Monthly Archives: June 2013

Why Ringo Starr’s Face is Misshapen

96 Tears (album)

96 Tears (album) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Beatles are my generation’s musical trump card. They were and will always be the world’s greatest band and for a number of reasons. First, they wrote the best and most innovative popular music associated with the rock genre. Their music sparkles and the shine hasn’t and most likely never will wear off, thus their legay lives on in t-shirt sales.

Don’t believe me? Go to the airport and count Beatle t-shirts and while you’re there, count, say, The Hollies ( a great band from the same era) t-shirts. Come back with the results and I will laugh at you for wasting your time while I accomplished…laundry or something equally unfulfilling.

Also, The Beatles had all four genres of band members; the cute one, the smart one, the quiet one and the oddly misshapen one. Boy bands have tried unsuccessfully to fulfill this quota ever since. Sadly, the quiet one usually turns out to be the gay one or the smart one is only wearing glasses, neither of which is innately wrong or without purpose, but it just isn’t the formula. It’s like Coke substituting carcinogens for carrots. Although it might fit in the bottle, people would spit it out and riot in the streets chanting “Hell, No! We don’t want to see better, we want to rot our teeth!” (Kids today aren’t as good as our generation was with chanting, either.)

Lastly, The Beatles are the best band ever because we only had 5 or less channels on our remote-less TVs and, even though Bonanza, which was on the other channel at the time, had four guys: the cute one, the smart one, the one of asian extraction and Hoss, they were not known to waggle their heads and sing OOOH unless they stepped in a camp fire without their boots and that just wasn’t the same. Plus many fans were angry when they fired Adam, their drummer.

The point being, that, as a generation, almost all of us, excluding the kid who turned the TV off after Topo Gigio and has never lived that down, experienced The Beatles together, thus they became part of our culture. Because we are very lucky, they were musical geniuses and innovators in every sense of the word as long as you remove every Ringo led number from every album. Had they not been the coolest guys ever, we might have moved on to The Archies, causing our young men to dye their hair red and part it down the middle rather than grow it until is became a suffocation hazard and eventually base a musical on the subject.

So we rub the Beatles into the face of younger generations which no one enjoys aside from Ringo who, as we have determined is oddly misshapen and less than a genius.

That’s fine. We are right to do so. It’s when we pretend that 96 Tears never happened that we begin that slippery slope to exaggeration and, dare I say, outright lying.

Here’s a little known fact; 96 Tears was written and performed by the son a rich and famous record producer named, Larry Rogers. Larry, hoping his son, Barry would follow him into the recording industry rather than just following him into the bathroom, bought his pride and joy a keyboard for Christmas. Young Barry sat down and immediately wrote the music to 96 Tears, by accidentally leaving the repeat button on. Larry was beside himself and Barry because Barry rarely left his father’s side, thus the bathroom problem.

Larry booked Barry into the studio the next day, although the song still had no viable lyrics. Larry suggested Barry sang whatever gibberish came into his pointy head because, he was of the opinion that rock-n-roll was a passing fad and he might as well make some money off of it.

By the next day Larry had paid oversized men to visit all of the local radio stations to suggest, if they liked their family, and even if they didn’t, they should play the now infamous 96 Tears.

The rest is the stuff of legends and legends are another word for lies. 96 Tears is simply a sucky song which, for whatever reason, still shows up on sixties playlists. I blame people like my husband who not only likes the song but has tried to play it on occasion, putting our marriage in temporary jeopardy.

Here is a short list of songs that were popular in the 1960s: Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini, Tiptoe Through the Tulips, MacArthur Park and Yummy, Yummy, Yummy, (I got love in my tummy.)

I won’t even go into the seventies, when rock-n-roll curled up in a corner and sucked it’s thumb for a decade as a result of The Beatles break up.

So, lest we forget, although The Beatles are to music as Tom Hanks is to everything, a pinnacle too high to attain, the entire decade was not built on gold and stardust except at Woodstock, and not even then really. But for every While My Guitar Gently Weeps is an oh-for-the-love-of-god-turn-it off song like, well…let’s just call and awful song and awful song, Revolution #9.

So next time you feel the need to rub The Beatles into the face of today’s music fans remember two things: 96 Tears and Ringo, who’s had just about enough of that activity.


Why Game of Thrones, Coldplay and Laundry are a Bad Combination




Why Game of Thrones, Coldplay and Laundry are a Bad Combination

Fire and Blood (Game of Thrones)

Fire and Blood (Game of Thrones) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’ve started and stopped watching Game of Thrones this season. The reason I began was Will Champion, drummer for Coldplay, was set to make a cameo appearance, the reason I stopped was laundry related.

I’ve never been good at getting stains out of my clothes and if I can’t spray an article of clothing with something, throw it in the wash and have it come out of the other end of the process looking like I just carried it home in a TJ Maxx bag, I pronounce it dead and panic about how to rid myself of it.

