Jazz Festival 2013 Saturday: Rebel Without a Camera

Stevie Nicks

Louisiana sailors

Saturday in New Orleans was absolutely glorious. Sunny, slightly chilly in the morning. San Diego weather. Its some sort of weird time warp when its 65 at the Jazz Festival. Usually I'm dying, standing in 90 degree sun for eight hours.

Unfortunately, record crowds thronged to the Festival to enjoy the unprecedented weather. My first inkling came when I saw that people had already taken my super secret awesome parking spot. That's never happened. Then, the thick crowds made it difficult to walk at a normal pace into the Fair Grounds.

Combined with the fact I spent most of the morning trying to clean my camera, I missed the morning prayer again. That's usually a bad omen and today it heralded a fairly disappointing day.

The organizers, and Mother Nature, mostly fixed the mud problem, except for most of the Fais Do Do stage, on which they poured sand, hay, and even pine needles. Some big muddy swaths still remained, but the walkways and most stage areas were mud free. I also fixed, or at least resolved, my own mud problem, having spent the better part of the morning with q-tips and damp rags knocking off the mud. It seemed to take pictures just fine. I'll take it in for a steam cleaning, or whatever you do, once I get home.

I initially went to the Gospel Tent and enjoyed a few songs from the Wimberly Family Gospel Singers. No local school choir, these five guys brought the energy and the rock to their gospel music. The leader sounded a little like Harold Melvin (of the Blue Notes). And even more impressively, they wore some really stylin' gold shirts. Like something to wear to Mormon Temple. Robust.

From there I went to the Revivalists at the Gentilly Stage. Normally not my cup of tea, but the Times Picayune recommended them so I wanted to check it out. This "techno funk" band struck me as a cross between the Red Hot Chili Peppers and local band Bonerama. The Screetch from Saved by the Bell-looking lead singer (how exactly did that happen), has a penchant for jumping into the crowd, must to the consternation of the rent-a-cops.

In case you were wondering, cigars are still a thing, obviously. All weekend I've seen fat guys (its never skinny guys) smoking away. Its not 1995 still is it? Maybe in New Orleans. Another thing I've noticed? Apparently its a thing for young couples to just throw down and majorly suck face. Like making out standing up. Not a peck on the lips. Not a hug. But chewing your partner's face off. I saw this one guy who I thought literally was going to swallow his date whole? When did this all start? I missed it. But I guess you should get used to seeing it, or averting your eyes.

Anyway, the Red Stick Ramblers were next up. This Cajun band, as I understand, occasionally guests on the HBO series Treme. The huge early crowd at the normally more sedate Fais Do Do stage attested to fame beyond the Cajun prairie. More remarkably, people finally gave in and started dancing in the large dance space to stage left. Which just goes to show the universal rule. whenever Cajuns meet, there will be dancing. And something made in a pot.

After the Ramblers, I ate and milled around the Louisiana native craft area for a bit during the schedule lull. This area contains local craft demonstrations, including blacksmithing, woodworking, furniture making, and other Cajun and creole arts. I also saw a Senegalese percussion circle in the Congo Square area.

I tried to enjoy a bit of the Dukes of Dixieland at the Economy Hall tent, but the crowd was so incredibly large it took away the enjoyment.

So instead I returned to the Fais Do Do stage to enjoy Breaux Bridge's Yvette Landry. I first learned about her as the bass player of Bonsoir Catin, an all woman traditional Cajun band. Today she fronted her own band and played guitar, as part of her expanding solo career. Its not exactly country or zyedco. I'd call it "contemporary Cajun." Ballads about men who did horrible things (one song suggests burning a man's house down as an appropriate remedy for lying...that's a bit extreme, right?), and reserved waltzes and two steps.

Here begins the complaining.

I'd planned to hear Terence Blanchard at the Jazz Tent and Eric Lindell in the Blues Tent. But the overflow crowds in both areas made that impossible. Every seat was taken, every standing area spot was taken, even the concrete pavilion area that lacked any view inside was totally filled with people sitting in their portable seats. I'm not sure what point that accomplishes. I could go to the park for free and listen to my ipod. This happens fairly often now, that Jazz Fest sells tickets to a slate of shows without adequate opportunity for everyone to enjoy every show they want. Or in my case, charges a premium for tickets that provide the only realistic opportunity to enjoy the act.

In short, Jazz Fest has outgrown itself. One thing I noticed about last year's ACL Festival was it didn't have this kind of crowding. Except for the night time headliner concerts, such as the Red Hot Chili Peppers. That's because ACL limits its ticket sales, while Jazz Fest just keeps on selling tickets. As the Festival's popularity grows, they try cramming more people into the same space. Which means that its harder to enjoy shows. As a practical matter, seeing a popular act at the Blues Tent requires one to stake out a spot all day. This requires an entire team who can keep a block of seats all day while you go to the restroom or eat. For those like me, who don't want to bring a staff to the Jazz Festival, it becomes more and more frustrating. Then when you throw in belligerent security and other staff, which I won't go into, it really takes the fun out of the experience.

So, harnessing my positive life attitude and can do spirit....

I'll try again. So, making lemonade out of lemons, or something like that, I milled around some more, and went to the Lagniappe Stage to enjoy a fife and drum band. Yes, that's right, I came all the way from Austin to hear a fife and drum band. Sharde Thomas and Rising Star. Three drums and a fife player. You know, like Yankee Doodle went to town? Yeah, that. I'll give them this, its not the same old thing. To make it just a little weirder, they played several well known rock songs. Like the Troggs' "Wild Thing," or Cream's (and many others') "Sittin' On Top of the World" and so forth. Well, at least I got to sit down in the shade.

I went on to the Gentilly Stage to listen to local favorites, Galactic. This is a definitely up and coming high energy, brassy, rock/funk band. Imagine the funk, non-lame version of Chicago.   They get really dirty. Musically and lyrically. I really enjoyed seeing them at the Festival a couple of years ago, so someone (you know who you are) gave me their last CD. I loved the show, but the CD sounded more like someone having a Tourette's attack than music. But this show returned to form and was much better than the CD. The guy from Living Color, which was also in town, joined them to sing most of the songs. I enjoyed the funked up version of "I Am the Walrus."

Despite really enjoying Galactic, I didn't want to miss any of Fleetwood Mac, who had on their own initiative moved up their appearance time by half an hour so as to expand their set. First surprise? Christine McVie isn't touring with them. Turns out she hasn't appeared with Fleetwood Mac in maybe 15 years. Who's gonna sing "Over My Head"? No one. Only her "Don't Stop," that wretched Bill Clinton theme song, made the set list. Which is a shame because she wrote the Fleetwood Mac songs I most enjoyed: "Over My Head," "You Make Loving Fun," "Go Your Own Way," "Songbird," and "Say You Love Me." What else does she having going on that's SOOOO important she can't go be a rock star? Gardening? Knitting? Child, please!

So as the show began, some meathead security guy passed through the crowd and told people to put down any camera that wasn't a phone camera. Apparently, Fleetwood Mac is a cutting edge, hot band who wants to control all their images. Cause we're all still doing anything we can to buy Stevie Nicks posters. Heh...still! Anyway, I complied. For a while.

The band was mostly the actual members.  Unlike a lot of classic rock groups playing the casino or cruise ship circuit who consist of about half the original players and haul around about 10 other hired gun musicians, Fleetwood Mac only brought along a keyboard player, a second guitarist, and a couple of backup singers. Otherwise, they played the music. Using actual real musical instruments, not taped, and not on some computer. Kind of a foreign concept these days I know. This revealed that they haven't just been sitting around watching Oprah all these years. Lindsay Buckingham turns out to be a pretty damn good guitarist. Meanwhile, Mick Fleetwood really rocked his huge drum kit. They played all the non-Christine McVie hits you remember, in a much grittier, rocking way. This set lacked all the smooth classic FM production and polish. They stripped these songs down to their essentials, and both Buckingham and Fleetwood soloed extensively.

