Foo fight

On September 14, Foo Fighters kick off their U.S. tour here in St. Paul. It’s a Wednesday, and the night jock at our station wants to go. I’m working his shift with him this week, so there’s a fair chance I’ll pick up those hours. I’ve been a DJ less than six months. This is a great opportunity for me, so if I get it, I have to take it, and moreover, I can’t blow it.

Join Robert Nelson for
Wednesdays with Woody, where
there is always Foo for thought. 

I’ve seen the Foo Fighters twice before. The first time they opened for Bob Dylan with an entirely acoustic set and blew him off the stage. It was kind of embarrassing. The second time they headlined, but it was more humiliating. There was, let’s call it an incident before the show, and I ended up pouting through it. Nothing’s quite as sensitive as the male ego, and mine got stung.

As we found our seats, my admittedly clumsy girlfriend, who’s now my lovely fiancée, spilled a tiny splash of chardonnay on this belligerent whore in front of us. First of all, they give you those chintzy plastic cups, the same ones you get on an airplane, and you only fill them halfway because you know at any moment, the little kid in front of you could start jumping up and down in his chair, or the cow behind you might have to hit the latrine and pound you on his way to the aisle. That’s why they give you the cup and the can. They’re accidents waiting to happen. Second, we had our first drinks in hand, and this broad was gone, totally drunk, running her mouth, attacking my lady. A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do, so I let her have it. Verbally, I mean.

Well, as it turns out, my lady hates conflict, so she focused her frustrations on me, and I got upset about it. I tried as hard as I could to not enjoy the show. Damn near impossible. We’ve talked about making up for it since. I almost even postponed proposing until the 14th. Now, it’s in the boss’ hands. I know, it’s kind of a lame dilemma to have, but we’re talking about the biggest band in the world right now. They just made a promotional video for the tour called “Hot Buns,” set to Queen’s “Body Language.” You could call it a spoof of Queen’s original video, but the original is already a bit of a spoof. Anyway, it’s hilarious, and if you get a chance to see Foo Fighters while they’re on the road, do it.

They were gold, Jerry

By Al Tays

Does the name Jerry Leiber mean anything to you? Didn't to me, either, until I read his obituary after he died on Monday at the age of 78. Leiber was the lyrics half of the songwriting team that also included composer Mike Stoller.

If you've ever listened to 1950s rock and roll, you know Leiber and Stoller. The pair, who met in L.A. when Leiber was still at Fairfax High (a scant few blocks from the former West Coast HQ of Six String Symphony) wrote such hits as"Kansas City," "Love Potion No. 9," "There Goes My Baby," "Hound Dog," "Yakety Yak," "Stand by Me" (with Bedn E. King), "Charlie Brown," "Jailhouse Rock" . . . the list is seemingly endless. They also produced the 1972 Stealers Wheel classic, "Stuck in the Middle With You."

The team almost was broken up in 1956, when Stoller and his wife found themselves aboard the SS Andrea Doria when it was accidentally rammed and sunk by another ship. The Stollers were rescued, and when they got to New York Leiber met them and told them that "Hound Dog," which they had first written for Big Mama Thornton, had become a hit for Elvis Presley.

Tons of material to choose from, video wise, but for those who know "Jailhouse Rock" only from the Blues Brothers, let's check out the original Elvis version, shall we?

Every bridegroom's dream

By Robert Nelson

Earth, Wind and Fire played Kim Kardashian’s wedding. It’s… wow. There aren’t words. I’m at a loss. Earth, Wind and Fire played Kim Kardashian’s wedding. That hurts to type. It’s just so unfair.

I’ve been watching more TLC lately. My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding. Say Yes to the Dress. This news shouldn’t hit so hard.

I don’t give a squirt about the Kardashians. Okay, maybe one, but only by marriage. I’m a Laker fan, and believe me, nobody was more disappointed in Lamar Odom than me. I hoped that’s where it would end. I might be slightly on edge.

Oakley’s our new kitten. I bought him last week before I proposed to Jess. I put the ring around his collar. She said, “Yes.” We haven’t been getting much sleep. This morning, Oakley found something about my face worth scratching at relentlessly. If I threw him off the bed three times, he came back four. You shouldn’t throw cats.

My mom’s excited, but she broke her femur, and the hospital doesn’t get the E! channel. I guess they televised the Kardashian nuptials. That’s how I found out about Earth, Wind and Fire. When I was a teenager, she took me to see them at the Target Center with the O’Jays and the Isley Brothers. It’s in my Top Five, maybe even Top Three.

I can only imagine what kind of DJ we’ll have at our wedding. There’s a slim chance I’ll be completely satisfied. We could hire a band. They’ll have to know some Earth, Wind and Fire.

Making it Count

By Al Tays

Let's talk a little Count Basie, given that today marks 107 years since he was born in Red Bank, N.J., in 1904. Now, Basie's a little before my time (yes, such a thing is possible), but he is clearly in the first column of immortal American music artists.

You can always count on
Al Tays, but you really
have to wonder what sort 
of trouble he might start
while Strumbum is out 
on assignment (heh, heh).

There was a time when I wouldn't have known Count Basie from The Count on Sesame Street (except that only one of them dressed like a pimp, as Dave Chappelle points out). I got a little more curious about Basie after acquiring Tony Bennett's outstanding 2001 album, Playin' With My Friends: Bennett Sings the Blues, which included "Old Count Basie Was Gone."

But it wasn't until the other day, noting the anniversary of Basie's birth, that I did some reading about him. Interesting nuggets: He might have become a drummer rather than a pianist, but there was another drummer in the Red Bank area, Sonny Greer, who reigned supreme and Basie decided not to challenge him, turning to the piano. Also, Basie learned how to play the organ from Fats Waller.

