Tomser's Blog

A Mr. Jonathan Broder of Fort Lee, New Jersey, writes “Dear Tomser. What is all this about country songs coming from Southern fundamentalist churches? Don’t these songs have a lot more in common with the blues and the Black experience in the South? Don’t these come out of how difficult it was in the South when many of these songs were written for anyone who was not a rich, landowning white person?” 

Well Mr. Broder, you bring up a good point. There is a lot in common between the blues and country music, especially in the strong emotions both bring to the table. And, certainly, country music emerges as well from the hardscrabble life that many of the country stars experienced, which was similar in many ways to the difficult lives of so many of the blues singers. 

I have more trouble with seeing the connection with the Black rock pioneers. Of course, so much of rock comes out of the Black gospel tradition, so there should be a correlation. It is ironic that Gladwell singled out Little Richard, whose father worked as a Seventh Day Adventist preacher, as emblematic of rock. He was incredibly influenced by the music being sung in the Black church, and that style of worship as well.  

But the Black rock pioneers seem to have taken their experiences to a different place than the country singers. I am no musicologist, and my knowledge of country music is only about an inch deep (as opposed to my knowledge of rock, which goes down at least two inches), but I can’t imagine traditional country singers producing the upbeat, pounding, exhilarating sounds of Little Richard, Chuck Berry, Fats Domino, or the other great Black innovators. Then again, I can’t imagine any of those singers reproducing the plaintive, wistful melodies of Hank Williams or Merle Haggard. 

I am reminded of that scene in the Buddy Holly biopic where he goes to Nashville to record “That’ll be the Day”, and the record producers try to fit it into the mold of most country songs of the time. He rebels and does it his own way. It is picked up and he goes to New York, where everyone who heard the song assumed that he was a Black artist. I’m not sure that means anything, but it highlights the differences I see.  

That being said, a Mr. Gregg Swentor, also from Fort Lee, New Jersey, writes, “Dear Tomser. What’s this about country music being American and rock being international? What kinda artist is Mark Knopfler? He ain’t even ‘merican, is he?” 

Well Mr. Swentor, I’m glad you asked. Yes, there have been notable performers who have contributed to country music such as Mark Knopfler, Robert Plant and Keith Urban, who are not Americans. However, they are few and far between. In fact, Urban is the only non-American on the Rolling Stone list of 100 Greatest Country Artists. I doubt if we will ever see a time on the Country music charts like we saw with the British invasion between 1964 and 1967 when 36 songs by non-Americans topped the pop Billboard charts.

Plus, since musicians are artists, they draw from various places and styles that make fitting any music into a mold difficult. For country music it seems that this is especially true of the newer country artists like Lyle Lovett, who has clearly been influenced by big band jazz and gospel, or Garth Brooks who does not hide his love of rock. As for rock artists, they have always borrowed freely (some would say stole) from every genre.     

It just goes to show you. It’s always something. If it’s not one thing it’s another. Either you discount the contributions of blues artists, or you ignore exceptions to the rule. Like my friend John Eargle always said, “All generalizations are false”. Good night my little Tomsers. (This post was brought to you courtesy of the F.O.R.R – Friends of Roseanne Roseannadanna).     

In an earlier entry I said how much I liked Malcolm Gladwell’s Revisionist History podcast (I actually said that I wanted to be Gladwell). It’s amazing how often something happens that reminds me of a topic he covered, or an insight he shared. And yet, the episode that is most firmly planted in my mind is one I thought was his weakest. I’m not sure what that says about me. 

In Season 2, Episode 6, Gladwell interviewed Nashville songwriter Bobby Braddock in an episode called King of Tears. As you can probably tell from the title, Braddock is known for writing some of the saddest country songs ever. His songs include D I V O R C E, which was a hit for Tammy Wynette, and He Stopped Loving Her Today, most famously done by George Jones. If, like me, you’ve never heard of these songs, trust me, they are real weepers.  

The point of the episode was that country music could be truly sad because it deals with real life situations. Rock music, on the other hand, was dismissed as full of cliches that can’t really tap into melancholy. Rock provides “hymns to extroversion” with little emotional depth, while country revels in the sadness, or so says Gladwell. 

You are probably thinking that, being the lifelong Rock and Roll fan that I am, I disagree with this comparison, and that there lies my dissatisfaction with the episode, but you would be wrong. I actually agree that rock does not lend itself to melancholy as well as country. (I struggled to come up with sad rock songs beyond Clapton’s Tears from Heaven). My problem with Gladwell is that he uses this banal observation to brand rock as a lesser music. Plus, he misses the much more interesting question as to why country singers and their fans gravitate to these songs.  