The members have weathered time fairly well. Mick Fleetwood looks like Wavy Gravy or Ian Anderson, albeit with a bandanna. And with extreme crazy eyes. He's playing a huge gold plated (probably just colored gold) drum kid with about 10 symbols and a huge gong. Though she's lost weight recently, Stevie Nicks still kind of evokes latter day Sally Struthers. Lindsay Buckingham, douche that he is, looks like Art Garfunkel and John McEnroe's idiot bastard child on steroids. Lindsay, my man, black leather and skin tight t-shirts undoubtedly look fierce on Sunset, but at Jazz Fest, they make you look like an enormous tool. John McVie was Entwistle-esque in his personality-less performance. Taking the ACT is more exciting.

Stevie Nicks must have changed outfits about three times. Once she made a huge production, during "Gold Dust Woman," of putting on some sort of gold colored web looking wrap. She should have just stood next to Fleetwood's drum kit. Top hats, different shawls (that's probably not the right word). All with the base outfit that made her look like some sort of Wiccan spider. Yall know the get up I'm describing, right? Its the one she's been wearing for about the last 35 years or so. Geez, lady. Even baseball teams change their uniforms every few years or so. Except the Yankees. Who suck. All I could think of was the South Park episode where everyone mistakes a goat for Stevie Nicks. Still, one can't deny her influence. Florence (and the Machine) is doing a Stevie Nicks thing all these years later.

During the last couple of songs, I pulled out my camera for some surreptitious shots. And within a few minutes, the security guy got in my face and started yelling at me and told me he would throw me out of the festival. This during the last song of the last act of the day. Inspired by Steve Martin, I just said "I forgot, sorry" and looked right at him. Pretty bold of me, lying to a musclehead wearing a highlighter colored t-shirt. I could be on Cops, right? He just walked on. That's my version of being a bad ass. Good lord. On the way out of the Fair Grounds, I saw three New Orleans police officers manhandling some huge barefooted Samoan looking dude out of the Festival. He must have had a camera too.

TOMORROW: Hall and Oates. Tomorrow's post will be delayed. I'm packing tonight.

Jazz Festival 2013 Friday: I'm Not Willie Nelson

Willie Nelson

That's the punchline of one of the funniest jokes I've ever heard. I'll give you the setup at the end as an inducement to keep reading. Shameful.

OK, I actually have some things to write about. Other than, you know, the (alleged) history of American music substituting as a review for some local band, or "hey did you ever notice" social commentary based on some random event I saw that day.

Basically, it was a day of highs and lows.

Someone likes the mud

And no that's not a drug reference.

To start off, I've been freezing all day. And I spent much of the afternoon and evening caked in mud. I've been this cold before, and I've been this muddy before. But I've never been this cold and this muddy at the same time. Yesterday's front stuck around today in the form of morning rain and then 60 degree temps with constant wind. That doesn't sound like much, until you factor in that everything at the Festival was wet, then muddy. And when you take into account that I prepared for 90 degree days, I didn't have the proper clothes to deal with the elements. My feet were soaked all day, and that's not too comfy. I had to run all over the West Bank to find a functioning raincoat, which was the only thing keeping me out of the deep freeze. Nothing like squishing with every step. Yeah, I found some "shrimp boots" but stupidly decided not to buy them. Bad idea.

Then after chasing around looking for raincoats and dashing over to the Festival in time for the opening, I found out they delayed the opening by an hour. So, standing around for an hour in line waiting for it to open. I saw proof positive that this isn't a local festival--a woman was waiting in line wearing an Atlanta Falcons jacket. That's grounds for an ass kicking in most parts of town. About the only thing worse would be wearing an Alabama shirt in Baton Rouge. I met two older ladies from New York who come down every year for the festival. We talked about the "superstorm" and other stuff. The two drunk guys behind me were talking about fishing. And how their bloody mary buzzes were wearing off. Important stuff. I thought the one guy in cammo gear was really going to have a freak out if the bar didn't open soon. Oh, and then this young couple, also behind me, got into a really uncomfortable fight. Basically revolving around him objecting to her wanting everything so highly organized, and her objecting to him. I tried to tell the guy to back off, but he just kept on talking. With the inevitable results. Dude, when Chris Reeder knows its time to shut up before you do, you really need to rethink your whole approach to women.

Once in, it quickly became apparent that the extra hour the Festival organizers took to prepare the field was a complete waste of time. The place basically looked like the Ho Chi Minh trail. (modern reference). Or Port Arthur. Whatever they did, it didn't work. So very quickly in, everyone was in mud up to their knees.

But why let a little squishiness stop you from enjoying the day? First I went to the Holly Williams show. I had no idea who she is. Turns out she's related to that Williams. The Hanks. She doesn't really trade off it though, other than keeping the name. It definitely wasn't the family's style music. Basically, it was introspective country ballads about love and life. Though she did play "I Saw the Light." Her voice reminded me of Shelby Lynne. By the way, whatever happened to her?

Next up was the New Leviathan Oriental Foxtrot Orchestra's annual appearance at the Economy Hall tent. As you may recall, these folks all wear Captain Stubing outfits and play music from the 1900-1920 era, along with weird instruments like the theramin. Its like the music in every Woody Allen movie. Or what you'd imagine you'd hear on the Titanic. And not ridiculous Enya "music." Oldsters and youngsters alike packed the place, as they do every year. Kids danced with their parents, along with older couples. Everyone loved it and cheered every song. Its great that these songs aren't dying along with the generation that produced them.

This left me only enough time to hear a couple songs from the Iguanas. One thing about the mud...it forced the thicker crowds into narrower, less muddy walkways. That made it harder to move around from stage to stage. So it was more difficult to see as many acts. I don't really know what the Iguanas are about. They're a long-time, very successful New Orleans club act. I vaguely remember seeing them back when I lived here. And I remember not really liking them much. Today, one song was some sort of Latin dance song. The other was a rock and roll song. What's going on here guys? But I didn't give it enough of a listen.

OK, next it was on to eat and then catch the Mavericks. They've long been a favorite, but I thought they broke up. Turns out they recently reunited. I never realized there's about 30 members. It was some kind of circus with things happening all over the stage. One guy thought he was Eddie Van Halen. The keyboard player was some sort of performance artist. The lead singer was about the size of two people. All in all, they're more energetic and rocking than I remember. And..a little more Latin too. Imagine Ray Price combined with Los Lobos. Festival director Quint Davis emceed, giving their show the official imprimatur of Importance.

Then it was local favorite Papa Grows Funk. I'd heard of this group but never actually seen them. After reading good reviews, I resolved to check them out. Well, yes, its "funk." While its pretty good when its uptempo (though lots of the songs sound like some sort of porno soundtrack), its still kind of like a bad Neville Brothers song without the harmonies. Most songs, though, were ponderous, dark dirges that frankly bored me.

Marcia Ball was playing around the same time, and gave yet another great performance. When does she ever have an off show? Its bound to happen at some point, right? But in all the years and all the shows I've seen her, I've not seen one flat performance. She always gives you your money's worth. That's no doubt why she's a Louisiana and Jazz Fest legend. And sadly, the DJ on WTUL with tonight's shift couldn't even pronounce her name right. Shameful.

Then it was on to Gal Holiday and the Honky Tonk Revue at the Kids' Tent. This is a recent Jazz Fest find from a couple of years ago. Western swing, jazz, country...its all fun and its the kind of music you might hear at the Broken Spoke. Lots of covers (George Jones, Johnny Cash, Elvis Presley), and some original material. They really connect with kids. I think its because they play fun music and talk directly to the kids. And Gal Holiday wears super bright clothes.

