Bootleggers or Dicks?

Or: Put Down Your Freakin' Phones!

As a longtime fan of both the bands Genesis and The Police, I have been eagerly seeking any available nuggets of information and anecdotes about the co-headlining tour of those band's respective former front-men, Peter Gabriel and Sting. From everything that I was able to glean from press releases and social media, this was not merely to be an instance of two well known artists doing supporting sets for each other in order to further increase their drawing power; This was to be a unique collaboration in which they would be sharing the stage, adding their voices (literally) to each other's songs in a celebration  of each others' catalogs.

Now this sounds like it could be either a revelation or merely a novelty.

Fortunately, reports have been promising. In a Columbus Dispatch review of the first concert last night at the Nationwide Arena in that city, Curtis Schieber, wrote that, in spite of the fact that there were some kinks to work out, the show was "a memorable combination of major talents, a marriage made of uncommon respect and enthusiasm."

Schieber noted that one of the evening's highlights was when Sting began his performance of the Police classic, "Message in a Bottle," by singing the opening lines of Genesis' "Dancing with the Moonlit Knight:"

"Can you tell me where my country lies?"
Said the unifaun to his true love's eyes
"It lies with me", cried the Queen of Maybe
For her merchandise, he traded in his prize
"Paper late", cried a voice in the crowd
"Old man dies" the note he left was signed 'Old Father Thames'
It seems he's drowned
Selling England by the pound

Schieber writes that the "magical imagery and hook line" added to the performance “Message in a Bottle, "broadening the song’s personal loneliness into a plea for international sanity."

I really wanted to hear this.

Doing so ended up virtually being easier done than said. A link to a video made by a member of the audience appeared in my Facebook feed. I clicked on the link, and even with the relatively poor, distant video and audio, I found myself getting chills from Sting's voice, singing these familiar lyrics but enriching them with a different sound and different intentions. Scheiber was right, I could feel the words hovering still after Sting began playing "Message in a Bottle."

I was glad to see the video, but not pleased as much with why I was able to.

I don't know who uploaded the video, so I can't speak to what his or her motives were, but it has become all too common to see a large percentage of a concert audience as being more inclined to view the show through their camera than experiencing it in the moment. Frankly, it is an incredibly infuriating phenomenon. Whether they are capturing the show as a personal memento, for bragging rights, or simply because they don't believe that an experience is real or valid unless it is captured and placed on social media, it is irritating to other audience members and disrespectful to the artists.

I have had numerous concert experiences at which my enjoyment was considerably compromised due to my view being blocked by a sea of iPhones raised up, and most of the shows I go to are older bands. I was at a Who concert where I could barely see the stage because of these people, and we are talking about an audience that was almost exclusively baby-boomers. I can't imagine what a concert is like when  it is populated entirely by millennials, who apparently simply know of no other way to experience a show. (I mean really, why can't they experience a show the way we used to do it when I was younger? Under the influence of mind altering drugs.)

Fortunately, apparently, other people are as pissed off about this as I am.

A recent article in the Washington Post discussed artists' dissatisfaction with this current state of affairs, and new approaches to rein in such behaviors. Of course, these approaches involve a product, a lock-able neoprene pouch created by a company called Yondr, which concertgoers would be compelled to use. The pouch allows them to carry their phones, but not allow them to access them unless the pouch is unlocked by the doorman outside of the venue. These have been adopted by a number of artists from musicians Alicia Keys and Guns and Roses to comics Dave Chappelle and Louis C.K. Personally, I think it's a great idea, but at the same time, I believe it only deals with the symptom, and not the disease, namely the narcissistic sense of entitlement which allows a person to use their toys to declare: "Look at me! Look where I am! And fuck everyone who gets in the way of me saying 'look me and look where I am!'" This is vanity, not fandom.

For example, one kid, a 24 year old named  Gerard Little (The Washington Post didn't feel the need to protect his identity, so why should I?) said: “In this day and age, my phone is how I keep my memory... Chris Brown. Jason Derulo. I have their footage on my phone. If you don’t want your music heard, then don’t perform it.”

(Aside to Gerard:) Now, I don't know you Gerard, but if your true feelings are expressed in these statements, I would have to say that you are a little asshole admitting that your brain is shrinking too much to actually store a real experience. Also, you have no respect for artists and their ability to decide how to release their work. Lastly, since you apparently go to Chris Brown shows, you support beating the shit out of women. You are the poster child for shitty millennials. (Aside over.)

Marky Ramone, the drummer for, well, you know... The Ramones, once proposed another device to discourage such behavior, but instead of a pouch, it was a Ramones 45 taped to a stick which would be used to knock people's cameras and phones out of their hands when they were being dicks. I kind of like that better in some ways, but what I would really like would be if people could have some sense of propriety and consideration, even in a party atmosphere.

