Rockin’ Out with My Quokka Out

 Has anyone ever thought that maybe, deep down, quokkas are really monumentally pissed off?

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2021 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Inductions were announced today. Artists become eligible for the Hall 25 years after their debut. Jay-Z is going into the Hall, continuing the tradition of honoring artists who, whatever their relative merit, are not what you would call “Rock and Roll” artists. I am not making any judgments—good, bad, or indifferent—on the musical talent of Jay-Z or such other inductees as NWA or Run-DMC, but I still don’t think they belong in a Rock Hall of Fame, any more than Bruce Springsteen belongs in a Hip-Hop Hall of Fame or Ted Nugent belongs in polite society.

Another inductee, Tina Turner. How is Tina Turner only NOW being inducted? Granted, she was previously honored as the better half of Ike and Tina Turner, but still, it’s been way more than 25 years since she burst onto the scene as a soloist. And a world where Run-DMC is apparently considered more rock and roll than Tina Turner is not a world I want to live in.

In Which the Stars Look Very Different Today

Nearly 30 years ago, I was over at a friend's place, and she had "Ziggy Stardust" playing on the stereo.  I was kind of humming/singing along, and I sang what I always understood to be the lyrics: "Making love with his eagle. . ."  My friend collapsed in a fit of laughter that for all I know is still going on today.  At some point she managed to gasp out, "EGO!  EGO!"  Like that makes so much more sense.  And frankly, considering the source, I maintain that my interpretation was far from unreasonable.  RIP, Starman.

In Which We Ring Out the Old Not With a Bang But with the End of the World as We Know It

KFOG, a San Francisco rock station, does a regular feature every weekday morning at 10:00 AM, "Ten at ten": "Ten great songs from one great year," as the tagline says.  It's a fun show.  The year is always a surprise, and between the songs, the DJ's play audio clips of significant news events or cultural milestones from the year in question.  Warm fuzzy nostalgia ensues.

In honor of New Year's Eve, today's theme was different: Instead of focusing on just one year, the segment featured one song from each year of the 1980's.  So my short car ride this morning began with "Girls Just Want to Have Fun," segued into "You Spin Me Round (Like a Record)," moved on to "Walk Like an Egyptian," and culminated, as I reached my destination in "I Wanna Dance with Somebody."  Now, I defy you to find a happier, more feel-good medley than that!  Until that moment when you realize that these songs were popular thirty years ago!  And then you feel old.  And then it just goes back to being chilly New Year's Eve 2015.

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Remember 16 years ago when we all braced ourselves for the technopocalypse that was the "Y2K virus"?  How we worried that all our electronic devices would mistakenly believe that it was 1900 and, I don't know, send us back in time to the days of horses and buggies and bubonic plague?  Remember that?  As you will recall, nothing happened.  But that didn't stop any number of fearmongers and fraidy cats from declaring the end was nigh and stocking up on canned goods and ammunition.

I mention this because today a massive solar flare is headed towards earth, and, while the most significant effect is likely to be greater visibility of the aurora borealis, there is at least the possibility--admittedly remote but definitely present--that electronics could be fried and we could, I'm guessing, be plunged into the oft-discussed zombie apocalypse that you just know is coming soon.  And yet, from the major news outlets?  Nary a peep!  All I'm saying, folks, is that you might want to party like it's 1999.   

In Which I Set Myself Up for Coal in My Stocking

Driving down I-80 yesterday, I passed a white Fiat with a Florida license plate, "ZERO FUX."  I'm still not sure whether to be horrified that the Florida DMV allowed that license plate or incredibly impressed that the Florida DMV allowed that license plate.

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Why do radio stations, especially rock and roll radio stations, feel compelled to play nothing but Christmas music from, like, 3:00 PM on December 24th through the entirety of the 25th?  Don't get me wrong: Despite my Judaism, I basically like Christmas.  I've spent many a Yule with Christian friends--or wives--and there is undeniably a certain warmth and comfort that comes with the season.  At worst, when on my own, I go to the movies and get Chinese take-out--which has its undeniable pleasures as well.  But Christmas music?  Rock and roll Christmas music?  Springsteen's "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town" is about as good as it gets--and even THAT isn't particularly good.

