Typical for the way this season has been going, Boulder got about 8" or 9" of snow overnight...and Loveland got 3", their first snow in a week. I'd go up tomorrow (Friday, two days before Xmas), but a) I have a Yonder story to do b) I still have Xmas shopping and c) it's supposed to be 8 degrees for a high temp. I am losing my shyness about avoiding stupid-cold weather.
After last year's riotous, snowpack-record-smashing La Nina (was it really La Nina, or maybe just a wet winter?), Upper Colorado is meekly clutching at 68% SWE, and Dolores/Animas at 79% thus far. Not quite calamatous, plenty of show season to go (oh yeah, Happy Solstice), but we are way behind where we were last year.
And the self-bailer thing? Eh...Sharon is sharply skeptical...so we'll hold off for now.
Xmas approaches. Enjoy, everyone...
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Monday, December 19, 2011
Self-bailer?
Well, we're toying with the notion of getting a self-bailer this coming year. They're not cheap (even decent used ones), but deep in the not-rafting-season, we're giving it some thought.
Boat. Frame. Oars. Trailer. Cha-ching.
We'll see.
Boat. Frame. Oars. Trailer. Cha-ching.
We'll see.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Busy writing season
Four pieces in five weeks, Leftover Salmon (who's recording a new CD in a few months, so I'm guessing my resolution to quit covering them is probably out the window), Mickey Hart, Trace Bundy and Greg Harris. Two more to do in the next couple of weeks.
And no, I'm not linking to them (bad blogger !!!). At least not yet.
And no, I'm not linking to them (bad blogger !!!). At least not yet.
Skyrim
Sorry for the absence...but, yes, I've been lost in Skyrim.
The next installment of Bethesda's Elder Scrolls series of RPG video games, Skyrim is based on the open-world, do-what-you-like-follow-the-main quest-whenever gameplay model that characterized its predecessors, Oblivion (ES4) and Morrowind (ES3). We'll skip the basics and cut to the chase:
First off, the developers completely rewrote the graphics engine from last time out (Oblivion came out 5 years ago), and the results are mostly impressive. The dungeons and the landscape are both meticulously drawn, and seldom exude the texture-pasting sameness of the predecessor games. It's a small thing, but it unquestionably evokes a much stronger sense of presence and realism in the game. My graphics and CPU horsepower are a few notches down from the top end (Intel quad 9550 / Radeon HD 6850), so I've had to trim down graphics detail to keep the gameplay smooth...and some of the detail blurs out at both distant and closeup views.
We've found that the leveling system still seems a little odd - melee battles seem to be either irritatingly easy or grindingly tough (I'm at Level 17 right now, and I've already walked away from three or four confrontations that were just too much trouble.)
Much of the world fairly crackles with activity - animals grazing or running through the woods, water cascading over rocks and cliffs, active and realistic weather, clouds drifting across distant, snowcapped peaks. (One early reviewer even comments about ants on the ground - I haven't seen this, either because the reviewer was on drugs, or my graphics resolution concessions washed them out...who cares, I hate bugs anyway...) Much of this was present in Oblivion, but it all seems to beat at a more relaxed, deliberate pace. It accomplishes alot without seeming to try too hard.
A few minor complaints. I don't think the soundtrack is quite as good as Morrowind's; not as much of the lonely melancholia that sepia-toned Morrowind's bleak dungeons and tundra-scapes and a little too much Nord-heroic chorales for my taste. The primary game menu is a bit cumbersome and sterile. Stability-wise, I've had but one CTD in 20 hours or so of playing, not bad, and the level load times are short - but you do need horsepower to enjoy the detail without chugging, and choppy gameplay is the quickest poison for a game as richly ambient as this.
Gamers are drawn, at a fundamental level, by different aspects of a game - action, tension, plot, gadgets, etc - I am generally disposed to good atmosphere and evocative ambiance, and Skyrim delivers this in spades, if you can compromise a shade for its stout technical demands. The combat is decent (being mostly melee, which is exceedingly hard to do well), and the writers serve up immense depth and lore for those who want it, and don't force it needlessly on those who don't.
It has sold squillions in the five weeks since it's been out, for good reason.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Musical media diaspora
I've been toying with an idea that I should diagram out the current state of my music collection. The outer circle describing the entirety of music I own, subcircles for that which resides on vinyl, CD, tape and digital (some commonality there), then another layer of what's available on which device for playback (iPod, phone, PC, laptop...), with entangled and knotted subcircles there. Not even getting into WAV, MP3 and M4A formatting....
This is a lethally nerdy thing to do, and seriously who cares?
Still, I find myself drifting toward the player-specific singularity that tech observers have been predicting for a couple of years now. (This being, basically, everything will end up on the phone sooner or later.) I unlocked my Droid PowerAMP for about $5, seemingly fixed an annoying problem where the music would randomly fast-forward to the next track (hardly random, as it turns out - the app has a 'headphone control switch that allows for playback options controlled by headphone commands, which of course is something I have never heard of...anyway, I turned it off and it doesn't fast forward anymore.) and have started loading it up. I configured the EQ and now have at least one piece of music (U2's The Joshua Tree, which I cloud-purchased from Amazon and actually isn't as good as I remembered it...) that resides on my phone and nowhere else.
This shit used to be a lot less convenient, and a lot simpler.
And, of course, this is one reason I stubbornly refuse to even look at a tablet PC.
This is a lethally nerdy thing to do, and seriously who cares?
Still, I find myself drifting toward the player-specific singularity that tech observers have been predicting for a couple of years now. (This being, basically, everything will end up on the phone sooner or later.) I unlocked my Droid PowerAMP for about $5, seemingly fixed an annoying problem where the music would randomly fast-forward to the next track (hardly random, as it turns out - the app has a 'headphone control switch that allows for playback options controlled by headphone commands, which of course is something I have never heard of...anyway, I turned it off and it doesn't fast forward anymore.) and have started loading it up. I configured the EQ and now have at least one piece of music (U2's The Joshua Tree, which I cloud-purchased from Amazon and actually isn't as good as I remembered it...) that resides on my phone and nowhere else.
This shit used to be a lot less convenient, and a lot simpler.
And, of course, this is one reason I stubbornly refuse to even look at a tablet PC.