Finally, the day closed with Willie Nelson. He just turned 80, in case you haven't heard, but is still going strong. This guy's going to outlive us all. He played Jazz Fest last year so I was a little surprised he came back so soon. But I guess at 80, with all the miles he's put in, there may not be too many more Jazz Fests. The show was great, the huge crowd swimming in the mud loved it. I couldn't quite figure out something though. His heroes have always been cowboys, but he doesn't want mothers to let their babies grow up to be cowboys. That contradiction just doesn't make any sense. Maybe its Waylon Jennings' fault. Everyone sang all the songs, and Willie actually played some really nice guitar solos. Marcia Ball and Holly Williams came out at the end and joined him on "Will the Circle Be Unbroken." A great end to the day's music.

So, near the end of the show as I'm standing right next to what looked like a swamp, Willie threw his headband into the crowd. And, guess who caught it? This guy. That's right. Me. I own Willie's headband. Unfortunately, it was sort of like fans trying to catch a home run. About 10 people fell on top of me in the melee, pushing me into said swamp. To show you how weird I am, as it was happening, all I could think of was the old Steve Martin line, "Into the mud, scum queen!" I could have dealt with that fine. But my expensive Canon camera and telephoto lens also wound up in the swamp. Ordinarily that would have totally ruined my weekend, but after all, I got Willie's headband. Someone told me later he doesn't sell those things on his web site or anything so it should fetch a good price on eBay. Which I won't do. I wiped off my camera later with a damp rag, but its still covered in dried mud. So if anyone has any ideas on how to clean it enough to make it the rest of the weekend, please let me know.

Before I freeze to death.

OK, back to the title. David Sedaris told this joke about a year ago at his Austin reading. Here's the set up: "What's the worst thing you can hear when you're blowing Willie Nelson?"

TOMORROW: Fleetwood Mac, Terence Blanchard

Jazz Festival 2013 Thursday: People Have the Power

The people have the power
The people have the power
The people have the power
The people have the power
The power to dream / to rule
to wrestle the world from fools
it's decreed the people rule
it's decreed the people rule
LISTEN
I believe everything we dream
can come to pass through our union
we can turn the world around
we can turn the earth's revolution
we have the power
People have the power ...

--Patti Smith, "People Have the Power"

Today I heard Patti Smith stand in front of a microphone and sing this song to a huge crowd, all standing in the rain and singing every word as she performed. No lip synching, no choreographed dancers, no douchebag standing around screaming stuff during the song.

Beyoncé's biggest hit is "Irreplaceable." Here are some of the lyrics:

You can pack all your bags we're finished (you must not know 'bout me)
'Cause you made your bed now lay in it (you must not know 'bout me)
I could have another you by tomorrow
Don't you ever for a second get to thinkin'
You're irreplaceable?

 Ohhhh kaaaaayy.

This is why I checked out of popular music a long time ago. That and the "artists" don't actually, you know, play musical instruments.

As you may have figured out, the New Orleans skies opened up on Jazz Festival today, dumping crazy rain on the Fair Grounds where it takes place. Putting sand down on the more heavily trafficked paths didn't do much to improve the footing, but it did make the place smell like wet horse. Which is not that great. On the other hand, the rains kept the crowds and the temperature down. In fact, it was about the coolest Jazz Fest day I can remember, except the day in 2005 I saw Isaac Hayes, which really was one of the most spectacular days ever, on many accounts.

Before I get into the day's events, I want to address Kimberly's point about Billy Joel not being jazz. Long ago, without actually acknowledging it, the Jazz Festival started relying on crowd-drawing "headliners" to bankroll the Festival. Headliners draw ticket buying crowds in numbers sufficient to pay the bills (the Festival is, to my knowledge, a non-profit corporation). The Fest powers that be don't particularly bother to make sure that these headliners have any real connection to jazz music, or even musical styles originating in Louisiana (which is what the Festival actually showcases, explaining the presence of gospel, blues, rap, and Cajun musical acts). This would explain how the Foo Fighters wind up playing something ostensibly called a "jazz festival." So the name "Jazz Festival" is more of a brand name at this point than a true description. Though, to their credit, the Fest organizers haven't radically departed from the premise that the musical acts should at least have some thread of a connection to Louisiana musical styles. Bear in mind, Louisiana has spawned or nurtured a lot of musical styles (the range from Louis Armstrong to Jerry Lee Lewis to the Neville Brothers to Dewey Balfa takes in a lot of territory). So its not too difficult to connect a lot of music to Louisiana. On the other hand, the Festival hasn't been too cynical about booking. Its not like Metallica has ever played here. Or Yo Yo Ma.

Today as I walked up to the Fair Grounds, I saw some kids playing "Simon Says" at the church playground. What year is this? 1972? How come these kids aren't sitting in front of a TV? Or ensconced in some sort of "we are all equal and everyone is beautiful" indoctrination course? Geez. Doesn't Simon Says have "winners" and "losers" after all? How can everyone's human dignity be affirmed by branding someone as a "loser"?

I arrived in time to participate in the Gospel Tent's morning prayer, after the stage crew sang "This Is the Day The Lord Hath Made." First up was the Eleanor McMains "Singing Mustangs" Gospel Choir. I like that all these inner city schools have spawned active and accomplished gospel choirs. Its inspiring seeing all these kids participating in an after school activity that doesn't involve playing X-Box or hanging out in the streets. And they're all really good too, so they gain that sense of accomplishment. Another great thing about the Gospel Tent is that its really the only Jazz Fest stage that's truly local. It began at the very first Festival when Brother Sherman Washington, leader of the Zion Harmonizers, volunteered to organize a gospel stage. Through his leadership over all these years, the local gospel music and church community has run the Gospel Tent ever since. Though some national acts play from time to time, it almost entirely features New Orleans born and based musicians. The Gospel Tent's energy level may not approach that of the other stages, but its most certainly more consistently energetic, and by far is the most genuine and non-commercial place in the Festival.

After charting a course for the day, I went to the Congo Square Stage (one of the larger of the numerous Festival Stages, generally featuring African or world music, or more contemporary African American music), to check out Grupo Sensacion, a Cuban/Latin group. The place was pretty empty, by Jazz Fest standards. Already it was evident that the impending rains would keep away the big crowds.  I'm not too familiar with Cuban music but enjoyed the few songs I heard today. They had a couple dancing along to the music, and they appeared pretty talented. It wasn't strictly Cuban but seemed to take in a wide swath of Central American styles.

After they finished, I went on to see Mia Borders at the Acura Stage (the largest Festival stage). She's another New Orleanian with a guitar and a pen, kicking out her own deeply felt, profoundly stated songs. Whatevs. I really enjoy hearing all these songs of deep social import, each of which leads to an announcement that you can buy her CD at the merchandise tent. Don't these people know that no one buys CDs anymore? To be fair, Mia Borders is by no means a particularly egregious example of this phenomenon. I mean, if you can play the guitar and have multiple tattoos or piercings and wear pointedly non-conformist clothes, isn't there some law that you're automatically a Serious Artist? In all seriousness, I did mostly enjoy her show. I would liken her style to funky blues. The Black Crowes crossed my mind, as did Bonnie Raitt. The comparison was fairly obvious, but she's an up and comer on the New Orleans music scene.

From there I moved over to the Gentilly Stage to hear Meschiya Lake and the Little Big Horns. Get it? Little Big Horns? I'd never heard of her, but I'd seen on line that she was a must see. Glad I did. Boy was this ever unexpected. This was the same kind of 1900-1920 style jazz music one normally hears only at the Economy Music Hall Tent. She has a somewhat fierce vocal style, as if the singing doesn't really match the music. Accompanying her was also another couple dancing to those crazy new "jazz" tunes. Oh, and she has about one or a thousand tattoos, including multiple face tattoos. The face tattoo is basically how you say to the world "I will never work in an office. Or a pre-school."

Then I caught just a bit of Rosie Ledet and the Zyedeco Playboys. Rosie has a huge south Louisiana following and with good cause. I liked her straight ahead yet cool singing style. Usually with zydeco, it seems to me like the playing comes before the singing. But not with Rosie Ledet, who has a great voice. The thick crowd, somewhat unusual for the day, confirmed her stature. The rains had already started and the whole place was becoming muddier as the day wore on.

