Thursday night talkers

As I write this, Donald Trump is speaking at the Target Center in Minneapolis, and Dick Cheney is speaking at Eaton Chapel at my alma mater, Beloit College. I'm not particularly fond of either of these gentlemen, but their respective enemies are the sort of people who should never have power, either.

Lately I've been listening to a country singer named Sturgill Simpson. Here's a blistering performance of his on, of all places, Saturday Night Live:

You can tell he's country by his proto-Waylon Jennings (about a half-octave higher) voice, but this arrangement gives you a Sprinsteenian raveup and a little Blues Brothers, too. And the lyrics are pure pox on everyone's house:

Well nobody’s looking up to care about a drone
All too busy looking down at our phone
Ego’s begging for food like a dog from a feed
Refreshing obsessively until our eyes start to bleed
They serve up distractions and we eat them with fries
Until the bombs fall out of our fucking skies

But he's not done:

Turn off the TV
Turn off the news
There's nothing to see here
They’re serving the blues
Bullshit on my TV
Bullshit on my radio
Hollywood telling me how to be me
The bullshit’s got to go

Alas, it ain't going anywhere.

Rock and Roll!

I spent my morning writing time reading this list, with critic Bill Wyman (no relation to the bassist for the Stones) ranking the acts in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame from best to worst. I could write about this topic for days, but because I was too busy reading to write anything today, I'll just have you click the link and have a look for yourself. At first glance, I'd say he overrates the Ramones and Nirvana and underrates the Yardbirds, but your mileage may vary. Even though I believe the Hall of Fame to be a dubious venture, rock history matters. You could start a hundred arguments with this list. And you can start in the comments section.

Lightning Round -- 022618

Busy weekend, mostly spent away from the news. But what I've heard deserves comment:

• I'm not to the point where some of my erstwhile libertarian friends are in re law enforcement (i.e., using hashtags like #****thepolice), at least not yet, but when I watch a guy like Broward County Sheriff Scott Israel operate, I understand why people feel the way they do. Israel's department failed in every conceivable way and yet he's still strutting around like he deserves a medal, primarily because his solution for his own department's incompetence is to take away millions of guns across the land. His grandstanding performance in the Wellstone Funeral CNN Town Hall on guns was disgraceful, especially since Israel knew full well his officers did nothing to stem the carnage inside Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School. Israel ought to resign in shame, but it's likely he won't. The only person in recent political life who was more infuriating in his passive-aggressive bureaucratic serenity was John Koskinen, Obama's top IRS droog. Students are expendable, but bureaucrats are bulletproof.
• Do we want guns in school? No. Do we need them? That's a separate question. No one is seriously saying we need to make the faculty at the average high school a SWAT team, but if a school district were to say they are giving their schools the option to have a certain group of personnel get the training they need to confront a school shooter, the chances are greater that such school will minimize the danger. I will be curious to see if the Osseo school district takes up the idea.
• We've spent a lot of time on music in the last few days. Fearless Maria performed at the Minneapolis Convention Center with the MMEA All-State Jazz Band, and we spent Saturday at Irondale hosting drumlines and color guards for our annual Winter Music of the Knight show. The nasty snowstorm that arrived Saturday afternoon really hurt our attendance, but it was still a happy event. While we're not likely to miss the 10+ days involved in putting on a show, we remain grateful for the many opportunities our family has had through our involvement in the music programs at Irondale. The kids have a chance to do remarkable things and while there's a cost involved, it's been well worth it.

Tom Petty, RIP

It was easy to take Tom Petty for granted. He was the rock and roll equivalent of a Honda Accord -- always reliable, comfortable, capable. His songbook is one of the deepest of the rock era. He may not have had the moments of sheer brilliance that you get from Bruce Springsteen, or Prince, or Dylan, but he was consistently listenable. As word spread of his heart attack and death, with reporting retracted and then confirmed, the radio filled with his songs. And there were a lot of them. A few favorites, then -- first out of the gate, a well-executed emulation on the Byrds:

Then some straight-ahead rock and roll:

A collaboration with fellow titans Roy Orbison, Dylan, George Harrison and Jeff Lynne:

A moody reflection on madness and love presumably lost:

Another straight ahead rocker:

And finally, where we are:

You probably have your favorites, too. RIP.

UPDATE:  Mitch Berg offers a heartfelt tribute of his own.

Musical interlude

I've been reading a biography of Peggy Lee, the midcentury singer who went from North Dakota to major stardom. Here's a taste:

There's a lot of interesting music from that era out there now -- here's another sultry singer of the era, Julie London:

Good stuff.

Glen Campbell, RIP

His heyday was long ago, but he left a lot of wonderful music in his wake, especially in the late 60s. A taste:

He also played on some big hits as a session guitarist, including this:

And this:

And this:

A tremendous career. RIP.

Song of the day

A man ain't supposed to cry.

Fifty years ago

Two albums were released at this time in 1966 -- Dylan's Blonde on Blonde and the Beach Boys' Pet Sounds. Amazing albums both, in their own ways. A sample of each -- first, the most beautiful song Brian Wilson ever wrote, and one of the best:

You can't easily link Dylan videos to the blog, but I can post a link to the funniest song Dylan ever wrote:

Leopard-Skin Pill-Box Hat

Great stuff. Hard to believe it's been 50 years.