Roach clips
I went ahead and ordered a couple of new Steve Roach CD's - SoundQuest Fest, which is a live recording made at his tribal-synth-New Age musical gathering just about a year ago in Tuscon, and The Road Eternal, a collaboration with Scandanavian guitarist Erik Wollo, who is a frequent co-conspirator with Roach in his various experiments trimming expansive synth excursions with more traditionally melodic instrumentation.
I'm about halfway through SoundQuest, it's not bad. We'll scribble a line or two about both when we get around to spinning them more thoroughly.
In doing a little search on the SoundQuest show (specifically, if this was going to be a regular event, and so so far it doesn't appear so) I came across a review of the SoundQuest "experience" (calling it a concert may be appropriate shorthand, but probably understates the vibe) by a writer for Sonora Review named Mike Powell. It's actually a two part piece, the second half is here , although I found Part 1 a better read.
If Powell strikes a somewhat ambivilent posture toward Roach's music, or at least the cheerful audacity of hosting an essentially melody-less, lyric-less concert of eight hours duration, he at least thoughtfully approaches and confronts the probably arcane distinction between ambient music and New Age music.
One complaint I might lodge is Powell's seeming implication that Roach straddles both New Age and ambience disciplines, applying the Brian Eno ethic of ambient music (“as ignorable as it is interesting”) to New Age's barbitual pleasantries and higher-power conceits.
The fact is that New Age music (if we're using the tag taped to record-store bin dividers) has a significant tradition in folk and classical underpinnings - you'd be challenged to find much relationship between Roach and the coterie of Windham Hill artists from 25 years ago, playing vigorously melodic and usually structured instrumental music on acoustic guitars and grand pianos - while the electronics sustaining Roach's music harkens back to the lengthy and largely improvised sonic forays of Tangerine Dream and (especially) Klaus Schulze of nearly forty years ago, both of whom staged brutally long shows of tonal abstractions coaxed from primitive sequencers and Moogs.
If you find musical comraderie between George Winston and Steve Roach, you may looking at both from too far away. A more deeply cynical observer might suggest that both music's ability to bore the average listener to stone reveals a common DNA - we're not sure if Powell hates the stuff that much, but he at least has the tact not to suggest it outright.
For me, I see Roach as more purely a product of the latter tradition - true, he borrows the ancient-culture/tribal influences like drumming and didgs reflective of the New Age lost-wisdom gestalt, but musically they usually seem to be textural dressing, secondary to the electronics.
Maybe it all seems a little different when experienced live - a lot of things do - and certainly a generous strata of gem-gazing New Agers at the concert likely influences the casual observer's perceptions of what they came to hear. For my part, while I like Roach's music and actually buy it and listen a lot to it, I don't care for all of it. The didg-'n-drumming thing usually doesn't do much for me. And whether or not I could sit through several hours of it, percussive or not, remains a speculation not likely to be tested in the near future.
Powell, at least, took a lengthy break to go home and fry up a couple of eggs. For now, all I need do is hit the Stop button on my CD player, and if whatever Roach is doing fails within that lamentably earthbound constraint, I'm not persuaded that it will be because I heard three hours too little of it.
I'm about halfway through SoundQuest, it's not bad. We'll scribble a line or two about both when we get around to spinning them more thoroughly.
In doing a little search on the SoundQuest show (specifically, if this was going to be a regular event, and so so far it doesn't appear so) I came across a review of the SoundQuest "experience" (calling it a concert may be appropriate shorthand, but probably understates the vibe) by a writer for Sonora Review named Mike Powell. It's actually a two part piece, the second half is here , although I found Part 1 a better read.
If Powell strikes a somewhat ambivilent posture toward Roach's music, or at least the cheerful audacity of hosting an essentially melody-less, lyric-less concert of eight hours duration, he at least thoughtfully approaches and confronts the probably arcane distinction between ambient music and New Age music.
Structurally, both new age and ambient music are a rejection of time. They go nowhere by design. In ambient, I usually read the defiance as intellectual; in new age, it’s usually cultural—Steve Roach has talked about his music as a way of liberating its listeners from the “bondage of Western time.” One good way to do this is to get your friends together for a concert that lasts for eight hours (including dinner break.)
Steve Roach is 55 years old. He has released nearly 50 albums since 1982. Three of them are called Quiet Music; many of them have cover photos that document portions of the natural world so expansive that they look abstract. Steve Roach is a mini-deity to fans of music like this, and when he gets on stage to welcome us to SoundQuest Fest 2010, we clap, we hoot. We have worn breathable fabrics for the occasion because we are ready to sit for hour after hour and do absolutely nothing.
One complaint I might lodge is Powell's seeming implication that Roach straddles both New Age and ambience disciplines, applying the Brian Eno ethic of ambient music (“as ignorable as it is interesting”) to New Age's barbitual pleasantries and higher-power conceits.
The fact is that New Age music (if we're using the tag taped to record-store bin dividers) has a significant tradition in folk and classical underpinnings - you'd be challenged to find much relationship between Roach and the coterie of Windham Hill artists from 25 years ago, playing vigorously melodic and usually structured instrumental music on acoustic guitars and grand pianos - while the electronics sustaining Roach's music harkens back to the lengthy and largely improvised sonic forays of Tangerine Dream and (especially) Klaus Schulze of nearly forty years ago, both of whom staged brutally long shows of tonal abstractions coaxed from primitive sequencers and Moogs.
If you find musical comraderie between George Winston and Steve Roach, you may looking at both from too far away. A more deeply cynical observer might suggest that both music's ability to bore the average listener to stone reveals a common DNA - we're not sure if Powell hates the stuff that much, but he at least has the tact not to suggest it outright.
For me, I see Roach as more purely a product of the latter tradition - true, he borrows the ancient-culture/tribal influences like drumming and didgs reflective of the New Age lost-wisdom gestalt, but musically they usually seem to be textural dressing, secondary to the electronics.
Maybe it all seems a little different when experienced live - a lot of things do - and certainly a generous strata of gem-gazing New Agers at the concert likely influences the casual observer's perceptions of what they came to hear. For my part, while I like Roach's music and actually buy it and listen a lot to it, I don't care for all of it. The didg-'n-drumming thing usually doesn't do much for me. And whether or not I could sit through several hours of it, percussive or not, remains a speculation not likely to be tested in the near future.