Next it was back to Congo Square for the last couple of songs from the Hot 8 Brass Band. This is a truly local group, much larger than the normal brass band. Both in number and size. Lets just say the "beedus" will deplete this group fairly soon. They evoke the other brass bands that have become so popular in New Orleans over the last 20 years. Later tonight while jogging, I saw the band unloading its equipment and walking in the Warehouse District. I guess there's a musician spectrum. At one end is the Hot 8 Brass Band, wearing silk screened t-shirts with your band name and moving your own equipment. At the other end is Sting. Well, at least the Hot 8 doesn't have any pompous, self-absorbed, preening douchebags. Like some other people I could name.

In my notes at this point, I have some diatribe about the "cult of New Orleans," that all the national musicians fawn over here. I had some line comparing New Orleans to Escape from New York that was pretty good. Let's just skip that for now.

And move on to Blended Voices, at the Jazz Tent. This featured legendary New Orleans jazz queen Germaine Bazzle, as well as local greats Phillip Manuel and Leslie Smith. With a large jazz orchestra, they covered a range of standards. Some they sang together, but mostly they sang solo, or "unblended."  I try to catch Manuel every Festival, ever since his Nat King Cole tribute show. Bazzle is basically the queen of premier local jazz club, Snug Harbor. Dreamy jazz ballads in the rain (as the storms had come back by this point).

On to the Lagniappe Stage (in the Fair Grounds grandstand building) to catch Ingrid Lucia. Who looks suspiciously like my friend Martha Beaudry. Every year I want to hear Ingrid Lucia's full show, and every year I only catch a couple of songs. I stayed a little longer today. She sings jazz standards too, though a little more up tempo with a swing influence, and she has this coquettish falsetto voice, like Marilyn Monroe in Some Like It Hot (modern reference).

On the way to Widespread Panic, I caught a little bit of the Delfeayo Marsalis show. Apparently there's only two musical families in this town: the Nevilles and the Marsalises. Its like they're the rival car dealership families in town. Anyway, Delfeayo is a trombonist, and was supported by a full jazz orchestra. Unlike other band leaders, he sat with the other band members. I didn't really stay long enough to get a full listening, but it struck me as fairly conservative, traditional big band jazz, less swing and more ballad. And how middle aged white guy am I? I liked that all his band members wore suits. Suit up!

OK, Widespread Panic. They've got this widespread following as the pre-eminent "jam band." I've never heard them until today. Though there's no arguing with success, and though the place appeared packed with entry-level brokers and commercial real estate account managers, I have to say I just don't get it. Actually, I do get it, I just don't agree with it. They've got four songs, and each one lasts about 45 minutes and sounds the same as the other three. The members just kind of stand there the whole time, motionless and expressionless. There's no show, as such. This is just musical cotton candy. The Jimmy Buffet of jam bands. Now, if this weren't already so long, I'd write about how these criticisms might appear to apply to the Grateful Dead, but they really don't. The Dead were much stronger songwriters, and Jerry was a virtuoso guitar player.

Finally, as noted above, I concluded with the Patti Smith show. This show really rocked. Despite having been performing for four decades, she still infused the songs with real passion and energy. Oh, and she's 66 years old. Not at all mailing it in. She still has her fastball. Unfortunately, she also looks like Henry Winkler. Patti Smith has an important place in music history. Before there was Joan Jett, Pink, Chrissie Hynde, Jewel, Deborah Harry, Kate Bush, Alanis Morrisette, or Annie Lennox, there was Patti Smith. She was more than just another rock singer. She was, and is, an actual poet, writer, and playwright. Highlights included a lengthy cover of several songs from the incredible Nuggets box set, Gloria, Because the Night, and Dancing Barefoot, in addition to People Have the Power. She made a point of dedicating one song to New Orleans, which normally would provoke me to eye rolling, but explained that after Sandy hit New York and New Jersey, they could really understand what New Orleans had endured with Katrina, and said New Yorkers still remember that New Orleans was hit. That doesn't warrant eye rolling. Towards the end, as People Have the Power wound down, she went into a rant about how people really do have power to fight governments and corporations, which she exhorted people to remember. This struck me as inspirational. While Carlos Santana's political rant left me irritated at best. The difference? Santana's rant was literally an appeal to vote for a candidate, Obama, while Smith's was more general. Santana's also little more than fawning, unquestioning, idol worship. I mean most of his rant was just embarrassingly over the top, and never-ending (even finding its way into songs, as he literally tried to lead cheers for Obama). Smith's was relatively brief, and more even-handed. And being a little subversive is totally rock and roll. Smith really exhibited a command of the stage, which is a rare quality. She showed that you don't have to litter the stage with dancers and mayhem to entertain. She was intense without becoming histrionic. She talked to the crowd some, and obviously was enjoying the show. Unlike a lot of other headliners who plainly are just there for the check. All in all, it was a great show and the day's highlight.

I lingered a bit afterwards, to buy t-shirts for various folks. At 7:15, 15 minutes after the fairly firm 7:00 cutoff time, Widespread Panic was still playing. I guess when you're in a groove, you just lose track of time.

Tomorrow: Willie Nelson and Marcia Ball.

Its Festival Time Again Yall

Too much fun

Well, its been another year. It hardly seems that its been one year since I left the 2012 New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival, still riding the high of the Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings soul show. One of the best Jazz Fest shows ever, and a total surprise. I literally was just walking past after leaving an incredibly uninspired Neville Brothers show, and heard music that was a revelation.

That means its time to stand out in the sun for another four days, inhaling passive smoke, becoming dehydrated, and nurturing my melanoma risk. And listening to four days' worth of really great music. Jazz Fest is here.

Actually, the Festival began last weekend. The first weekend featured the likes of Billy Joel, Dr. John, Gipsy Kings, Allen Toussaint, Earth, Wind & Fire, and BB King.

This weekend features some fairly strong headliners. Fleetwood Mac, no doubt thinking of the millions the Eagles are raking in from touring, have hit the road and are making the Jazz Festival their New Orleans stop. Everyone hide your cocaine, Stevie Nicks has arrived. Other headliners include Hall & Oates, Widespread Panic, Willie Nelson (fresh off his 80th birthday celebration), Widespread Panic, Patti Smith, Marcia Ball, the Mavericks, Los Lobos, the Black Keys, and Trombone Shorty.

Of course, one of Jazz Fest's main attractions is the chance to hear artists you've never heard before. These days the Festival is my only opportunity to listen to a lot of "unknown" music. And the opportunity to enjoy some musical styles not widely heard on the radio. Jazz Fest has an entire stage devoted to gospel music. "Economy Hall" features traditional jazz, i.e. circa 1900-1920 jazz. There's also a blues tent (where I've seen the likes of Ike Turner, Percy Sledge, Gregg Allman, and Mose Allison). And a Jazz Tent, featuring the cream of the New Orleans jazz establishment.

Then, the Festival showcases a wide variety of non-musical attractions. The food, from local vendors, is generally excellent (if incredibly unhealthy in most cases; my first "gluten free" Jazz Fest presents a real challenge). Various exhibitions demonstrate Louisiana heritage, ranging from blacksmithing demonstrations, to Cajun woodworking, to Mardi Gras Indians, to Native American dance. The Festival also features several second line parades throughout each day, infusing the crowd with an opportunity to experience this unique New Orleans tradition.

I've already gotten a head start, having attended YLC Wednesday at the Square, sponsored by the New Orleans Saints. This concert series takes place in historic Lafayette Square, adjacent to Gallier Hall and the US Fifth Circuit Courthouse. The Meters Experience played tonight, busting out a tight set of old Meters funk.  Its a fun way to ease into the concert experience, with downtown workers mingling with Fest-goers. And...SaintSations. Oh yeah...

Each night after the Festival, except the last night (Sunday), I'll post about that day's music. Each post will be too long, according to you, so feel free just to, you know, skim. Or skip ahead. Catch the highlights. No need to dwell on any Top Gun or Dirty Dancing stories that I'll enjoy writing and you'll enjoy avoiding.

