Disco, as I remember it

This isn't meant to turn into a love-in of any sort, but when you reconnect with old friends, it's hard not to get misty about the good times.

Jayson, who you'll remember from two posts ago, is an old friend who recently got in touch with me (he and his wife are having quints). Anyway, he remanisced about our disco-dancing past. And it got me thinking about something I'd long taken for granted: that there was a time when I didn't know how to disco dance and then a time when I learned. You have to understand, for many years it was a major part of my identity as I used it to much aplomb at dances and gatherings and the like.

And when you begin to break out disco moves, after having done it for so long, you don't think about it anymore. It's as if you've always been able to do it. And of course, you haven't always been able to do it. Only very few, very select people are born able to disco.

So take a walk down memory lane with me as I recall those halcyon days of the early 90s when records were becoming obsolete, disco was funny and anything was possible.

Like many of my generation, I grew up mocking disco. Who didn't? It's still one of the most attrocious and aggregious musical movements perpetuated on our species. So you can imagine my confusion and subsequent delight when Jayson showed me he had found an instructional disco dance-by-the-numbers record. I don't remember quite when that was. Maybe 1991? Jayson, Alicia and I met -- well we met years ago. Alicia actually attended my third birthday party. But when we were young impressionable teens, we got reacquainted during a summer musical producation of "Fiddler on the Roof" that our stake was puting on.

As I recall, it was a pretty fast friendship. I spent a lot of time at the Wilkinsons' and it was one of those times, hanging out in the basement, that Jayson showed me his find. It was a full-on instructional record with the black footprints to show you what to do. As I recall, he had already worked out most of the moves (he's a natural dancer and, you can correct me if I'm wrong, Jayson, but he eventually landed on BYU's folk dance squad). I was entranced and we got a whole routine worked out. It wasn't long before we were busting it out at church dances. You remember, someone would get going, busting a move to C+C Music Factory, and a cricle would form. Everyone would stand around watching as some kids in parachute pants showed everyone how to get down. It like a siren call to us. We'd eventually slip in and start the mad, hot disco and people would go wild.

The irony of it was beautiful. With the disco, we were able to, in one fell swing of the hips and raise of the hand, simultaneoulsy mock those taking the dance too seriously and impress the ladies by not playing by the rules. It was genius, really. It was also a lot of fun.

Well, a year later I had moved to Utah and as I raged against cookie-cutter fads and gimmicks in the culture there, disco became the way I set myself apart from the other jokers, eventually making a video of a routine with a couple friends. That video still exists -- in fact it was the video that eventually convinced Becky I had enough personality for her to marry me. And to think where it all started. I can't imagine how different my life would ahve turned out had Jayson never found that record.

Guilty as charged

Guilty pleasures. You see, I'm not always all about being the earnest, snob-driven, gold-standard-in-music consumer. I have guilty pleasures just like anyone else. Guilty pleasure songs and guilty pleasure bands.

So today, I honor the most embarassing music I listen to. And, to make a point, some of the music on the list might be technically or even legitimatelly good, but it's still embarassing that I listen to it. And remember, the operative word in the phrase "guilty pleasure" is "guilty." It's not a guilty pleasure if you don't sweat a little when you tell people you dig it.

So, first, my guilty pleasure songs in no particular order:

1. Nelly Furtado's "I'm Like a Bird" and "Turn Out the Lights" -- Sure they're great dance/pop songs, but Rob Rogers does not listen to dance/pop. At least he doesn't if anyone comes asking.

2. Neil Diamond's "Love on the Rocks" -- I blame this on my sisters. We grew up watching Neil Diamond's movie "The Jazz Singer" a lot. The song plays over the climactic break-up scene where Neil's life comes unraveled as he tries to deal with his new-found fame. Very emotional. And yes I loved it, alright? I loved it! I also blame this movie on H.L.'s open and unabashed affection for the Diamond. We should all be ashamed.

3. In the same vein, Barry Manilow's "Ready to Take a Chance Again" -- This song opened the Chevy Chase/Goldie Hawn vehicle "Foul Play," another movie we wathced over and over as kids. I learned to really dig the song. Sue me.

4. Jennifer Lopez's "Waiting for Tonight" -- I'm really going out on a limb here, because I don't know how this could get anymore embarassing. But this song is total eurotrash dance club and I really dig it. Maybe it's because it reminds me of the dance music I heard while living in Mexico (where every song, including the Police's "Message in a Bottle," gets a dance remix) or maybe it's because I just dig the tune, but I secretly really, really enjoy this song.

5. Garth Brooks' "The Thunder Rolls" -- I have no excuse for this one. But when I was a 14- or 15-year-old idiot kid the song gave me chills the first time I heard it. And I still secretly like it.


And that's probably enough for now. So on to my guilty pleasure bands and/or artists. The songs above are individual anomolies. I hate the artists but love the music. Following are the artists I love that I probably shouldn't. Again, in no particular order:


1. Billy Joel -- I know, for some this amounts to heresy listing Billy as a guilty pleasure. But let's be honest with ourselves: he is. While he's a great singer, songwriter and pianist, he's still the guy who wrote and performed songs like "Uptown Girl" and "She's Always a Woman." I love almost all of his stuff, but try to listen to "Scenes From an Italian Restaurant" loud and proud outside of your house. You can't do it.

2. Emerson Lake & Palmer -- Great progressive rock band, one of the best in fact. But their music leans towards the grandiose and then the operatic and before long you're flirting with self-parody. I bought and listened to "Black Moon," their last, real studio album in 1992 when I was in high school and that's embarassing enough. With songs like "Romeo & Juliet" and "Farewell to Arms" it's about as overwrought and earnest as you're gonna get. But their musical genius mustn't be denied. And so I will continue to listen

3. Huey Lewis and the News -- Again, for some I'm flirting with heresy here, but I would argue that it's hard to take the band that recorded "Hip to Be Square" seriously. But man, no one turns out a pop/rock song like Huey did back in the day. Better than most '80s pap that came out in that decade, Huey Lewis and the News put out an embarassingly good catalog of music. Go back and listen to "Heart and Soul" now. The arrangement, the syncopation of the rhythm and the lusty lyrics are down-right impressive.

4. Queensryche -- Classic late '80s/early '90s hard rock, they were a Seattle rock band before it was cool or even advantageous to be a Seattle rock band. And they're not as bad as say Poison or Ratt -- they were never a hair-metal band -- but they're music still sounds blushingly overproduced and deadly earnest. And c'mon, "Silent Lucidity"? I still can't listen to it without laughing out loud. But when the band got rocking -- "Jet City Woman," "Another Rainy Night" -- they could do no wrong.

5. Speaking '80s hair-metal bands, Def Leppard -- Now, I don't embrace their entire discography, but who are we kidding? The band's drummer only had one arm at the end of their run. How hard core is that? And looking at 80s rock albums, there are few better than "Pyromania" with the classics "Rock of Ages" and "Too Late for Love." They also introduced the world to the phrase, nay, the command: "Let's get rocked!" Oh they're shameful, ain't no two ways about it. But man, they rock. Or at least, they did.


There it is. Fun, but a little painful. Feel free to share your own guilty pleasures in the comments below. I shouldn't be the only one to suffer humiliation.

The legacy of young Nathan Arizona

It's fun to catch up with old friends. My Mom dropped me a line today telling me Jayson Wilkinson, a close friend from my Colorado days was trying to find out where I ended up. It seems he and his wife just found out they're having quintuplets. As in five babies. Five. All you need is one two-year-old in your house to know what kind of will-crushing, ear-splitting, mind-numbing and sleep-depriving experience this will be for them. But Jayson is better than that. He always has been. He's sees it more like this:

Can you imagine 5 little 3 year old kids crowding around to give mommy and daddy a group hug? That just sounds like it would all be worth it.