But I know that it is too much to ask.

"But Roger," you may say, "don't you think you're being a hypocrite? You used to collect bootlegs. What's the difference between the tapers of yesteryear (and today) and people capturing the show on their phones? In fact, aren't the people capturing the shows on their phones better than the bootleggers who attempt to profit off of other people's material? And surely a phone in the air is better than a couple of microphones on poles?"

Those are good questions, and for which I think I have good answers.

1. Tapers were about capturing the music. Was there vanity involved? Yes, but it was about pride in getting the best gear and getting the best recording. They got far better results with their equipment, and it was mean to be good enough to be enjoyed by others. They were about capturing the music, not some "I was there" postcard.

2. Contrary to popular belief, bootleggers did not get rich. In the days of actual manufacturing of bootleg albums, there was so much risk, so much potential lost product, and so little actual profit, that it was stupid for anyone to get into the business unless they actually cared about getting deeper into the music than the regular commercial recordings offered. Furthermore, people who bought bootleg recordings did so in addition to commercial releases, hardly ever as an alternative to them. (For more on this, check out Clinton Heylin's book, Bootleg! The Rise and Fall of the Secret Recording Industry.)

3. Microphones on poles are only to be found in designated "tapers' sections" by bands that encourage it. These sections were frequently found at Grateful Dead shows and still are found at shows by the legions of "jam bands" they inspired. In the past, at shows by "non-taper friendly" bands, tapers were forced to come up with other "stealth" methods including microphones hidden in eyeglass frames, hats, and other ways of getting high quality recording that were not only unnoticeable by other audience members, but also by security personnel on the lookout. Was this disrespectful to the bands? Certainly. But in spite of the fact that they ignored the bands' wishes to not be taped, they never wanted to undermine the quality of music with a poor recording or to disrupt the show itself.

I am aware that I am speaking in generalizations, and there are probably a bunch of tapers out there with shitty gear and worse etiquette. I also know that I am opening myself to being criticized for trash talking millennials while trying to defend the behavior of bootleggers, who were deliberately anti-authoritarian. And you would be right, but I am mature enough to admit that I know that I am doing so.

I am not even sure where I am going with this anymore. I guess I just have two points coming out of this. Firstly,  I really want to see Sting and Peter Gabriel when they come to the New York City area. Secondly, the difference between a millennial with a cell phone and a bootlegger is that bootleggers are more considerate and discreet.

And bootleggers love music more than they love themselves.

Tricky Fingers in the 90s: Finessing the Jewel Case Top Wrap-Around Label Sticker

For those who need a visual aid

I spent at least ten minutes searching on Google trying to find out what that sticker is actually called (and ten minutes in internet time, is at least a decade in old-school library card catalog time), but people who actually still buy CDs and DVDs (or did at any point) know what I'm talking about. It's that stupid sticker with the artist's name and album title (and bar code) that wraps over the top edge of CD jewel cases and generally make it a pain in the dick to open and always seem to rip into dozens of tiny sticky pieces and leave tacky gunk on the case. You know those horrible little things. If anyone knows if there is official name for these things, let me know.

I recently rediscovered these delightful nuisances. Like an increasing number of music enthusiasts, most of my music purchases over the past several years have been on vinyl. CDs have not been by regularly purchased format since the late 90s. Unfortunately, recently I have had some problems with my receiver which has made me unable to play records, and as the recent Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony (and surrounding controversies) set me off of a Deep Purple listening binge, I decided to order a bunch of CDs from Amazon. (Those who would be quick to admonish me for not supporting independent record stores should know that I did look in numerous shops for all of the albums before resorting to online purchases.)

Why I did this instead of just listening to them on Spotify or YouTube (or, in this case, in addition to doing so) has more to do with old habits and principles than anything practical. Not to dwell too much on a point on which I have pontificated so often before, the fact is that when I was growing up you bought music. Sure, on occasion, a friend would dub an album onto a cassette for you, but by and large, music was a physical artifact that you bought, you listened to, and you treasured. Collections were usually on display, showing off your investment (emotional and financial), as well as giving the curious and analytically minded guest an insight into your personality through your choices.

So at any rate, in the last few days, I have been getting packages from Amazon full of CDs, and I have now found myself trying to utilize that skill that I have not practiced regularly in at least fifteen years: Getting those fucking labels off, and doing it in style.

I know this sounds trivial, but I put to you that this was a way of showing commitment.

When I was in college in the mid 90s, one of my roommates (we'll call him Tom O to avoid protecting his identity) used to cover the inside door of his wardrobe with top label stickers of discs that he had bought and which he had managed to remove in one piece. The dexterous removal of these stickers was a sign of investment and engagement with music. It showed that you cared. Much like the ability to handle records properly, or to wind a reel to reel tape, the ability to deftly remove these horrible little things demonstrated a tactile skill that came with a serious dedication to listening to and engaging with music. It was a skill that developed through practice, from buying a lot of CDs and caring intensely about the tangible and fragile artifact that carried the music.