Powell, at least, took a lengthy break to go home and fry up a couple of eggs. For now, all I need do is hit the Stop button on my CD player, and if whatever Roach is doing fails within that lamentably earthbound constraint, I'm not persuaded that it will be because I heard three hours too little of it.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Written words
After a relatively slow November, we have pieces scheduled for Mickey Hart, Greg Harris, Leftover Salmon, Trace Bundy and the enigmatic Trombone Shorty coming up for December. Busy month coming up.
We were pleased that we managed to turn out a decent (well, at least my editor liked it) piece on Ginga for Boulder Magazine, the local sextet specializing in Brazilian samba. I had my doubts going into this assignment, but Greg and Francisco were expansive interviews and the band has this thing happening.
I can't say I'm a sudden convert to it....but I like the vibe of the stuff, and the players are true professionals. Hope the piece helps grease the skids a bit for them.
We were pleased that we managed to turn out a decent (well, at least my editor liked it) piece on Ginga for Boulder Magazine, the local sextet specializing in Brazilian samba. I had my doubts going into this assignment, but Greg and Francisco were expansive interviews and the band has this thing happening.
I can't say I'm a sudden convert to it....but I like the vibe of the stuff, and the players are true professionals. Hope the piece helps grease the skids a bit for them.
Welp...
Second snow of this still-young autumn is melting reluctantly around town. Several ski areas are open, and I just brought my Head Monsters dow to Ski Deals for their annual tune.
At the risk of stating the obvious...I guess rafting season is over.
At the risk of stating the obvious...I guess rafting season is over.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Not the End Of The World As We Know It
REM calls it a day.
Lots of good live memories, interviewed Peter Buck back when they actually needed the press ('84 or '85), and learned a couple of tunes that we used to play with the band.
Astonishing run for a single-guitar, four piece band. One of the last bands that proved that decent hooks, modest charisma from the lead singer and a no-bullshit persona can actually take a band a long way.
Would an REM make it today? Probably not.
Lots of good live memories, interviewed Peter Buck back when they actually needed the press ('84 or '85), and learned a couple of tunes that we used to play with the band.
Astonishing run for a single-guitar, four piece band. One of the last bands that proved that decent hooks, modest charisma from the lead singer and a no-bullshit persona can actually take a band a long way.
Would an REM make it today? Probably not.
Monday, September 5, 2011
The Ibanez
In yet another spasmodic twitch of retro-hobbyist compulsion, I brought my Ibanez electric (1975 Custom Les Paul copy) down to Robb's to get restrung and cleaned up. They did a very nice job - replaced the output jack (which has been crackly and loose as long as I've owned the thing) and tweaked the action a bit.
The amp is still in storage, but figuring now I may just capitalize on two offers of lessons to help me get back into playing.
Finding the time will be the real trick.
The amp is still in storage, but figuring now I may just capitalize on two offers of lessons to help me get back into playing.
Finding the time will be the real trick.
Hardware
In a probably vain attempt to revive my interest in messing around with Reason - especially, and maybe inappropriately, for use in a jam setting - I pulled my old laptop out the closet where it's been sitting for two years and fired it up. It's a single-core Intel machine, 1.7 ghz, probably seven year old technology. I bought it three years ago for $200 from a Craigslist ad.
I used it to some decent effect for burning vinyl for use on my iPod, but going to see if it works okay with the midi stuff.
Once booted up (the battery light keeps blinking - I suspect it's deceased, but the thing runs ok on AC) - I found that the wireless is cranky and the thing is brutally slow. We picked up an i7 Asus machine last year, so I don't use this thing much. But the real revelation was Windows. No less than 96 updates. Downloading/installing now. Sheesh.
I also picked up dbPowerAmp - paid $36 for the license - and have used that to retro-convert some of my iTunes stuff from M4A to MP3, for use on my phone. The Verizon media software to transfer photos and videos to and from PC/phone is clunky and stupid, but I managed to wrestle it into submission. Go me.
I used it to some decent effect for burning vinyl for use on my iPod, but going to see if it works okay with the midi stuff.
Once booted up (the battery light keeps blinking - I suspect it's deceased, but the thing runs ok on AC) - I found that the wireless is cranky and the thing is brutally slow. We picked up an i7 Asus machine last year, so I don't use this thing much. But the real revelation was Windows. No less than 96 updates. Downloading/installing now. Sheesh.
I also picked up dbPowerAmp - paid $36 for the license - and have used that to retro-convert some of my iTunes stuff from M4A to MP3, for use on my phone. The Verizon media software to transfer photos and videos to and from PC/phone is clunky and stupid, but I managed to wrestle it into submission. Go me.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Weird and sad news
Saw on the Fox Theater's Facebook feed that Wendy Kale passed away today. She was 58, no word yet on COD.
Wendy was certainly a tireless promoter of the local music scene here in Boulder, and while she and I were not close, I did admire her breathtaking staying power and seemingless inexhaustible zeal.
I'm not sure if 58 is really "too young" - being only a few years behind, perhaps it's hard me for me to be objective about that - but I must in all honesty regard her as a peer music journalist in Boulder over the past two decades, and in that respect, I do find the news sad.
Wendy was certainly a tireless promoter of the local music scene here in Boulder, and while she and I were not close, I did admire her breathtaking staying power and seemingless inexhaustible zeal.
I'm not sure if 58 is really "too young" - being only a few years behind, perhaps it's hard me for me to be objective about that - but I must in all honesty regard her as a peer music journalist in Boulder over the past two decades, and in that respect, I do find the news sad.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Hot in Cleveland
Summertime pilgrimage to the Cleveland area for grandkid's birthday and Sharon's semi-annual grit-recharge....it's always muggy in Cleveland this time of year, but this year's "heat dome" seems to have made it even worse. Home in a few days.
Top 500 Albums?
Rolling Stone, struggling as ever to remain relevant in the post-music rag age, just posted their Top 500 Greatest Albums of all time.
We're suckers for their little mini-reviews of fave albums, and we're always mining for good crit-speak nuggetry to steal, but apart from finding a way to infuriate each of the remaining 80 or so self-professed multi-generation music fans who actually subscribe to it, we're not sure what the point is.
Oh yeah, and Sgt Pepper's is number 1.
We're suckers for their little mini-reviews of fave albums, and we're always mining for good crit-speak nuggetry to steal, but apart from finding a way to infuriate each of the remaining 80 or so self-professed multi-generation music fans who actually subscribe to it, we're not sure what the point is.
Oh yeah, and Sgt Pepper's is number 1.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Nothin' doin'
Still above 7K. We bagged the weekend, Cleveland trip starts Thursday. Guess we'll hit it when we come back.
grrrr.....
grrrr.....
