Pioughd

Living away from home at camp for an entire summer is a very grown-up thing to do. No parents or siblings just you and your friends (or enemies as the case may be) and your own personal habits. But there are some characteristics associated with childhood that take some time to be phased out. This might imply that the child is not yet ready to be away from home and maybe in a more subconscious way is scared and insecure. Bedwetting might be one of those characteristics. One of my bunkmates had just such a problem. He would wet the bed at night and then - instead of changing the sheets and letting everyone know what he'd done - ignored the issue and continued to sleep and pee in the same soiled sheets. Besides disgusting this was probably unsanitary and created this horrible smell in the bunk that only festered and grew more pungent in the hot summer days. Oddly enough this camper wasn't ostracized for his tendencies by the other campers and remained a cocky kid who somehow didn't let let this toddler-like tendency bother him.

One night his peeing actually woke me up. I had the unenviable position of sharing a bunk with him - my bed on the top, his on the bottom - so his night time peeing could at times be heard by those in proximity including myself. I was asleep when I heard this faint spraying sound. Disgusting - but he had the respect of the other campers and I was not yet courageous enough to confront him and call hiim out.

At one point late in the summer we were packing up our belongings getting ready to go home. He had stripped his bed save a plastic sheet that "protected" the mattress from his pee stained sheets. The naked bed didn't much impact the steady bouquet of urine that permeated the bunk (it was already pretty bad) but did make for a more arresting visual as flies had flocked to this pee-stained plastic sheet reveling in the filth. So enraptured were these flies that they seemed to be getting drunk or stoned on the urine just sitting motionless on his bed not moving or buzzing around - just drinking it in so to speak. A couple other campers noticed this scene and were sufficiently disgusted. I was enraged that we had to put up with this behaviour and frustrated that nobody had done anything about it. All I wanted was for all of his shit to be burned in a pee-stained bonfire in the softball field.

Shit For Brains

The oldest kids in camp get to lay claim as the tastemakers and leaders of all of the other campers. The younger kids looked to the oldest kids to set the tone for the summer and as influencers the oldest could greatly improve the monotony of the camp routine. A weak group of oldest campers could make a summer less interesting and was a lost opportunity to earn the respect of others. But with this awesome responsibility comes knowing that if any camp staff or even younger campers want your coveted position on top they'll have to go through you and knock you down to get it. For this reason the oldest were also vulnerable.

Camp staff, particularly the groundskeepers were often comprised of ex-campers. They were freewheelers, rogues and almost completely unaffiliated. They could go and do what they wanted within reason - with little or no social repercussions. Operating nearly completely under the radar they were stealthy and outside all of the social structure of camp. But cross them and they will rise up -and unite as one - striking quickly and forcefully to get their revenge.

The circumstances of their vengeful acts were at times mysteries to me. I personally didn't have a beef with them or knew anyone who did. I suppose I wasn't connected enough to even have an opinion one way or the other. But somone in our bunk had done something to piss off the groundkeepers and their revenge was swift and dirty with a level of symbolism perhaps even they didn't understand. Upon our return from breakfast one morning we returned to our bunk to find a large dark moist patch in the very middle of our wooden floor. Where the floor had been worn down by countless footsteps and late night drunken camp counslers now lay a formidable shitstain partially covered by toilet paper used by the ass-ailant.  I suppose that it would've been even weirder if he hadn't wiped - after all he wasn't THAT uncouth. At some level it might've been a little better if he had maybe wiped and then placed the used toilet paper in a wastepaper basket so that nothing would obscure the simple vileness of the shit. It wasn't a log or even loose but must've been a log at some point having perhaps been stepped in or spread out so as to create an even greater mess that would then have to be scrubbed and cleaned up. This act needed to present more of an inconvenience than just a sweeping the tube of shit into the wastebasket without so much as a wrinkled nose by the unlucky camper forced into duty.

As adolescent pre-teens we didn't really understand the completeness of the affront being paid to us. Once we discovered what we were looking at (it didn't smell nearly as bad as it should have, something I'm sure the perpetrator regretted) most of us screamed "Gross!" or "That is sooooo disgusting!" or the like. But to take a crap in someone else's living quarters is the ultimate slap in the face that shows that not only do you not care about being somewhere you shouldn't but that you completly do not respect the true occupiers of the living quarters and show this disrespect by taking a huge crap on their floor. Understanding the true enormitiy of this "dis" would've only escalated things perhaps even sending our summer spinning out of control. Ignorance is bliss maybe.