Oh yeah.

I feel like millennials will not understand this. They don't buy CDs anyway (to be fair, most people don't anymore). Also, looking back, I remember looking at the modest collections of my baby-boomer parents and their friends, full of cracked jewel cases and ripped stickers, evidence that they couldn't be bothered to show their commitment to music through manual dexterity on such an obsessive compulsive level.

Maybe this was only a Gen X thing. Or maybe it was just a little part of Gen X. Or, who knows?

Maybe it was just me and my roommate, Tom O. At any rate, now I have found myself having to try my hand at it again, finessing that little piece of plastic, trying to get it off in one piece. I gotta tell you, I still got it.

(Seriously, though, if anyone knows a better name than "jewel case top wrap-around label," let me know. Or even make on up. I'm open to colorful suggestions.)

Deep Purple Bassist Nick Simper's Hall of Fame Snub

Trying in Vain to Find Logic in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame's Induction Process

Deep Purple, Mark I
Ritchie Blackmore, Rod Evans, Ian Paice, Jon Lord
and Nick Simper

This Friday, the 2016 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony will be held at the Barclays Center in Brooklyn, and this year Deep Purple, the classic English rock band that is credited with helping to lay the groundwork for heavy metal, is finally being inducted. Having been eligible since 1993, many believe that this honor is long overdue, and others feared it would never happen as more and more diverse acts meet the 25 year mark required for admittance.

As is the case with many bands, Deep Purple included many musicians over the years, which presents the problem of deciding which members are to be honored. Usually the Hall recognizes members of "classic" lineups, whatever that means. In the case of Deep Purple, there are a number of omissions for various reasons. Current members Steve Morse (who replaced the notoriously cantankerous founding guitarist Ritchie Blackmore in 1994) and Don Airey (who took over the keyboard chair from Jon Lord in 2002) are not included, in spite of their years in the band. In addition, in spite of their popularity (largely due to other projects) the one-album stints of guitarist Tommy Bolin and vocalist Joe Lynn Turner were not enough to warrant inclusion. In the end, the Hall chose to induct all of the members from the band's inception in 1968 up to the departure of Blackmore in 1975.

All except for Nick Simper, the founding bassist who played on the first three albums including the hit single, "Hush."

Nick Simper, today.

Commenting in Classic Rock magazine, Simper himself seemed to take the snub in stride and did not blame his old bandmates.  "Yes, it is a little strange that I am [the] only one from Marks I, II and III being left out, but I shan't lose any sleep over this. It's not as if I need to be given this award to know what we did in Deep Purple made an impact. And I'm sure it wasn't a decision that came from the band.”

Even considering that the band did not achieve their greatest success or even their defining sound until his departure in 1969, his exclusion is quite inexplicable. After all, vocalist Rod Evans, whose tenure with band ended at the same time as Simper's, is being honored, in spite of controversy and a lawsuit around fraudulent use of the band name.

Interviews with numerous Hall of Fame acts back up Simper's belief that the groups themselves do not necessarily choose the inductees. I have tried to find the specific rules as to who is to be included, and who makes these decisions, but in vain. Even searching for consistency in the list of members proves to be problematic. In my search for a set of criteria, I found numerous examples which simply contradict each other.

The only thing I ever found that suggested a concrete rule was in the case of Jack Sherman, erstwhile guitarist for the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Sherman was vocal in his disappointment at being snubbed when the band was inducted in 2012. Though the decision was ostensibly made by the Hall of Fame, Sherman believed that the decision was influenced by the band itself. Told that induction was limited to "original and current members, and those who played on multiple records," he believed that it was technicality designed to exclude him and Jane's Addiction guitarist Dave Navarro, who played on the band's 1995 album One Hot Minute when long-time member John Frusciante had taken a hiatus from the band. By these criteria, Sherman, who played on the first album but was not a founding member, did not qualify. In a turn of events that must have been particularly insulting, current guitarist Josh Klinghoffer, who had only a full member of the band for three years and had been all of four years old when the band was founded in 1983, did receive the honor of inclusion. This strange technicality made Klinghoffer the youngest member of the Hall of Fame.

The "original and current members, and those who played on multiple records" rule does explain many omissions, but not all. It does not explain the exclusion of Fleetwood Mac guitarist Bob Welch in 1998. Though Welch not a member of the original band or its later classic Rumours line-up, he was a pivotal member for several years and albums and was essential to saving a fracturing band while helping it make the transition from blues-infused hard rock to the pristine pop rock for which it is best known. Welsh attributed the snub to a then-recent breach of contract lawsuit between him and his former bandmates. This of course, would be a fallacious argument if the band indeed did not have some sort of say in who was inducted.