Anyway, he's set up a blog to detail the whole ordeal and it should be interesting to watch this unfold. After Elsa's birth, my heart goes out to him and his wife. And I can't begin to imagine what it must be like trying to mentally prepare yourself for all of this. And apparently I'm not the only one. In one of his posts, he writes that he runs into a lot of people who really have no idea what it means to give birth to five babies at the same time. His wife kept getting calls from the local blood bank asking her to donate. After several times of explaining that his wife his pregnant and can't donate blood, the final phone call when something like this:

Lady: “Hi, this is the blood and tissue center, is Rachelle Wilkinson available?”
Me:“No, she isn’t and I don’t think she will be able to donate blood for a while. She is pregnant with quintuplets.”
Lady: “Oh, I see. Well, when is her due date?”
Me: “Well, her real due date is in September but she will probably have them in July.”
Lady: “Well, you know, she can donate about 6 weeks after the delivery.”
Me: “Did you hear what I just said? She is having 5 babies. Do you know what that means?”
Lady: “Well, can you give me an email address that we could use to let her know about our blood drives?”
Me: “No. Do you realize that we probably won’t even be able to leave the house for 6 months after this happens.”
Lady: “Well, thank you for your time anyway.”

Anyway. It'll be fun to catch up with Jayson -- and his whole family for that matter. The Wilkinsons were like my family away from family when I was a young, silly and not-so-smart teenager in Arvada. Alicia and I ended up at Ricks together which was great and the family, still in Indiana, even made it to my wedding in St. Loius. So, here's to reconnecting with old friends.

Que Onda, Guero?

Well, I think we've sufficiently mourned Larry. It's time to get on with life.

It's amazing how quickly time can pass. I know at some point, I'll be an 80-year-old man sitting on a porch somewhere and wondering where my life went. Not in a bad way, just in a sort of it-all-happened-so-fast kind of way.

But let's get on with things. Becky and I went up to Klub Klondike over the weekend to see the mighty Jim Dyar Band play. It was a blast. The band sounded great, the atmosphere was killer and it was fun to spend alone time with Becky. I love the girls and all, but man, you just gotta get out of the house sometimes. And to do it with live music makes it so much better. We both enjoy the rote dinner and movie, but live music is just so much more invigorating. We've haven't been to a live show together since we saw Wilco play in Portland like four years ago.

It's been a busy couple of weeks. I was heartened to see some of my fellow Cougars stand up to Dick Cheney. I was also heartened to see the Anti-Defamation League stand up for the Church. I know there are stories to tell and things to write that will entertain, but I can't think of a single one. I've been on cold medication for four days straight. It's killing me. So I'll probably be back tomorrow with more inane and pointless writings. But I at least promise to make them more entertaining.

Goodbye Larry

It's been over a week. Man, time flies. And then yesterday, word came down Calvert DeForest died. You may remember Calvert, he, of course, was Larry "Bud" Melman on Late Night. My love of Letterman is no secret here. And so we remember Larry. In honor of the great little man, a few clips from Late Night when he was in his prime.

On and on and on

Just a quick note to take care of some Rob Report business. The out-of-staters should finally be receiving their Perfect Pop Songs Vol. 2 CDs in the next few days. For those who might not be following the action down in the comments, Janelle quickly figured out how to use the internets and cahnged her name from Anonymous to J-Bell and thus gets the fourth disc. H.L., unfortunately was too late getting there. And despite his logical and reasoned argument that J corrected herself in the wrong comments thread and thus is ineligible to recieve the CD, the judges hastily and emotionally ruled in her favor. But H.L. is smart and his powers of persuasion are legendary, going all the way back to an 8th-grade GT when he successfully argued against some poor, ill prepared classmate in open debate that plastic surgery was morally wrong. H.L. will get his disc.

And, Becky and I watched "The Prestige" over the weekend. Wanting to get back into the review game, I'll post my take on the movie before the end of the week. So there ya go. TTFN, faithful readers.

Outtasite, outtamind

I sometimes forget I have a third child. I know, I know, that sounds terrible. But I swear I'm not a bad father. Really. It's just after having only two kids for four years, I forget we've got that third one. I mean, she hardly makes any noise.

It started shortly after we brought her home from the hospital. Becky and I had the girls and we were going grocery shopping at WinCo. We started walking inside and halfway across the parking lot, Becky realized I wasn't carrying the baby. I had left her in the car.

Look, we take the girls to WinCo a lot. I was used to it only being the four of us.

Then, a month or so later, it was Sunday and we were going to church. Which is always a production, trying to get the girls dressed, ready, in the car, out of the car, across the parking lot and into the chapel. We walk to the front and sit down on our pew when Becky, suddenly near-shouts, "Where's the baby?"

Yes, I had once again left her in the car. So I walk back past the entire congregation, out the doors, across the parking lot to the car and retrieve Elsa, who was as happy as could be sitting in her car seat. That was, like, last fall. I haven't forgotten Elsa in the car since. I'm now used to pulling three kids out of the car when we go somewhere.

But I'm not always used to having her at home.

Last Saturday, Becky had left to go run some errands and the girls were taking naps. The weather was nice and as Claire and Leigh awoke, we decided to go try a little visual science experiement I'd picked up the night before at the County Office of Education. You have a picture of the sun, roughly the size of your face and this tiny image of the earth, roughly the size of a pen tip. You stand 75 feet apart and, to scale, replicate the distance of the earth to the sun (96 million miles, in case you were curious).

Well, to do this, we had to leave the apartment and walk across the parking lot to a patch of lawn near the swimming pool. It was fun. Both girls took turns holding the sun and waving at each other from really far away. We walked back to the apartment and got the bikes out of the garage so the girls could ride. At about this point, Becky comes home and sees us milling around in front of the garage and asked how we were doing. All fine, I say, happy to be outside with the girls. She then asks if Elsa is still sleeping, obviously seeing that she's not with us.

And I realize, Elsa's not with us. She is in fact still upstairs sawing logs. I smile at Becky and slip inside like I know what I'm doing and like I've known what I was doing for the past 20 minutes, to check on Elsa. She of course is fine and slumbering peacefully in her crib. Which she continues to do for, like, the next hour.

I'm telling you, the girl is too quiet for her own good. Anyway, needless to say, I'm now really getting used to having a third child. And I'm sure I'll never forget about Elsa ever again. And did I mention my parents once left my youngest sister home alone as the rest of us drove off in the station wagon to spend a week with some relative in some neighboring state? And Becky's parents once left alone her at a park? I'm just saying.

Sky Blue Sky

It would seem we've gone from laborious U2 posts on the Rob Report to laborious Wilco posts. I guess you can't say I'm single-minded. Or maybe you can. Because we live in America and you can still say whatever you want. For now.

Anyway. On to my point. Wilco's new album "Sky Blue Sky" leaked onto the internets this week and, thinking May all of sudden sounded really far off, I tracked it down and downloaded a copy. And, so far, it's pretty good.

The album kind of follows the natural progression started on "A Ghost Is Born." It's more organic and connected than "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot" and it tones down, even more than "Ghost" did, the sonic experimenting and exploring in which they've been engaged since "Being There." And for the most part it works.

One the band's endearing qualities, which I've hit on before on this blog, is their ability to go in a million different directions with their songwriting, their arrangements and their production and still sound like Wilco. I'm guessing that's Jeff Tweedy's influence, but they can stray pretty far afield and still not lose the melody, the lyric, the essential feel that makes Wilco what it is. Elasticity like that is to be commended and I think it's what makes Wilco one of the best American rock bands out there today.

That being said, "Sky" is a little more mellow than what you'd expect from a band that always to seems to crank out two or three loud, disjointed and imaginative tracks on its past albums. Here, Tweedy and Co. just stick to the basics of rock song composition. They take the loud, disjointed and imaginative elements that were whole songs in the past and now just use them to puncuate songs here. For the most part it works, but unchecked, it could get pretty boring pretty quick.

What's interesting is Tweedy takes very noticeable risks with his voice on "Sky." A lot of the songs are in a bit higher range than what he's done in the past, and like the rest of Wilco's experimenting, it works wonderfully here. I mean, Tweedy's vocals are part of what makes the band's sounds so inviting and enjoyable. The guy's just got a great voice.