Blowjob

Life at summer camp was an ideal place for a pre-teen/teenage boy. With hormones raging and mischief beckoning there was no better place to be sent than the woods of Amherst, NH to be with 300-400 other Jews each looking to get away from their parents for some kind of cheap thrills. As a pre-teen, sex was a topic on everyone's mind - like constantly. When you got up (BEMHO), went to breakfast ("these muffins look like Joelle Sebanook's tits"), swimming ("I think Stephanie Clayman has one of the most under-rated asses in all of camp"), Judaica ("I like it when Sue Aronson teaches us how to do pelvic thrusts to "Ani o'heavah tachol hasman"), lunch ("If we knock these salt packets onto the floor we could get Linda Gershon to bend over and pick them up enabling us to see down her shirt") athletics ("Did you feel up Leah Dorfman when you collided with her at home plate?"), riflery ("Wow look at Rachel Leavitt - I want to get down into the prone position with her") dinner ("Look at these hot dogs - they look like cocks. Here, put one between your knees.") and then finally Israeli Dancing ("God it's so hot in here. I hope one of the girl counselors takes off their top.")

One of the oddest examples of this ever present and pervasive sex theme came one evening when we were getting ready for our Evening Activity. While in the bath house brushing my teeth at one of the three communal sinks that bordered the area just outside the showers I turned to look at Seth Caswell who was standing next to me and had just finished up the same task. After spitting out some toothpaste and wiping his mouth Seth looked back at me while I was in mid-brush, mouth covered with toothpaste foam, thought for a minute and then said "You look like you just gave someone a blowjob." That was it. You couldn't be more point blank and completely random than that. Even in the performing of the most routine, mundane activity reflecting good oral hygiene even - you couldn't escape the fact that everything you did had to be tied back to something related to sex. I looked back at Seth and in a tone that works best when used by boys under the age of 16 amongst their peers said simply "Fuck off Caswell."

Nomore

To be honest Nomie had kind of fallen off my radar screen. Now, the first thing I think of when I thinkn of Nomar Garciaparra was his trade in '04 which has to go down as one of the greatest trades ever - almost the opposite of the Babe Ruth trade/sale if you think about it. There was all this talk of Nomar being unhappy his role was already changing and the rumours were starting to fly that not all was right with the club's chemistry. So finally, in what has to be one of the ballsiest trades ever pulled off by a GM running a professional sports team that's treated more like a public trust, Theo pulled the trigger on the Nomar trade that sent him packing to the Cubs in a 3-way deal that netted the Sox Orlando Cabrera and Doug Mankiewicz. Ironically, I don't feel like the Sox have had a rock at the position since they traded him 6 years ago. For some reason they let Cabrera go after '04 and tried to make Edgar Renteria fit (not possible as Tony Larussa prophetically predicted) and tried Alex Gonzales, Jed Lowrie and Julio Lugo with some success - obviously a World Series in '07 - but did not find anyone who proved to be able to handle the duties for the long term.

http://sports.espn.go.com/boston/mlb/news/story?id=4981701

But from like '97 to '00 or '01 he was among the top 5 in the league and the face of the Sox franchise. I'll never forget that year he hit .372 - his average topped .400 that year as late as August! Amazing stuff. He became best buds with Ted Williams before he died and I think was even been inducted in Williams' Hitting Hall of Fame in Florida. When Ted Williams died it was Nomar who led the grieving franchise and fanbase in the "wake" that was held at Fenway in the days after Williams' death. In '99 again it was Nomie as the face of the franchise as all of baseball looked at Fenway during All-Star weekend.

But I'll also remember his "Cut Above" Sports Illustrated cover that shows him completely ripped. There was of course no mention of 'roids in the article. How clueless we all were back then. I remember reading the article and noting that the writer also couldn't help but notice how big Nomie's friend Lou Merloni was. 'Roids were everywhere. Then once baseball began an actual drug testing program Nomar like many other suspected users (Giambi, McGuire) saw their productivity plummet.

