Ram Jam

See The Wrestler. Or get ready for SPOILERS!!

It'll be tough to find something novel to say about Mickey Rourke's performance. This character is totally conflicted until the end. In the blink of an eye Randy "The Ram" Robinson goes from annoyed to playful, connected to independent, sweet to aggressive, and hopeless to inspired. His glittering wrestler persona is in direct opposition to his real tattered life. This all sounds simple on paper, but Mickey Rourke is masterful at portraying a man who is totally present in both worlds. With age, he now has the opportunity to be a charming love interest as well as a charming father, and I just adore his charm factor. The charm is painfully short-lived, then, testosterone city, baby--but not necessarily the tearing-the-door-off-the-hinges type of manliness. It's a very focused masculinity that makes me love buff dudes with long hair. Putting up with tiny pricks of pain (staple gun to the chest, steroid shot in the butt, high-velocity airborne candlesticks), rocking out to AC/DC in a van, and lifting weights in the bathroom.

I'm all over the place.

Oh! The most wonderful contradiction of all--the fact that Randy is a sweet guy in this tough exterior. I know. Predictable. It's simple. Mickey Rourke makes this simple story fascinating by telling 12 other stories with his eyes, the only body part unscathed by Hollywood surgeons. In the end there is ultimate, independent redemption, without a snappy happy ending. I didn't cry until after I left the theater. I love this film, and I'm okay with the fact that I got my hopes WAY up for it.

Hit Me With Your Best Shot

I will try to make this simple, so no one has an aneurysm.

This Christmas, I saw a commercial for Guitar Hero. Or was it Rock Band? I'm not sure. The commercial was a mom with her kids (one of them a baby in a high chair), huddled around the TV, watching this video game. They weren't making any eye contact. The mom was sorta playing, and sorta singing. The kids were kinda moving around to the beat, sorta. God, it seemed exhilarating.

Is it too much for me to worry that there will be no new music for the 2028 version of GH if kids don't pick up a real guitar at some point? And where will the next generation come from if said kids don't have a vehicle like the guitar ballad with which to get laid?

If you are pregnant, planning to get pregnant, or know anyone in either situation, please do what you can to help that future rock star hold a steady beat. And if you have the money to buy a video game console, you have the money to buy a shitty keyboard or guitar from a pawn shop.

That's all I want to say.

I Want The Key To The Front Door

About a month ago, I pondered the idea of a graceful age to exit the music biz. The egomaniacal stagehog in me sees and hears myself as perfect in every way for the rest of eternity. The self-conscious objector in me is scared to death of singing one foul note. And the moment that foul note is coupled with crow's feet, I will need to find a hole in which to bury myself. It's probably something I got from watching too much TV. No one can escape the youth-obsessed expectations of society, but for a performer, it's especially scary. With shows like American Idol, audiences have been given license to not only disapprove of, but abusively ridicule people who are less than perfect in the looks and sound department. And oldies aren't even allowed to enter, let alone audition. Fuck you, Simon Cowell.

Marky and I rented a documentary last night that changed my mind about expiration dates. "Young At Heart" is about a chorus with an average age of 80. Not that unusual for a church choir or a community chorale. The difference here is the repertoire, including arrangements of Talking Heads, Coldplay, The Clash, and Sonic Youth. The music is basically the same, except that you can understand the lyrics better with the Young@Heart gang.

Bob, the strict yet loving choir director, brings in music he loves. He's 53, and stands on the stage during performances, conducting the choir in what I originally thought to be a controlling manner. After seeing several performances, though, I saw him simply as a more hands-on connected leader. Joe, the choir member known for his amazing memorization ability, refuses chemo treatment against his doctor's orders. Why? He had a gig. Elaine, 90, lives in a retirement village, and is the only resident with a key to the front door of the facility. Why? She has gigs. The staff is usually gone by the time she gets back. Fred retired from the choir after a heart attack. He came back for what he referred to as his "ugly duckling song," Coldplay's "Fix You," and delivers the most heart wrenching performance, punctuated by the whisps of his oxygen tank. Did he worry that he couldn't stand? That he had tubes in his nose? No. He had a gig.

The first gig we see in this movie is at the local prison. I would be scared. Scared of criminals doing criminal things. That's me. I thought the Young@Hearts should be scared of being made fun of. I mean, what was Bob thinking, putting them in front of cold hearted criminals? But those senior citizens confidently sang, danced, and won that crowd over. Many convicts hugged the choir members afterward, one of them saying it was the best performance he had ever seen. And I believe him.

I now think there is no expiration date, only graduations. I've already had several. Talent shows, coffeehouses, community theater, college theater, small town band, big town band. One day, I will graduate to the next thing. And it will have to be musical. I don't want to ever not be rehearsing for something. And I think I have to sing until my dying day. If that means I have to come home late until age 90, great. If at that time, I decide to prioritize my absolute love of music over a questionable medical procedure, so be it. And if it takes my whole life to feel completely confident on stage, then I need to be on stage when that happens.