Semi-new comers Nels Cline's and Mike Jorgenson's influence can definitely be heard here. Which is part of what makes this album sound relatively different than past albums. Jay Bennett, who left the band while they recorded "YHF," was a world-class jerk but he had a great rock sensibililty and great ear for melody. With "Sky" you get a lot more guitar deconstruction and bouncy, R&B inspired rhythms and just plain soul. "Walken" is great example. "Side With Seeds" sounds like a long lost Rev. Al Green song with some Sonic Youth grafted on at the end. Surprisingly, it works. "You Are My Face," "Impossible Germany" and "Hate it Here" are a few other stand out tracks that seem to just get better the more I play them.

The album's title "Sky Blue Sky", which is also the fourth track on the album, is a play on a literary device Tweedy has become enamored with since the "Summerteeth" days when he was singing he needed something in his veins bloodier than blood. So overall, I'm digging it. I'm just not loving it the way I thought I would. So I'll be eager see how it ages.

School lunch

I visited Claire's school yesterday and had lunch with her in the cafeteria. I don't when you last ate lunch in a school cafeteria, but, let me fill you in on a little secret. At least at the elementary school level, they're still basically serving up nameless, formless and unnatural food concoctions in school cafeterias. We were served chili.

And to be fair, it wasn't as bad as you'd think lunchroom chili could be. But still, there's a deep chasm between edible and enjoyable. And obviously, I wasn't there for the food. I was there to see Claire, you know, before school visits embarass her and I become her geeky old man.

For the time being, I'm Elvis. Young Elvis, I'd like to think. But I'll get to that in a minute. It was fun sitting with Claire and her friends in the cafeteria watching them all interact and be kids. They're first-graders and Claire, three months past her sixth birthday is the youngest. It seems like all they did was laugh and tell incomprehensible knock-knock jokes and bounce around the lunch table. Claire, from time to time would just look up at me and smile. It was very endearing.

We had to wait for the aide to excuse us to go out to recess and Claire showed me how to bus my tray. Walking out, she excitedly showed me the shortcut to the bars (which was more of a longcut) and the whole time we had her little gaggle of friends in tow.

Once we were outside, I put on my sunglasses -- cheap mirrored shades that just barely function as sungalsses. I still haven't gotten over busting my Wayfarers. Anyway, we walked over to tetherball and Claire's friend Sophia looks at me and just starts calling me Elvis. Pretty soon, everyone's calling me Elvis. And they all think it's hysterical. Which it kind of is.

Anyway, we played on the bars, we played tetherball and we played on the swings. It was a lot of fun. And it's just amazing how much energy these kids have. They never stop moving, never stop talking never stop playing. It's incredible. It's also exhausting. Youth is indeed wasted on the young.

So, if you get the chance, I highly recommend sitting down and eating lunch with a first-grader. The food will suck, but it'll be invigorating.

Smokin'

I smoked four pounds of pork this weekend. To middling success. This is news to no one, but I love meat, especially smoked meat. The obsession reached its nadir when my parents were mission president and wife in Independence, Mo. We went to Arthur Bryant's in Kansas City for lunch and I've never tasted anything better in my life. Anway, I recently read an article in the New York Times about smoking food stuffs at home inside. Smoking food inside, you say? That's just crazy. No, no it's not and I'm living proof that it can be done and and done well.

All you need is a big metal roaster -- the kind you'd cook a Sunday roast in -- a meat rack, tin foil and hickory (or whatever) wood shavings. I had the roaster, fashioned a meat rack from an inversted pie tin to fit inside and went on the hunt Saturday for wood shavings. These are different from wood chips. You need the shavings because, to smoke indoors, you're placing the wood at the bottom of your roaster and basically smoldering them on your stovetop.

So how hard is it to find wood shavings in Redding? Surprisingly hard. That may simply be becuase I've never smoked food before so I don't know where to get the proper supplies, but after calling around, the only place I found that had shaving was Kent's Meat Market halfway between Redding and Anderson. And they had shavings because they smoke their own meat there. And as a result they buy the shavings in 90- and 300-pound bags. But the guy I talked to said to come on by and he'd pull a little out for me. So, address in hand, I set out to Kent's. I show up, they take me back behind the butcher's counter and the guy with whom I spoke on the phone, pulls out a brown paper grocery bag full of wood shavings. I only need a handful. The man explained he usually smoked 350- to 400-pounds of meat in one session. Holding up the bag, he said that's about how much wood it took. I explained I had four pounds of pork I was smoking. He smiled and said I could keep the rest in the garage for when I was smoking something else. Indeed.

So I took it home and tried it out. It was surprisingly simple. I placed the handful of shavings in the bottom of my roaster, set a drip pan on top of it and then placed my hand-fashioned meat rack and finally the roast itself. I covered the top with the tin foil, making sure it fit tightly on top so as not to let the smoke escape, set the whole thing on the stovetop and turned the heat to medium. For the next 30 minutes the apartment filled with the wonderful aroma of hickory smoke. And no smoke actually escaped my set-up. So far, so good. After about 35 minutes I turned off the heat and got ready to finish cooking the roast in the oven.

That's where it went downhill. The directions were vague when it came to the question of covering the roast or not. I opted to cover it lightly. It then said to cook the meat 40 minutes per pound or until a meat thermometer read 190 degrees. I cooked it for the requisite time but my meat thermometer only read 160 degrees. It was already getting late, so I decided my thermometer was probably wrong, the roast had cooked the specified time and thus, must be done. Looking back now, I think that was a mistake.

After pulling the roast out, you shred it with a couple forks or your fingers. This proved next to impossible. The meat just would not come apart. My thumbs are still sore from pulling the pork apart. It was amazingly tough. Which was disappointing because it tasted so good. And it wasn't tough to chew. So I keep going. I start to prepare the sauce listed in the recipe. It's a North Carolina-style barbecue sauce, which I mistakenly thought would be a close relative to the Carolina Honey sauce you get with a certain type of ribs at Tony Roma's. Yes, I'm an idiot.

And no, this sauce was nothing like the stuff from Tony Roma's. It was, in essence, two cups of vinegar and a half cup of ketchup, with some pepper and crushed red pepper thrown in for good measure. I like tang, I love vinegar, but when it comes to barbecue, I'm more a fan of the smokey than the tangy. But I soldier on, thinking it will be surprisingly good. And it wasn't bad. It was surprisingly hot and had a strong tang. But after a while, it got to be overwhelming. And by the end, it just wasn't what I had wanted it to be. Eating some more of it for lunch today, the meat was rubbery and difficult to chew, reafirming to me that I probably should have cooked it longer. There's also a question of whether or not I bought the right cut of meat.

Regardless, I've showed myself I can smoke food at home and in my kitchen. Rather easily. So I'm doing it again and and next time I smoke a pork roast, I'm going to cook it longer, we're going to ditch the Carolina sauce and use my mom's barbecue sauce which is the perfect mix of smokey and tangy. And the next time we cook up my mom's brisket, we're going to smoke it first. And if anyone else wants to try it, just give me a call. I've got plenty of wood shavings.

And now I'm salivating.

Perfect Pop Songs Vol. 2

So that it's all in one place, here's the final line-up:

1. "Saving Grace" -- Tom Petty
2. "Sister Jack" -- Spoon
3. "The Late Greats" -- Wilco
4. "Back to the Party" -- The Pushstars
5. "Til Kingdom Come" -- Coldplay
6. "Disappear" -- INXS
7. "Collarbone" -- Fujiya & Miyagi
8. "Talk Amongst Yourselves" -- Grand National
9. "Black Magic" -- Jarvis
10. "Feel Us Shaking" -- The Samples
11. "No Ha Parado de Llover" -- Mana
12. "Satellite" -- Guster
13. "Waiting, Watching, Wishing" -- The Pushstars
14. "The Way We Get By" -- Spoon
15. Bonus Track


Yes, we got our four winners yesterday, but until anonymous sister gives her name, there's still room for one more person to get a CD. H.L., that means you better get moving because I'm calling on all you lurkers to drop a note -- it's free music, what have you got to lose? Anyway, to our three winners already out there, I'll be sending out your discs shortly.