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
The flow
After teasing us for a few days that the Roaring Fork might subside to marginally sane levels, the crik done spiked agin !!! Passed 8K before dropping in its usual day/night sine wave way. Cooler weather in store the next or so, we'll see what Thurs and Fri suggest.
I'm good at 5K, maybe a tad more. 6K ? Hmmm....
I'm good at 5K, maybe a tad more. 6K ? Hmmm....
Monday, July 4, 2011
The Classic Rock season
A few notes on the three old-fart shows we show in May and June.
The Moody Blues - tepid fan from BITD, the joke about the Moody Blues is that they've been playing the same set for 40 years, which is only partially true, since the set we saw included a fair number of their second-level hits from the 1980's. Justin Hayward's voice is still pretty strong at 61, and the band (Hayward, original members John Lodge and Graeme Edge, plus a handful of relative youngsters) found a way to breathe some life into chestnuts like "Question", "I'm Just a Singer" and, naturally, "Nights In White Satin", after which they seemed to kind of milk the predictable prolonged applause. Tacky, we thought. Almost as tacky as Lodge's 80's style big hair and rock-star posturing, which we found a little embarrassing given the guy's age. But...no harm, no foul. The band has been in business for 37 years, almost as long as the Rolling Stones, so they can do whatever they want. Scary, that.
Overall, fun set for the old farts, not bad musically, and long life to them. Edge (who is technically the band's only original member, from 1964) had just celebrated his 70th birthday - his drumming was polite and not much more than a token - their real drummer, Gordon Marshall, who has been playing with them since 1991, is a genuine powerhouse and a force of nature. Easily the most fun musician to watch.
Kansas/Jethro Tull - We were actually looking forward to seeing Kansas, one of the last arena-big Midwestern rock bands still in business. My college roommate sophomore year, a math guy from Missouri, was a true from-the-first-album fan, and made me a parttime believer in this outfit. I had a grudging respect for their ability to borrow some of the canoodling fun from the prog world but still craft catchy, hook-laden AOL hits, stradding the line between the former's garish excesses and the latters rote preditability. Plus they had a violinist, which was cool.
Anyway, their mostly-daylight set was tight, all business and surprisingly vigorous, framed as it was around their three big radio hits from the late 70's ("Carry On Wayward Son", "Point of Know Return" and "Dust In The Wind", the latter being every hyper-sensitive 70's girl's favorite pop ode to existentialism). I felt like these guys could have phoned in their set, but they played like they were still trying to win fans, and for a thirty year franchise, we liked that. We were actually very happy to hear "Song For America".
I'd seen Tull at least five or six times, extending back into the late 1970's, including the famous "stripper" show they played at McNichols in the late 1980's (ask me about it sometime), so I knew what to expect. (No riots this time...) Anderson's voice has aged somewhat oddly, with a far narrower range centered in the upper register, unlike most of his still-working contemporaries who eschew the higher notes by playing in a different keys, re-arranging the songs or handing off to background singers (e.g., Donald Fagan). This renders most of their aggressive material somewhat bereft of its trademark snarl. For classic-rock fans accustomed to the album versions, this has left some disappointed ticket holders - personally, we find his voice more interesting, and the songs more curious pieces of work.
And give then fact that Anderson and Barre and Co were delivering, on its 40th anniversary, the entirety of Aqualung, the results were...mixed. Anderson's flute playing and onstage antics were engaging as always, but much of the original music's oomph seemed a shade hollowed out. Which, of course, is probably an unfair observation, since neither Anderson nor his audience can snap their fingers can make 40 years vanish. Nor does it really matter, since most of this material is genuinely ancient anyway, and its performance onstge is merely a gift to classic-rock 50-somethings, rather than a genuine campaign to infuse them with meaning. Anderson has sung "Locomotive Breath" so many times, it's difficult to believe it carries much meaning for him.
But it was the stuff in between the radio staples we enjoyed the most. "Wond'ring Aloud" was a lovely bit of acoustic introspection..."Mother Goose", the menacing "Cross Eyed Mary" and probably my favorite Tull song "Wind Up" were all highlights as well.
And the non-Aqualung pieces - the full "Thick As A Brick", "Bouree", "Songs From the Wood" and the magnificent and heart-rending "Farm On The Freeway" (my favorite concert surprise all year) were all outstanding.
One odd thing - the Tull combo formed a surprisingly tight onstage configuration, almost clubbish in their proximity to each other, as if Anderson wanted to keep the show (despite the expansive Red Rocks environment) as if playing a pub. No pics, sorry - couldn't get a decent shot, despite good seats about Row 24 stage right.
We'll throw up our Peter Gabriel review soon.
The Moody Blues - tepid fan from BITD, the joke about the Moody Blues is that they've been playing the same set for 40 years, which is only partially true, since the set we saw included a fair number of their second-level hits from the 1980's. Justin Hayward's voice is still pretty strong at 61, and the band (Hayward, original members John Lodge and Graeme Edge, plus a handful of relative youngsters) found a way to breathe some life into chestnuts like "Question", "I'm Just a Singer" and, naturally, "Nights In White Satin", after which they seemed to kind of milk the predictable prolonged applause. Tacky, we thought. Almost as tacky as Lodge's 80's style big hair and rock-star posturing, which we found a little embarrassing given the guy's age. But...no harm, no foul. The band has been in business for 37 years, almost as long as the Rolling Stones, so they can do whatever they want. Scary, that.
Overall, fun set for the old farts, not bad musically, and long life to them. Edge (who is technically the band's only original member, from 1964) had just celebrated his 70th birthday - his drumming was polite and not much more than a token - their real drummer, Gordon Marshall, who has been playing with them since 1991, is a genuine powerhouse and a force of nature. Easily the most fun musician to watch.
Kansas/Jethro Tull - We were actually looking forward to seeing Kansas, one of the last arena-big Midwestern rock bands still in business. My college roommate sophomore year, a math guy from Missouri, was a true from-the-first-album fan, and made me a parttime believer in this outfit. I had a grudging respect for their ability to borrow some of the canoodling fun from the prog world but still craft catchy, hook-laden AOL hits, stradding the line between the former's garish excesses and the latters rote preditability. Plus they had a violinist, which was cool.