Stu doesn't need your pity.

But apparently the band may have some say. When the Rolling Stones were inducted in 1989, the band requested that founding  pianist Ian Stewart ("Stu") be inducted with them, even though he was fired from the band (or to be more specific, was demoted from band member to session musician and road manager) before their first album. This decision was made by the Stones' manager, Andrew Loog Oldham, who argued that the stocky, square-jawed Stewart did not fit the image of the young rebellious band. Jagger, Richards, and company, however, held him in high esteem. Keith Richards would frequently say, even after Stu's death in 1985, "I still feel like I'm working for him. It's his band." They presented the argument to the Hall that, in spite of the fact that he had never been credited as a band member on any album, as a founder, he should be eligible. Now while he technically fits the rule that excluded Jack Sherman, as a member who was not terribly well known, it is hard to imagine that the Hall would have automatically inducted Stewart if it were not for the band's intervention.

Warren Haynes

The current member factor seems to be used quite inconsistently. When the Grateful Dead were inducted in 1994, keyboardist Vince Welnick had been in the band for less than 4 years, but was still included . Meanwhile, when the Allman Brothers Band were so honored the following year, only original members were inducted, ignoring not only members from the mid 70s, when their popularity was at its zenith, but also then-current members including Warren Haynes, who was not only instrumental in their comeback six years earlier, but would later prove to be the glue that would hold the band together over the next couple of decades.¹

Now, I do not intend to slight Klinghoffer, but personally, I believe that Haynes is far more deserving of the honor.

Which leads me back to the case of Nick Simper. Before Deep Purple, Simper had played with a number of working English bands in the early sixties. Notably, he was the last bass player for Johnny Kidd and the Pirates, a hugely influential group whose single "Shakin' All Over" became a rock staple and was famously covered by The Who on their Live at Leeds album. Admittedly a late-comer to the group, Simper had the sad distinction of being present (and injured) in the car crash that killed Kidd. He would later do a stint in Screaming Lord Such and the Savages before playing in the Flower Pot Men with Jon Lord.

It was Lord who recommended Simper to fill the role as bassist in Deep Purple, a band that he was starting with guitarist Ritchie Blackmore. When singer Rod Evans came to audition, he brought along his drummer Ian Paice, and the lineup of what would later be known as Deep Purple, Mark I, would be complete. That lineup, which played a blend of proto-progressive and psychedelic rock, would find modest success and tour internationally.

Simper and Evans would be fired in 1969 due to the desire of Blackmore, Lord, and Paice to take the band in a heavier direction. Simper would play with a number of bands over the ensuing decades, but would never find the same level of success. Evans would resurface in Captain Beyond, a band that included former members of Iron Butterfly and Johnny Winter's band. Not quite a "supergroup", they were at the very least a "pretty-nifty-group." They released a couple of well received, if not hot selling albums, before Evans left the music business to work as a respiratory therapist.

Unfortunately, Evans' story took a pitiable turn in 1980, when he was recruited by a disreputable promotion company to participate what would be a Deep Purple reunion in name only, with a group of hired guns (apparently Simper was also approached, but turned down the offer). After a few warm-up gigs, the band was set to play at the 12,000 seat Long Beach Arena. On the day of the show, the managers of (the real) Deep Purple placed a half page ad in the LA Times informing audiences that no members of the band's most popular Mark II and III lineups would be performing. The show went on as scheduled, and went off poorly. Sound problems abounded, the band was below subpar, and angry fans, realizing they'd been duped, began leaving immediately, many asking for refunds. A lawsuit was brought against Evans (assumed by many to be at the behest of guitarist Ritchie Blackmore) which resulted in his loss of all future Deep Purple royalties. It is a sad and embarrassing story and one does have to wonder how Evans, who was described by his former band mate, Bobby Caldwell, as an "intellectual giant" (although, to be fair, this is by rock star standards [ducks]) would have allowed himself to be roped in to such a dubious enterprise.

When I saw that Evans was being inducted and that Simper was not, I was perplexed. I don't think that Evans should be excluded for events of over thirty years ago, but why was Simper excluded when his parallel tenure with the band was not marred with controversy? Who decided? Do the bands in question really have as little say as we are led to believe? Were there inter-band politics that we do not know about, or is it just another example of the bassist not getting any respect? This situation with Nick Simper and Deep Purple, above all others, indicates to me that there really is no rhyme or reason. Even if one argued that rules changed from year to year, this case indicates a complete lack of logic within itself.