But without a doubt he's NOT in the HOF. Not even close. His two grand slam 12 RBI game against the Mariners was HOF stuff. But for his career, too many injuries. Not enough quality seasons. His wrist injury from the end of the '00 season that he didn't have surgery on until opening day of the following year limiting him to like 21 games for the rest of '01 was a killer since '00 was the season of his .372 average. But his first game back from the injury of course he hits a HR. But after he was traded to Chicago in '05 he head a vicious hamstring injury that looked like his thigh was bifurcating in two. He was writhing on the ground in pain after that. With a World Series ring to call our own, Sox fans just felt bad for him at that point.

Above all else, at his prime he was nearly untouchable. He came through in big games and in big moments. His drive and ability to push himself were unmatched. I think his duty as the face of the franchise eventually weighed down on him too much such that he needed to leave in '04. There was simply no other way for either party to move forward. His theoretical back was broken - the burden had become too big for him to bear after 7 seasons.

Can't wait for one of his daughters to win the gold in Olympic softball in 2024 when Boston hosts the Olympics.

Len is Dead

So I have been watching the "30 for 30" series on ESPN. There have been some good ones - like the USFL episode with an unapologetic Donald Trump and some only ok like the Charles Kuralt-style installment of the lonely Baltimore Colts pep band from Barry Levinson.

But I just watched the one on Len Bias - pretty gripping stuff. Even though I knew how the story worked out I was totally engrossed by the segment covering the night he OD'd. Either I couldn't remember the details or was too upset to focus on the media frenzied coverage of the aftermath at the time, I was eager to find out who was there that night and who may have been culpable. Despite this story taking place 23 years ago I couldn't help myself and wonder why no one put a stop to the coke usage and the carelessness on this night. Why did this continue for several hours? The story goes that at the time coke was viewed as a social drug but if it truly was social then why did Brian Tribble hide the mirror and the coke whenever someone new entered the dorm room where he, Len, and their friends were hanging out? It wasn't social and trouble free if they hid the drug paraphanalia from anyone whom they thought didn't know that they did coke from time to time. After all if it was social why not offer it up to anyone? What's to hide?

The theorizing about the meaning of his death on a societal level was a bit over the top though and his Mom is clearly gone (can't blame her however since she's lost two sons to violent or drug-related deaths).

I remember where I was when I found out about Len's death. At FNHS '89 and I heard it from that font of sports info - Phil LeClare. Phil told me the rumours and I didn't believe him. So I called the sports desk at the Globe (from the payphone near the library) and some schlub answering the phones confirmed the rumour for me.

And so began an amazing downward turn of luck for the C's continuing with hanging onto the (original) Big 3 for too long, and then the death of Reggie Lewis leading into the M.L. Carr years and a 15-win season, losing out on the draft lottery and Tim Duncan, "Coach-P", giving up on Chauncy Billups, Jerome Moiso ("He's not ready"), not drafting Tony Parker, Joseph Forte, Eric Montross, taking Ron Mercer with the overall fifth pick and then finally ending with Paul Pierce NOT dying after being stabbed in a nightclub and bleeding all over Tony Battie's car. I realize that Pitino was still in charge when Pierce made his amazing comeback 8 days after being stabbed to score like 28 points and lead the C's to a victory but the fact that Pierce LIVED and could continue to be a productive player was a sign that this horrible C's luck was slowly turning for the better. Eventually of course the luck did turn with making an unheralded Jim O'Brien (a lifelong Pitino assistant) a full-time replacement for Pitino, the hiring of Danny Ainge, the sensible method of re-building a team that at one point lost 21 straight by colluding with ol' friend Kevin McHale to get KG to come here which of couse led to Number 17.

Let's not forget these grim years as we savor the '08 title and watch the well-oiled machine that is the '09-'10 team.

I think I'm ready to read Bill Simmons' book now.

Morrissey "Years of Refusal"

After a multi-year hiatus, Morrissey has returned to prominence with now his third album since his return to actively recording and touring following "You are the Quarry" and "Ringleader of the Tormentors". Reviewing records of artists with a rich backcatalogue presents me with an opportunity for much context because I can refer back to my historical knowledge of the artist and their past output.