But enough talk. You can't appreciate Basie without hearing him. Even though "One O'Clock Jump" was, along with "April in Paris," one of his theme songs, I prefer this "Basie Boogie." It's one of the few Basie clips I could find with a guitar player, although this one is strictly consigned to a rhythm role. But no worries — good music is good music, no matter the instruments.

Jammin' with the Worm

By Robert Nelson



Be sure to catch Wednesdays
with Woody, a midweek snack
served only at the Sanctuary.

This past weekend Dennis Rodman was deservedly inducted into the Basketball Hall of Fame. Everyone knows Rodman, the gregarious, tattooed freak who married Carmen Electra and, most notably, himself (the most hideous bride ever). Fewer, fans of the game like me, know “The Worm,” the mercurial rebounding machine for the championship Detroit Pistons and Chicago Bulls. Far fewer know Dennis, whose heartfelt, albeit awkward, speech at the HOF ceremony was as touching as it was confounding. But the sentiment wasn’t lost on everyone. Not on me and probably not the guys from Pearl Jam.

In 1991, Worm was named NBA Defensive Player of the Year for the second time in a row, and on August 27, Pearl Jam released their first album, Ten, and became the most commercially viable artists of the Grunge Era, often cited as the last great era in popular music (sorry, Latin Invasion fans). But from the early to mid-90s, it was a veritable smorgasbord of important music across genres. Metalheads got new Guns N’ Roses & Metallica in 1991. Grunge had Nirvana, Soundgarden, Alice in Chains, and, of course, Pearl Jam. Rap came into its own with Tupac, B.I.G., and Snoop. Punk Rock gave us Green Day, and Funk Rock gave us the Red Hot Chili Peppers. To steal a phrase from Charlie Sheen, we were all “Winning.”

In 1996, the Bulls went 72-10, still the best single-season record in NBA history, and won their sixth championship. On August 27, Pearl Jam released No Code, though the band hardly toured to support it, spiteful of Ticketmaster. Around this time, the band befriended Dennis, who often cited their significance to him publicly. On stage at a rare show in September, Eddie Vedder gave Dennis a piggyback ride. That same month, Tupac was shot and killed, and in 1997, Worm played his last meaningful games as a Bull. Soundgarden broke up, and the Backstreet Boys debuted in America.

This September, Pearl Jam will celebrate its 20th anniversary with a concert in East Troy, Wisconsin. I might go, at least for the sake of nostalgia. There was never such a robust, eclectic selection for music lovers. Since then, borrowing from The Worm, you might say music is still on the rebound.

The beet goes on

OK, so I am an old fart. I graduated from Whitehall High in 1969 and spent my first summer as a legal beer-drinking adult, first as a lifeguard at a resort in Wisconsin Dells and then -- because there was nobody to save in the pool -- painting barns in Iowa. 

My new buddy Byron, who was a bellhop (or whatever they called 'em) at the resort, coaxed me into quitting and bolting to his hometown of Lansing, Iowa. There we worked with his grandpa, but it was his grandma I remember most for introducing me to boiled oxtail soup and beet wine.  (Well, his sister was also fine.)

The beet wine is responsible for us missing out on some pretty historic events that summer. You know, the moon landing. Chappaquiddick. The Manson murders. Revelations about Mai Lai. Hurricane Camille. Hey, we were in Iowa. I don't remember seeing any TVs. The folks there were more concerned about their hogs and the corn crop. At night we hit that beet wine and the world just spun around.

My way of saying we definitely weren't aware of a concert in upstate New York that began on this day that summer. Who really was, other than the 500,000 who showed up for the "Aquarian Exposition"?  If we had known, I'm guessing Byron and I would have loaded the car with jugs of beet wine and headed for Woodstock. If you think those acid trips were bad ...

Woodstock surprised everybody. I don't even remember when I realized the scope of it, probably after heading off for my first semester of college in La Crosse -- where Byron, his sister and I in a fit of boredom had driven up to watch True Grit at the Rivoli Theatre. John Wayne's only Oscar performance. Go Duke.

That was the most memorable event of my lost summer after high school. Music? We were boom-chick-a-booming to Johnny Cash's new album Live at San Quentin, on which "A Boy Named Sue" mentioned "kickin' and a gougin' in the mud and the blood and the beer."

Almost like Woodstock.

Bottoms up for Larry Graham

By Al Tays

Al Tays is the ace
of bass -- not to mention
rhythm and lead --
Sundays at the Sanctuary.

Here's wishing a happy 65th birthday to Larry Graham, former bass player for Sly and the Family Stone and founder of Graham Central Station. Graham is the baritone-voiced singer of the "Dance to the Music" lyric "I'm gonna add some bottom/so that the dancers just won't hide" followed by his signature slap-bass technique. Graham is considered a pioneer of slap bass, which is familiar even to non-music fans from the "Seinfeld" audio.

I've loved "Dance to the Music," with its one-at-a-time introduction of the band's instruments, since it came out in 1968 on Epic Records. Interestingly, the band didn't care for it. They thought it was a sellout, and they weren't entirely wrong. The song came about because producer Clive Davis wanted something more commercially acceptable than the band's previous work.

He got it. "Dance to the Music" went to No. 8 on the Billboard Pop Singles Top 10.

Of course, you can't judge a song strictly by what it does on the charts. Does anyone need reminding that "Achy Breaky Heart" got to No. 4? Anyone? Bueller?

But as the lyrics say, "Dance to the Music" makes it "easy to move your feet." So get up and dig it, y'all, while "all the squares go home."