Wilco wonder

Hey, a couple tracks off Wilco's new album have been leaked onto the internets this morning. And, no surprise, they're pretty dang good. So hurry on over to Idolator and check 'em out before they get pulled.

El fin

For the past three days I've had that song, "Breakfast At Tiffany's" stuck in my head and I don't know why. I don't own the song, I don't even like it -- well, frankly, I hate it. And yet, there it is. Replaying over and over. I've listened to a lot of music over the last three days in the hope of forcing it out with something else and yet, when I'm sitting, staring into the ether and my mind begins to wander, I suddenly realize, I'm singing "Breakfast at Tiffany's" in my head. I'm getting close to where I'd be willing to put a bullet in my brain to stop it.

But instead, I'm going to try this: the final installment of Perfect Pop Songs Vol. 2. With the expanded readership, I'm expanding the winners. The first four people to post in the comments section gets a CD of all 14 songs featured in the Vol. 2 roundup, plus a bonus song thrown on for good measure. Here is the lineup as it now stands here currently. If you wanted a refresher, here's the final lineup from Vol. 1.

So with that, let's get to business:

The Pushstars' "Waiting, Watching, Wishing" -- One of my all-time favorites from the band, "Waiting" is a little darker, a little edgier than the Pushstars' usual fair and it's all the better for it. The understated anger that surges through song keeps it moving along a great clip so that it never it gets old. The chorus is instantly singable and, like most other Pushstars songs, the melody and arrangements are accessable without being predictible and overwrought. The band is famously from Boston so it's interesting to hear a song from them that trades in suburban angst, but it definitely works. Ultimately it's a song about getting out there and living your life. "On and on and on we go/We got no radio/We're singing songs we know/For miles and miles of open road/Get up, get up, let's go."

Spoon's "The Way We Get By" -- This is possibly Spoon's catchiest song. It's incredible. Like a lot of Spoon songs it tends to be a little bit social commentary, a little bit party romp. "We get high in back seats of cars/We break into mobile homes/We go to sleep to shake it off/Never wake up on our own/And that's the way we get by" juxstiposed with "We found a new kinda dance in a magazine/Try it out it's like nothing you've ever seen/You sweet talk like a cop and you know it/You bought a new bag a pot/So let's make a new start/And that's the way to my heart." And like most Spoon songs, musically, it comes at you from a direction you really don't expect, and you're surprised that it works so well. The lead guitar in the song has been replaced by piano but the bass and drums keep it coursing right along, pumping into your ears til you find yourself involuntarily tapping your feet and nodding your head. It's the perfect pop song if ever there was one.

So there it is. I'll post the whole list of 14 songs later today or tommorrow. You know, when I'm not feeling lazy. The die-hards may notice there's no U2 on this volume, which was more or less intentional. The bonus song, while not a U2 song, should please those fans nonetheless. I won't say anymore. I don't want to spoil the fun. So, what are you waiting for. I've only got four copies, so get commenting.

Livin' lodge

It's been almost 13 years since I was last in Seattle. Which is weird, 'cause that means I'm old. Anyway, Becky and I took the girls up to the moss-covered city last week to see some long-lost family. It was a good time.

My sister Janelle and her hubby Nathaniel -- or Natty Bumpo as he's known to James Fennimore Cooper -- invited us up to spend some time with them in the shadows of Mount Ranier. They take their four kids each winter to a little cabin at Camp Zarahemla near White Pass so they can have a few days of snow intead of rain during the cold months. Anyway, this year, they got more cabin than they knew what to do with. So they invited along any and all family members who wanted to join in. Obviously, we took them up on the offer.

Becky's brother Spencer and his significant other Heather also live in the Seattle area, so going up was like hitting two birds with one stone. We stayed a day and half with Spence and Heather -- they took us out to dinner at the Revolution Cafe, next door to the Experience Music Project, pretty cool -- and then we headed over to Janelle and Nathaniel's. All in all, not a bad way to spend a week.

The lodge at Camp Zarahemla was HUGE. It comfortable sleeps like 40 people. There were 12 of us, not counting the two babies. My sister Diana and her husband Spencer came up from Salt Lake. Anyway, we sledded, read, built and stoked raging fires in this massive wood-burning stove. Janelle and Diana did most of the cooking in the lodge's industrial-sized kitchen and I didn't shower the whole time I was there. It was pretty great.

Coming home, however, was another story. Oregon, in case you didn't know, is retarded. We lived there for two years, so we had a good idea of this already. But, of course, driving home this was reaffirmed. The mountain pass over which the Oregon/California border lies, Siskiyou Summit, got a couple inches of snow that day. So in classic Oregon fashion, the State Police went into emergency mode and required chains on all vehicles driving over the summit. That meant we got stopped on I-5 just south of Ashland in backed up traffic for two solid hours. We were litterally parked. Maybe six miles from the pass. There was no snow on the road, nor was it snowing. We ended up having to stay the night in Ashland. Which by itself isn't a bad thing. But we were ready to be home, we didn't want to add another day to our trip.

Now, let me give you some context. Siskiyou Summit is one single mountain pass and the only mountain pass on Oregon's sttretch of I-5. It snows there every year. So, one would think, Oregon. You have one 10-mile stretch of interstate to keep clear each winter. You know it's going to snow there every year, so it shouldn't be too hard to prepare. And you don't have to worry about keeping other places on I-5 clear of snow, because no other place on the western side of the state gets snow.

And yet, every year, when the snow comes, Oregon Department of Transportation turns its head, eyes wide in disbelief and screams, "It's snowing! Sweet merciful crap, it's snowing! On Siskiyou Summit! I don't believe it. OhManOhManOhManOhMan! What do we do!? What the hell do we do!?" To which the Oregon State Police responds, "Snow!!?? Oh crap. Ummmmmm. I hear there are chains you can put on your car to give you traction in the snow. Tell everyone to do that. There's already an inch of snow on the ground!!!"

Let me just put this out there. I'm not boasting, I'm sharing. I've driven through some pretty bad snow storms across Colorado, Wyoming, Utah and Idaho. Just a few years ago Becky and I drove through a blizzard in Idaho where the snow was blowing so hard it was coming at us horizontially and you literally could see only a couple feet in front of the car. One October when I was driving through Wymoing, I-80 at Rock Springs got so bad they actually closed a gate and shut down the freeway. But this is Wyoming where you get three feet of snow in an hour and the wind then blows it into 10-foot drifts. By all means, close the interstate.

In fact, in all the years I've been driving in the Mountain West, I've never once had to use chains. I've never once been required to have chains. These states, with their hundreds of miles of freeway and seemingly numberless mountain passes manage to keep their raods, for the most part, open and clear, every winter. Oregon, with it's one pass on I-5, which sees snow regularly enough that you can plan on seeing some each winter, can't. To road-weary travelers, ready to be home, this is just obnoxious and frustrating.

So to Oregon I say, "I don't want to talk to you no more, you empty headed animal food trough wiper. I fart in your general direction. Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries. Now go away or I shall taunt you a second time."

Or, if you'd like to see the Transformers acting out that particular scene from "Holy Grail," then just click below (you won't be sorry):

I sincerely miss those heavy metal bands

For those of you keeping score at home, Wilco has a new studio album, "Sky Blue Sky" coming out May 15. Just today, the band released the track listing:

1. Either Way
2. You Are My Face
3. Impossible Germany
4. Sky Blue Sky
5. Side with the Seeds
6. Shake it Off
7. Please Be Patient With Me
8. Hate it Here
9. Leave Me (Like You Found Me)
10. Walken
11. What Light
12. On and On and On

Am I excited? Does the Pope wear a funny hat? "Being There" is still my favorite album with "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot" running a very, very close second. Their last studio album, "A Ghost Is Born," while still very good, didn't move me like the other two. So if were ranking, I'd put it on par with "Summerteeth."