Gladwell begins his assault on rock by delivering a monotone rendering of Little Richard’s Tutti Frutti, as if to say “see how stupid rock lyrics are”. He then compares The Rolling Stones’ Wild Horses to Emmy Lou Harris’s From Boulder to Birmingham, which is about the death of Gram Parsons (who, ironically, did a great version of Wild Horses), as if picking two songs at random proves anything about the thousands and thousands of songs written in either genre. In trying to force his point, Gladwell dismisses Wild Horses as generic, and even pretends not to understand the lyrics (you can say a lot about RS lyrics, but mysterious they are not!!!).   

The fact that rock does not do sad as well as country is no reason to dismiss it, as the songs Gladwell chose show. Yes, the lyrics to Tutti Frutti are meaningless, but who has ever listened to Tutti Frutti for the lyrics? How could he possibly think that a monotone recitation of that song in any way reflects the raw energy of Little Richard, which is why the song is so enduring and influential? Similarly, Jagger’s lament on the Wild Horses chorus is gut wrenching and sticks with you long after the song ends. It is, frankly, bizarre to hold up these two powerful songs as a reason to denigrate rock. 

  More interesting is why country lends itself to sad songs. Gladwell provides a clue, and then proceeds, clueless. Braddock, he points out, grew up in Florida, in a Church of Christ congregation, what Gladwell calls “the most fundamental of fundamentalist churches”. He then goes on to point out that all of the country stars who produced what are thought to be the greatest country songs of all time grew up in the Bible Belt. While he doesn’t go further, my guess is that most were either nurtured in the Southern churches, or at least heavily influenced by them. 

We have been taught to make fun of over-emotional Southern preachers. (My favorite parody has always been that of Robin Williams). Yet we underestimate the appeal of that style. It is raw. It is in your face. What is being said is almost secondary. What matters is that the emotions are stirred, and that the congregation FEELS the truth of the Word. And in that, it is effective. 

When I was a Freshman at the University of South Carolina, I was taken to a Southern Baptist Church outside of Columbia and experienced that emotive power. The congregation was fully engaged, urging the preacher on, responding to his exhortations. As the product of a staid German Baptist Church, where a murmured “amen” was considered an outburst, I was floored. It was too wild, too fevered, too passionate for 17-year-old who had always bottled up his emotions. And, yet, it has always stuck with me.  

It strikes me that the ties between that emotional worship style, and the emotion filled songs coming from the country singers who grew up in that atmosphere are not coincidental. The people in the congregation at that church I attended wore their hearts on their sleeves, just as Bobby Braddock does in his songs. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe there is no connection, but at least that would have been something worth Gladwell exploring. 

Country and rock are two different worlds. At times they crossover one to the other, but usually come from contrasting places. Country is an American genre, rock is international (hard to picture a country British Invasion). Rock seeks to blend divergent styles, including country at times. Country knows what it does best, and sticks to it.   

I will never be a country music fan. The plaintive, woeful, heartsick Braddock songs just do not stir me the way that a David Bowie or Talking Heads rocker does. Yet, as I’ve grown older, I have learned to at least appreciate where those songs come from, and be less dismissive. The emotions are real, the best renditions are sincere. Sometimes you just have to get out of your comfort zone, and just let out a loud AMEN!!!  

(I certainly have done nothing worth a retrospective or “best of”, but this was one of my favorites, so in honor of today’s Super Bowl I am republishing it. Enjoy the game).

I watched the Super Bowl by myself last Sunday. No one in my house had any interest whatsoever. In fact, they had no idea who was even playing (“Is it Florida versus the Dodgers?”). I don’t think that they would have even known that the game was coming up if Tom Brady hadn’t been in it. 

After the SB was over, I did get a perfunctory, “How was the game?”, but it was pretty clear that they did not want to hear about the Bucs defense shutting down Mahomes, or Brady going back to his old standby Gronk. If I said anything more than “It was kind of disappointing” I could see their eyes quickly glaze over and knew to go no further. 

I did, however, get the inevitable follow up question, “How were the commercials?”. It dawned on me that by no longer going into the office we were all missing out on the great American tradition of debating which of the SB commercials was the funniest or most clever. Even worse, I couldn’t even answer the question from my family because I hadn’t watched any of the commercials (and there were a lot of them). 