And, keep in mind, I'm speaking only for myself when I talk about the bands I've seen. I'm no music expert, and though I've seen and heard a lot of music, I don't hold myself out as some music critic. Just telling you what I liked and didn't like. Your mileage may vary. You got that, idiot Amanda Shaw fans? Guess I could have just written "Amanda Shaw fans."

So...on with the show, this is it! Happy Festival!

If Its Too Loud, You're Too Old (and more snide things about Gwyneth Paltrow)

I have terrible hearing trouble. I have unwittingly helped to invent and refine a type of music that makes its principal proponents deaf.
--Pete Townshend

By any stretch, most of us who haven't been exploded or imprisoned weathered a pretty awful week. When can you think of a worse one? You know, other than the week of 9/11 or Pearl Harbor or the premiere of Jack Reacher?

Two Chechnyan terrorists managed to turn Boston into some sort of latter-day end of Bonnie and Clyde. That's right, Chechnyan. A Russian "separatist republic." What the hell? What's next, Shining Path guerrillas wreaking havoc in South Dakota? Then West, Texas, home of the greatest kolaches anywhere, suffers an fertilizer plant explosion and loses maybe a dozen residents. Everyone in that small town would have known all the victims, or had some close connection to them.

Then there were the Colorado pot smokers. Sounds like some sort of Reefer Madness movie title. A bunch of Venice Beach-types all got together on 4/20 to celebrate, i.e. do what they do every day except on 4/20, and take their "special medicine." Then, shockingly, someone pulls a gun and starts firing. Gee, who'd have thought having a bunch of drugs in one place might attract guns? Staggering. I guess we just can't have nice things, can we?

Closer to home, our intrepid Travis County District Attorney, upholder of public safety and order, pulled off her own spectacular DWI arrest, replete with Gary Busey-like mug shot, open vodka bottle riding shotgun in the passenger seat, and drunken shouts demanding to see her buddy the sheriff while being processed in central lockup. Undaunted, of course, she's refusing to resign because, you know, the public elected her and we deserve to her serve out her full term. Or some Anthony Weiner-esque tripe like that. Anyway, Rosemary's gonna be doing that from jail for the next 45 days. That, my friends, is Keeping Austin Weird.  Its bad enough to have a couple of glasses of wine at happy hour and blow a 0.09, just barely above the limit. But driving when you're at 0.239, honey, Courtney Love thinks that's a little reckless.

Then we have a little community to our north, a bastion of good, God-fearing Christian values, known for dealing harshly with criminals. And other, you know, "undesirables." Unfortunately, the long-time leader of this charge, Williamson County's former district attorney, now its criminal district judge, found himself under arrest for, basically, railroading an innocent man on to death row through multiple civil rights violations. They're not only tough on criminals in Williamson County, they're tough on non-criminals as well.

And as if that wasn't all bad enough, jack-booted thug cops arrested America's Sweetheart, Reese Witherspoon. But, she's so cute and wholesome! And got Ali Larter totally off for killing her husband in Legally Blonde. Why did we have to arrest her? She should have known things weren't going too well when, as the police were initially just arresting her husband for DWI she had to go to the "do you know who I am" card. Look, famous people. Its like this. If you have to ask someone if they know who you are, you're probably not as famous as you think you are. You know who uses that line? The Kathy Griffins of the world. Or, the cop knows exactly who you are and doesn't care. Or, as in this case, the cop hilariously said, "I don't need to know who you are." You know, I get all you non-equals getting busted for DWI. You work at your McJob for wages that just exceed the average Korean factory worker's weekly income. You look forward to your weekly happy hour at Applebee's with the fellas, before you go home to your prematurely dilapidated 3 bedroom 2 bath pre-fab house with its four shouting kids and your boring bloated spouse. You go for the third beer, when the guys question your manhood as you try to stop after two Coors Lights. You already can barely afford to buy the generic Twinkies for the kids, so cab fare seems like an unobtainable luxury. And you sure don't want any of those douches from work taking you home. I get that. But why can't someone earning an NBA paycheck, or living off fat Hollywood royalties, call a cab? That doesn't make any sense.

So after a week like this, I'm hardly in the mood to meticulously analyze anything. Not even how the more elegant Top Gun scenes represent the national pathos.

It came down to two posting choices. Make fun of Gwyneth Paltrow, or list the songs I absolutely crank up to 11 whenever they come on the radio.

Making fun of Gwyneth Paltrow...its kind of like making fun of the Special Olympics. She's so pathetic that making fun of her only makes her seem sympathetic. And what would you have to do other than just repeat what she actually says? Gems like

"Beyonce is the most talented human being on the planet."

or

"We have great dinner parties at which everyone sits around talking about politics, history, art and literature---all this peppered with really funny jokes. But back in America, I was at a party and a girl looked at me and said, 'Oh, my God! Are those Juicy jeans that you're wearing?' and I thought, I can't stay here. I have to get back to Europe."

Her website, Goop, the purpose of which escapes me, would make Jacqueline Onassis feel like trailer trash. I'm not really sure, but I think she's hoping to help those she deems worthy deal with important subjects, like the best place to find politically correct tofu in London. And she sells "clothes," like a $45 child's bikini. Excuse me. "New York Bikini." Huge diff. Only some riff raff like me would confuse the two. The audience presumably includes the 15-20 people on the planet Gwynnie deems acceptable and who also have internet access (I thought she might find Brazilian rain forest tribes acceptable, but...the unkempt hair and everything probably keeps them off the list as well). Basically Beyoncé (obvi!), her crew, the Beckhams...the Obamas, I would think. Madonna. You know. People who haven't stood in a line for the last 10 years.

So, like I said, easy.

Looking on for something uplifting, how about songs to crank up in your car when they come on the radio? Yeah, you know, up to 11. I know. Where did that come from? Something about speed and loud tunes can really take the edge off. Enjoying that rush when the song comes on and you haven't heard it in a million years and it instantly transports you back to some better day. A better day back when Reese Witherspoon didn't yet have a mug shot. Thought it would be just light enough to help ease some of you out of last week.

Now what you might want to turn up to 11 probably differs from what I do. Some of you would list a bunch of Britney Spears, Mariah Carey, and Shakira songs. Though I'm not sure why you'd have made it this deep on this post. Others would be a total hip hop playlist. You may like big butts and cannot lie, but that's not me.

No, most of us are predisposed to liking the kind of music that was popular, or to which they listened, when they were in their teens. You can thank that fact, and the Baby Boom, for the fact that radio stations will still be playing the Eagles and Fleetwood Mac for the next 30 years. And as a somewhat unlikely Boomer myself, I'm inevitably drawn to that musical era. Though I have some standards. Supertramp is right out.

Therefore, here's my songs that demand turning those amps up to 11. Turn 'em up. They're all rockers. Rock and roll has a lot of horrible qualities, but at its best it embodies feelings and contradictions one just can't put into words (Pete Townshend said something along those lines once, so its gotta be true). True, these have all been played millions of times, and you might be sick of them. But they were played so often because they rose above the other dreck. Satisfaction will have the same power hundreds of years from now. These songs largely come from or evoke the 1960s, back before the Rock God, back when making hit music and artistry weren't incompatible. And, I have to concede, make up the White Middle Age Man soundtrack. At least the ones not listening to Rick James. They can curse us all they want, but they can't take away our tuneage. Though I doubt they want it. Get all mindless. And forget last week.

Beatles: Twist and Shout. They didn't even write it. Best Beatles studio performance ever. Not their best song, but their best performance.

Led Zeppelin: You could list about half their catalog. But I'll limit it to three. Black Dog, Whole Lotta Love, and Misty Mountain Hop. "Hey boy do you want score?"

Rolling Stones. The World's Greatest Rock and Roll Band. Again, dozens of songs could make the cut. How about Satisfaction and Jumping Jack Flash? Billy Blazejowski approves.