In Which We Fix the Classics

Holly Wilson always dreamed of the "perfect wedding."  Even as a young girl, she would flip through bridal magazines and clip pictures of her favorite dresses and veils and other wedding accessories.  Throughout high school and college, she would at least partially judge every boy she dated by how she imagined he would look in a tuxedo, standing at the altar, slipping a ring on her finger.  Of course, when the time came to plan her own wedding, she made it into a full-time job (much to the chagrin of her colleagues and supervisor at the dental office where she worked as a receptionist).  Venue, decorations, flowers, bridesmaid dresses, invitations--no detail was too small for Holly to obsess over.  On the big day, Holly looked radiant; her groom seemed sprung from the pages of a men's fashion magazine.  Everything was perfect!  And then midway through the ceremony, the sprinkler system in the church inexplicably went off, drenching the gathered celebrants before they could scramble for cover.  Holly laughed it off as best she could, but deep down she was traumatized--and the marriage itself,  seemingly cursed at the outset, never recovered.  Less than two years later, Holly and her husband went their separate ways.

This isn't a sad story, though.  Holly soon met someone else, someone superior to her first husband in all respects.  They fell in love and quickly decided to get married, and Holly, perhaps chastened by her first experience, vowed not to get too overwhelmed in the planning.  The one thing she did decide immediately, though, was that she would hold this wedding outdoors, in a beautiful spot in a local park, away from any temperamental fire-suppression technology.  On the day itself, her friends and family gathered at the appointed location, under a majestic elm, next to a gently burbling brook.  Birds twittered charmingly, and Holly's Aunt Michelle swore she even saw a deer peeking out from behind a stand of trees not far from the wedding party.  Everything was perfect!  And then, as the priest began the ceremony, the sunny skies suddenly darkened and, despite all meteorological assurances to the contrary, a tremendous rain cascaded down on Holly's wedding party.

There.  You're welcome, Alanis!

In Which We Ask, Is This Really the Guy Who Wrote "Heart of Gold"?

Deep, Insightful Musical Criticism:

Neil Young has had a magnificent career.  His many accomplishments include writing what may well be the worst song I've ever heard.  As you might guess from the title, "Who's Gonna Stand Up (and Save the Earth)" features an environmental message.  As you might also guess from the title, the lyrics have all the subtlety of a beheading.  The melody sounds like rejected "Game of Thrones" theme music.  I can generally get behind environmentalism, but this song makes me want to go out and personally denude a rain forest.

And Then There's Tom Petty. . .

As Martin Mull might have said, "Writing about music is like dancing about architecture."  Despite an overabundance of music criticism, music itself remains stubbornly impervious to prosaic interpretation--like nine-year-old-resisting-bedtime stubborn.  One can read about literature or movies or plays and experience some semblance of the emotional response generated by the work under discussion.  Many times I (and I suspect you, too) have read a plot summary or other critical report and thought, "Man, that sounds awesome!  I need to read/see THAT!"  But music?  Descriptions of instrumentation and comparisons to other pieces of music get you only so far.  Music has to be experienced in order to be. . .well, experienced.

Fear not, though, Sloppists. I have devised a handy-dandy ranking scale to help you when trying to decide whether a piece of music or a particular performer is worth your time and effort.  No longer do you need to feel inadequate about your paltry knowledge of music theory, your limited musical vocabulary, your inability to distinguish a tenor sax from a set of bongos (although that last one is really pathetic and you should do something about it).  Because to make your life easier, all you really need to do is place each piece of music into one of the following four categories:

THE INFALLIBLES.  These are those whose every product is pure gold--or at least worth your lunch money.  They come out with something new?  You buy it.  And you can feel fairly confident that you won't be disappointed.  These are your Springsteens, your U2s, your Elvis Costellos.  You love them! (Either that, or you're wrong.  Sorry, that's just how it works.)  Other personal Infallibles--if you're looking for a last-minute Christmas gift for your favorite blogger (just sayin')--include Radiohead, Aimee Mann, Bright Eyes.  Go get 'em.