The truth of the matter is that I hate commercials, and not just because they interrupt whatever show I’m watching. I hate them because they are so damn seductive. I know that all commercials are lies. Commercials are not selling products, but a lifestyle that doesn’t really exist. I don’t care what the product is, the world does not all of a sudden become bright and sunny because you use it. 

I know that Old Spice is not going to bring beautiful women running to my side (as if I would want that with my lovely wife). I know that wearing Nikes is not going to give me the ability to jump as high as Michael Jordan. I know that Tide is not going to be any better than Sun Triple Clean in getting rid of that red wine I just spilled on my shirt. I know that buying a Jeep Grand Cherokee is not going to result in my visiting the top of pristine mountains.  

I know all that, but I cannot ignore that commercials influence what I buy. I shy away from Pepsodent and buy Crest or Colgate again and again, who knows why. Every year when the Toyota Sell-a-Thon comes around I ask myself whether I should get a new car (and head for the mountains). Heinz is the only ketchup I will buy (a pox on Hunts). I just can’t help myself. (I am not going to compound the problem by putting up pictures of these products).   

What is truly insidious is that this is commercials have so much influence on me despite my avoidance of them whenever possible. When the SB commercials came on, I muted the TV and read a few pages in my book, or worked on a crossword. (There is no truth to the rumor that I changed channels to watch a Love Boat marathon and missed most of the third quarter, though it was a “Very Special Love Boat” where Gopher confesses to Julie that he is terrified of going out onto the deck because he is afraid of being eaten by a whale. Julie laughs at him, calling him Jonah much to the delight of Isaac and Doc, until Captain Stubing steps in and teaches them all a lesson about tolerance – Buddy Hackett and Raquel Welch guest star). This is my normal practice when I watch television and yet the commercials sneak through. 

I just have to admit that the advertising people are better than I am. They know how to get under your skin and install their earworms into your psyche. I still can recite “Two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame-seed bun”, and I never even liked Big Macs!!! All you can do is be aware of the influence advertisers have, and fight it when you can. Try the generic and where you can’t tell the difference, stick with it. Get those pictures of Shiny, Happy People out of your head and buy what seems best for what you need. 

By the way, I did go back and watch the SB commercials on the internet, which is what I used to do to be able to join in those water cooler conversations at work. I liked the Tracy Morgan commercials, though I don’t know why all of a sudden having athletes pummel regular people, like in that James Harrison FanDuel ad, is suddenly a thing. Will Farrell is always funny, and the commercial with Paralympian Jessica Long was touching. That being said, I am going to make it a point not to buy ANY of the products those commercials were selling. So there!!!!!😝😝😝   

Over the last three months I have “cooked” more than I did in the previous 62 years. Sad, but true. That does not mean that I did not put food on the table before this (grilled brats with frozen perogies and microwaved corn, a favorite). However, except for a brief foray with Blue Apron, I rarely sat down with a recipe and put together a meal from scratch.  

This should probably stop me from doing what I am about to do, but here goes. In my short time as a chef (that term cannot be used more loosely) I realized that lessons in cooking mirror lessons in life. I am sure that this is not original and you could find similar lists all over the internet and in bookstores, but this is mine. (Disclaimer – While I did cook all of the dishes referenced below, none came out looking near as pretty as the inserted pictures). 

1. Preparation is the key to serenity (to the extent there can be serenity. See No. 7). I quickly learned that it is essential to get all of my ingredients together before I start, or I will find myself running around like a mad man searching for the Turmeric in the spice cabinet, or have to quickly chop an onion, especially if I am cooking something with a lot of ingredients like Shrimp Creole. The same was true when I had a project for work, or when I have something I want to accomplish around the house. A little bit of time at the front end saves a lot of angst going forward. 

2. You’re going to make a mess, so don’t sweat it.  I went into this thinking that I could limit the number of bowls or utensils I used and make my life easier on the back end, but I realized that trying to do that just made cooking more difficult. If another bowl is needed, use it. If another pot will help, just accept that it will take a few minutes longer to clean up. Similarly, most things in life are not neat and clean, and when we try to make them so we end up creating more of a headache. Whether it’s rereading something you have written two or three times to make sure that it’s right, or marking a wall where you want to hang a picture, it’s ultimately worth it to avoid cutting corners. 

3. Don’t be afraid to ask questions. This is a whole new world. I need help to find good recipes (thanks TR). Plus, there are terms being thrown around that I just don’t understand. (How do you poach meat? What is Lemon Zest? A Lemon with gusto? Yes, if you’re cooking Prosciutto Wrapped Cod). The internet is an incredible source, but sometimes you just need a human being to really understand the difference, say, between garlic powder and garlic salt (very little from what I can tell). I wish I had accepted this lesson earlier in life. It would have saved me a lot of wrong turns. Luckily, the older I get the more I realize I don’t know, so I have gotten better at admitting my ignorance and looking for help.  