Cream: Sunshine of Your Love. Clapton denies it, but this is the song, and the band, that started heavy metal. It was reputedly Hendrix's favorite song.

Aerosmith: Sweet Emotion. The first song in Dazed and Confused. Midnight Special mid-70s "armadillos in our trousers" peacocking at its finest.

Ramones: Rock and Roll High School. I wouldn't have needed a GED if I'd gone there.

Jimi Hendrix. Purple Haze. 'Scuse me, while I kiss this guy. What?

Nirvana. Smells Like Teen Spirit. The song that singlehandedly killed off Hair Bands. For which we should all be eternally grateful.

Foghat: Slow Ride. Yes, you read that right. And I'm not embarrassed either. I just picture that last scene in Dazed and Confused, as they head out Highway 290 to Houston to get Aerosmith tickets. I was like those kids once. Without all the pot, of course. Because its bad for your health. In fact, I've made that same drive about a million times. I have a theory that Linklater didn't script any of Matthew McConaughey's scenes in Dazed and Confused. Instead, he just put McConaughey in costume and followed him around with a camera and mike, filming McConaughey's normal daily routine.  "That's what I love about these high school girls, man. I get older, they stay the same age. Yes they do."

Kinks: You Really Got Me. The first song featuring heavy guitar feedback. Overlooked lyrics that nearly match Dave Davies' guitar. "You got me so I don't know what I'm doing." A gutpunch.

Neil Young and Crazy Horse: Hey Hey, My My. Rock and roll can never die. You know it.

The Pretenders: Tattooed Love Boys. Third coolest rock chick ever.

Joan Jett: Bad Reputation. Here, with Foo Fighters. Second coolest rock chick ever.

Lynyrd Skynyrd: Sweet Home Alabama. The Alabama National Anthem. Purposely listed after Mr. Young. "Turn it up!"

The Creation: Making Time. That song from Rushmore. Notice people dancing in the video? Believe it or not, people danced to rock and roll in the 60s. Go figure.

Bob Dylan: Like A Rolling Stone. Another song with a dramatic introduction. Often called the greatest rock song of all time (along with Satisfaction).

Small Faces: Afterglow (Of Your Love). Steve Marriott had one of rock's great voices, and this was a Mod anthem.

The Who: My Generation. Hope I die before I get old.

The Kingsmen: Louie Louie. If your rock and roll band can't play this, it pretty much sucks.

The Easybeats: Friday on My Mind. Australia's coolest band. Sorry Midnight Oil.

The Animals: We Gotta Get Out of This Place. I love how all the Animals' hits started off with a really dramatic introductory riff. Sort of like announcing your presence with authority.

Creedence: Fortunate Son. The universal anti-war song.

Elvis: you could list about half his catalog too. But how about One Night With You? Powerful.

And I'm spent. Enjoy.

Mad Men Season Six: Welcome Back!

Vanessa Kensington: Mr. Powers, my job is to acclimatize you to the nineties. You know, a lot's changed since 1967.

Austin Powers: No doubt, love, but as long as people are still having promiscuous sex with many anonymous partners without protection while at the same time experimenting with mind-expanding drugs in a consequence-free environment, I'll be sound as a pound!

--Austin Powers, International Man of Mystery

International man of mystery, that's pretty much me. No one knows much about me, and several trips abroad have cemented my "international" status. I'm no Adam Livingston, of course, but neither have I run through an airport screaming like that the state security police were after me, like Miss Schizophrenia 2013.

Tonight's the long-anticipated return of Mad Men, AMC's celebrated series, set in the 1960s, about an advertising agency and its employees' various neuroses and travails. Questions about the season's direction are burning up the internet. Will Don stray from new wife Megan? Will Roger stop tripping long enough to get his life back together? And do we really have to see the cast decked out in Herb Tarlek-style polyester suits?

As a warmup, be sure to check out 33 Moments from Last Year's Season Finale, as a refresher before the season opener.

Like most things, I came late to the Mad Men party. It takes me awhile to come around on anything popular. A couple of years ago I finally decided the Foo Fighters were great; now they've stopped working together. Ten years from now I'm sure I'll start liking Breaking Bad (having to read how "amazing" something is in nearly every publication and internet site oddly makes me less likely to follow something; its like the old Yogi Berra quote, "no one goes there anymore, its too crowded"). I usually make the right call though. Entourage, for example, will never foul my television set. So a piece extolling Mad Men is about five years late. My bad.

I can't exactly remember why, but I started watching Mad Men around the middle of last season. I had seen the infamous Zou Bisou number that started the season, and it must have grown on me. This business of "how things were," and in some ways still are, intrigued me. So I bought all the back season DVDs and have watched the entire series (blu-ray actually). Netflix is for non-equals; buying the series is far more Baller.

For those few of you who either haven't seen it or don't know what I'm talking about, Mad Men is a wildly popular show that has in past years swept the Emmy Awards, focusing on advertising agency employees and their families, and their attempts to adjust to the 1960s' breakneck social change. In many ways, we find their world abhorrent. Yet, in other ways, the show depicts a simpler lifestyle offering clearer choices and often greater advantages. The primary character, Don Draper, is a hard charging, hard drinking, hard living ad executive who finds that business success and a picture perfect family don't necessarily bring happiness. The other characters engage in the usual office-environment machinations, competing for status through honorable and dishonorable means. The show follows the characters both in business and personal story lines as they play by 1960s rules. The times affect but don't define the characters. We see how the men and women interact at work, how husbands and wives approach marriage and family, and how people cope with the turbulent 1960s. You've met most of these people already; now imagine if they lived within the constraints (and opportunities) of the 1960s.

The show moves consistently forward in time; one season equals roughly one year in show time. We're now in 1968. Which means polyester suits and Priscilla Presley hair and makeup styles soon will blight the landscape. Oh boy. Please do not talk to me about long sideburns or the "dry look." Those poor bastards will have to endure The Mod Squad too. Solid. But they'll get the Amazin' Mets of 1969 to make up for it. And Mister Rogers Neighborhood, which also started in 1968.

I haven't read any of the numerous stories and columns basically doing what I'm doing here, pontificating on Mad Men's message tells us about our own world. But, five years in, I wanted to write about that because its deeply indicative of our current society's struggle to adjust to turbulent and unsettling change at a rapid speed. As happens during turbulent times, Americans, who normally look to the future, (Don Draper once said he lives his life moving forward), will look to the past with a sense of nostalgia and escapism. We have 70s "stagflation" and "malaise" to thank for Happy Days, for example. Aaaaayyyyyy!! Historical dramas like Mad Men or Downton Abbey fulfill that need today.

Some watch to see the breathtaking sets and costumes, which capture the 1960s look with eerie precision. The recreated Howard Johnson's from last season was spot on, for example.

Some no doubt watch just for the surface drama, and compelling characters like Don Draper, the guy you love to hate. No cartoonish J.R. Ewing is he, though, but an incredibly deep and complex character with many "good" and "bad" characteristics that conflict on an every day basis.

Draper "suffers" from many personality traits that our modern world, ever so dripping with sophistication, has deemed unacceptable. His demand of professional excellence in himself and others serve him well in the 1960s, but would make him not a "team player" in today's "accept mediocrity as long as we're all equal and sensitive to one another" world. Issuing instructions unlaced with fawning and praise would offend modern workplace sensibilities. Placing work first would (and does) prevent him from enjoying family and encouraging "normal" growth.

Basically, my dad, like others of his generation, was Don Draper with less swagger. And without the affairs and daily booze and cigarette regimen. He wasn't home much, basically because he was too busy working to keep a roof over our heads and pay for various lessons and other kid crap. But this enabled Mom to stay home, something regarded now as more of an exception than rule. He didn't convene workplace group therapy sessions to decide how to allocate the day's tasks. Nor did he agonize over whether his co-workers were maximizing their professional development. Do your work, or he'd get someone who would. Or as Draper once put it when an employee complained that he never thanked her for anything, he reminded her that she received a salary and "that's what the money is for!" Today, Don Draper would flunk every management course and probably receive counseling on workplace harassment.