If anyone can shed light on this, please let me know. Looking at these and other cases, it seems to me that the decisions of who gets in and stays home and bitterly watches the ceremony on TV, are taken on a case by case basis and based more on whims than specific criteria. We may never know the answer, but the case of Nick Simper once again highlights the irregularities and inconsistencies of the induction process of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

I guess we really can't take it that seriously.

(¹The only reason I can imagine for this strange paradox is that Welnick joined a band that played together more or less continuously for several decades, as opposed to Haynes who joined a band that was reforming after having been broken up for several years. It's not much, but it's all I got, and it would explain the absence of Deep Purple's Steve Morse and Don Airey.)

Remembering Keith Emerson (the Way We Ought To)

Shortly after the death of rock keyboardist Keith Emerson was reported as a suicide last Friday, Greg Lake, his former bandmate in the eponymously named progressive rock juggernaut, Emerson, Lake, and Palmer, was quoted on the website of the U.K.'s Sunday Express that he had recognized signs of Keith's depression since the late 70's, adding that "I have to be honest and say that his death didn’t come as a shock to me."

"I think its [sic] a very difficult thing to actually describe what depression is...  He lived, in the end, this very lonely existence of someone who was deeply troubled, He loved music – that was his main purpose in life... But the music he made after ELP never bore fruit in the same way as it did in the early days."

He went on to make a plea for others who have similar feelings:  "All I would say is that if anyone does have feelings like that, of being so desperate that they think it’s better off not to wake up tomorrow, then please, go and talk to somebody - the doctor, your friend, anybody."

The statements, sometimes quite harsh even if not lacking in understanding, are in stark contrast to his terse initial statement on his website, in which he stated that "[a]s sad and tragic as Keith’s death is, I would not want this to be the lasting memory people take away with them."

A very sad facet of suicide is its ability to alter the conversation and taint our memories. Just as for many the death of Robin Williams forever painted him as the tragic sad clown figure, a sharp contrast to the lighting witted chameleon comic genius, I appreciate Lake's fear that Emerson's contributions will be colored by nature of his passing. At the same time, I also understand why he later felt the need to openly ruminate on it, and I certainly would never condemn his statement in support of psychological counseling.

But then there is also always the temptation for people who never knew Emerson beyond his work to speculate:  "Did the stigma of mental illness prevent him from getting the help he may have needed?" "What if he hadn't had a gun in the house?" Some have even suggested that internet trolling was a factor in his anxiety and subsequent suicide.

Bob Moog and Keith

I do think that all of these issues should be brought into open discussion, but I agree with Lakes' original statement that we should try to remember Keith Emerson for who he was at his best and strongest, a kick ass musician. Let's remember him as the guy who used to hold down notes on his Hammond organ with giant daggers (gifts from his roadie, Lemmy... yes that Lemmy), while also displaying dazzling, disciplined piano technique. Let's remember the guy whose use of the Moog synthesizer and collaboration with its inventor, Robert Moog, lead to significant developments in that instrument. Let his legacy include his compositional prowess, and his ability as a performer to arrange older pieces to make new statements and express new attitudes.

A lot of younger people do not know of these things (damned millennials!). Sadly, I find that many people who were not around in the 70s are unaware of a couple of things: Firstly, that Keith Emerson is largely considered to be one of the most technically proficient keyboardists ever to play rock music. Secondly, that Emerson, Lake and Palmer were one of the biggest bands in the world at that time. In their 1973-74 heyday, only The Who, The Rolling Stones, and Led Zeppelin were bigger concert draws.

Yes, that Lemmy

To be sure (internet trolls be damned), Emerson was no stranger to criticism; in the 70's Emerson, Lake, and Palmer were also one of the most critically reviled  bands of the time, usually blasted for being pompous, bombastic, too cerebral, and overly theatrical. Outwardly, the band brushed off, or even welcomed such criticism. This was a band that prided itself on something else, creating something bigger, something more grand, mixing elegant composition with sonic experimentation, intense volume, fiery chops, and a brash stage show. They were unapologetic. They had no time for people who would slag off their incorporation of music by established jazz musicians and classical composers into performances. If you couldn't deal Mussorgsky mixed with some Hammond organ feedback, Led Zeppelin was playing across town (and they were a "pure" rock band; they only ripped off aging blues musicians).

And while to some it seemed overly heady and considered, this was a music that the band arrived at organically, mixing the classical training that the members had in their youth with the pop sounds that were coming out in England at the time, all the while emboldened by the experimental spirit of the age. If their music didn't have a raw sound like classic American rock n' roll or blues, it wasn't supposed to. Prog rock was its own beast. It was, and remains, at its best, ethereal, powerful, and thought-provoking.

However, while immensely popular in the early to mid seventies, today prog rock is generally a cult affair. Its fans today are a smaller group, but one that is both rabid and discerning, while deliberately dismissive of concepts of cool versus uncool.  Prog rock fans are more interested in exploring vistas of sound and atmosphere, music made with skill and commitment, and less interested in musical scenes connected to social movements or attitudes. Prog rock fans do not look to music to tell them how to dress or who they should sneer at. It's all about the music.