4. There is a substitute for everything (almost). Most cookbook authors feel a need to throw ingredients into their recipes that are obscure, at least when you do most of your shopping at Acme. When I started this journey, I thought I would have to go from store to store to find Anaheim chilis or Nigella seeds so that the African Red Bean and Sweet Potato Stew would not be ruined. That is rarely true. Usually there is something available that works just as well (poblano’s for Anaheim; cumin seeds for Nigella). Similarly, we really don’t need a Lexus to be happy, or the Grand Canyon to enjoy a hike. Those things are great if available, but we can cut ourselves off to so much of worth if we always hold out for perfection.   

5. Experts like to make things more difficult than they need to be. A corollary to No. 4, is that those who write cookbooks feel a need to show their superiority by throwing in a hard-to-find ingredient or technique that is unnecessarily complicated. This is where Nos. 2 and 3 becomes crucial. No, you don’t need cardamom seeds from black pods to make a Punjabi Masala for the Cashew Chicken in a Cilantro Sauce, nor do you have to grind your spices in a spice grinder. Pre-ground will do. We all have this need to make everything complicated, probably to massage our egos. But the true expert is the one who can explain the complex in easy-to-understand terms. They are the ones to seek out.     

6. Timing is everything. Timing is overrated. It is crucial in cooking to properly time things. You don’t want to overcook or undercook. When you are combining multiple dishes, this means that you need to coordinate. By the same token, you can’t be a slave to the time listed in the recipe. You have to pay attention to how things look, be willing to accept that the timing is really a guideline or the Chicken Simmered in Spicy Tomato Sauce will be undercooked, even if you cooked as long as they said you should. This is really hard for me. I inherited from my father a phobia about time (thanks Dad). It’s not that I just hate being late, it physically affects me. I have had to learn that time is not sacrosanct, and that a few minutes here or there don’t really matter. I am still working on this one.  

7. At some point you will get agitated, so just accept it.  Unless you are making a simple one dish meal, and often even then, you will have to juggle making two or three things at once. When that happens, the blood pressure will rise, the palms will sweat, the urge to curse will overtake you. Just let it out, and then move on. Keeping No. 6 in mind helps. Ultimately, it’s OK if the onions are softening for an extra few minutes. It’s OK if the rice is done, but you still have 10 minutes on the Jambalaya. It will all work out. This holds true for most things in life, but it doesn’t mean that we can avoid the angst. As my kids will tell you, I have a long way to go on this life lesson!!! 

8. Don’t fear the spice. I am by nature a cautious person, so when a recipe for Tart-Hot Beef with Malt Vinegar and Cayenne calls for 6 cayenne chilis that is what I put in. But my family likes heat, so by slavishly following the recipe what comes out is often bland by our tastes. I had to learn to take risks and increase the spice in most cases. This is not easy for me. I generally follow the rules and hesitate to stray outside the lines. However, sometimes it’s just necessary to do that to get the most out of life. You have to be willing to go off the well-trod path, look for the local restaurant others avoid or engage with people who are different than you. It usually pays off, so embrace the spice. 

9. It doesn’t have to be great to be good. I will never be a great cook. My palate is not that discriminating. I struggle to tell one flavor from another. I can’t tell a good recipe just by reading it (curse you Betty Crocker!!). I will improve over time, but Guy Fieri has no worries here. That does not mean that most of what I put together has not been pretty flavorful. Yes, the Herb-Crusted Salmon was too salty, but it was still tasty (at least for most of us), especially with the asparagus and risotto. The search for perfection is a trap. It can stop you from doing anything, knowing that others can do it better. But generally, if you give something your best shot, things will turn out pretty well. 

10. Everything is better with music. This is not so much a life lesson as an observation. While I do not always look forward to making dinner, I have really enjoyed reconnecting with music, both new and old, jazz or pop, while cooking. Some has not stood the test of time (sorry, Alan Parsons and fusion jazz lovers), other sounds as good as new (all hail Steely Dan and Pat Metheny). Some of the newer (at least to me) stuff doesn’t resonate (I really want to like Kurt Vile, but….). Some is terrific (love Father John Misty and Joshua Redman). But the bottom line is that even when the cooking gets mundane, the music makes it time well spent.    

Well, there is my list. Additional lessons from more experienced cooks would be welcome. 