No, Mad Men's most compelling function is to compare our modern American society with another real time in American history not unlike our own, also going through rapid change, to ask whether we're really better off now than then. Or whether we were better off then than now. Were Mad Men set in today's time, no one would watch. Don Draper picking up his kids at day care and meeting colleagues for after work coffee? Asking women what THEY think. Bo-ring.

I shall now tell you about 21st Century America, so prepare for the knowledge drop. Rapid, accelerating change, primarily owing to the computer, continues unabated. Was "googling" even a word 10 years ago? Most of us daily hold in our hands a device giving us access to the entirety of human knowledge (and yet we use it to troll ex-girlfriends or flame on other teams' fans). Major change has overtaken nearly all aspects of our lives, such as transportation, shopping, education, entertainment, working and employment, medical care, and investing, to offer only a few examples. Keeping up with all these developments so as not to become obsolete represents a full time calling.

The swinging '60s were not unlike today's times. Though they encompassed even greater change, as society itself was going through an upheaval as the Baby Boomers challenged a wide range of social conventions. One year in reality in the 1960s seemed like three.  The Space Age spawned a technological wave (think transistors, xerox machines, TANG, the pill...), and the economy was booming as American manufacturing jobs had yet to migrate abroad.  The creative arts reflected the change in a mini-Renaissance America. The early to mid-1960s saw groundbreaking theatre (Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, Hair, How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying), film (To Kill A Mockingbird, Dr. Strangelove, Psycho, Bonnie and Clyde, Cool Hand Luke), music (Dylan, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones), art (Peter Max, Andy Warhol, Claes Oldenburg, Mark Rothko), and literature (Mailer, Capote, Kesey, Vonnegut). Minorities and women began to press for legal and social equality. The younger generation (a/k/a "dirty, ungrateful hippies") drove the change, and anyone over 30 suddenly seemed very old indeed, grasping to remain "current." Sound familiar?  It was as if though the Eisenhower-era shackles had come off and life suddenly became more free. All this change occurred light-speed as "questioning" happened all around. Think of the difference between the Ed Sullivan Show Beatles and the Let It Be Beatles. Those were two different worlds, separated by only six years. Imagine trying to cope with that much change that fast. Or, as Roger Sterling pensively put it in an episode set in early 1966, "When is everything going to go back to normal?"  

So in seeing how the changing "rules" of the 1960s set the parameters by which people lived their lives, we see what kind of alternative reality Americans confronted as little as 50 years ago, and how they coped with such change. In so doing, the show portrays not only "how far we've come," but also explores what we've sacrificed as the price of progress.

Typical of the 1960s, men run the Sterling Cooper ad agency treats and women mostly serve in menial, servile roles. At work and at home, they are pampered, both treated with respect and dismissiveness, held at bay when serious matters arise. Don's (first) wife Betty, a former model, gave up her career to raise children, as did most women of that and previous eras. The show sees her conflict at giving up that life and her joy of raising children while also despairing of a life spent pursuing her own interests. Peggy, however, a former secretary who becomes an important copy writer, provides a contrast. In her, we see the beginnings of "women's liberation" as she takes a job previously occupied by men. And like the "superwoman" stereotype, we see her struggle to reconcile her burgeoning professional career and newfound intellectual respect with her desire for a family and a relationship. Women, huh? Not that this leaves the men untouched. The "times" also demanded that in exchange for economic primacy, society expected men to marry and support a woman and a family. Divorce laws made it difficult and costly to leave a marriage, acknowledging that women enjoyed few economic opportunities and depended on husbands. Hence, we see the agency's women keen to find husbands or men otherwise willing to support them, and men reluctant to divorce wives who no longer interested them. Work became less a calling than an obligation that a man must shoulder to support his family.  

Minorities and "others," such as Jews, received even less notice. They appear on the show in stereotypical positions, such as elevator operators, or rich store owners. Yet as show time progresses, the firm can no longer ignore the civil rights movement and slowly adapts to the evolving '60s and '70s white male cessation of absolute economic preeminence. The firm basically becomes forced to hire its first "negro" due to a prank on another firm that backfired. Though she is a secretary, she, much like "Lt. Uhura" on Star Trek or Diahann Carroll on Julia in television, represents a beachhead that everyone must learn to accept.  

On a range of other subjects, like health (everyone smokes and drinks on the show, 1964 Surgeon General's warning or pregnancy be damned), workplace manners (addressing people as "Mr." or "Mrs." or "Miss" and standing as women enter or leave a room, or wearing a suit and tie every day), and technology (in a bit the writers surely wrote with tongue firmly in cheek, Don sarcastically asks a secretary in 1960 if some magical device exists that can just copy documents), this question of "have things really improved" comes up again and again. On the health front, people don't smoke and drink at work anymore, but we eat crap every day, often at our desks, to which we seem chained all day. Obesity is at epidemic proportions. Walk through the average American office and its a bunch of Casper the Friendly Ghosts shoved into cubicles like veal, pecking away at keyboards. And it doesn't help that we all go home and watch TV or play video games all night. Office customs are radically different as well. Nowadays, offices resemble a kindergarten class where people know bigger words. Or a zoo. Everyone works on top of everyone else. They dress like they're getting ready to paint their game room or just got back from the stables. You can't tell the difference between the CEO and the just-hired file clerk. They address each other as if everyone has the same job. The file clerk addresses the CEO as "hey Dave, 'sup?" Much the same way parents now want to be their children's friends, supervisors want to be their employees' colleagues or buddies. Conversational topics that would have been regarded as fireable offenses then are an everyday thing in 2013. Michael Scott is no aberration. Little wonder that so many companies find it hard to compete. Sterling Cooper never had Hawaiian Shirt Day. And as mentioned earlier, technology has completely transformed the workplace in ways that hardly bear mention. The result, it takes a whole lot less time to do a whole lot more work, and yet, 2013 workers clearly experience more time pressure than their 1960s counterparts. All these labor and time saving devices have made it possible to jam more work into the same number of hours, and have made clients and customers expect that their suppliers will make themselves available all the time, on a moment's notice. Cell phones and texts and internet access have freed us up from the office. But have made us responsible to be on call all the time, and to render instant service. No waiting three days for a letter to arrive, or to check the overnight telexes.  

And just from a simple lifestyle standpoint, the show depicts how differently, and yet in some ways, how similarly, people lived their lives in the 1960s. Dads worked and supported the family. Moms stayed home. Kids were seen and not heard, turned loose during the day to play in the neighborhood, coming home to eat or watch TV at night. Work was hard, but as long as you were capable you knew there was some job available. Divorce was on the rise but still unusual and stigmatizing. Families didn't take extravagent trips, unless you think driving to Disney World is extravagent. But they did stay together. Even so, as the shows has unfolded, the Sterling Cooper men have betrayed more regret at placing work first, and exhibit more concern for their families. You can practically see the birth of today's helicopter parents. Now, of course, expecting that sort of life seems quaint, and in some circles, is politically offensive. Day care, visitation rights, child support, single moms, "never beens," living with Mom and Dad, DINKs...the traditional nuclear family just isn't what it used to be. You're not trapped in a loveless, soul-poisoning marriage anymore, and you needn't bear the entirety of your family's welfare on your own shoulders. When families do stay together, they often obsess over their children and put them at the center of the family. Softball tournaments, soccer leagues, art lessons, and on and on. But you have to worry about your job. And about gut-wrenching life transformations that rarely occurred in the 1960s.  

Every episode puts these contrasts before us, and begs the question "are we really better off"? You be the judge. As for me, its a mixed bag. A friend this morning joked that I probably think of Mad Men as "How It Should Be." With white men firmly in charge. Maybe. But when white men ran things, they had a nasty habit of dying in their 50s. Of never seeing their kids grow into adults. Of chasing their secretaries around the office and lying to their wives about the perfume on their collars. Of bearing absolute and ultimate economic responsibility for families. And of a life spent without the intelligent and enriching company of women and non-whites. Pretty soon, frat life loses its lustre.  