And so it was for Keith. He was one of the titans of the genre, leading the charge for musicians of the time, and inspiring artists of the future. Needless to say, tributes poured out in the last few days. Peter Gabriel wrote that "Keith’s passion for good music, whether it was classical, jazz or rock, was in itself one of the things that led the progressive rock movement."

Adrian Belew, the former King Crimson guitarist who also worked with Frank Zappa, David Bowie, and Talking Heads, commented on how he wanted to get sounds like Emerson's keyboards out of his guitar and went on to say that "had I never heard Keith Emerson playing I might be a different guitarist than I am today. [T]hank you Keith."

Indeed, Greg Lake did say it best in his original statement when he declared that what he "will always remember about Keith Emerson was his remarkable talent as a musician and composer and his gift and passion to entertain. Music was his life and despite some of the difficulties he encountered I am sure that the music he created will live on forever."

Hear, Hear.

Am I Allowed to Dislike the New Ghostbusters Trailer?

 So the internet is abuzz over the first trailer for the Ghostbusters reboot. The reactions to the trailer for the new film, which raised eyebrows by recasting the protagonists as woman, were as polarized as the responses when the movie was announced. People either loved it or they hated it.

Sadly, I found myself on the side of the haters.

I wanted to like it. I really did. When the movie was first announced, I thought that a reboot was a really bad idea, but I held my tongue. I was cautious in my pessimism. I didn't want to lumped in with the myriad of voices that were opposed to it for reasons that were petty and sexist (you may recall that Donald Trump was one of those voices). Also, I genuinely like all of the performers involved. Watching the trailer, unfortunately, I found my pessimism to be justified.

Okay, so  the trailer begins with allusions to the 1984 film, including showing locations from that movie, which would suggest that the film is a continuation in some way. Of course, this is immediately shown not be the case as we are shown the outline of an origin story that seems to so closely resemble the original film that it becomes evident that this is merely a remake, and not a very imaginative one at that. I mean, really, couldn't they have thought of another place aside from the New York Public Library to encounter the first ghost? Is there a reason that they had to stick to the same number of Ghostbusters and the same racial demographics? Not to mention the fact that, once again, the black character is the non-scientist who is rough around the edges. I mean, I love Leslie Jones and her aggressive brand of humor, and it pleases me to see her getting into bigger film roles, but am I the only one who finds this a little cheap, if not blatantly racist?

Not to gloss over that last point, but basically, it looks like it will be just a bigger, glossier, crasser telling of much the same story, with no evidence of the sly humor of the original film, which so deftly balanced comedy with supernatural horror. I would welcome the opportunity to be proven wrong, and see the film succeed on its own merits and the performances of its gifted cast, but I doubt that this project will prove to be one that is worthy of their talents.

Again, I thought the reboot was a bad idea from the beginning, and it had nothing to do with the gender switching. It had to do with Harold Ramis.

Harold Ramis  1944-2014

Like many fans, I had been eagerly awaiting Ghostbusters 3 for years. I knew that that it had largely been held up by Bill Murray, who seemed to be reluctant to return to broader comedy since his transformation to idiosyncratic indie hero (a transformation that I have relished watching). The other obstacle, it would become known, was the long-standing feud between Murray and Ramis, co-star and co-writer of the original movie and Murray's frequent collaborator until they had a falling out after Ramis directed him in 1993's Groundhog Day. (The feud was a largely one-sided one, as it was Murray who refused to work with Ramis again and the two former friends would not speak for several decades.)

Alas, it was never to be. Although there was speculation for years, and scripts floating around, it never coalesced. Sadly, Ramis, who in addition to Ghostbusters, was the comedy genius behind Caddyshack, Stripes, and National Lampoon's Vacation, passed away after a long illness on February 24^th, 2014. I was pleased to hear that Murray and Ramis reconciled before his death, but I was sad that it happened far too late for them to don their tan coveralls again.

And so it really seemed to be adding insult to injury when it was announced less than six months later that a new movie was in the works. I could imagine a scene in which an executive at Paramount callously proclaimed "Well, it looks like a sequel is out. How about a reboot?"

Couldn't they have given Harold Ramis a little time in his grave before he had to start spinning in it?

This is the one we were waiting for.

It seems that the idea of not rushing out another product to make money based on a known property was apparently not even an option. It is upsetting to see a movie that I loved so much in my childhood, that was so original, funny, and so daring in its genre bending, to be reduced to a property to be monetized.