Two of the best books I read in 2020 dealt with the same topic – leadership. “The Mask of Command” by John Keegan examines the way generals have led troops through changes in military technology. Doris Kearns Goodwin’s “Leadership: In Turbulent Times” looks at US Presidential response in time of crisis to try and understand the characteristics that make an effective leader. Both chose four exemplars to focus their discussion.  I cannot recommend either book too highly. 

Keegan was interested in how the leaders he discussed either adapted, or failed to adapt, to the transformation of warfare. Central to their success was the ability to command loyalty, understand the logistics of war in their time and their willingness to take risks. In discussing Hitler as a military leader, Keegan also spent significant time highlighting where his leadership failed, particularly through an unwillingness to listen to others, a need to surround himself with sycophants who would not challenge his decisions and an inability to honestly reassess his own decisions. 

Goodwin had a much broader agenda. She clearly was not only looking back at the Presidents that she was covering, but also at the current occupant of the White House. The characteristics she emphasizes in managing crises are empathy, resilience, the ability to communicate, openness and the willingness to step back and reflect. For Goodwin, just having these traits would not make someone a great leader. A true leader would also need a driving ambition and a sense of moral purpose.     

Goodwin undoubtedly wants her readers to look at Donald Trump (and find him lacking). It is not as simple as she would like. As the Trump presidency fades into the night, we can start to look at him objectively and assess him as a leader over and apart from the policies he implemented. What was it about Donald Trump that drew so many to him, and made so many despise him?  

Trump’s leadership style is unique in American political history, at least as far as I can tell. He attacks anyone and everyone who crosses him even slightly in a never-ending stream of vitriol. It is not only that such critics are wrong, they are stupid, vile, corrupt, and worse. We have had plenty of politicians who did not shy away from verbal fisticuffs, but we have never had a President or other political leader who so consistently and relentlessly vilifies his opponents. It is the essence of his leadership style. 

We have to admit to ourselves that this modus operandi can be effective. Many of Donald Trump’s supporters are rabid in their devotion, and his unwillingness to back down on anything is a big reason why. His non-stop attacks make him appear strong. He is the opposite of the politician who tries to please everyone (i.e. find consensus), and his candor is admired, especially since his supporters generally agree with him regarding those he vilifies.  

Conventional wisdom prior to Trump was that while such an attacking style could work to gather a core, it could not attract wide support. Trump proved that conventional wisdom wrong. He was able to maintain this relentlessly attacking mode and still appeal to a broad section of the electorate. This means that we cannot dismiss the attraction of this approach.  

Trump’s ability to maintain this leadership style was aided by the fact that the only significant crises we had during the first three years of his presidency were political crises – the Russian interference investigation, the constitutionality of the Muslim ban, the funding of the border wall, for example. We were involved in military operations in Afghanistan and the middle east, but had been there for years. The economy was strong and unemployment was low. Any other politician would have simply touted those successes and ignored his or her detractors, but that is not Trump. His never-ending attacks made it seem that we were living amid constant crises, which served to validate his harsh rhetoric. 

In this last year we have seen the limitations of this leadership style. The COVID epidemic was not one that could be belittled away. Trump did try, labeling COVID as the Kung Flu , blaming Democrats and the media for the continuing spread, lambasting the CDC for their dire projections. However, COVID was immune to these attacks and continued to develop unabated.  

What was needed to face this crisis, as with most national crises, was a unity of purpose. But it is impossible to create that unity when you have created an unadulterated atmosphere of antagonism. Trump may have drawn supporters by his attacks, but he alienated just as many, if not more, just because of that style.  

Trump never even tried to unify the country to respond to COVID. He would have had to put aside his attacks and seek broad consensus, draw together disparate groups and articulate a shared vision for that to happen. It would have been difficult in light of the rhetoric of the prior three years. More importantly, it would have been contrary to his leadership instincts, and it is hard to envision him putting those instincts aside. 

The COVID crisis also brought to the fore another flaw in the Trump leadership style. When you attack in such stark terms, you start to believe your own rhetoric, no matter how outlandish. The positive feedback he got from his rallies, the supportive media and ever smaller circle of advisors only reinforced in his mind that he was correct in castigating his opponents. It would almost have been traitorous to seek consensus with the like of those who were so abhorrent. 

This insularity also can lead to a misjudgment of strength, which is what I think led to January 6. When all you listen to are the cheers, you can fool yourself into believing that there are many more who not only agree that your opponents are the scum of the earth, but are willing to go to any lengths to eliminate them.  You fail to see that for most there is a limit, at least in this country.        