Anyway. I'm really curious to hear where they go with the new one. Part of what makes the band so good is they don't repeat themselves while still injecting the music with a thorough Wilco-ness. Does that make any sense at all? I wish there were a way to post mp3s on Blogger 'cause I'd leave you all with a parting shot from the band. Oh well. This will have to suffice:

"She fell in love with a drummer/She fell in love with another/She fell in love."

Nothing says "I love you" like the heart-shaped pizza

It's Valentine's Day, I guess. Anyway, Roundtable Pizza, the inexplicably popular local pizza chain here (seriously, Red Baron makes a better pizza) is advertising heart-shaped pizzas available today. So let me say, if you're buying your special lady a heart-shaped pizza for Valentine's, then, well, let me say first, congratulations on having a special lady friend. You've clearly beaten the odds. But secondly, if you do get her a heart-shaped pizza, and you think that's OK, you may want to sit back and evaluate things.

In other news, having a family is surprisingly entertaining. Fun story this, Elsa spit-up in Becky's mouth a few nights ago. As you can imagine, it was pretty funny. She's a spit-uppy baby. Does it a lot. And Becky, ever the doting mother, spends a lot of her time showering the baby with kisses. Well, Sunday night I think it was, Becky was giving Elsa little kisses on her cheeks and chin when Elsa erupted a resonably-sized glob of half-digested breast milk. Right onto to Becky's mouth. I don't know how much actually got past her lips and into her mouth proper, but it was enough to shock and surprise her. And make me laugh.

In fact, it might be time for an update on little Elsa. You may recall her rocky start back in September when she was delivered six weeks early by emergency c-section. It was pretty intense. Well, last week she rolled over for the first time from her stomach to her back and can almost roll from her back to her stomach. In other words, she's hitting those delevopmental milestones and growing up like a healthy little baby. We're amazed. And constantly grateful she's doing so well. When you consider how touch-and-go it was that day at the hospital, it's just miraculous. Anyway, we'll some photos up later.

Radio ga-ga

I've got some good stories about the girls I need to post. But first I need to get this off my chest.

I've long had a problem with commercial radio. If I were a rich man, I'd follow in Thom G's footsteps and get on the satellite radio band wagon. Which I'm sure will happen eventually.

Anyway, this little quote, from an AP story on the Dixie Chicks' big win at the Grammys on Sunday serves as a case in point. (You'll remember, the band, in trouble for criticizing Bush while on tour in Europe in 2003, was shut out of the Country Music Awards earlier this year):

The Dixie Chicks peaked at No. 36 on the Billboard country charts with "Not Ready to Make Nice." That ought to disqualify them from winning best country album, said Jacobs, the Alabama radio station owner.

"How do you win country music album of the year, when country music radio is not playing you?" he said.

I love it. It's like he's arguing radio play weighs more than quality if your handing out awards with names with the suffix "of the Year".

See, country radio is a microcosm of the all the ills afflicting mainstream commercial radio. Country radio, as everyone knows, plays nothing but crap all the time. Redding has like 15 country stations on the FM dial. The ones that aren't are evangelical Christian stations. I've never lived in a place like this before.

Anyway, there's great country and there's crap country. For some reason it's crap country that gets the air time. For example, Johnny Cash? Not on the radio. Rascal Flats -- basically a glorified high school cover band? On the radio all the time. The mavericks and innovators of the genre are completely shut out. Artists like Alison Krauss, Willie Nelson, Lucinda Williams, Old Crow Medicine Show and on and on. Instead, you've got Toby Keith with his brand of country music -- which has appropriately been dubbed "Amerigasmic" -- choking out the radio.

I don't know why it bothers me so badly, but it does. I don't understand why so many people chose terrible music over the good. I don't want to sound snobbish, but stop and think about it for a minute. When was the last time you heard a good song on commercial radio? Maybe you have in the last little while. Maybe I have, too.

But even if it's a station dedicated to a genre you like, playing bands and songs you like, they'll only play the same three songs by the same 10 artists over and over and over and over. You know, "Whole Lotta Love" instead of "Traveling Riverside Blues," "I Wanna Hold Your Hand" instead of "I'm Only Sleeping" or "With or Without You" instead of "Do You Feel Loved." You get the idea. Add to that that you'll never hear an independent band and probably drown in a deluge of one-hit-wonders. It's all wrong and bass-ackwards.

I've never been a big fan of the Dixie Chicks, but I like to see people stand up to the establishment. That's always worth applauding. And when it happens, you got to point it out:

But it is not clear that the support [at the Grammys] was uniform. Mr. Ayeroff, who founded the voter-registration group Rock the Vote, said a man sitting behind him in the Grammy audience snickered each time the Dixie Chicks received another trophy. “Finally,” Mr. Ayeroff said, “I got so disgusted, I turned around and said: ‘Dude, you’re in California now. Even our Republicans are Democrats.’ ”

One more

I know, two posts in a day. What's the world coming to? It's coming to this, actually. The casino queen shot of Becky below may leave you with the wrong -- or at least -- imprecise impression of the glory that is Becky. So let me offer this so that you get a bit of a better idea of the whole package.




And here's some classic Letterman for good measure:

Cokehead

I'm addicted to caffeine. It's not super bad, but it's pretty bad. Part of the problem -- and really if you can't blame someone else for your problems, then you're just not American -- is that the local Coke bottler has had this two-1-liters-for-two-dollars deal going on for like the past six months. If I go to the qwicky mart jonesing for a pop and I see a deal like that, I can't pass it up. It's such a deal. I mean a 20 oz. bottle for a buck and a half or a 1 liter bottle for a buck? It's child's play, really.

So anyway, the problem is when I drink caffeine, I drink a lot of it. A liter in one sitting to be exact. If I'm good, that's usually two, maybe three days of the week. Then on weekends I usually end up with a Coke either from Wal-mart or from the fountain if Becky and I go out to eat. So, five of the seven days of the week, I'm drinking Coke.

Which is why I had a raging headache yesterday. I haven't had caffeine since Friday and my head is letting me know. I always get a headache when I've gone too long with out the C. Which is usually when I decide to get off the sauce. Which usually will last about week -- maybe two if I'm being good. And then I'm back at the qwicky mart and I see the deal. And then I break down and buy my Cokes and then the whole viscious cycle starts again.

In fact I've got two big bottles of Coke in the front seat of my car right now. They've been there since Thursday I think. I know if I go and drink one of them my headache will disappear. But I can't do it. The cycle would start again. Because I'm addicted. Addicted like the little man who can't get enough Skittles.

We'll see, we'll see. At least I hold my caffeine. This is Becky when she's had too much.

Lovin' logic

Let's not break the momentum. I've blogged all week long and dang it we got to keep it going.

It's a been a while, so let's do another addition of the Report's Perfect Pop Song series. You remember how it works. And you can catch up here, here and here. In this edition, we revist some of the artists that popped up on Volume 1, for which I kind of apologize. But the fact of the matter is, some bands just produce great pop songs.

The Samples' "Feel Us Shaking" -- This one goes all the way back to their first album released in 1989. In fact, it's the first track from the disc and it's still easily one of the band's best songs. "Shaking" just shimmers with summer sunlight as Sean Kelley sings about the beach, unrequited love and marine life. Yes, marine life. But part of what makes the song so great, of course, is that they make it work. The melody is wonderful -- simple and almost evocative of something long-gone -- an emotion the Samples excel at communicating. All the while the song manages to remain upbeat and near-optimistic. "I'd like to stay but I couldn't stay with you/I have to go I have a lot I want to do."

To quote H.L. on the band, "For me (the) Samples is pure adolescent nostalgia. I can't listen without wondering what happened to empty Saturday mornings where i could simply lie on my bed, listen to tunes, and day dream. They always conjure up a time when new romance, new success, or new adventure was just over the horizon, just out of view but sure to come."

