing me to so many different kinds of music throughout his career.
* -- As an aside, the author of the post is an alumnus of the same distinguished university that Blugold Matt and I are proud graduates of.
I've recently been watching the final three seasons of The Sopranos just to remind myself how good the show was and how exactly the series ended. And to end the debate, Tony dies at the end of the series. End of discussion.
