Burris Gets Buried

In amazing bit of political theater, Roland Burris, the Senator from Illinois that we all knew was corrupt from the get-go, just committed political suicide on Hardball. Chris Matthews played the soon to be ex-Senator, clearly offered money for power, the same pay to play that put Blago down for the count.


His defense - I lied to the Governor's brother. Nice try. Burris also gave it a go with this bit of logic - the Gov didn't ask me for money, his brother did. Oh, right, no connection there. Burris is a marvel. He gave Matthews an exclusive to defend himself and he went down in flames.


Didn't he ever see Jack Nicholson insist on answering the questions at the end of A Few Good Men?

Closing Credits

A quick RIP to Jay Bennett, ex-Wilco. In I Am Trying to Break Your Heart, detailed in the post below, Bennett and Tweedy go at it tooth and nail. As if Tweedy wasn't completely victorious in the internecine band battle, now Bennett is dead at 45. Don't forget the flowers.

Celluloid Heroes

A reader of this blog will find it as no surprise that I have a weakness for rock movies.

Watching a film starring a band you like is a no-brainer. A Hard Day's Night, Help!, Don't Look Back...these are among my all-time favorites, not just within the pigeonhole of the genre. Even when the cinematic experience isn't top notch, as with Concert for Bangladesh, the music is right up my aural alley and I can, and have, watched many times.

The real challenge is a musical paean to a band you don't know, or hardly know. A few of those for today.

I Am Trying to Break Your Heart, a 2002 documentary about Wilco shows a band that is made up entirely of assholes. Jeff Tweedy, front man, is such a dick in this movie that it is hard to like these guys by the time the credits roll. I knew a little Wilco before I saw the flick, and a little more of Tweedy's first band, Uncle Tupelo. While I hated these guys after watching them up close and too personal, I ended up going all in on the music, loading up on the CDs I had missed. Having since seen Tweedy in concert as a solo artist, I am convinced more than ever that he is a tool, but he is also at the upper echelon of today's pop world. See the movie, hate the guy, love the music.

Dig! The bitter rivalry between The Dandy Warhols and Brian Jonestown Massacre is explored in depth in this 2004 doc. The what between who? Yeah, I know these are two groups few have heard of and, really, who cares, but it is a gripping show. That's part of the joy of a rock movie, the enthusiasm by the filmmaker for the music is palpable. Who would make a movie about a pair of relative unknowns other than a passionate devotee of their sound? The bands started out as pals, but as the Dandys got popular, the leader of BJM, Anton Newcombe, grew bitter. Anton is one of those "geniuses" - a sort of talent that creates religious devotion among his followers, allowing for some outrageous behavior. Compared to Anton, Jeff Tweedy is Mother Teresa. I never followed up with either band's music, I have to admit, but Dig! is a must see.

The Fearless Freaks is the impetus for this post. Recommended by a musical compadre and his band following daughter, this tribute to The Flaming Lips is well-worth your time. The Lips have a dedicated following, but I can't see it. Just not my style. 4 CDs to played at once? A garage full of car stereos synced for an art-rock symphony? As Keith Richards once said, you don't move me. That may make me a total L7, but I'm good with that. So, musically, The Lips didn't do it for me, but the movie is mesmerizing. You couldn't find a group of white trash less likely to become artsy-fartsy. Coming out of Oklahoma City, with family backgrounds heavily infused by drugs, jail, polka bands and Long John Silver's, The Flaming Lips seem to be the kind of people you would have steered clear of as they smoked pot while leaning on their cars outside the mall.

Drop me a comment on your favorite rock movie, or a recommendation. I'll watch it if I haven't seen it, guaranteed.

Road Work on E Street

There's nothing musically more enjoyable than a Bruce Springsteen show. The Boss has the unerring ability to put a genuine smile on your face and get your feet moving.

Last night, at the Times-Union Center in Albany, the E Street Band hit the ground running with "Badlands." On the drum riser was Jay Weinberg, Mighty Max's boy, easing himself into the position due to Dad's West Coast gig with Conan O'Brien starting June 1. Young Jay, who looks little like Dave Grohl and plays a little like Animal from The Muppets, was a thunderous presence throughout the night. He was in the game at all times, and, though Max's touch was missed, the heir to the throne had his own style that added much to the show. It was fun to, every once in awhile, note the elder statesmen's prompting and encouragement of their nephew, attentive uncles making sure he did well.


Jay's presence did limit the set list. The last few years, the band pulled out many a chestnut, like "Be True" (a personal favorite). With a new member on board, it's likely that there will be more hits than obscurities. In just over a year, the band has gone over an overhaul, losing Danny Federici to cancer and Max to California. Clarence Clemons can barely walk, and while he may be, in Bruce's words, "the biggest man you've ever seen," his immobility brings mortality to mind. But, like a well cared for road, the band is patched and repaved. It feels different to travel on, but it's still the best path to travel.


The highlight of the night was the camera on Nils Lofgren's guitar. The "fretcam" showed, in giant screen form, the artistry of the little man. "The Ghost of Tom Joad" was turned into a blistering guitar storm, and seeing up close the extent of Lofgren's string bending and finger work was mind-blowing. Never saw anything like it in my life. Rage Against the Machine's take on this neo-folkie has nothing on last night's live performance.