THE GREATEST HITS CLUB. You hear these folks on the radio all the time, and you like pretty much everything you hear, but you don't particularly feel like you need to hear more.  In other words, get yourself a "Greatest Hits" collection or two, and you'll probably have about everything you need.  A number of classic rock bands fall neatly into this category: The Stones, Led Zeppelin, The Who.  (In case you're wondering, The Beatles are closer to Infallible.)  Great bands all, to be sure, but does anyone really need to hear the B-side of "Honky-Tonk Women"?  What?  "You Can't Always Get What You Want"?  Seriously?!?  OK, bad example, but you get the point.

THE FREE CONCERT TICKET ARMY.  OK, you don't really care one way or the other about these bands.  They're fine.  They play well, sound good.  They probably even have one or two songs that you find yourself bopping along to on your morning drive.  But while you're more than willing to download those one or two earworms to your iTunes, you wouldn't bother with a whole album.  Still, if somebody came up to you and said, "Hey, Solipsist, I have an extra ticket to a ___________ concert, you wanna go?," you would--after explaining that you are NOT the Solipsist, no matter how great the resemblance--say, "Sure, why not.  Beats organizing my sock drawer."  These include a lot of current bands (who, admittedly, might graduate to the Greatest Hits Club over time): The Black Keys, for one, being a good example.  I would put Los Lobos in this category, too, but God only knows what trouble that would get me into.

And then, finally, there are THE UNLISTENABLES.  This category includes Tom Petty.  That is all.

Deep, Incisive Musical Criticism: A Brief Post

Don't get me wrong, I love the Beatles as much as the next guy.  Unless the next guy is my dermatologist--that man has NO taste.  Still, they did write some truly moronic lyrics: "Number nine--Number Nine--Number Nine"? "The movement you need is on your shoulder"?  "All you need is love"?!?  But I've decided that the absolute worst lyric Messrs. McCartney and Lennon ever came up with has got to be, "Fun is the one thing that money can't buy" ("She's Leaving Home").  Does that make any sense to anyone?  About the ONLY thing that money can consistently buy IS "fun."  Well, fun and sandwiches.  Which are also fun, so I stand by my original comment.

You Keep Using That Word.... (Redux)

When I first started using Facebook, I wanted to enjoy the full experience, such as it was, and so I tried "liking" things. All the kids were doing it, after all, and where could the harm be? Just to be on the safe side, though, I generally avoided commercial products and mainly limited my likings to movies, TV shows, musical acts, and the occasional white supremacist book club (only one of those is a joke!). I ran into a small hiccup, however, when I chose to express my liking for Elvis.

Now, when I say "Elvis," I of course mean the Elvis who is still making music--and, frankly, the only Elvis of any true musical significance, i.e., Elvis Costello. Facebook, however, assumed I meant this other guy.  Yes, I know, hard to believe, but there was another famous musical Elvis--I think his last name was "Stojko" or something. So now I get these updates on my news feed informing me that on this date in Elvis history Mr. Stojko joined the army and on that date he ate a pancake, etc.

Well, anyway, today's Elvisania was a trivia question: What was the first movie  in which Elvis made his film debut? As opposed to what? His third film debut? Rest assured: No Elvis Costello fan site would make such a stupid mistake! Mainly because Elvis Costello hasn't done any films, but that's beside the point.

You Keep Using That Word....

Overheard on the local New York rock station: a promotion for an upcoming concert extravaganza, featuring headline acts too numerous to mention or remember. Nevertheless, I was momentarily stunned to hear that one of the acts was Queen. Before I could quip that Freddie Mercury's performance was expected to be a bit shaky, the promo continued, "with surprise guest vocalist Adam Lambert."