'Something is Squeezing My Soul"
With an explosion of guitar this song heralds the beginning of this new release. Morrissey's literary style is so unique, his songs rich in meaning and double-meaning. One thing is clear is that his voice has not changed much throughout the years. I can't tell if there's wear on his voice which makes him sound the samem here as he did on Your Arsenal. While artists like Bono are struggling with vocal skills that are stained by years of yelling and projecting, Morrissey's vocal abilities are still intact. This track is punk/Smiths like in it's energy and propels the album forward quickly.

"Mama Lay Softly on the Riverbed"
Another quick start and Morrissey's ability to ask the right questions of his subjects draws the listener into the story. The melody doesn't quite stick as in the first track and seems a bit forced with "Mama Lay..." but the urgency/marching-like pace of the song's second half is redeeming. It's not clear if the "Mama" in this song is a maternal figure or a love interest or perhaps some kind of national entity that needs saving. Matt Walker's marching drums finish up this track well.

"Black Cloud"
A queer opening that builds with techno-laden synths underneath finding an instrumental crescendo at the end before Morrissey steps in. At this point Morrissey's band is tight and he can take them anywhere musically. Boz Boorer on guitar has been with Mozz for at least 10 years now. Similar themes for Morrissey are presented here, frustration, loss and hopelessness.

"I'm Throwing My Arms Around Paris"
With a quiet car starting up a delicate guitar leads into Morrissey's vocals that soar and take us back to his early-90's singles driven success. I hear "November Spawned a Monster" and "We Hate it When Our Friends Become Successful" but it's a welcome reference. Such is the case when an artist with a deep backcatalogue releases new material - it's the older stuff that the fans want to hear in addition to newer material as long as the new material isn't without perspective. The ending is abrupt for the point is well made.

"All You Need is Me"
Barks quickly out with a fuzzy bass and it's surprising how down in the mix Morrissey's vocals appear at times. Morrissey is very much a solo act but live and on record the sounds of his albums are not about him but also about the band he's put together. This is a track that makes Morrissey sound like the name of a band and not just a vocalist. With instrumental breaks and a catchy chorous "All You Need is Me" also harkens back to Morrissey's 90's output but with a strong energetic embrace and more Rock influences with less Pop.

"When Last I Spoke to Carol"
Morrissey's titles are so specific and call events and people into question that we are led to believe are part of his (or his character's) life. Carol - seems like a desparate fatgirl's name - with a latin flair that portends some kind of challenge or duel that Carol must undertake with Morrissey's counsel. In fact, it's a somber good-bye that Mozz has offerred up to Carol,wistful and longing - although not for a lover but merely a friend. Morrissey's wails of unhappiness lead into the horns and a strong rhythm-driven section that leads to a flourish and windswept plain-effects that imply Carol's remains blowing in the wind.

"That's How People Grow Up"
A yodel and wild hair up the ass of a female vocalist open this song with Morrissey singing in broad platitudes about society and his world of love and lust gone awry. Apparently it's not possible to mature without knowing loss and frustration in the game of love. It's all relative in terms of what it's like to be frustrated in love. Not all dead ends are mistakes or signs of panic. This message is at odds with Mozz's earlier material that makes it seem as though nothing else could be more important than finding that special someone which leads me to believe that Morrissey is subtly mocking his loyal fans who have learned to love his time-honored approach to lyricwriting.

"One Day Goodbye will be Farewell"
With a motorcycle's motor humming the band led by Solomon Walker's fuzzy bass find Morrissey sounding more operatic than usual. This message is more tragic in love and makes Morrissey the narrator out to be more of a brute and clumsy in love. An instrumental section with chimes and horns serves as an interesting bridge. A note of hope is offered up at the end that pleads for one last chance in love.

"It's Not Your Birthday Anymore"
A quiet opening shows more Morrissey than before. More twidling with the notion of birthday as a sacred day in one's life. Here Morrissey seems to debunk the entire idea of birthdays ironically being thankful that the person to whom this song is being sung no longer demands doting and favors on account of a birthday being celebrated. Even the sweet tone of Morrissey's voice belies the sarcasm that poo-poos presents of material value as meaningless when compared with real love and sex. In fact, the whole idea of a birthday being a special day of gift-showering and card-giving is trite to Morrissey at this point. As his voice carries into high melody you wonder if it's a symbol of exasperation. Thundering drums and cymbal clasps finish the song as the candles are blown out.