Mana's "No Ha Parado de Llover" -- Mana is one of Mexico's biggest rock bands and sometimes it gets a bad rap for it. They're not as inventive as Cafe Tacuba or as creative as Los Caifanes. They're pretty mainstream but that's part of what makes their stuff work, or at least translate well for folks north of the border. "Llover" is just a great all-around rock-pop song. The guitar hook is killer and the chorus, even though its in Spanish, is easy to sing along to. "Sigue lloviendo/Me sigue lloviendo al corazon/Dime que diablos voy a hacer." Oh, it's a break-up song for sure and has lines that could only work in Spanish, 'cause when you translate them to English they sound pretty silly. An example? "I'm like sand without its sea." "When will my eyes stop raining?" The chorus is better. "It keeps raining, it keeps raingin in my heart. Tell me, what the hell am I gonna do."

Guster's "Satellite" -- Guster's a great band that channels the Samples a little bit in the whole whimsy/nostalgia vein. They're great at communicating a lot of emotion in simple, easy to dig songs, of which "Satellite" is the perfect example. It's a little love song that compares the singer's object of desire to a satellite: "Maybe you will always be/Just a little out of reach." It's a great tune.

And as long as I'm quoting readers, high school mate and fellow Skutchie Ryan Jensen describes Guster thusly: "They are one of those bands that have both male and female appeal. They appeal to the women because of their sensibilities and looks and they have an appeal to men because they perform the type of music that we would probably try to write should we ever enter the business."

What would Gordon B. do?

I rant. Sometimes I try not to, because it can be kind of obnoxious. But when you live in a world where a show like American Idol can pull in 40 million -- 40 million! -- viewers and politicians like Tom Tancredo and Duncan Hunter can draw enormous nationwide support by basically being openly racist, then the rants tend to come.

Well, I've got something that's been buggin' me for a while and I just need to get it off my chest so I can get back to blogging about happy, funny and fulfilling things.

Evangelical Christians. They're basically ruining it for everyone else. Now don't get me wrong, one of the tennents of my own religion is believing anyone has the privilege of worshipping how, where, or what they may and allowing them to do so. I'm not going to tell them they can't do their thing.

But here's my problem. First off, and this may be what bugs me the most, they've hijacked the word "Christian," attacking anyone else who claims to be one. If you're not Evangelical Christian, you're not Christian. Which is, of course, absurd. As a Mormon, I believe in Jesus Christ. And, I would think, that makes me a Christian. The same goes for Episcolpalians and Catholics and anyone else.

Now I understand the issues Evangelicals have with my religion. They don't like the way we interpret the Bible. They don't like that we believe in modern-day revelation (I would think that if you did beleive in the Bible you'd be at least curious about a church that claims God has called prophets again). They don't like that we believe Jesus visited the American continent after his resurrection in Jerusalem. They don't like our interpretation of the Trinity (yeah, we believe they're three seperate personages -- but you have to admit it makes more sense). But most of all, they don't like what we believe about man's origin, purpose or potential. You know, the answer to the big question of why we're here.

And what gets me about these guys is the way they actively go after other religions, trying to tear down other people's beliefs. There is a level of intolerance and bigotry about these poeple that is staggering. Look at James Dobson. Look at Pat Robertson. It's all about hate with these people. And that seems pretty counter-intuitive to the gospel. But maybe that's what I'm doing here. On the other hand, maybe I'm just defending myself and what I believe.

So let me spell it out. I can call myself a Christian because I am one. And here's the great thing about what I believe. It may be crazy, it may be way outside the traditional, but there's a method to the madness. I spent two years in Mexico telling people that they didn't have to take my word or anyone's word about what I was teaching. I mean, really, am I going to convince anyone that Joseph Smith as a 14-year-old saw God and Jesus, that he translated the Book of Mormon from ancient gold plates? No. It's so out there. But that's the thing, no one has to believe me. If you believe in God, if you believe you can talk to him, you ask for yourself. You know, that whole bit in the Bible about asking and receiving. It's a pretty handy little policy. And obviously it works.

Anyway, I'm done. This won't make my co-worker go away, but maybe I'll be a little more tolerant toward him now. You know, show him how it's done.

Mamet-speak

It's no secret, I love David Mamet. So until my next post, here's some Mamet to chew on. It comes from a NYTimes review of a collection of his essays, where he spends much of his time evascerating modern movie making and the practices that keep it chugging along that downward spiral. Here's a pulled-quote from the review:

Is there a worthwhile message to be found within the big, vacuous [movie] blockbuster? Yes: “You are a member of a country, a part of a system capable of wasting two hundred million dollars on an hour and a half of garbage. You must be somebody.” He finds this brand of wastefulness equally conspicuous in current moviemaking and military strategy.

This is what makes Mamet so great. I mean, at the end of the day, that's all that "Pirates 2: Dead Man's Chest" boils down to. And all the other films like it. So do youself a favor, go throw "The Spanish Prisoner" or "Glengary Glen Ross" on your Netflix queue and relish good movie making.

I hit people.

I'm trying to be better. And so I'm gonna blog for a bit right now.

Kids are crazy. Because they're kids, really. Claire, my six-year-old, is more intense than crazy. But Leigh, my four-yer-old is all crazy. In fact she has this crazy grin she flashes when she knows she's being crazy. And, as a writer, I should be able to describe it some way to give you a sense of what it is. But I can't. You know how it is. There's a certain way 4-year-olds act, a certain way you expect them to act and then a way they act that completely surprises you. Leigh is often doing things that catch you comlptely off guard.

Maybe when I have more than just few minutes on a blog, I can do it some justice. But, to try and illustrate here's a story.

When Elsa was first home from the hospital, she was still pretty small but still a ravenous eater. Becky would start nursing her and the milk flow would just ovrewhelm her so Becky would have to sit Elsa up and pat her back so she could catch her breath. Often she'd say, "Breathe, Pumpkin, breathe" as she'd do it. Leigh, who's always within a one-foot radius of Elsa when Elsa's awake was quick to catch on. So the next time Becky was feeding Elsa, Leigh was right there. And when Elsa started to choke on the milk, Leigh patted her back, but being a four-year-old, she doesn't quite have that command of the English language. So she came up with the closest approximation to Becky's gentle supplications as she could, and said, "Breathe, Mushroom, breathe." It still makes me chuckle.

Claire is a fisrt-grader and wants to understand everything right now. In fact, most of her day is spent arguing with me or Becky, trying to convince us she understands the world. You know for example, a couple weeks ago I argued with her at length about whether it was Thursday or Friday. It was of course Thursday, but she knew it was Friday.

Anyway, she recently got this little pink address book, with lines for name, phone number, address and e-mail. Underneath all of that is a line called "Dirty Little Secret." She read that with some confusion, not knowing how exactly that fits in with everything else or even what a dirty little secret is. So Becky tries to explain, not wanting to inadvertenly catapult Claire into her catty tween-hood, that a dirty little secret is just something bad you've done.

Well, a few days later, Claire is showing me her address book and having me check out all the names she's included. She even has herself listed. So I read through it and then notice she's got the "Dirty Little Secret" line filled in. I about died laughing. It read, "I hit people." Classic stuff.

Grind it

Back from vacation, back to life and we're trying to feel good about it. Obviously vacation is fun because it's vacation -- a break from regular life. In all honesty, what made our little trip to Utah last week so enjoyable was the fact that the girls were so well-behaved. Very uncharacteristic. And Becky and I had a blast 'cause we actually got to spend time together. Plus, it was good -- as always -- to see family.

Now that the holidays are over, it's back to the grind. So, here at the Rob Report it's back to the grind, too. Welcome to the New Year U2 post.

First, remember how I raged about the crap the band has been producing over the last six years or so? Well, Bono was talking about the band and its future musical direction on BBC1 last week and said some intriguing things. Here's a link to the interview. But, if you want to save time here's the gist.