Every Little Boy Needs a Girl

I realize after writing the last blog, that I may be the only person on earth that loves this album. Beside the fact that it contains one of the most insipid New Wave ditties of all time (title track), I also truly believe it is one of the most romantic pop albums of all time. I think of it in terms of my middle school self, struggling through adolescence. My heart beats a little harder when I hear this guy sing. Here is a detailed listening guide to Pop Goes The World by Men Without Hats.

1. Intro: An tiny elf-like voice accompanied by synthesized beats and whirs. You can barely hear him. He's trying to get our attention. The background noise becomes more audible, but it's not really music, yet. The elf is telling us that something really big is coming. The beats get more structured and intense, the volume swells, strings begin frantically soaring, searching, becoming cacophonous, until they crescendo into...

2. Pop Goes The World: Aside from the cutesy little girl introducing the song, this is well-trodden territory. Johnny play geetar, Jenny play bass.

3. On Tuesday: Like a nerdy but wonderful trip to the Ren Fair, the woody flute floats above this sweet melody. "It was only make believe, then along came Tuesday," repeats, and resonates. You're a 7th grader who just saw Beauty and the Beast, and your boyfriend is Prince Charming, and you get to meet up at your lockers after 3rd and 5th period. This is the anthem to untarnished love. Even love lost. When you're young, you think you've had your heart broken, but you won't know that, really, until later. Right now, it's puppy love.

4. Bright Side of The Sun: This is our first look at true melancholy on this album. It's just 40 seconds long, but the yearning in the insisitant piano part makes you wish it would last all afternoon. For the first time, you are looking to the future. The real future. It's a look into the future, looking into the past. Kinda like when you can see yourself having kids with a guy, even grandkids, and telling those kids about when you were their age. Just lovely. It's my 2nd favorite song, here.

5. O Sole Mio: And out of the murkiness of that rainy forecast, comes the perky song about being a rainbow. Did you ever keep a secret about yourself, that you couldn't tell even your best friend? I think that's what's going on here. The bridge takes this scary turn, the singer desperately questioning why he's not like everyone else, and wondering if it's hurting his loved ones. Here is the awareness of solitude.

6. Lose My Way: This song is more mature than the rest. It's my favorite, with the ascending piano parts, repetition, and angelic motifs. Until now, there has only been one male voice, but another joins him here, echoing, playing the role of his conscience. The homophony in the line, "Some are weak and some are wise, And summer comes as no surprise," always impresses me. Men Without Hats aren't probably well-known for their innovative poetry, but I just love this song. The autumn leaves imagery makes me shiver. This is more than heartbreak. He's made some serious mistakes, and he knows the worst is still to come.

7. The Real World: I'll be honest, I know this song the least. I don't like listening to it all the way through. First, it has a creepy I-took-a-drag-off-the-caterpillar's-hookah Alice in Wonderland vibe. Also the first recording I ever had, cut this song off halfway through, so I remember it ending after about 25 seconds. I hate listening to the whole thing.

8. Moonbeam: Back to middle school. Perhaps the fall dance was a bust, and your boyfriend dumped you, but it's March, now. The Sadie Hawkins dance is just around the corner, and the new boy you adore circled "yes" when you asked him via origami folded note. Hope springs eternal. It's only a couple months till summer, the sun is shining, and you have a new haircut. Spring Fever, I suppose, is in the air. "You were on a moonbeam, and I was in a cloud, And everything was blue green, and everything was loud." You're gonna dance your ass off.

9. In The Name Of Angels: Jenny and Johnny are a solid couple. They're confident, they have lots of friends, they can hold hands in the hall, they're the model for the perfect middle school pair. And all this earthly imagery, again, with the wind, earth, sea. It's not about hairspray, belts, or skateboards, no. Jenny and Johnny will probably be together forever, but there is this undertone. Of dread. It's tough to focus on it, with the noise of life clanging away, but at any moment, something bad could happen. Don't get too comfortable.

10. La Valse D'Euge'Nie: Transition. No words. Just a scratchy record playing a watery, ancient waltz. Really an extended intro to...

11. Jenny Wore Black: Truly the most insipid song on the album. I suppose I hate this one because all the girls in my school wore black to be deep, and I was really holding on to the Punky Brewster thing. Black eyeliner, black t-shirts, black dresses. Gosh, I think I just described my entire wardrobe and caboodle case. Let me try to be a little more objective. This is a fight Jenny and Johnny had because Johnny was pushing Jenny too far. She still wanted to be a kid, she wasn't sure if she was ready to grow up yet. So they broke up. And the whole school got to see the fight. And they were shocked.