Now, I would not wish to denigrate the talents of the performers involved by calling an all-female version of Ghostbusters “gimmicky,” but it did seem to me to be a way of making a calloused, business-oriented decision seem creative, artistic, and original. The cynic in me (the loudest of my inner voices) also wonders if part of the reason for this decision was to hijack the conversion, to distract from the fact that a reboot was simply a good idea at all, and give the makers of the film the ability to dismiss naysayers as a bunch of pathetic, sexist, internet trolls.

At the end of the day, I will go see the movie. I have no doubt that everyone involved is enthusiastic and probably as much a fan of the original film as I. However, if I come out of the theater and say I didn't like it, I assure you that it will be for other reasons than sexism.

Cat Crap

Why Broadway Doesn't Need a Revival of Andrew Lloyd Webber's Feline Extravaganza

The "classic" Andrew Lloyd Webber musical, Cats, will be returning to Broadway this summer, the first time it has been revived in New York since it closed in 2000. Wow, it's been 16 years since Cats closed. Almost as long as the show's original run (18 years). In fact, when it closed, it held the record as the longest running show on Broadway, which is an impressive feat for a show with a score that is alternately mediocre and irritating and has virtually no story whatsoever. I mean, I really think there should be some sort of rule that the time between a show closing and its first revival should be longer than the initial run of the show itself. Our respite from that steaming hunk of crap should be longer than the time we had to suffer that show taking up space on Broadway.  Make some room for something new.

But we can't, of course, because Broadway musicals cost so much to create that only known commodities will be produced. Look at the ever shrinking theatre listings page in the New York Times and you will see that almost everything on Broadway fits into one of three categories: revivals, juke-box musicals (shows built around existing songs that usually are old favorites of baby-boomers), and new shows based on a movie. Basically, anything that can capitalize on nostalgia. It is amusing to note that the Winter Garden Theatre, which housed Cats for its record breaking original run, has been occupied by virtually nothing else since Cats' closing, being the venue for Mamma Mia (the ABBA juke-box musical), followed by the short lived Rocky the Musical, and now the adaptation of School of Rock (also featuring a score by Lloyd Webber).

It's hard not to sound elitist, and I am trying to avoid old clichés like "attracting the bridge and tunnel crowd," and I am trying to not say outright that much of the Broadway audience are unsophisticated tourists, but it is hard to look at Broadway and argue that most of what is produced is geared towards a discerning audience.

Me at 15 in Bye Bye Birdie.
I'm only putting this here to show that there
was a time when musical theatre was very
important to me.

"But what about Hamilton? What about The Book of Mormon?" To have one innovative must-see show each season while other original pieces tank left and right is not a sign of a diverse and thriving Broadway scene. I didn't mean for this to turn into a diatribe about the slow death of the American popular theatre, but again, when Cats is being revived, something is wrong.

I mean, let's be serious. Does anybody really like Cats? I think that people who know nothing about theatre pretend to like Cats to seem cultured. To be fair, the show was visually lyrical and beautiful (mostly due to the talents of choreographer Gillian Lynne). I can only imagine that first time theatre-goers might be dazzled into thinking that there is a greater theme that they're missing. They might be embarrassed to confess that they got bored after the first fifteen minutes and were only staying because they wanted to hear that "Memory" song that comes at the end of the show.

Admit it. You want to see this show.

I don't know. I really don't. What's the solution?  I can't expect theatre producers to be altruists whose goal is to provide unique, innovative, cultural nourishment, but still, "give the people what they want" should be the credo of YouTube, not Broadway.

You know what? I'm going to cut this diatribe short. This is becoming a bigger conversation than I wanted to have, and even I am getting sick of my own negativity anyway. Long story short, boycott the Cats revival and see some new theatre. And stop making juke-box musicals and musicals based on movies. It's getting really old. Except, you know what? I really want to see a stage musical version of The Three Amigos. Now, that would be great. Randy Newman wrote some great songs for the movie and I'm sure he could be persuaded to write a few more.

Then that's enough.

The Phil Collins Backlash

So Phil Collins has been big in the "news" the past few weeks. Rolling Stone Magazine wrote that the former Genesis drummer and mega-selling solo artist would be coming out of retirement. He was planning both a new album and a world tour. Fans rejoiced and awaited further developments in anticipation. Internet trolls likewise rejoiced, sharpening their fangs and letting loose with snarky comments of varying degrees of intelligence.

Immediately, professional and armchair critics alike were writing opinion pieces condemning Collins and his intention to return to the spotlight. Some anti-fans began online petitions, including one on change.org petitioning the United Nations, to put a stop to his comeback plans.

Expectedly, many fans of Phil Collins and Genesis reacted with outrage. Comments on Genesis fan sites regarding the petitions frequently consisted of basic name calling ("Philthy rats" was kind of a cute one), and your standard "get a life" and "don't feed the trolls" comments. To an outside observer, it was probably considerably more hubbub than such a childish joke warranted, but then again, I understand that nobody likes to hear the old "your favorite band sucks" thing.