All well and good, but do these folks not know the meaning of the word 'surprise'?

Deep, Profound Musical Criticism

While exercising today, I was surprised when my music shuffled to "Paperback Writer" by the Beatles.  I noticed that during the third verse, while the lead vocals are going, "It's a thousand pages / Give or take a few / I'll be writing more in a week or two.. . ," the background harmonizers seem to be singing "Frere Jacques."  I had never noticed that before.  Now, I cannot unnotice it, and somebody has some 'splainin' to do, I'm looking at YOU, Ringo Starr.

Octopussy's Garden

James Bond movie or Beatles song?
(A completely pointless quiz)

From Russia With Love
Back in the USSR
Die Another Day
Devil in Her Heart
Goldeneye
Blackbird
Tomorrow Never Knows
Quantum of Solace
Across the Universe
Diamonds Are Forever
You Only Live Twice
Happiness Is a Warm Gun
The Inner Light
Golden Slumbers
The World Is Not Enough
The Living Daylights
For Yor Eyes Only
Matchbox
Never Say Never Again
Not a Second Time

The Solipsist Reads the Times (So You Don't Have To)

First, some good news: American negotiators see hopeful signs that the Iranian government may be feeling pressure to reach a deal on its nuclear program that may prove acceptable to the international community--said "international community" presumably not including Iran.  It's always struck me as somewhat ironic, not to say hyprocritical, not to say "wrong" that countries like the US, with its own huge nuclear arsenal, dictates to other nations whether they can or cannot possess such weapons themselves.  Not that I'm in favor of Iranian nukes: I'd prefer that President Mahmanamana not have such weapons; I'd prefer even more that NOBODY had such weapons; and I'd prefer most of all that ONLY the United States had such weapons--well, and maybe England, 'cause they're adorable.  But, y'know, what's good for the nuclear goose is good for the atomic gander and all.

Anyway, the good news: International sanctions seem to be having some effect on Iranian leaders.  How do we know that Iran is feeling pressure?  Among other things, "Americans believe that recent blustery statements from Iranian officials are laying the groundwork for concessions by Tehran."  Hey, if "blustery statements" are good, then "outright threats" must be even better!  If we're lucky, maybe Iran will launch an "all-out military attack" on a neighboring country!  Then, we'll really be in business.

Unless you live under a rock or are still using MySpace, you know that Facebook went public yesterday.  Apparently even Zuckerberg couldn't figure out the privacy settings!  (Yes, I stole that line; it was worth it.)  People are disappointed (or maybe gloating) because the stock posted only a minor gain on its first day of trading.  Some suspect that investors were turned off when Mark Zuckerberg showed up to ring the stock market's opening bell wearing his trademark  hoodie.  Where's George Zimmerman when you need him?!?

Sorry.

Representative Harold Rogers (R-KY) has some 'splainin' to do.  He steered a government contract to supply "drip pans" for army helicopters to a company in his district, at the presumably outrageous cost of $17,000 per pan.  In Rogers' defense, these are leakproof pans.  He could have gotten leaky pans for only $16,500 per, but I for one think our troops are worth the extra expenses.

Eminent psychiatrist Dr. Robert L. Spitzer has come out (so to speak) against an earlier study he authored.  In that 2003 study, he claimed that so-called "gay conversion therapy," which seeks to "cure" homosexuals of their gaiety, might offer benefits to those who truly wanted to change their sexual orientation.  Now, Dr. Spitzer is no gay-basher: In the 1970s, he played a prominent role in convincing the psychiatric community to STOP classifying homosexuality as a mental illness.  So his later study, which bucked the consensus view that "gay cures" were at best ineffective and at worst extremely harmful, was hailed by many conservatives as a vindication of their view that homosexuality was a reversible choice.  In fairness to Dr. Spitzer, he most emphatically denied that there was anything wrong with homosexuality, and emphasized that his study only suggested that "gay cures" merited further investigation, but this didn't prevent the demagoguery of small minds.  At any rate, Dr. Spitzer now acknowledges that his study suffered from methodological flaws and he has apologized to the gay community for the harm that he unwittingly caused.  Good for him.