Enjoy the show tonight!    

Austin Confronts the North Korean Nuclear Threat (Or "Why Is Everyone Always Picking On Us?")



Daniel Johnston graffiti/art

Ex-civic treasure Leslie

As you may know by now, by including it in a list of possible missile targets, the Democratic People's Republic of North Korea has allowed the People's Republic of Austin to take its rightful place leading international dialogue about the fate of nations.  And efforts to unshackle oppressed nations like North Korea from the international yoke of American imperialism.

Or, as its discussed outside Travis County, its the first sane thing North Korea has proposed in 50 years.
 

As of this writing, I'm not back in Austin yet, having been spending a relaxing week in Houston, City of Concrete and Mosquitoes. And high water rates. But I can well imagine that this news thrills Austinites. Not only did Austin get a mention in the international press (did they mention our Eurotrash-friendly Formula One race? Its tres distingue), but it gives us a chance to side with the oppressed peoples (never mind who's really oppressing them) against the Great Deceiver: the United States Government. True, Barack Obama leads said government now, and most Austinites regard him as their Dream Date, but this all goes back over 50 years, back when real criminals were running the United States. Like Jim Wright. So, just like we adopted a resolution supporting Michael Jackson and condemning the LA prosecutors trying to put him away for child molestation (those pesky prosecutors just don't understand artists), now I'm sure we'll support the Pyongyang Gang in its hour of crisis.

What's more of a mystery is why North Korea's kid dictator, Kim Jong Un, would threaten to take out the Scourge That Is Austin. Hey, we're Fellow Travelers too, with Marx and Lenin and Mao and McGovern and all the other Greats. We've banned loud music and forced people to ride bicycles, and only allow Republicans to remain on the official Capitol grounds (you know, the Headliners Club and Barton Creek Country Club). We've got curbside recycling, and have strict restrictions on capitalist developers. We're just as weird as North Korea--we've have lots of parades, flimsy excuses for holidays, and everyone's on some bizarre starvation fad diet just like north of the DMZ. We're on your side, guy.

Naturally, this squabble brought Our Fearless Leader Rick Perry, Maximum Governor For Life of Texas, out of his Command Bunker (you call it "the Governor's Mansion") in true groundhog-like fashion. You see, Rick has a theory. He thinks Austin's reputation as a high tech utopia to which CEOs should move their businesses, has drawn North Korea's attention. For the same reasons its attracted attention from others, says He With the Perfect Hair. No doubt due to his own, err, "leadership," shall we say, in administering the Texas Technology Fund. Say what you will about Gov. Perry, he still doesn't miss a trick. One great thing about America is how local politicians never let a marketing opportunity go to waste. Mine cave in, tsunami, meteorite explosion, nuclear plant core meltdown, bizarre Kennedy family tragedy...some councilmember will always look into the news cameras and tell the national audience how "this community is resiliant and we can rely on one another" and "this is our home and we still love it more than anywhere else." I'm still shocked Ray Nagin wasted such a opportunity during Katrina to remind national TV audiences about  New Orleans' great restaurants and shopping and its, well, newfound buyer-friendly real estate market. Then again, he did lose his re-election bid. Stupid FBI.

Other possible reasons why North Korea might have targeted us run the gamut: "Un" couldn't get ACL Festival wrist bands, couldn't find parking during South By Southwest, really got pissed off about IH-35 traffic, still angry that they tore down the Armadillo, got upset that the Conservatives didn't prove strong enough to get rid of uppity House Speaker Joe Strauss (forgetting that over here, "conservative" has a slightly different meaning), or he just didn't want to carry his own bag to the grocery store. Each of these situations do seem to warrant nuclear warfare.

No one should dismiss as mere coincidence that the North Koreans are coming for Austin after all-time weirdo Dennis Rodman paid a visit. There's no telling what the Worm told them. Un probably thinks Austin is where America stores all the space aliens, like in Men In Black. Actually, I'm not sure I don't believe that myself. See above.

Really, this is so odd that it just illustrates once again what happens when powerful people put their kids in charge, instead of someone actually qualified to hold the job. Un's dad and granddad were plenty evil and despotic for sure, but unlike Saddam or Col. Tom Parker, they seemed to keep it together reasonably well. Un, however, is like Tommy Boy, floundering about trying to save Callahan Brake Pads, only without David Spade around to keep him focused. Or Judge Smail's nephew Spaulding. I could totally see Un at a dinner party asking the guy next to him if he's going to eat his fat. Actually, I could see Un confiscating and then eating everyone's dinner, and executing the guests while he makes them watch him eat their dinners. Un does seem to be the only North Korean alive without that Kate Moss-like, "wispy" quality. Meat Loaf thinks that guy has a weight problem. Let's just say, he hasn't switched to the sweet potato fries yet. I think its affected his decision-making.

Anyway, I'm sure Austin will confront this problem with the same resolute, expedient method that it brings to bear on every problem. Here's how it will play out. City Council will:

(1) appoint a study committee to analyze the threat and provide possible options;

(2) conduct a series of neighborhood outreach meetings to survey public opinion;

(3) consultation with bicycle activists;

(4) outreach to neighborhood groups;

(5) present findings to full Council;

(6) full Council tables action and discusses hiring consultant;

(7) consultant RFP process (repeat steps 1-4, to prepare RFP);

(8) consultant repeats steps 2-4;

(9) full Council tables action for indefinite period;

(10) Council takes up after next election, tabling action until neighborhood groups can be consulted;

(11) Council ultimately adopts resolution fully supporting North Korea's legitimate grievances and objections to the imperialistic American colonialist policies, but suggests the North Koreans adopt an alternative policy including a series of hot yoga workshops, cultural sensitivity seminars, and adding additional bicycle lanes around Pyongyang to demonstrate independence and harmony with the forces of peace among nations; and

(12) offers $10 million tax subsidy to fund a new "Central Texas Institute for the Study of Korean Unification."

I'm not sure we should leave it at that. We really need to go a little further and offer up some alternative target cities. Here's some suggestions:

• Dallas. If you have to ask, I wonder why you ever started reading this blog in the first place. Everything soulless and evil about Texas somehow can trace its origin to Dallas. Its the one town in America that lacks any discernible trace of  Elvis. Well, except maybe Salt Lake, but, see below. And its close enough to Austin that the North Koreans, weakened from a lifetime of Red Cross package cuisine, marching, and serving as human targets, probably won't know the difference.
• Orlando. We would have accepted "anywhere in Florida between Gainesville and Miami" as well. Hey, Orlando's great if you like humidity, concrete, kid throw up, and freeways. Otherwise, really, how can it atone for hosting the International Disney Menace?
• Detroit. This would give everyone a chance to start over, and save on legal fees in the process. Hopefully the Tigers could relocate first, but really, if we lost Detroit, what, exactly, would we miss?
• Odessa. See prior posts. It really just slides right out, and Texas has plenty of other places where short sleeved heavy equipment rental representatives and pipeline operators can practice their demon arts in relative peace.
• Salt Lake City. Other than the seemingly misplaced Mexican-American community on the north side of town, this is probably Earth's Whitest Place. By which I mean its the most boring place in the world. Plus, its where the Utah Jazz play, so one nuke will forever rid the NBA of the biggest bunch of floppers in the game.  Big Love is over, so, again, no loss.

We also need to explain that Roky Erickson still lives here, and I'm not sure we can move him. Surely they'll understand the impossibility of losing Roky.

Hopefully these measures will spare Austin the horrors of nuclear annihilation. But if not, at least we'll get what we always wanted. We'll finally be in the same class as LA, which is what all the hipster d-bags around here really want anyway.

NEXT-Downton Abbey and Mad Men. Maybe?