You can’t give away spotted clothes to anyone, it’s like saying, here’s money for food, but it’s in rupees, good luck to you.

I don’t use rags because I apparently don’t care about the future of the only planet available to my grandkids, especially when you consider that I still buy magazines and newspapers despite my new Kindle. I figure, with the rate technology is advancing, they’ll probably be able to make a new planet from stuff we’ve had lying around for years with no notion of its planet-making quality and once Congress votes on its use, we’ll be set. (Wait for it. You know it’s coming.) So, we’re doomed.

Anyway, to those keeping score, back to Game of Thrones. I watched about six in a row, scanning mass murders for a glimpse of Will, hoping he wasn’t a target, as he seems to be a very nice fellow, despite his habit of stealing nano seconds of camera time from Chris Martin on the rare occasions he is pictured at all.

Here’s something I read about Will; in most photos of Coldplay, he looks slightly insane and not in a good way, in a I’m-currently-mapping-out-a-plan-which-will-make-Game-of-Thrones-look-like-a-Disney-film-and-not-the-current-offering-type-but-the-era-where-Walt-had-yet-to-take-residence-between-the-peas-and-the frosted-sirloin way.

Turns out he’s ruined many of the groups publicity pictures by being in them. I’m kidding, of course, he’s perfectly nice looking, the only problem being, standing next to Chris Martin, in my admittedly warped way of thinking, would make even the affable and charming George Clooney look like last nights perch.

The real reason Will looks as if he’s about to make mince meat of a photographer is that he blinks at inopportune times, thus destroying the photo, so his solution has been to stare into the lens, looking as if a preëmptive prison sentence might be in order, a practice I am considering as I also am a destructive blinker. This has been: Things I never needed to know about Coldplay. Tune in next week to find out why Chris has a scar on his neck. (Hint: Noel Gallagher has nothing to do with it.)

Ok. Game of Thrones. After the fourth murder, in the first ten minutes of the first show, I started watching the show from behind the crook of my elbow which makes it at least twice as difficult to ascertain which mangled victim might be holding a drumstick. After a while, you start seeing drumsticks everywhere, when actually most of them are severed limbs.

By the way, for those of you who have not yet watched this show, here’s my synopsis: many people hate the snot out of most everyone else in the Middle Ages. Rather than engaging in diplomacy and/or therapy, everyone tries and often succeeds at gruesomely murdering every one else and those victims are the lucky ones. Some poor schmuck was hanging from lumber for the whole season while his hosts considered ingenious ways to practice depravity on his body, and there was absolutely no safe word. Plus there were dragons.

After I’d “watched” several episodes, ruining, not only that night’s dinners, but three or four after, my son, who is part of the generation responsible for building a new planet, said in that smirky, I’m-24 sort of way, “You know you could wait until it’s over and google Will Champion on Game of Thrones.” Smart ass.

By that time I had already mopped up (with paper towels) a quart or two of blood from my newly installed bleached wood flooring and that was only from lumber schmuck, (which is a good name for a band.

Once it spattered my “Look at the Stars, look how they shine for you” hoodie, and said hoodie emerged from the washing process with pink splatter marring the perfection of my white hoodie, I had to stop watching.

I’m being allegorical, of course. I’ve never owned any white piece of clothing which wasn’t discolored, rendering it unwearable, for more than 15 minutes of my life. Even if I had covered myself in a tarp during Game of Thrones, my hoodie would have been sent to the Now-what-do-I-do-with-this pile within moments of my trying it on. I once sat on a caterpillar in my mother’s white shorts and she has never gotten over it, and, needless to say, neither did the preëmpted butterfly.

Anyway, sitting here in my previously mentioned hoodie, complete with non-recognizable stains which I am ingeniously wearing over pajamas, I finally watched Will’s 17 second bit as a drummer on Game of Thrones. Not only was it the only clip not marred by human innards, but it was about the same attention he gets from me during a basic concert, so what was the point? Well, he wore a funny hat.

As I finish typing here, I’m beginning to see a problem with this post. If I tag it with Game of Thrones, fans will become irate that I spent little time discussing their terrifying show. If I tag it with Coldplay, fans will become irate that I dissed Mr Champion’s face, if I tag it with laundry, those in charge of clean clothes will become irate that I didn’t pre-treat my hoodie.

Will I get credit for writing the first blog post which mentions Game of Thrones, Coldplay and laundry in the same breath? Most certainly not. If there are three more ardent groups of admirers other than Game of Thrones fans, Coldplayers and launderers…launderators…laundrynistas…, I haven’t met them yet.

OK, The Beatles, but that only gives me another tagging issue.

I can only apologize to each in turn and remind you that violence should not be practiced or even considered by drummers during photo shoots. It almost always ends in stained clothing.