12. Intro/Walk On Water: Another old-timey watery piano introduction to a jumpy 80's tune. This time there are lyrics. You can feel distinct generations in this music. And distant generations, at that. Maybe Johnny didn't want to tell his dad what was going on, but knew that his grandpa wouldn't spill the beans, so that was his confidant. And grandpa masterfully explained to Johnny the beauty of youth: Immortality.

13. The End of the World: "Will Jenny be older, will music be heard? Will we all meet again at the end of the world?" It looks corny in print, but this finale of a beautiful song set is the culmination of all the poetic thoughts and musical ideas from Pop Goes The World. Starting with simple piano chords, swirling keyboard, harp, theremin whirs, and a marching snare drum, the song is simple, hopeful. An obvious review of song titles echoes in the background.

I don't know anyone else who will admit to loving this album the way I do. I find that it's harder to fall in love with an album these days, when iTunes offers such instant gratification with singles for 99 cents. Buying singles for a buck is grand, but I miss the days when recording artists strove for the arc of an album. It's not as necessary today. Antique though I may be, I'm thrilled that I am of the age that I can impart advice like Johnny's grandfather.

Pop Goes My Subject

My favorite Christmas album is Pop Goes The World by Men Without Hats. It's not really a Christmas album, but I played it for the first time right around Christmas, and it sounds like yuletime magic to me.

I may be dating myself, but the first recording I ever had of Pop Goes the World was one copied onto a cassette. I was 12, and spending the night at a friend's house. I won't reveal her name, for reasons you will understand soon. Let's call her "Dawn." Dawn lived right across the street from our middle school, in a powder pink stucco house. She had posters of Charlie Chaplin and Marilyn Monroe in her bedroom. I remember thinking she was a little weird for having a poster of a girl, because all my posters were of Wham and The Monkees. She was popular, though, and I was so thrilled that I had duped Dawn into thinking I could be one of her kind, I overlooked it.

I don't remember having dinner there, but after dinner time, Dawn's mom left for her nightshift nurse duty. I didn't know she would be gone, and therefore hadn't let my mom know, but I acted cool. We hung out in our pajamas in the living room, sitting on the hardwood floor, talking about boys, listening to Men Without Hats and The Violent Femmes. I tried to keep up with her New Wave music tastes, but it was foreign territory. She introduced me to "Blister in the Sun," for which we choreographed a dance involving a skateboard. "Add it Up" was the first time I had ever heard the "F" word in a song. I was thrilled. Was this my ticket to popularity? What would Dawn introduce next? She reached beneath the couch and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Her older sister emerged from her room, and didn't stop Dawn from lighting up. She wordlessly swiped a cig, and disappeared back into her space. Was this my first cigarette? Sadly, no, I couldn't hang. Mothers leaving for nightshifts? Cuss words? These were things I could handle. But I refused the cigarette, terrified that Dawn would ignore me the rest of the night. She didn't mind, though. We continued to talk about boys.

I wondered why Dawn's sister kept her mouth shut about these misdeeds. Turns out sister was even more of a miscreant, having stolen mom's car for joyrides. And she didn't steal the car from the driveway. Remember, the mom had a night job at the hospital. Sister would steal the car from her reserved spot at work, and return it before mom got off. Trouble is, during one of the joyrides, someone parked in the reserved spot before sister got back. She was pretty much in the doghouse for life, and Dawn was untouchable. She liked weird music, smoked, and had posters of old-time icons. Dawn was cool.

We didn't go on any joyrides, but Dawn did make copies of the Femmes and MWH's albums, one on each side. I went right home the next day to an empty house. I slipped the tape in the stereo, and blasted it. Jumping around my living room, I yelled along with the raging anthem. "Why can't I get... Just one..."

"Are you sure you want mom to hear this?" My brother asked. He was, luckily, the first one to come home. Wait, how did he know this song? Scared, I grabbed my new treasure and only listened that side of the tape in my room. I didn't hear the other side again until months later.

My parents and I were decorating the house for Christmas, and mom asked me to find some music. I turned on Pop Goes The World, and it was perfect. We switched out all of our window valances to reflect the mauve theme we had going on the tree. There were mauve ribbons, iridescent icicles, miles of clear beads, glass globes, and white twinkling lights. It looked like a big pink bubble bath to me, and I was ecstatic to have a theme tree. And the album was the perfect ethereal companion to that scene. There is a lovely emotional arc, and a cast of Man, Woman, and Child. Well, I thought it was lovely. My mom jumped out of her skin every time the quiet, saccharine ballads would dive into the thumping pop tunes. And that made it perfect, too. There is something to be said for the tween soundtrack to pissing your mom off.

Originally, I was going to write a review of this 21-year old album, and we've gone in a different direction. Instead, I will sign off, challenging you to listen to this album as you decorate your tree, or wrap presents with a loved one. Whether it be your boyfriend, pet, or mom, those marathon holiday tasks are nicely adorned with this heavenly piece of music.