It is almost axiomatic to say that unity is impossible in the country today, but I think that is only true to a certain extent. This country has always been divided, but has yet been able to move in a common direction in times of crises. The Great Depression and WWII are prime examples of this. That does not mean that there were no dissenters, but a general consensus was achieved and the country acted.  

We have also been able to remake the basic assumptions of the relationship between the government and the American people despite deep divisions on the wisdom of those changes. We did it in at the turn of the century with antitrust and other “progressive” reforms, at the time of the Great Depression with economic regulation and in the 1960’s with civil rights reform and the Great Society programs.  

Maybe I am naïve, but I still think that it is possible to do this again with the right kind of leadership. But it cannot happen with a purely negative approach. It is not enough to castigate. We cannot succeed if we view this as purely an us versus them scenario, as much as it has seemed that way over the last four years. We also have to project a positive vision of the future if we want to effect change. A tall task, but I think we are up to it.  

Last night I watched a double feature. First was the Talking Heads movie, Stop Making Sense, one of my favorites. We followed that with David Byrne’s American Utopia, his Broadway show coming out of his album by the same name. (We saw the show when it was in Philly back in 2018). Two remarkable performances spanning 35 years.  

As I sat there entranced first by a young David Byrne showing so much energy, imagination and intensity, and then by a much older David Byrne, not quite as agile, but still showing that same exuberance and creativity, the thought crossed my mind that right now he was one of my heroes. I don’t say that lightly. Heroes are hard to come by and generally let you down. But I am at a time in my life where I welcome some new heroes for inspiration. 

When I was growing up my heroes were sports figures. Initially it was Pete Rose, Bobby Murcer and Roger Staubach (sad, but true, fellow Eagle fans). I would always check to see how they had performed in their most recent game, what others were saying about them, and would go out of my way to watch them play when I could. However, by the time I was 12 or 13 it became clear even to me that I was more of a Bob Ueker than a Bob Gibson, and as much as I would want to emulate athletes, it just wasn’t going to happen. 

It was easy to shift from athletes to movie stars. After all, I wasted way too much of my time watching TV. I was struck by the steely, suave actors. My favorites were Humphrey Bogart and Errol Flynn. (“Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine…”). Again, however, reality struck hard. I was forced to admit that Maxwell Smart would have been a more apt role model for me than any of those Hollywood tough guys. 

Like most people I came to that point in my life where heroes were no longer relevant. After all, I was just trying to survive in the work world and raise a family. Sure, there were a lot of people that I admired greatly over the years. People like Bobby Kennedy, at least as portrayed by Athur Schlesinger in Robert Kennedy and his Times. Or James Baldwin, after watching I am Not Your Negro, and reading a number of his books. Still, it made no sense to raise these people to hero status. It wasn’t as if I was anywhere near their path in life. 

So why would I want to go back to heroes now, and why would David Bryne, of all people, fit that mold? I think that it is because I have moved into a new phase of life, much as I did 37 years ago when I first started working, and I would like some guidance to figure out what that means. All of a sudden I have time on my hands that I never had before. There are a lot of options, but not much clear direction. A hero could help guide the way. 

To understand how that relates to David Byrne I have to go back to American Utopia.  David Byrne has put together a show that is clearly part of his on-going, and apparently never-ending, attempt to understand the human condition. Many of the songs in the show are from the Talking Heads days, but they are all reimagined, not regurgitated. They blend well with the new material to create something that is a whole concept. Plus, he stages the music brilliantly, freeing himself and the band from wires and amps, so that everyone can move fluidly around the stage, interacting, overlapping, engaging. 

What inspires me about this is how David Byrne is not content to rest on his many laurels. He could easily have gone out, put on the Big Suit once again, and redone the Talking Heads greatest hits. Everyone would have loved it, including me. But at 68 that was not enough. He wanted to dig deeper, stretch further, push the boundaries, risking that the audience would just sit on their hands waiting for the next hit to come along. That is heroic. 

There are others that continue their creativity and exploration when it would be easier to sit back. Robert Plant was willing to alienate his hard rock fans by going in a different direction, and the result was the incredible Band of Joy albums, and his collaboration with Alison Krause. Phillip Roth wrote two of his most memorable books, American Pastoral and The Human Stain, after he turned 60, like David Byrne trying to make sense of this country, and the people in it. Jane Goodall continues her advocacy for animals and the environment, pledging last year to plant 5 million trees, part of the 1 trillion tree initiative.  