Eventually, as each new news website published a story on the petitions, and more people got pissed off, and more people made childish comments, the joke kind of snowballed beyond its own merit. Whether in response to the anger from irate fans, or simply incredulous that things got as far as they did, the creator of the change.org petition ended the campaign, noting that it was "low brow satire, a farcical jest... shared with some friends" that got out of control.

The whole time from Phil's initial announcement to the petition being taken down was a little more than a week.

Even as a fan of Phil Collins and Genesis, it was hard for me not to be amused by all of this. (I may add that almost immediately after the Rolling Store article came out, a statement on a Genesis fan website, supposedly from Phil Collins' management, stated that, in spite of Phil's enthusiastic statements, there were no concrete future plans in regards to touring and recording. If true, that would, of course, make the whole point moot.) At the same time, I understand that Phil Collins fans feel that they are constantly on the defensive. Phil has been a favorite target of critical and public scorn for years. It may not be as easy for fans to look at this whole situation philosophically, no pun intended.

Indeed, there was nothing funny about the petition itself. The only funny thing was that the drama it provoked was so out of proportion to the effort that went into making it. The mission statement was simplistic and trite, and frankly, making fun of Phil is just so passé. Hardcore fans were offended by the sentiment; I was offended that this childish gesture was supposed to pass as satire.

The petition was too easy. Too easy to make, and too easy to sign. Do you think that it would have gained nearly as much traction it were an actual letter writing campaign? Something that actually involved standing up? No, the whole thing was an exercise in casual snideness (although it is the "exercise" equivalent of watching a yoga video while sitting on the couch eating Pringles).

I don't blame the guy who made it. It was good for a cheap laugh at first, and for all I know, he was being honest when he asserted that it was a private joke that got out of control. Frankly, I agree with him in wondering how it was decided to be newsworthy. There were very few signatures when articles about it started appearing, and when the petition was shut down, it had less than four thousand, a pretty insignificant amount considering that Phil Collins has sold hundreds of millions of albums.

Phil's drumming prowess has never been in question.
Photo by Armando Gallo

As for the bloggers and newspaper columnists who have also weighed in on the issue... Well, as someone who frequently writes on the subject of popular (and un-popular) music and musicians, I cannot be too upset at people who write pieces that are critical of artists that I enjoy or with whom I feel a kinship (you may say that using the word kinship is a bit extreme, but I would argue intense fandom is considerably more than mere enjoyment and aesthetic opinion, which is largely why these arguments get so heated). I cannot even blame them for pieces in which they apparently attack with vicious glee. I, myself, have occasionally found it fun to rail against my "favorite aversions" (to use the term I believe to be coined by legendary rock writer Lester Bangs). I couldn't, and wouldn't even dream of telling these guys to "get a life" and "stop trash talking artists that many people enjoy." Writers write, critics critique, and that's how it is. That said, we should be allowed to expect sensible arguments and a certain level of wit. A good amount of the criticism of Phil Collins of late has all sounded the same: "My parents played 'Sussudio' over and over in the back of the mini-van when I was a kid, so I hate Phil Collins, even though I heard he used to be a good drummer, but he is responsible for all the evil of the 1980s and he must be thwarted."

Satire should never be lazy and given the fact that Phil Collins was basically recognized to be an easy target thirty years ago, I personally believe that if you want to go after him now, you should at least come up with something new rather than regurgitate arguments that were made in 1987. (Again, I have gone after easy targets myself in the past, but I like to think that when I do so, I still always try to take careful aim.) Though I disagreed with it, one of the more entertaining pieces I read, appearing in the New York Post, implicitly made the argument that letting up on Phil Collins would risk us turning into our parents, and warned its readers that: "Nostalgia is not to be trusted. Nothing is as good as you remember it -- but sometimes it can be a hell of a lot worse."

In response, I will make the argument that the Phil Collins hate is its own kind of indulgence in nostalgia. Let's face it, this backlash is completely unnecessary. There is absolutely no way in this day and age that Phil will be as huge a presence on the music scene as he was thirty years ago. His music will not be as inescapable. If you want to hear his new music (should he actually make it), you may have to actually look for it rather than wait for it to be crammed down your throat. But I understand that people still get a laugh out of ripping on Phil. It was a favorite past time of the 80s. His announcement that he was coming out of retirement was almost like going to a friend's house and finding that he has a working Atari 2600: You get to play your favorite childhood games again. However, those games will never be as good as they were when we were kids. Likewise, the Phil Collins loathing game is even older and more worn out than his music is criticized for being.

Personally, I believe that a lot of Phil's music is better than many remember it being. But don't worry, nobody's going to make you listen.