Speaking of the last collection of best ofs, U218 Singles, Bono said this:

But when you do these collections, they are usually to mark the end of something, and our band has certainly reached the end of where we’ve been at for the last couple of albums. I want to see what else we can do with it, take it to the next level; I think that’s what we’ve got to do.

It's the usual Bono rhetoric, but then he follows up with this:

We’re gonna continue to be a band, but maybe the rock will have to go; maybe the rock has to get a lot harder. But whatever it is, it’s not gonna stay where it is...I’d like to strip things down; that’s something I’d be very interested in at the moment.

Any change at this point would be welcome.

Second item, I didn't post about it this, but the sorry-excuse-for-a-U2-fan-site, U2log.com, held their second annual fan survey and, for all intents and purposes, it looks exactly like last year's. Nearly 6,000 people participated and the majority love "Where the Streets Have No Name" in concert, feel Pop is one of the band's worst albums and yet one of its most underrated and think "Bullet the Blue Sky" should be booted from the band's set list. Like last year, I've discovered I have very little in common with the average online U2 fan. And something inside me tells me that's a good thing.

Lastly, a video I probably should have posted weeks ago. I still don't like the new single, "Window in the Skies" but the video to the song made me like it a little more.

Christmastime is here

I've been meaning to blog for weeks but this has prevented it. However, as I look around, I see I'm being shown up by just about everyone. Thom is blogging almost daily and even the Scogg has new content. It's time kick it in.

So with the holidays here, let's talk Christmas movies. I'm a sucker for 'em, I'll admit. But I also fancy myself a cinephile, which means, I'm picky about the holiday-kissed treacle I consume. That means avoiding like fruitcake anything with Tim Allen and a December release date. And I honestly wonder why the crappy almost-straight-to-video films ("Deck the Halls," anyone?) and made-for-TV fare (what the crap is that Rob Lowe one? "A Perfect Day") is still produced year-in and year-out. It seems those movies are glaringly, obvioulsy awfull and always tank in at the box office and in the ratings. But for some reason they just. keep. churning. them. out.

So here's my short list of picks and pans. I'm sure you'll see nothing surprising or new. But, you'll at least get the satisfaction of knowing that special movie you watch every Christmas has the Rob Rogers seal of approval. Or disapproval. It can go both ways.

In no particular order, the Christmas movies I like:

"National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation" -- Not only did NL producers have to take the "Vacation" franchise and make it (almost) family-safe, they had to find a way to make a third "Vacation" movie funny. Which, obviously, they did, thanks to John Hughes of all people --a near Herculean effort that still pays off. Becky and I watched it last week and the movie totally stands up after all these years. It's endlessly quotable ("Every time Catherine would turn on the microwave, I'd piss my pants and forget who I was for about half an hour") and the gags are still brilliant.

"Die Hard" -- Remember, it takes place on Christmas Eve and runs its beginning and end credits to Christmas songs. For me, it's the ultimate, escapist Christmas film that reminds us all we'll have peace on earth forced down our throats if John McClane has anything to do with it. And the movie, infinitely better than the sequals and man-against-everyone genre films it inspired, is parts funny, romantic and heart-warming. What more do you want in a holiday film? Exploding rooftops and gaping gun shot wounds? Well you're in luck. It's got those, too.

"A Christmas Story" -- The New York Times refered to it as our generation's "It's a Wonderful Life" (more on that film later). And I suppose it is. It's really come into it's own these past few years and Becky and I make sure we watch it every Christmas Eve. But for me, what makes the movie is Darren McGavin, the Old Man. He owns the movie, even though it seems its most memorable parts are the tongue-on-the-tetherball-pole, overstuffed-snowsuit and pink-bunny-pajamas gags. The funniest scenes in the film, from the lamp to the Christmas dinner at the Chinese restaurant, are all indebted to the cantankerous, riley Darren McGavin.

Honorable mention: "Mr. Krueger's Christmas" -- It plays more like a Christmas film on an acid trip. I mean Jimmy Stewart is having dreams inside of dreams and he sings with the Mormon Tablernacle Choir. But that right there has got to make it at least as good as "Wonderful Life."

Now, in no particular order, the Christmas movies I don't like (that I've seen, otherwise this list would probably go on forever):

"It's a Wonderful Life" -- Don't get me wrong, it's a good movie. But why on earth it's a perennial Christmas favorite is beyond me. Only one scene (please, correct me if I'm wrong) takes place at Christmas. So maybe I'm raging more against the strange, qualified status the movie has rather than the movie itself. At any rate, I've seen it once and that was enough. In reality, if you've seen one Frank Capra film, you've seen 'em all.

"Miracle on 34th Street" -- I can't even make it all the way through this movie. But it was bad enough to inspire a made for TV Brady Bunch Christmas movie loosely based on it. That right there condemns it to depricated status. Let's be honest, it's just a creeky old movie that doesn't play real well.

"Christmas With the Kranks" -- Just so it's not all b&w on the list, I'll throw in "Kranks" because I've seen it and it can thus stand in for every other crappy Christmas movie made every year. It's as bad as you imagine it is. People who watch these kind of films during the holidays get the Christmas they deserve.

So that's it. Somewhere between the two lists is "Ernest Saves Christmas." I loved it as a kid, even saw it in the theater, but I'm sure if I watched it now I'd ruin it forever. Anyway, you've got Christmas movies to watch, so get going.

Wax on, wax off

Yeah, it's been a while. Thanks for the reminder, Thom. So we'll take care of a little housekeeping first. If you look to the right, you'll notice I've updated my links. Surface Tension now has its official welcome mat.

Second, it's time to add to the Perfect Pop Songs Vol. 2 list. Refresh your memory here and here. This one's got a chip on its shoulder. Some of you out there -- I won't name names -- turn your nose up at indie bands because you claim it's just too inaccessible, too hard to listen to. So, in this pretty-much all indie installment of the Perfect Pop Song I give you three tunes that are such stellar examples of pop songs it's likely they'll all be stuck in your heads for months.

Fujiya & Miyagi's Collarbone: F&M is a band from across the pond that has yet to get its debut album "Transparent Things" released stateside. I can't remember where the "Fujiya" comes from, but, yes, "Miyagi" is a shout-out to Mr. Miyagi. They've got a serious groove, and mix style, beat and crazy guitar hooks with very slick production. "Collarbone" is probably the perfect sum of all the band's influences and talent. It's got a killer beat and an insanely addictive bassline. Not to mention they work in the ol' nursery song, "Footbone's connected to the anklebone/the anklebone's connected to the shinbone" and on up the skeleton. Does this song have a proper title? Anyway, it's fun little number sure to get your head nodding.

Grand National's Talk Amongst Yourselves: The song is a track from the band's 2004 "Kicking the National Habit" and features an unrelenting, driving beat matched up with this low-key, understated vocals. The band, like so many that would come after in 2005 and 2006 to midling success, takes '80s pop new wave and updates it in a way that's pretty hip and little surprising, evinced in the song's 20-second electronic pulse opening. Once the guitars come in and the vocal start, it's hard to shake the song. "I made it all myself/'cause I can't anything down/Anything down/However hard I do try." It's a cool track.

Jarvis' Black Magic: Jarvis, who is Jarvis Cocker, is another Brit who's recently come out with an album that has yet to find a distributor stateside, but has killer pop and rock instincts. He's been around since the late '70s when he fronted a pop-punk band called Pulp as a 15-year-old. Anyway, he's soloing it now and producing some very cool music. "Black Magic" is pop song for sure, but it's dark and velvety and very rewarding as it gets better after each listening. And like all good pop songs, is about anything to which you apply it. Is the titular black magic a perfume, a lady-friend, a favorite liquor or maybe actual black magic? Who knows and who cares, the song just grooves. "You only get to see the light just one time in your life/Black Magic/That blows you mind away/And takes it somewhere that you want to stay." Jarvis' voice is deep and full, giving a lot of his songs this twisted Elvis/Johnny Rotten feel. Trust me, it works.

Cougs Win! Cougs Win!