There are many more out there doing small and large things that keep them looking ahead instead of looking back. They have begun my touchstones as I figure out what to do with the rest of my life, a question I haven’t had to consider since I was 22. As David Byrne would say, “We’re on a road to nowhere, Come on inside. Takin’ that ride to nowhere, We’ll take that ride. I’m feelin’ okay this mornin’. And you know, We’re on a road to paradise. Here we go, here we go.” 

The New Year’s Eve/New Year holiday has always been, to my mind, the poor step child of holidays. It is played up as a wonderful excuse to let loose, have fun and celebrate the passing of the old year and the promise of the new. In my experience, it has been anything but that. 

I should start out by saying that my parents had New Year’s Eve down pat. Year after year they got together with the same group of church friends and had an alcohol-free good time. They ate well, played games and laughed a lot. It was the one night of the year that they would come strolling in at 3 or 4 in the morning.  

Silly me thought that was the way it should be. When I got into high school the kids of that church group would get together as well. While it was an OK time, we inevitably ended a lot earlier than the old folks and never seemed able to match their high spirits.

It all went downhill from there. I don’t remember what I did on most New Year’s Eve nights over the years. I do remember one night when my South Carolina “friends” plied me with shots of Jack Daniels, which I was drinking on an empty stomach, by telling me that they had all done shots when I was out of the room. Let’s just say that the results were not pretty. 

There were some good New Year’s Eve parties at the Broder/Bernstein home in Mount Airy with plenty of good food. That being said, I definitely paid the next day for eating too many of the excellent Broder hot wings, and I had a much stronger stomach back then than I do now.  

One year Julie and I went to one of the New Year’s Eve extravaganzas which promised a buffet dinner, live music, a comedian and complimentary champagne. The food was terrible and the live music was generic. The comedian, though, was the worst. He went around the room asking people what they did, but then had no quips to follow it up. He asked either Julie or I what we did and whoever was asked answered that they were a lawyer AND HE COULD NOT COME UP WITH A LAWYER JOKE!!!!! You should not be allowed to call yourself a comedian if you can’t even rag on lawyers. (Q. What’s the difference between a lawyer and a vampire? A. A vampire only sucks blood at night). We drank our complimentary glass of flat “champagne” at midnight and were out of there by 12:15.  

Once we had kids and they were old enough to want to stay up until midnight on New Year’s Eve we would make appetizers and plan a movie marathon, which my sister seems to be able to pull off pretty well. Inevitably, by 11:30 a couple of the kids has wandered off to bed and the rest were asleep, along with Julie. I would wake everyone up around 11:55 to watch the ball drop, and then we trudged upstairs to call it a night. Not exactly a New Year’s Rockin Eve!!! 

Last year Max, Will and I were in Seoul, South Korea for the New Year (back in ancient times when you could travel). Max and I made the mistake of going to the New Year’s Eve festivities there because we heard about a tradition of ringing a huge bell 33 times to welcome in the new year. It was just as jammed as New York is, if not more so. We heard a K-Pop band, saw people making speeches we could not hear, and would not have understood if we did, but didn’t hear the bell. We saw them strike it, but the sound did not carry. At least on the way back to the hotel we ran into a celebration at a Buddhist temple which was very cool.  

Julie and Calvin were jam packed into Red Square in Moscow with the Boy’s Choir. Apparently the Russians like to welcome the new year in by standing cheek to jowl as well, though they did have a terrific firework display from what I was told. I am not sure that Julie saw it as she was running around trying to locate some wandering choir boys. It wouldn’t be a KSB tour without some drama.  

Sum it all up and you have a pretty forgetful holiday that we remember every year. I’m not sure what this year holds, but hopefully we at least make it to midnight. More importantly, here’s wishing everyone out there a very Happy New Year!!!!   

I know that everyone has holiday rituals that stem from childhood and are so deeply ingrained they are not even considered. One of the most lasting for me are holiday movies. I know that I am not alone. 

This was really brought home to me last night when I watched “It’s a Wonderful Life”, which I hadn’t seen in a couple of years. It was so satisfying that I realized how much a part of the season it was for me. When I was growing up this movie was in the public domain and so was on constantly during the holiday season. I usually caught at least parts of the movie 3 or 4 times through the month of December, and sat down to see the entire movie once or twice. Every time I would choke up at the ending (“Attaboy Clarence!”). 

Other Christmas movies or shows were also a must. I had to watch “A Christmas Carol” – the Alister Sim version of course (“There’s more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!”). I would plan for “A Charlie Brown Christmas” and the original “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” on network TV. Also, for some reason, the Bass and Rankin “Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town” was on the list. I think it was the Burgermeister Meisterburger.   