The new tunes from Working on a Dream didn't jell with the rest of the show. They are great songs, but the high production value needed to get them across doesn't quite work live. Especially when sitting next to a high octane version of "Mony Mony."


Springsteen has been ending, or nearly ending, his shows with "American Land," a tribute to immigrant America. It's the type of song that Bruce does well, and The Dropkick Murphys do better. Hearing it last night and watching the band, made me realize how much the E Street Band represents this idealized melting pot - a Polish Catholic guy everyone thinks is Jewish, a Dutch guy who everyone thinks is Italian, a young Jewish kid replacing an old Jewish man, a big black guy, a Norwegian (I guess), and some undefinable ethnics (what nationality could surnames like Bittan and Tallent be?) - Bruce Springsteen is America!

Stadium Tour Hits New Shea

When I graduated from college in May of '84, I had an idea. If I hit 2-3 major league ballparks, I could see all of them in about a decade. I never, never expected the massive rebuild of big league playgrounds. Yesterday, I visited my 45th, adjacent to the site of my first, the parking lot which was once Shea Stadium.

Passing the inlaid plaques that noted the previous spots of Shea's home plate, pitching rubber and bases, it seemed as if Citi Field held great promise. It is a great place to watch a game, even from my right field upper deck seat. The food, according to Ron Darling, is the best in baseball, but I couldn't verify that. I did have a Nathan's hot dog and a Gabila's knish, both yummy, but one can never sample all the wares, from brick oven pizza to Mexican. It smelled good, though.

Here's my problem with the park, and why I left feeling quite negative about it. Tom Seaver has said that he never understood why the Mets always tried to compete on history with the Yankees. It's no contest - the Yankees ARE baseball history. However, as Seaver pointed out, the Mets have their own unique heritage, with two World Series wins and the best comic losers in a game filled with characters.

Citi Field is remarkably a nearly no-Mets zone. The stadium is built to replicate Ebbets Field and the majestic Jackie Robinson Rotunda, though a lovely and fitting tribute to the man, is Dodger central, with pictures of Brooklyn moments past. There's even an Ebbets Level. Come on!

When the Mets started in 1962, the infant franchise had, by necessity, to rest on the laurels of New York's National League past, the recently fled Dodgers and Giants. Not now, though, not now, almost 50 years later. The Dodgers have their own stadium. I believe it's called Dodger Stadium.

At Citi, the outfield walls are black and orange, recalling the New York Giants. So what is present to remind fans of the Mets' history? Some black and white photos on the outside of the park and, during the game, a short clip on Seaver's near-perfect game from 1969, and some Cliff Floyd highlight from 2005. Hell, even the Mariners have a Seattle baseball museum at Safeco and that franchise has done virtually nothing over their 30 plus years.

It's a shame, really, because Mets fans love this team and would truly enjoy even a small nod to their memories. I'm not saying their should be a statue of George Theodore, but it couldn't hurt to embrace the high and low moments of the last four decades.

Follow-up on A-Rod and Manny

With 162 games and non-stop coverage of game highlights, it's awfully hard to muster up any enthusiasm to tune in too any specific game. I was glued to the TV set (is that still a proper term?) on Friday night to watch the return of ARod in real time. By now everybody knows that he hit a 3-run homer on the first pitch he was served, a shot that led the Yankees to victory. Truly thrilling and memorable. Glad I tuned in.

As to the travails of Manny, I again say so what. To hear Tim McCarver's tirade yesterday about this being Manny's "final insult to baseball" was to witness true hysterics. Let's face it - steroid use was prevalent and, let's also face it, most fans don't care. Baseball interest is at an all-time high and McGwire, Sosa, Bonds, Clemens, A-Rod, Manny and ___ (insert your next name here) cannot and will not ruin it.

It's left in the voices and pens of the media to tear at their breast and bemoan how the game has been sullied by these villains. The custodians at the BBWAA will pass their judgment on the "worthiness" of the greats of this era, but it means nothing.

It is interesting to hear Peter Gammons put forth the notion that Manny was not taking performance enhancers in 2004 and 2007. Wouldn't want to mar that wonderful Red Sox story, but does anyone really believe that? Really? And, assuming that clubhouse was full of juicers, and we can all start looking and choosing who were the likely users, does it take away from the story of that post-season? No, it does not.

47 more games until Manny's back.

A Tale of Two Steroids

Two stories today, "Manny Ramirez Suspended for 50 Games for Violating Drug Policy" and "A-Rod to Return Friday." A sweet coincidence.


Manny was found to have been taking a women's fertility drug that induces testosterone production. It is also well-known to be used by steroid users as they come off the juice. Makes sense, right? If steroids bolster testosterone and you go cold turkey, you need something to produce your manly qualities.


Perhaps using women's drugs has also helped Manny's flowing locks. As I've mentioned before, I don't care. Manny has always been, and will continue to be, one of the greatest pure hitters of all-time. Yes, I said, pure. He is leaps and bounds above most of his peers, who more and more, are known drug users. I'm outraged that he will be missing from the scene until July 3, not that he is in violation of MLB's drug policy.


With that, welcome back A-Rod. Nothing made fans, and anti-fans, of your game miss you more than watching the abysmal performance of these Yankees. Without you in the lineup, these guys really suck. It took your disappearance to make the faithful realized how much you're needed. If I had to bet, you'll be roundly cheered upon your debut at the new Stadium. On the road, there's no hope. They hate you anyway.