"You Were Good in Your Time"
Beginning with dialogue from an old French film from the 40's, this song would be a fitting eulogy to a departed film starlet. Without a trace of irony I can envision Morrissey singing this about a departed Joan Crawford, Helen Hayes or Katherine Hepburn. Lyrically straight-forward but musically haunting with a picked guitar and lush strings Morrissey's voice carries and lilts emotionally. Sonic effects of military variety punctuate the last 1.5 minutes with scary distortion and effects in a ghostly pastiche of music and sound with film audio playing in the background. Strings that scrape and screech point to an untimely death for the subject of this song.

"Sorry Doesn't Help"
Complaining guitars grind out the beginning leading to Morrissey's recounting of pleadings of forgiveness on behalf of the one doing the apologizing. But instead of the issue driving this song being love-related, instead it's a feeling of hopelessness that feeling sorry will not alleviate whatever situation has presented itself whether it be age, lost love or other seemingly unchangeable situation. Being sorry in itself isn't a solution or an action but just a hollow state that is often not shared with any meaning.

"I'm Ok By Myself"
Most of these songs break in abruptly and buffett Morrissey's vocals in a way that is unique and has been branded as Morrissey's style. The music in "I'm Ok.." is unspectacular with shades of what we've heard before. It's completely indistinguishable from other tracks on this record. But the lyrics on all Morrissey songs are usually unique and quite literate which is what sets him apart from most other Pop/Alternative artists and that is the case with "I'm Ok..". Showing a frustration with those who have not supported the narrarator in his endeavours the singer has elected to shun those who have let him down and to solider on alone. The frantic pacing and noisy finish redeem the weak opening of this song and a vocal/distortion effect makes Mozz' vocals seem distant. The song fades out quickly with a flurry of bass, drums and more distortion.

Depeche Mode "Sounds of the Universe"

These types of reviews are always tough for me when you consider what a band like Depeche Mode has meant to popular music in the 80's. Violator is one of the most important albums of the last twenty years and their 80's-era catalog featuring Catching Up with Depeche Mode is legendary. Trying to cash these checks has been an uphill battle for the band for years.

"In Chains"
With a 2001/Kubrick-like opening that features music-like bleeps and notations this segment must be an overt reference to the album name. The early part of this nearly 7 minute effort reminds me of some Violator-era minimalist material like "Clean". Already I'm thankful the grunge-like sound of Songs of Faith and Devotion has been forgotten (not soon enough).

"Hole to Feed"
A driving bass pulses throughout this song and combines with Dave Gahan's growl a sound he is not known for effectively creating. As much has been made historically about Gahan's drug abuse my initial response to this song is our first drug addiction reference. It could also be about fame and endless searching for meaning in the face of a clamoring public. Moments of this song don't quite work and make me think it should've sat in the studio a little longer. While "In Chains" shows us Depeche playing to their strengths they get a little lost on this one and try to do too much.

"Wrong"
The yell/singing style of Gahan kicks of this song and we have our first single of the album. The reason for the heavy radio airplay is clear. This track is as much like Violator as I've ever heard. But is this not what you expect to hear when you play a Depeche Mode record? At this point their potential for legions of new fans is somewhat limited. They're hamstrung by their own success and can't deviate too far from what they built their fame upon. Even younger fans who are familiar with their older material would expect something like this.

"Fragile Tension"
The keys here are steady and hypnotic an excellent example of the downtempo Depeche. As the razor sharp guitars enter in the song veers somewhere we can't follow. Only when the original keyboard-based theme returns do we know what they're doing. I never felt Depeche figured out how to successfully navigate their 80's synth roots with a guitar-based sound. When the guitars fade in the background and the synths/programming returns this is actually a good example of what Depeche can still do. What's interesting to me now is that 80's music has returned to popularity and Depeche should throw away the guitars and return firmly to their roots.

"Little Soul"
This is a lullabye for a drug-addled Wall-e sung by Dave Gahan doing a Frank Sinatra impression. Somehow Bruce Springsteen as a new Daddy inserted himself into Depeche Mode and now we have this mis-mas of sounds and ideas.