Now, if only someone would find a cure for narrow-minded bigotry and homophobia.

Alexis Tsipras may become the Prime Minister of Greece in the next few weeks.  His left-wing party is likely to claim a majority in upcoming elections, a result of widespread anger at austerity measures demanded by the power-brokers in the European union.  Tsipras seems to enjoy his newfound power and has unaplogetically tweaked the euro-zone leaders (read: Chancellor Angela Merkel of Germany).

Annoying the Germans, huh?  Surely, nothing bad could come of that.

Finally, I was deeply saddened to read of the passing of Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau.  Then I remembered that I don't know who that is.  Turns out, he was the pre-eminent twentieth-century interpreter of  "art songs," a traditional genre that extends from classical works, such as Schubert's "Der Erlkonig," to modern-day masterpieces like Nicki Minaj's "Stupid Hoe."  Truly, Fischer-Dieskau was a genius; only someone with a heart of stone could be unmoved by his rendition of "My Humps."

You're welcome, Nation.

Monday Miscellany--Friday Edition; Plus, Another Day at Solipsist Central

82-year-old Louise Slaughter (D-NY), the oldest woman in Congress, recently suffered a broken leg, which has hampered her bid for re-election.  Still, Slaughter insists that her health is not an issue:

“I don’t feel my age,” she said, minutes after finishing a grueling day of physical therapy. Her voice, still flecked with her native Kentucky drawl, was soft but firm. “I’ve always had the stamina of three people.”

An impressive claim, until you realize the three people she's referring to include late-stage Marlon Brando, Hans Moleman, and current Marlon Brando.

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SOLIPSIST: Hey, did you hear, MCA from the Beastie Boys died?

WOS: Oh no!  That's so sad!

SOL: Yeah.

WOS: What happened?

SOL: Cancer.

WOS: Really?  How come we didn't know he was sick?

SOL: Apparently, he was diagnosed a few years ago, so I guess it wasn't totally unexpected.

WOS: Oh, wow. . . .

(Pause.)

SOL: Well, they SAY it was cancer. . . .Personally, I think it was. . . . 'Sabotage'!

WOS: No!

SOL: See what I did there?

WOS: Stop!  Not cool!  Just, for once, can you please be a NORMAL PERSON!

(Pause.)

SOL: Too soon?

WOS: Shut up!

At the Church of the Prophet of Freehold

Last night was the night, the long-awaited Bruce Springsteen concert, tickets to which I won by virtue of a surfeit of trivial Bossiania.  This was my second trip to a Springsteen show, the first having was just about 20 years ago.  Looking around at the audience last night, I was struck by the fact that, while I haven't changed, the rest of the crowd had gotten really. . . old.

Actually, that's not entirely true: The audience members' ages spanned a broad range: Just within my section, there sat a boy who couldn't have been more than 10 (more on him later) and a woman who had to be close to 80.  One of the more amusing signs read, "Bruce: Dance with old people!"

He didn't, though.  (And God knows I tried!  I flashed my chest and everything!  No reaction--well, other than some questioning by security.  We all had a good laugh.)  Quite the opposite, really.  For "Dancing in the Dark," his "Courtney Cox" was a tween, complete with pink, animal-shaped backpack.  And about that ten-year-old: He had come prepared with a sign of his own, reading "Hey, Boss: I've been practicing!"  During "Waiting on a Sunny Day," Bruce walked over to our edge of the stage, saw the sign, and waved the boy up on stage.  He then let the kid sing the chorus--both a capella and with the band--and taught him how to do a rock-star slide across the stage.  Some kids have all the luck.

