Not Quite "Now I've Seen Everything," But Probably in the Same Zip Code

At the Costco today, prominently displayed on the book table, I saw the new Thomas Pynchon novel. The Costco, for those few unaware, is a giant discount warehouse. It's a Mitch Albom, not Thomas Pynchon, kind of place. Or so I thought.

Could anything have surprised me more? If Pynchon had been there doing a signing, perhaps. Or a Roland Barthes Deconstructor Set in the toy section, maybe. Otherwise, not much, I suspect.

North Carolina Promotes Early Learning Through Its ABC Stores

The state of North Carolina believes that it is never too early to start one's education. Children here needn't wait for kindergarten to begin learning valuable language arts and mathematical skills, thanks to the many ABC Stores located throughout the state. As the name indicates, an ABC Store is a Golconda of early education.


Youngsters can practice their phonics at the ABC Store, sounding out such words as "Johnnie Walker Black" and "Maker's Mark," all of which are conveniently printed in large, appealing fonts on the labels of bottles displayed throughout. Advanced learners can take a stab at a foreign language, practicing such important vocablary words as Jägermeister and Metaxa.

Math skills are not neglected at our ABC Stores. The store is full of opportunities for youngsters to practice their times table for 2. The little shavers simply locate the "percent by alcohol" information on a bottle label (identifying and finding pertinent information--another valuable skill!) and multiply it by two to calculate the proof. The correct answer is printed right on the label, so the kiddos can check their own work. Those with advanced math skills can stand by the register and practice both adding decimals that end in .99 and calculating the sales tax on their running sums.

Best of all, by observing the customers, children learn what grownups who drink too much look like. This is a proven effective deterrent to alcohol abuse.

Old Folks Boogie

With all the talk of Little Feat here lately, it seemed a good time to re-post my review of a June 2006 Little Feat show. This originally posted at my now-abandoned blog at myspace.com. The review is followed with proof positive that every word of it is true, that proof being an absolutely killer Lowell George-led version of Fat Man in the Bathtub.

It's not fair to compare the modern-day Little Feat to the Little Feat of old, I know. The old Little Feat was one of those rare bands that could achieve sublimity, but it did so mostly because a genius with a voice to die for and a slide guitar style second only to Duane Allman's was front and center. That genius was Lowell George, and he is of course gone nearly 30 years now.

Still, I'm not really sure how else I could have approached the Little Feat show I saw last night. The Little Feat I love is the Little Feat of Lowell George. Truth be told, Lowell George is what I loved about Little Feat; the rest of the band I could take or leave. There's nothing wrong with the rest of the band, mind you, but Lowell George was one of those gifted individuals who shone in a way that highlighted the mortal-ness of those around him. He was a Mozart surrounded by a bunch of Salieris.

Obviously a band that loses a guy like Lowell George has taken a pretty big hit. Lowell was not only an electrifying guitarist but also a wonderfully soulful singer who could switch from sexy laid-back croon to high-voltage blues growl without missing a beat. The new Little Feat doesn't have anyone who can touch Lowell as a singer. They've tried to replace him with two people: longtime guitarist Paul Barrere, who does a passable low-volume soulful vocal, and Shaun Murphy, a relatively recent addition, who is supposed to add the pyrotechnics. My wife described her perfectly: she sounds like the singer in a beer commercial.

The results were mixed. There were moments of abject misery, the worst of which was when Shaun Murphy grabbed "On the Way Down" by the throat and slung it to the ground, then kicked it repeatedly. When Lowell George sang this song, he communicated a wisdom borne of world-weariness; it's a good song that he makes great with his vocal. When Shaun Murphy sang it, she communicated "I have a great voice, and I'm going to let everyone here know it." Yuck. Another such moment came when Paul Barrere stepped to the mike to sing "Fat Man in the Bathtub." Lowell sang this one at the top of his range, and the result was hair-standing-on-the-back-of-your-neck exhilarating. Barrere sang it an octave lower, like it was quiet-sing time just before lights out at sleepover camp. The band had been really rolling along, but as soon as he started singing the tires quickly deflated.

The 30-minute "Dixie Chicken," with a thoroughly unnecessary interlude into "Tennessee Jed" and countless, endless solos, was a bit much, as was the turgid 8-minute version of "Willin'." And yet there were moments last night, often when the band was jamming out, that the new Little Feat showed itself to be a great band. Barrere and Fred Tackett (the other guitarist, a guy who has played with absolutely everyone) are both very good players, and occasionally Barrere would whip out the slide and play some Lowell-style licks. I wonder whether it bothers him to channel a ghost, to give the people what they want by erasing himself and mimicking a guy so long gone; I suspect it might because he didn't give the audience too much of it, but when he did the energy of the show kicked up several ticks and the audience responded accordingly. And much of the show was a lot of fun, even if it didn't ascend the level of high art. The new Little Feat has the same funky rhythm section as the old Little Feat, and they can lay down a pretty good groove.

As negative as much of this may sound, I really enjoyed myself last night. My friend Jon Shain opened the show and played very well; he got a very warm response from the crowd--I was really happy for him. It was fun to take a walk down memory lane with a band that was so closely associated with the Baltimore-Washington area where I grew up, and it was lovely to hear "Sailin Shoes" played live one more time. Still, when I woke up this morning, the disc I popped into the player was Lowell George's solo album Thanks I'll Eat it Here. It's got to be a bitch to live your life in the shadow of someone else's greatness.

Join My Protest Against the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame

Well, the list of this year's nominees for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is out, and once again Cheap Trick is conspicuously absent. Adding insult to injury, the Hall snubbed the long-toothed lads of Rockford, IL while potentially opening its venerable vestibules to, among others, Chic.

This madness must end, and it must end now. I don't feel strongly enough about this to go on a hunger strike, I must confess, but I am willing to go on a diet, which is pretty close. I invite you to join me in this temperate crusade. Simply recite the following oath--"Until Cheap Trick is granted its rightful place in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, I swear to eat only sensible portions of healthy foods"--and then do it! We will be lean and we will be righteously angry.

Might not be such a bad idea for the guys in the band to join us. You know, so they'll look good for their induction.


PS I will start my protest--which I am terming a "hunger job action," as should you--on Sunday, right after the 'Homage to Pork' dinner party I had, unfortunately, already planned for Saturday night.