Well what kind of Cougar fan would I be if I didn't post something about their stunning win over bitter rival Utah on Saturday. It was seriously a game that will go down in the history books as one of BYU finest wins.

Like any great game, more was at stake than just a win. The BYU/Utah rivalry holds up to any of the great rivalries in college football and for the past four years BYU had lost. Not a single BYU player had beat Utah, and with BYU coming into the match undeafeted in the Mountain West, it was the one win everyone wanted to see happen.

The drama, or course, really began late in the fourth quarter. It was three quarters of back-and-forth when finally with a 1:16 left in the game Utah scores a touchdown to take a four-point lead. At that point, I was sure the game was over and the Cougars had lost. Short of returning Utah's punt for a touchdown, I didn't how BYU could get all the way down field -- and score -- in just over a minute of playing time. Well, John Beck, who's been a middling quarterback at best over his last three years and even during quarters 2 and 3 in this game, showed his true colors and got the Cougs down to the 12-yard-line with three seconds to spare.

Beck takes the final snap, and for what feels like hours, looks and looks for an open receiver. With time well expired, Utah defenders finally break through and rush him. Running to his left, he throws right -- across his chest -- and gets the ball to receiver Johnny Harline, all alone in the far rightside of the endzone. Touchdown, with zero seconds on the clock, and BYU wins 33-31. It was unbelievable. So unbelievable, you have to watch the highlight reel to believe it. Here ya go:

You can run on for a long time

Some of you may know, I picked up Johnny Cash's last album a few months ago and it's a powerful record. Most of the songs are hit and miss -- and that's understandable. The man recorded almost all the tracks four and five months before he died. It makes for a heavy, intense little album. Anyway, one of the standout numbers is a track called "God's Gonna Cut You Down," a funeral dirge of a song. It's now got a video, that for the most part -- I think -- is pretty cool. I haven't done video for a while here on the Report, so consider this an early Christmas gift.

The top of Elsa's head smells like freedom

So, I've been listening to the new U2 single, "Window in the Skies" and having mixed feelings about it. In fact, I've been having mixed feelings about U2 for the past few years now -- feelings with which I've already bored you, faithful readers, in past editions.

But strap back in, because we're going for another "what's wrong with U2 these days" ride around the park.

First, "Windows." The song itself isn't too bad, although it takes the band about three minutes to really pull it all together. But listening to it again today, I think I finally put my finger on what's bugging me about the song. Like the whole of U2's two previous albums, "Windows" is unrelentingly upbeat. Bono literally rhapsodizes about love. Which is great, it's fine, it's the perfect thing about which to rhapsodize in song form. But man, is it bland. It's really got no depth, no bottom, as they say. It makes you smile and feel happy the first couple times you hear and then it just gets dull.

Which, to me, is the problem that has plagued the band since 2001, when they released "All That You Can't Leave Behind." The band has simply lost their edge. Every album U2 put out, from "Boy" to "Pop," had U2's characteristic upbeat, optimitic take on life. But they also had darkness, a little hardness around the edges, which acted as a great ballast for what comes to them naturally, I think. I mean, can you imagine the band recording and releasing something like "Love Is Blindness" now? Every song since "Beautiful Day" has been a celebration. And again, there's nothing wrong with that, if you balance it out with the rougher stuff, too.

It's the rougher stuff that made the band great -- t's what gave them depth, sensuality and texture. But instead, since "All That," everything has become frightenly one-dimensional. That doesn't mean there hasn't been good songs. I would argue "Beautiful Day," "A Man and a Woman" and (as sick of it as I am) "Vertigo" are as great as anything they've done in the past. But there's nothing there to balance out the hope and optimism. And, yes, you need something to balance it out or else you've eseentially produced a 60-minute Hallmark Card.

I mean, "Boy" has "I Will Follow" and "A Day Without Me," songs that essentially deal with suicide. "War" has "Surrender" and "Sunday Bloody Sunday" and "Seconds." Going down the list on the next albums, you've got "A Sort of Homecoming," "Bullet the Blue Sky" and "Mothers of the Disappeared," "God Part II," "Love Rescue Me," the entirity of "Achtung Baby," "Dirty Day" and "Some Days Are Better Than Others," "Gone," "Mofo" and "Wake Up Dead Man." And it's not like these songs are Elliot Smith dark. Clearly they're not. But they're certainly not exultations of charity and friendship, like "Miracle Drug" or "Walk On."

On their last two albums, the closest thing you get to dark is "Peace on Earth" on "All That" and maybe "Crumbs From Your Table" and "Love and Peace or Else" from "How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb." Just about everything from those last two albums are celebratory songs about the wonders of life, love and happiness. And "Windows," to me, wraps it all up in a nice little bow.

Is it so wrong that I want a little more "Until the End of the World," a little more "Bad" a little more "Please"? And I know Bono has gone to great lengths to explain that the band now isn't in the same place emotionally or psychologically as they were in the past, in their youth; that they're in their 40s and singing about the themes and issues you deal with in middle life; that their outlook now is more grounded, more mature, more at peace. What I want to know is, does that mean the fire's gone? Does that mean everything from here on out is going to be psuedo-psycho self-help songs? Because if it does, I may need to retreat to the past and pretend that the band's last album was "Pop" and that someday U2 will return to the studio to record their great follow-up.

Two-fer Wednesday

By most accounts, it's a good morning. Not only will there now be a check on our mindlessly block-headed executive branch, but U2's new single has been making the rounds online after KROQ played it a couple times yesterday. I managed to get a copy of it and it's really, really cool. So if you want me to email it out to you, just let me know in the comments.

Other than that, good riddance Rick Santorum and Crazy Conrad Burns. Let's hope a little bi-partisan power can get the country's direction back on track. You know, so we can actually fight terror instead of expanding executive power and deal with dictators who actually have WMDs.

Drop D metal bands

Halloween was a raging success. We've got candy coming out our ears. Surprisingly, though, no Slow Pokes. But I've got a Sugar Daddy, Thom, and it'll be on your desk when you get back to the newsroom.

But let's get to the business at hand. Another edition of Perfect Pop Songs. I realized last week that I've never posted a completed list of the songs from the first volume. So you can find that here, if you were curious. Anyway, on to the matter at hand.


Spoon's Sister Jack: Spoon is an incredible band from Austin that's been around for about 10 years. I think they've always kind of flown under the radar but with their last album "Gimme Fiction" it seems they're getting a little more attention. And mostly from the song "Sister Jack," as perfect a pop song as you've ever heard, complete with hand claps. The lyrics, like many of the songs from "Gimme Fiction" seem to make sense only to Brit Daniels, the band's lead singer and principal songwriter. But, still, they sound cool, which is almost as important as saying something. "Always on the outside/Always looking in/I was in this drop D metal band/We called Requim." It's one of the best songs on the dics -- and certainly the most approachable.


Wilco's The Late Greats: Wilco excels at writing and performing songs that come at you from left field. You hear them once, maybe twice, and never expect them to be catchy or even good and then three hours or even three days later, you find yourself humming the tune, unable to get the song out of your head. In a good way. Anyway, "The Late Greats" is the last track off the band's last album "A Ghost Is Born" and is a fun, jaunty tune that mocks in its own little way, aging hipsters and indie music lovers who always seem to be trying to one-up each other by pledging alligence to one band more obscure than the last. "The best band will never get signed/The Kaysettes starring Butchers Blind/You can't hear it on the radio/You can't hear it anywhere you go." The song's amazing. And a lot of fun.


Coldplay's Til Kingdom Come: Supposedly the song is Coldplay's ode to Johnny Cash. Well, it works for me. The song, appearing as a bonus track on "X&Y" is anchored by straight-up accoustic guitar, completely different in tone and feel from the rest of the album. That said, what makes the song work so well is the perfect meld of melody and lyrics. The song is really just a quiet little tune of longing and love and the mellencholic, aching melody reflects it perfectly. "Let me in/Unlock the door/I've never felt this way before."