Anyway, their mostly-daylight set was tight, all business and surprisingly vigorous, framed as it was around their three big radio hits from the late 70's ("Carry On Wayward Son", "Point of Know Return" and "Dust In The Wind", the latter being every hyper-sensitive 70's girl's favorite pop ode to existentialism). I felt like these guys could have phoned in their set, but they played like they were still trying to win fans, and for a thirty year franchise, we liked that. We were actually very happy to hear "Song For America".
I'd seen Tull at least five or six times, extending back into the late 1970's, including the famous "stripper" show they played at McNichols in the late 1980's (ask me about it sometime), so I knew what to expect. (No riots this time...) Anderson's voice has aged somewhat oddly, with a far narrower range centered in the upper register, unlike most of his still-working contemporaries who eschew the higher notes by playing in a different keys, re-arranging the songs or handing off to background singers (e.g., Donald Fagan). This renders most of their aggressive material somewhat bereft of its trademark snarl. For classic-rock fans accustomed to the album versions, this has left some disappointed ticket holders - personally, we find his voice more interesting, and the songs more curious pieces of work.
And give then fact that Anderson and Barre and Co were delivering, on its 40th anniversary, the entirety of Aqualung, the results were...mixed. Anderson's flute playing and onstage antics were engaging as always, but much of the original music's oomph seemed a shade hollowed out. Which, of course, is probably an unfair observation, since neither Anderson nor his audience can snap their fingers can make 40 years vanish. Nor does it really matter, since most of this material is genuinely ancient anyway, and its performance onstge is merely a gift to classic-rock 50-somethings, rather than a genuine campaign to infuse them with meaning. Anderson has sung "Locomotive Breath" so many times, it's difficult to believe it carries much meaning for him.
But it was the stuff in between the radio staples we enjoyed the most. "Wond'ring Aloud" was a lovely bit of acoustic introspection..."Mother Goose", the menacing "Cross Eyed Mary" and probably my favorite Tull song "Wind Up" were all highlights as well.
And the non-Aqualung pieces - the full "Thick As A Brick", "Bouree", "Songs From the Wood" and the magnificent and heart-rending "Farm On The Freeway" (my favorite concert surprise all year) were all outstanding.
One odd thing - the Tull combo formed a surprisingly tight onstage configuration, almost clubbish in their proximity to each other, as if Anderson wanted to keep the show (despite the expansive Red Rocks environment) as if playing a pub. No pics, sorry - couldn't get a decent shot, despite good seats about Row 24 stage right.
We'll throw up our Peter Gabriel review soon.
All that water
Historic runoff in Colorado this season has more or less grounded us. The Roaring Ford, which by now is usually in the 1000-2000 cfs range, is still pumping 7000cfs, which is a bit higher than I've done it before. Hopefully it'll come back to the 3-4K range by next weekend. Getting antsy to get wet.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Trip done
And a little hard to believe on a certain level.
Bob Lowery dropped out due to a last minute medical situation (which, while unfortunate, thakfully happened the week before we were to drive out there, rather than on the river, which could have resulted in potentially life-threatening situation), so Carey joined up w/ us.
The drive-out Saturday morning (5/21), we found ourselves faced with a virtual blizzard on Vail Pass. After some scrambling, we decided on the southern route - Denver, Walsenburg, Alamosa, Wolf Creek Pass, Pagosa Springs, Durango, Cortez. Drive time was probably two hours longer, and of course, we left at least two hours later than we expected. We then planned to drive up to Moab in the morning of launch day (since we weren't driving through Moab on the way out) to pick the duckies up. That meant we couldn't run our own shuttle - no biggie, we called Jim Hardin and he accomodated us at the last minute.
Then we decided to scrap the duckies altogether - paid a deposit penalty, and loaded everyone on the two boats. Hands down, after two dozen weeklong trips, this was by far the heaviest I've ever rowed the boat. What a barge.
But no problem - the water would be coming up, right?
Eh, not really, We launched at about 1600 cfs. The river dropped to just over 1K on Day 3, recovered to about 1150 or 1200 on Government Day, then 1100 for takeout.
Odd thing - I spent a good deal of time (too much) worrying about Eight Foot. Low water, they all said, run tight on the right wall to miss the big rock, work back into the center aafterward. I have always run the thing on the left - when we got up there, I looked, saw a slightly scrapey but manageable route on the left side and more or less nailed it. Right side...ha !!!
I relaxed after that - figured the water would gain 600-800 cfs and Gov't would be a breeze. But it never really materialized. When we got down there three days later, we found a fast, boney, pillow-studded mess, with a single line threaded down the right-center.
Carey ran it well, not perfect. I hit my line at the top, whiffed a stroked and ended up taking the front of the boat over the nasty pourover sideways. No big consequence, but an ugly and disappointing performance. No excuses. The boat was heavy but I knew that....I saw the line and drifted off it....I had my strokes more or less memorized, but didn't execute. We'll post the video when we get it up on YouTube.
The row out was a trial....steady 12-15 mph headwinds, gusts to 30, absolutely relentless all day. We beached on three or four sandbars, which were difficult to spot with the heavily rippled water from the wind. What should have taken 4.5 hours from Slickhorn C took close to 8, pulling hard every inch of the way. My back is wrecked and my left hand has some very impressive callouses. I'm not sure if I've ever worked that hard over the course of a single day on the oars. We had spits of wind on and off every day out there, but this was all day. On no water. Left me wondering if I really need to consider an alternative for heavy duty dunnage trips. 16' self bailer?
But overall - the weather was warm to hot, barely two sprinkles of rain, great stars, tons of Bighorn Sheep, wild burros and horses...good company and great camping (for future reference: Chinle Main, Fossil Stop, Mile 37.7, Mile 54.2 and Slickhorn C...all excellent sites.) The kids worked their tails off, seemed to enjoy. Brian burned his feet and a few other minor injuries, but no equipment failures or premature provision exhaustion, even if we had exactly one beer when we hit Clay Hills.
Despite less than ideal conditions, we pulled it off. Glad to be away from the daily madness (back to it tomorrow), even if I can't honestly say the trip left me relaxed and tranquil.
Bob Lowery dropped out due to a last minute medical situation (which, while unfortunate, thakfully happened the week before we were to drive out there, rather than on the river, which could have resulted in potentially life-threatening situation), so Carey joined up w/ us.