By now, it's a cliche to point out that Bruce Springsteen is one of (one of?) the greatest live performers in the history of rock and roll.  But cliches are cliches for a reason.  A Springsteen show is less entertainment spectacle than religious revival for the secular-humanist set.  The final set rolled from classic to classic; "Out in the Street" to "Dancin' in the Dark" to "Born to Run" to "Rosalita" to "Tenth Avenue Freeze Out"--the music slamming to a halt after "A change was made uptown and the Big Man joined the band."  This was followed by a minutes-long "moment of silence" for the recently departed Clarence Clemons--if a "Moment of Silence" can consist of 15,000 screaming fans applauding maniacally as a video tribute played overhead.

For the last half-hour or so, the Shark Tank in San Jose felt more like a well-lit (and large) high-school gymnasium than a rock-concert venue: Plain unadorned house lights replaced colored gels as fans danced uninhibited, led by the Boss himself.  This 62-year-old man, who had been performing uninterrupted for two and a half hours, possessed more energy than he had at the beginning, more energy perhaps than the entire audience even.  He sang like a revivalist preacher on a mission to save the souls of his gathered flock.

Practically every song in Springsteen's 26-song set featured some element of call-and-response, creating and then amplifying the evening's spiritual component.  In "Lonesome Day," Bruce led the crowd in a chant of "It's all right, it's all right, it's all right"--and for the evening, in the presence of this musical prophet, it was.

How great must it be to be Bruce Springsteen?

Best. Day. Ever.

I never win anything.  In gym class, I sometimes had to run races.  Invariably, of the 32 kids in the class, I would come in 46th.  My school held a raffle last year, with dozens of prizes available.  I got an ear infection.

So I wasn't expecting much this morning when, on my way to work, I heard the radio DJ announce that they were going to give away front-row seats to a Bruce Springsteen concert.  To win, one would need to answer questions about Bruce Springsteen and the Super Bowl, it being Super Bowl weekend (Go Giants!).  The "qualifying question": What was the Roman numeral of the Super Bowl at which Bruce played the halftime show?

As I was sitting in the drive-thru lane of my local Moby-Dick-themed coffee emporium, I figured what the hell, and dialed the station.  I didn't even expect to get through.  But the phone actually rang!  And then I actually heard the actual DJ's voice on the actual other end of the actual phone actual.  I had gotten through.

So, first, did I know the Roman numeral of the Super Bowl when Springsteen played halftime?  Luckily, they mentioned that it was the 2009 Super Bowl, so, knowing that this weekend's game is XLVI, I was able to figure out that III years ago was XLIII.  The DJ's were thoroughly impressed.  I was in the game!

The next question: What tire company sponsored Bruce's halftime show?

". . .?"

Are you shitting me?  I mean, I'm a football fan and a Springsteen fan.  I am NOT a tire fan.  Well, OK, I mean, when it comes to propelling my car smoothly over paved surfaces, I DO prefer tires to just about anything else, but COME ON!  I realized, however, that protest would be fruitless and took a guess. . . ."Uh, Firestone?"

"Oh, no!"

Damn!

"Well, we'll give you another chance.  Here's a hint: It starts with 'B.'"

"V?!?"

"No, 'B.'"

"Oh, well, in that case, Bridgestone?"

"Bridgestone is correct!  OK, now for the win, name the four songs Bruce Springsteen played at the halftime show?"  Now, in fairness, I was pretty much expecting this question, and I was pretty unsure that I could answer it.  I remember specifically that he played--presumably out of a sense of obligation to his record label--"Working on a Dream," off what was then his new album.  Rather disapoointing, really.  Beyond that, I had somewhat hazy memories.  I was pretty sure about one, at least:

"Born to Run?"

"That's right."

OK.  Two down, two to go.  Well, let's see, Super Bowl. . .Sports. .  .

"Glory Days?"

"'Glory Days' is correct.  One more for the win!"

Now I was in trouble.  I was about to say "Born in the USA," but somehow, that didn't seem right. . . Too depressing and political. . . ."Hungry Heart," maybe?  Definitely a crowd-pleaser, but I had no memory of that particular song.  Of course, it was III years ago. . . . I decided to punt.

"I don't suppose I could get a hint?"