"In Sympathy"
An industrial/goth staticky beat opens this song with dusty guitar strings that lead into new wavey-keys and we have a sensible jumping off point for Depeche fans. Some of the background programming is actually reminiscent of the sound effects of early Atari/Activision video games. But the driving bass underneath coupled with the repeating guitar theme keeps this song together making it one of the strongest on the album. Believe it or not this track isn't too derivative such that it would induce scoffs from your average music fan who witnessed the 80's. The repeating vocals build to a crescendo at the end.

"Peace"
The synths that open this song are dark and brooding not unlike Front 242 but the connection to that EBM-era ends quickly when Gahan's vocals chime in with music effects that evoke optimism and hope. Hard to believe that the recurring chorus of "Peace will come to me" references John Lennon's "Give Peace a Chance" and a haunting chorus repeated ad infinitum above techno-like keys bring BT's _ESCM in as a reference point. Most Depeche fans are not used to such hope and smiles.

"Come Back"
The desperation that begins this track is reflected in the sonic pastiche of the first minute. Industrial clanging and metal-upon-metal mix with chimes and Martin Gore's dark synths. Many aspects of "Come Back" seem to have been cut-and-pasted from other Depeche Mode releases making this song seem completely unremarkable and therefore a little boring. Many points on "Come Back" sound like they were written by Trent Reznor whose rough edges were then blunted by Martin Gore. Clocking in at just over 5 minutes this track is the first one that seems to drag a little bit and is too long by about 3 minutes.

"Spacewalker"
The keys/synths on "Spacewalker" have an echo or delay on them that take the listener to space. Vocal effects sound like alien beings are trying to communicate via the Voyager space explorer or something. The only real experimental track on the album only this track seems a little dated but at just under 2 minutes is a nice respite from the serious music contained elsewhere.

"Perfect"
Beginning the final 1/3 of the album is a lamenting of a relationship gone wrong. Perhaps a reference to Gahan's rocky personal life that saw him flirt with death numerous times over the years this is another mature song that begs the listener to accept him warts and all. A lot of these older "rockers" never fully kick their drug addictions and just accept trying to manage them throughout their lives - this could be a reference to that.

"Miles Away/The Truth Is"
I like the driving programming and artifical guitars that build up Gahan's vocals that plead and explain. The best way for Depeche to include guitars is to arrange them way down in the mix as if they were another programmed/keyboard element and not something that drives the song which is how they are done here. The (ghost) guitar changes to southern gothic hypno-jangle at the midway point followed up by a very noisy soundscape. This nice mix makes "Miles Away..." one of the best songs on the album. The faded out echoing piano/keys drives home the distance theme.

"Jezebel"
Don't know who is singing lead on this track but it can't be Gahan. It's way too high and almost sounds like Alison Moyet (thinking of Yaz' Upstairs at Eric's) and that Depeche offshoot. The delicate keys add a nice spooky element here and is another strong vintage Depeche composition. The programming is heavy found-sound techno with what sounds like an early 80's casio underneath. No one can do this like Depeche and tracks like "Jezebel" show the band playing to their strengths and keep their longtime fans in their pocket.

"Corrupt"
At nearly 9 minutes my first thought is to groan. But the beginning finds the band in a good position to find their place. Another sensible use of guitars with the keys makes "Corrupt" sttand out. No keys/synths on Sounds of the Universe are as catchy as material from earlier in their career but the band is still trying to refine a newer sound that incorporates guitars or guitar-like effects in a sensible way that adds value. "Corrupt" grinds along but has a definite refrain that feels intuitive for Depeche fans. The imploring of how Gahan can corrupt as an old man who's done bad things and is looking back on his career/life is an effective tool but comes to an end with the rest of the song at around the 5 minute mark. I was afraid of this - hidden track. So we wait. Who does this shit anymore anyways? This is kind of retro - as was "Spacewalker" the electro-experimental track that gives listeners a break - as if Sounds of the Universe had been purchased as one complete album and not downloaded piecemeal. The final 45 seconds is tacked on as a reprise of "Wrong" and ends spookily pseudo-childishly like a nursery rhyme turned inside out; haunting like Children of the Corn.