There are plenty of others that, while not essential, entered the canon in recent years. “Elf” is incredibly funny, and really caught me by surprise when I first saw it in the theaters (have I said recently how much I miss theaters?).  For Julie it’s “Love Actually”. And a family favorite is “The Muppets Christmas Carol” (“We’re Marley and Marley Whoooooo!!!”). But for me the classics cannot be replaced.  

All of this is what makes the holiday season so different. It is not just the enjoyment of what you are doing that year, but a reflection of what you have been doing your whole life. It is as much nostalgia as it is present reality. While living your entire life in the past is probably not a good idea, finding some time every year to wallow in the memories is healthy, and nothing gives you the chance to do that like the holidays.  

So, whatever your holiday rituals – whether its movies, music (viva Vince Guaraldi), decorations (a Starr on the tree), presents, or food (let’s not forget the food!!!!!) – enjoy the next few days and relish the season.  

Happy Holidays!!!!!!!!!!

One of the really nice things about working at home during the pandemic, and then retirement, has been that it really let me be consistent in doing something physical every day. I have gone through spurts in my life where I have been getting regular exercise, but I finally feel like it is part of my everyday existence. That includes a good bit of walking, both around the neighborhood and in local parks. Since walking can be very boring, this has led me to podcasts. 

I know how silly it is to say that I have entered the podcast world years after it became hip, but it just didn’t fit until now. When I could have listened to podcasts, I read, like on the train, and reading always came first (and still does). But it’s very difficult to read a book and walk at the same time, or at least do so without walking into something (and don’t think that I haven’t done that). So I started listening to podcasts. 

Part of the reason I was resistant to podcasts was that I hadn’t been drawn to what I had heard. My family have been podcasters (is that a word?) for years, and so I would hear what they followed when we were travelling. While there were many enjoyable parts to these podcasts (like, My Brother, My Brother and Me, Comedy Bang Bang, Hollywood Handbook) too often it struck me as people laughing at their own jokes, and laughing much louder than was warranted. I didn’t hear anything that made me want to listen on a regular basis. 

Julie had, however, told me about an episode of the podcast Mobituaries by Mo Rocca, who I knew from the Daily Show, that talked about the sudden end of the career of comedian Vaughn Meader. I remembered hearing Meader’s album parodying the Kennedy family, though I was too young to appreciate it when it first came out, and knew it had been a huge hit (Won Grammy for Album of the Year in 1963. Really, it did). What I didn’t know, though I could have guessed it, was how his career came to a full stop on November 22, 1963. The story of his ultimately unsuccessful struggles to reshape his career, which I listened to while on a long delay in the Boston airport, was interesting and entertaining.  

Years later when I decided that I needed to do something when walking, I came back to Mobituaries. Rocca’s in depth look at people or events that had been significant at the time, but then faded into memory were always engrossing. My walks went quickly as I was drawn into the fates of Chang and Eng, the cojoined Siamese twins (between them they had 21 kids, 11 of them Chang’s, 10 of them Eng’s. Try to get you head, or heads as the case may be, around that) or learning about the tortured life of Thomas Paine, or television’s Rural Purge of the late 1960’s, or the disappearance of the first Darrin on Bewitched (the only real Darrin in my book!!!).  

I had found my niche. I realized that I liked history, cultural or otherwise, that goes into some depth, makes me laugh every now and then and puts things into the context of what else is going on in the world at the time. That’s not too much to ask, is it?     

All of that led me to Malcolm Gladwell’s Revisionist History. I want to be Malcolm Gladwell (except for the goofy hair, though looking at mine right now you might say that I am one to talk – You choose). As far as I can tell, Gladwell dives into whatever strikes his fancy, which is a lot, has the pull to talk to anyone he wants on the subject and people to help research and find obscure news reel or oral histories to bring the topic to life.

It’s taken him (and me) from Wilt Chamberlin’s free throw shooting (underhand is fine, Wilt), to the way universities misevaluate potential students (don’t get me on a rant about college essays), to the tragic impact of Brown vs. Board of Education on black teachers and beyond.  

But I’m hitting the wall on Malcolm. Plus, his season 5 has been his weakest (Four episodes on “Bombs Away” Curtis LeMay? Please!!!). I need to expand my horizons. Find new exciting podcasts. Boldly go where no other podcaster has gone before (Sorry, I got carried away).

Any other podcasters out there? You have my criteria. Any thoughts on what I should listen to now? I welcome your suggestions.