"Um. . . OK. . . a big rave-up.  All about Clarence Clemons."

"TENTH AVENUE FREEZE-OUT!!!!"

"You got it!"

I got it.  I got it?  I GOT IT!

I don't exactly know how to handle this turn of events.  I think I'm going to go cower under my blankets this weekend.  The universe is going to want to realign itself, so whatever happens to me next, I have a feeling it won't be pretty.

Monday Miscellany

Warning: This Commercial Contains Explicit Hypocrisy

In commercials for its "Black Friday" deals, Wal-Mart ("the happiest place on earth") used AC/DC's "Back in Black" as background music.  Does anyone else find it interesting that the store uses music in its commercials from a band whose albums it probably refuses to stock?

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At the Baseball Talks, They Did "Nude Descending a Staircase"

At a press conference announcing a tentative deal to end the lockout, representatives of the NBA, the team owners' group, and the players' union took a moment to recreate Leonardo Da Vinci's "Last Supper":

In an unrelated story, Miami Heat forward Lebron James (not pictured) announced that he was "taking his talents to Gethsemane."

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And, for a Great Dane, Scooby-Doo Is Really Cowardly!

I just noticed: On "The Flintstones," Fred powers his car with his feet!  That means that, when he's driving, he's actually just walking--and carrying his car at the same time!!!  What an idiot!

More Deep, Penetrating Musical Criticism

What's up with Stevie Wonder?  He says he "doesn't want to bore" us with the fact that he loves us--and then he goes on and on about it for a good five minutes!

We haven't been this confused by a song since Robert Plant told us he was "in the mood for a melody" and then proceeded to sing one note.

Well, They TRIED to Make Her Go to Rehab.. . .

In what may be the least-unexpected news out of the music world since the last time the Rolling Stones announced yet another world tour, troubled chanteuse and Jewish role-model Amy Winehouse was found dead in her London home, a likely victim of a drug overdose.  Herewith, an open letter to Ms. Winehouse's fans:

While you rend your garments and bewail the loss of whatever future music might have come from your fallen star, we ask that you also consider the cardinal sin of Amy Winehouse. Not her use of drugs--which may or may not prove to be the cause of her death (as of this writing still officially classified as "unexplained").  If drug use among musicians merited instant condemnation, we'd all have nothing to listen to but the Osmonds and Linkin' Park (those kids are so squeaky-clean it's obnoxious).  Her great sin was her unprofessional attitude toward her own talent.  No matter how much a performing artist craves her bottle or her pills, the one thing she must do is show up sober for her audience--for you--something Winehouse failed to do on more than one occasion.

Your-Not-So-Humble-Correspondent has some experience in the performing arts, and he has worked with his share of actors with substance-abuse issues.  Years ago, we did a show with a leading man who was a hardcore alcoholic.  Every night after the show, he would tend to his needs as he saw them.  He was middle-aged and lonely and, frankly, sad.  But every night he was on time for curtain.  Every night he said his lines word-perfect.  He never missed a cue and never blew a scene.  He may very well be dead by now, quite possibly a victim of his own self-destructive habits, but while he might have had contempt for himself, he had great respect for his craft and, by extension, his audiences.

Amy Winehouse had nothing but contempt for you.

Winehouse does leave behind an impressive artistic legacy.  Not just in her music, but in her popularization of a style of jazz and soul-inflected retro-pop--a popularization that has paved the way for such Winehousian acolytes as Duffy and Adele.  If it's any comfort, we're sure Adele can do the entire Amy Winehouse catalog as well as, if not better, than the originator.  She'll probably manage to show up sober for concerts, too.

Amy Winehouse the musician was a considerable talent.  Amy Winehouse the person deserves little of your sympathy.

The Solipsist

Deep, Penetrating Music Criticism

Y'know that Yes song, "Owner of a Lonely Heart"?

This may just be our imagination, but we think a semi-comatose orangutan could play the guitar part. Hell, WE could probably play the guitar part!