The drive-out Saturday morning (5/21), we found ourselves faced with a virtual blizzard on Vail Pass. After some scrambling, we decided on the southern route - Denver, Walsenburg, Alamosa, Wolf Creek Pass, Pagosa Springs, Durango, Cortez. Drive time was probably two hours longer, and of course, we left at least two hours later than we expected. We then planned to drive up to Moab in the morning of launch day (since we weren't driving through Moab on the way out) to pick the duckies up. That meant we couldn't run our own shuttle - no biggie, we called Jim Hardin and he accomodated us at the last minute.
Then we decided to scrap the duckies altogether - paid a deposit penalty, and loaded everyone on the two boats. Hands down, after two dozen weeklong trips, this was by far the heaviest I've ever rowed the boat. What a barge.
But no problem - the water would be coming up, right?
Eh, not really, We launched at about 1600 cfs. The river dropped to just over 1K on Day 3, recovered to about 1150 or 1200 on Government Day, then 1100 for takeout.
Odd thing - I spent a good deal of time (too much) worrying about Eight Foot. Low water, they all said, run tight on the right wall to miss the big rock, work back into the center aafterward. I have always run the thing on the left - when we got up there, I looked, saw a slightly scrapey but manageable route on the left side and more or less nailed it. Right side...ha !!!
I relaxed after that - figured the water would gain 600-800 cfs and Gov't would be a breeze. But it never really materialized. When we got down there three days later, we found a fast, boney, pillow-studded mess, with a single line threaded down the right-center.
Carey ran it well, not perfect. I hit my line at the top, whiffed a stroked and ended up taking the front of the boat over the nasty pourover sideways. No big consequence, but an ugly and disappointing performance. No excuses. The boat was heavy but I knew that....I saw the line and drifted off it....I had my strokes more or less memorized, but didn't execute. We'll post the video when we get it up on YouTube.
The row out was a trial....steady 12-15 mph headwinds, gusts to 30, absolutely relentless all day. We beached on three or four sandbars, which were difficult to spot with the heavily rippled water from the wind. What should have taken 4.5 hours from Slickhorn C took close to 8, pulling hard every inch of the way. My back is wrecked and my left hand has some very impressive callouses. I'm not sure if I've ever worked that hard over the course of a single day on the oars. We had spits of wind on and off every day out there, but this was all day. On no water. Left me wondering if I really need to consider an alternative for heavy duty dunnage trips. 16' self bailer?
But overall - the weather was warm to hot, barely two sprinkles of rain, great stars, tons of Bighorn Sheep, wild burros and horses...good company and great camping (for future reference: Chinle Main, Fossil Stop, Mile 37.7, Mile 54.2 and Slickhorn C...all excellent sites.) The kids worked their tails off, seemed to enjoy. Brian burned his feet and a few other minor injuries, but no equipment failures or premature provision exhaustion, even if we had exactly one beer when we hit Clay Hills.
Despite less than ideal conditions, we pulled it off. Glad to be away from the daily madness (back to it tomorrow), even if I can't honestly say the trip left me relaxed and tranquil.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
If we're not careful...
...we're liable to get net-obssesed with temperature, sun, cloud cover and runoff gradient at any number of USGS sites feeding into the San Juan.
So far...looks ok. Lots to come down, weather cool today and tomorrow, warming up pretty well in advance of 5/22 launch.
Supporting seven off two catarafts will still be a bit of a trick...
So far...looks ok. Lots to come down, weather cool today and tomorrow, warming up pretty well in advance of 5/22 launch.
Supporting seven off two catarafts will still be a bit of a trick...
Monday, April 18, 2011
The rest of the Summer of Classic Rock
...and we should note, tickets in hand for: The Moody Blues, Peter Gabriel (who I first saw in 1978 - maybe the longest stretch between two performances by the same artist ever for me), and Jethro Tull/Kansas. The latter two in June, the Moodys in a few weeks.
Sir Elton
Hey - we're back!
Anyway, we packed up the jalopy and headed down to the Big City last week, on my birthday eve, to see Elton John at the Wells Fargo. He was in town doing a benefit for the Matthew Shepherd Foundation, and I suspect a good portion of the crowd was there at least to support the cause. That's a good thing...but we were there because Sharon is an unrepetent Elton fan and she had never seen him.
Sorry for the lousy snap - I am barely comforted by the long-distance, concert-lighting performance of my fanchy shmancy Droid 2 camera only by the fact it's better than the camera on my old phone.
Barely a bemused Eltonhead back in the day (meaning, the 70's), I will say few thing struck me about this performance - which was solo, a fact I noted with some dismay when we first got the tickets, but was ultimately okay with once the show got underway.
Foremost, I was left with the realization that this guy was probably (I mean, this is a hard metric to really validate, since it's in part chart positions, part sales and general subjectivity) the single biggest male artist of the 1970's. They call Michael Jackson the "King of Pop"...but as far as radioplay and chart-landing singles, Jacko couldn't wipe the shit off Elton John's shoes. Wikipedia tells that he's had "seven consecutive No. 1 US albums, 56 Top 40 singles, 16 Top 10, four No. 2 hits, and nine No. 1 hits." The guy played two and a half hours, all but four or five of the tunes were hits, and I walked out of there thinking of at least 6 songs I knew that he didn't play. The repetoire is frighteningly vast.
It didn't so much make a fan of me, as it did made me appreciate the breadth of success this guy had in the space of (mostly) just a decade, a level of success I doubt could ever really be matched again.
Secondly, his singing, which was once a marvel in its range and occasional just plain weirdness, has been compressed now to barely an octave and a half, baritone rather than tenor. We will note the man is 64 years old, didn't exactly treat himself very well for a couple of decades, and couldn't approach his former range at this age even if he had. But it lent a somewhat flat character to the entirety of the concert, and muted some of the music's original drama. It mostly worked...not quite entirely.
Thirdly, he is an impressive pianist and sailed off on two or three very extended piano solos, departing off his standard gospel-meets-Brahms style with finesse and vigor. I enjoyed the solos very much, although I suspect much of the crowd got somewhat fidgety during their length.
Fourth - his flamboyance is not entirely gone. He has thrown off much of his theatrics, but he still relishes the performance and the adoration. Obvious...and, okay.
Fifth - he's short, pudgy and appears somewhat bow-legged.
I enjoyed it. Some of the tunes are real gems ("Daniel", "Levon"), owing as much to Bernie Taupin as John himself; some (like "Crocodile Rock") are cheesy trifles the world would scarecely miss if erased from our collective consciousness, and John himself, in between songs, was candid and funny, and beamed genuine gratitude at the legion of fifty-something women who still adore him with all their might. He is also passionate about his causes, the MSF being one.
Glad we went.
Anyway, we packed up the jalopy and headed down to the Big City last week, on my birthday eve, to see Elton John at the Wells Fargo. He was in town doing a benefit for the Matthew Shepherd Foundation, and I suspect a good portion of the crowd was there at least to support the cause. That's a good thing...but we were there because Sharon is an unrepetent Elton fan and she had never seen him.
Sorry for the lousy snap - I am barely comforted by the long-distance, concert-lighting performance of my fanchy shmancy Droid 2 camera only by the fact it's better than the camera on my old phone.
Barely a bemused Eltonhead back in the day (meaning, the 70's), I will say few thing struck me about this performance - which was solo, a fact I noted with some dismay when we first got the tickets, but was ultimately okay with once the show got underway.
Foremost, I was left with the realization that this guy was probably (I mean, this is a hard metric to really validate, since it's in part chart positions, part sales and general subjectivity) the single biggest male artist of the 1970's. They call Michael Jackson the "King of Pop"...but as far as radioplay and chart-landing singles, Jacko couldn't wipe the shit off Elton John's shoes. Wikipedia tells that he's had "seven consecutive No. 1 US albums, 56 Top 40 singles, 16 Top 10, four No. 2 hits, and nine No. 1 hits." The guy played two and a half hours, all but four or five of the tunes were hits, and I walked out of there thinking of at least 6 songs I knew that he didn't play. The repetoire is frighteningly vast.
It didn't so much make a fan of me, as it did made me appreciate the breadth of success this guy had in the space of (mostly) just a decade, a level of success I doubt could ever really be matched again.
Secondly, his singing, which was once a marvel in its range and occasional just plain weirdness, has been compressed now to barely an octave and a half, baritone rather than tenor. We will note the man is 64 years old, didn't exactly treat himself very well for a couple of decades, and couldn't approach his former range at this age even if he had. But it lent a somewhat flat character to the entirety of the concert, and muted some of the music's original drama. It mostly worked...not quite entirely.
Thirdly, he is an impressive pianist and sailed off on two or three very extended piano solos, departing off his standard gospel-meets-Brahms style with finesse and vigor. I enjoyed the solos very much, although I suspect much of the crowd got somewhat fidgety during their length.
Fourth - his flamboyance is not entirely gone. He has thrown off much of his theatrics, but he still relishes the performance and the adoration. Obvious...and, okay.
Fifth - he's short, pudgy and appears somewhat bow-legged.
I enjoyed it. Some of the tunes are real gems ("Daniel", "Levon"), owing as much to Bernie Taupin as John himself; some (like "Crocodile Rock") are cheesy trifles the world would scarecely miss if erased from our collective consciousness, and John himself, in between songs, was candid and funny, and beamed genuine gratitude at the legion of fifty-something women who still adore him with all their might. He is also passionate about his causes, the MSF being one.
Glad we went.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
SJ 2011
Sharon managed to score a date-perfect launch date for San Juan this year - May 22nd. Putting together the trip details now, updates to follow.
Could we resist a little stoke? I think not....
Could we resist a little stoke? I think not....
Stan The Man
Did a really good interview with Stanley Clarke a couple of weeks back. I have a vague recollection of getting him sometime back in the 90's, and my impression of him as a relaxed, self-effacing and friendly guy was fully borne out in this interview. Apart from the stuff we used in the piece, he expounded on RTF's early days, Weather Report, Jaco, Jeff Beck and Michael Vick. Haven't had an interview this fun or productive in years.
So, we caught his gig at the Boulder Theater last weekend. Victor Wooten and his band opened, and as much as I like Victor (interviewed him once or twice - nice guy), I was pretty disappointed by his set.
Lots of pointless noodling, showy theatrics from his band (including his brother, who can play keyboards with astonishing alacrity when he really wants to) and generally long on audience pandering and short on pure musicality. Now a fixture in the jamband legion, Wooten was playing to a crowd that was surprisingly heavy with his own fans, so no surprise. But to the extent that he felt he had to show up with chops a-blazin', in deference to the headliner, it didn't work for us. We're looking forward to the original Flecktones reunion, and the tour, if there is one.
Stanley's set was better, although likewise a bit heavy on the lead-bass firepower.
Like the RTF show we caught three years ago, Stanley's solos are too long. His new record has some great pieces on it, but between his and his drummer's solos, we heard too few of them. They did a very nice, if a little over-dramatized, read of Mingus' "Goodbye Pork Pie Hat", in addition to one or two cuts from the new CD. The clincher and redeemer for us was an utterly luminous read of RTF's "No Mystery", with Stanley on upright. Mainly acoustic, tight as a drum through the grueling head sections, the piece just bounded and danced throughout. Beautiful.
Clarke's Alembic electric bass, honed by many years of lead playing, is still a fearsome weapon, but we were intrigued by a few passages he did on upright - plucked, arpeggiated sections - that hint more promisingly at the deep musical affinity that Clarke has with the instrument...buried, to our ears, a little too deeply behind the solo firepower.
Still fun for a droopy old fusioneer, who despite a few complaints about the show, is nonetheless glad to have The Man still around and still workin' it.
So, we caught his gig at the Boulder Theater last weekend. Victor Wooten and his band opened, and as much as I like Victor (interviewed him once or twice - nice guy), I was pretty disappointed by his set.
Lots of pointless noodling, showy theatrics from his band (including his brother, who can play keyboards with astonishing alacrity when he really wants to) and generally long on audience pandering and short on pure musicality. Now a fixture in the jamband legion, Wooten was playing to a crowd that was surprisingly heavy with his own fans, so no surprise. But to the extent that he felt he had to show up with chops a-blazin', in deference to the headliner, it didn't work for us. We're looking forward to the original Flecktones reunion, and the tour, if there is one.
Stanley's set was better, although likewise a bit heavy on the lead-bass firepower.
Like the RTF show we caught three years ago, Stanley's solos are too long. His new record has some great pieces on it, but between his and his drummer's solos, we heard too few of them. They did a very nice, if a little over-dramatized, read of Mingus' "Goodbye Pork Pie Hat", in addition to one or two cuts from the new CD. The clincher and redeemer for us was an utterly luminous read of RTF's "No Mystery", with Stanley on upright. Mainly acoustic, tight as a drum through the grueling head sections, the piece just bounded and danced throughout. Beautiful.
Clarke's Alembic electric bass, honed by many years of lead playing, is still a fearsome weapon, but we were intrigued by a few passages he did on upright - plucked, arpeggiated sections - that hint more promisingly at the deep musical affinity that Clarke has with the instrument...buried, to our ears, a little too deeply behind the solo firepower.
Still fun for a droopy old fusioneer, who despite a few complaints about the show, is nonetheless glad to have The Man still around and still workin' it.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Ramones get a lifetime Grammy
I remember interviewing Joey Ramone back in the late 90's, he seemed puzzled by some award granted to his band in Japan, but was happy to be flying off to receive it.
He's dead now, of course, as is two of the three other founding members of the group. Pity we couldn't catch sight of the four sixty-ish street punks in torn jeans tearing through "I Wanna Be Sedated" at the Grammy ceremony, but we know it never belonged there anyway.
He's dead now, of course, as is two of the three other founding members of the group. Pity we couldn't catch sight of the four sixty-ish street punks in torn jeans tearing through "I Wanna Be Sedated" at the Grammy ceremony, but we know it never belonged there anyway.
Catching up
We've been remiss lately, and no excuses.
We did a nice interview with Davy Knowles a few weeks back, the kid has been flying high as the latest contender for blues/rock savior crown, now soiled and greasy from having been handed down through the hands of Beck, Clapton, Green, Gallagher et al. Unremarkably, he wishes people (like me, probably) would credit him for his songs, rather than his chops. But frankly, in case no one has told him yet, his chops are better.
DeVotchka keeps putting out soaring, redemption-heavy CD masterpieces, and their upcoming release 100 Lovers is likely to be regarded as one of their best, even if they have drifted fairly far afield from their Romani-campfire eastern euro roots into broad, sweeping, almost futuristic chamber rock. Nick Urata was hung over on Super Bowl Sunday, and our cell connection was just this side of miserable. But we managed a decent piece nonetheless.
Upcoming: Stanley Clarke (if his publicist ever stoops to replying to my email), Stockholm Syndrome and Dirty Dozen. Next three weeks busy.
We did a nice interview with Davy Knowles a few weeks back, the kid has been flying high as the latest contender for blues/rock savior crown, now soiled and greasy from having been handed down through the hands of Beck, Clapton, Green, Gallagher et al. Unremarkably, he wishes people (like me, probably) would credit him for his songs, rather than his chops. But frankly, in case no one has told him yet, his chops are better.
DeVotchka keeps putting out soaring, redemption-heavy CD masterpieces, and their upcoming release 100 Lovers is likely to be regarded as one of their best, even if they have drifted fairly far afield from their Romani-campfire eastern euro roots into broad, sweeping, almost futuristic chamber rock. Nick Urata was hung over on Super Bowl Sunday, and our cell connection was just this side of miserable. But we managed a decent piece nonetheless.
Upcoming: Stanley Clarke (if his publicist ever stoops to replying to my email), Stockholm Syndrome and Dirty Dozen. Next three weeks busy.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
RIP Cassie
Our dog Casssie feel suddenly ill last week. Tuesday morning she was fine, happy and jumping around. Tues evening, subdued and a bit off center. We thought she had pulled a muscle romping round in the back yard, but when Sharon got home from work on Wed evening and saw her deep-red pee in the back yard, she immediately took her in.
She developed an extremely aggressive case of IMHA, an auto-immune disorder characterized by the relently shredding of red blood cells by natural antibodies. The vet said it was the worst case she had ever seen, and that as far as complications and extensions of this condition went, Cassie developed virtually all of them.
She had a stable and slightly encouraging night Wed - the vet called us around 6AM Thurs morning and said she seemed to be improving a little, after a course of steroids to jump start her red blood cell production. But she quickly turned far worse in a matter of hours, and by about noon, Sharon and I were saying our goodbyes, as the poor animal - semi-comatose and shockingly jaundiced - began having seizures. We had to let her go.
She was the first dog that I could ever call my own. Lovable, not too bright, eager to please, not a mean or sour bone in her body, and absolutely thrilled to have a family and a home...every waking minute.
We will miss her always.
She developed an extremely aggressive case of IMHA, an auto-immune disorder characterized by the relently shredding of red blood cells by natural antibodies. The vet said it was the worst case she had ever seen, and that as far as complications and extensions of this condition went, Cassie developed virtually all of them.
She had a stable and slightly encouraging night Wed - the vet called us around 6AM Thurs morning and said she seemed to be improving a little, after a course of steroids to jump start her red blood cell production. But she quickly turned far worse in a matter of hours, and by about noon, Sharon and I were saying our goodbyes, as the poor animal - semi-comatose and shockingly jaundiced - began having seizures. We had to let her go.
She was the first dog that I could ever call my own. Lovable, not too bright, eager to please, not a mean or sour bone in her body, and absolutely thrilled to have a family and a home...every waking minute.
We will miss her always.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Gerry Rafferty RIP
I will have to confess a probably lifelong weakness for Gerry Rafferty's "Baker Street", both as hook-addicted to that terrific sax riff by Raphael Ravenscroft, but also its particularly winsome, third-person reflection on aging and giving up the chase for buzz and women and glitter, in favor of solitude and peace and quiet and sanity.
It came at a particular time, too, the summer I worked as a none-too-responsible barkeep on a tourist ferry between Nantucket and Hyannis, a job that I parted ways with on mutually suspicious terms, right after stepping through a ship hold and landing, with full body weight, on the hatch's iron lip, driven pitilessly up into my scrotum. That was about 32 years ago, and it still hurts.
That experience - the job - did not end particularly well, but "Baker Street" conjures pleasant and reassuring memories of that time, in a way few songs or artists of that period ever could.
Anyway, RIP Gerry Rafferty.
It came at a particular time, too, the summer I worked as a none-too-responsible barkeep on a tourist ferry between Nantucket and Hyannis, a job that I parted ways with on mutually suspicious terms, right after stepping through a ship hold and landing, with full body weight, on the hatch's iron lip, driven pitilessly up into my scrotum. That was about 32 years ago, and it still hurts.
That experience - the job - did not end particularly well, but "Baker Street" conjures pleasant and reassuring memories of that time, in a way few songs or artists of that period ever could.
Anyway, RIP Gerry Rafferty.
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