Maybe it’s the fall, or the fact that I’m missing the fall, but every September my heart starts to feel the season change as if it were turning from blood red to golden orange and yellow, like the trees I recall from my youth.

During these months I can’t help but think of my close friend Bob. Ours is a friendship that’s grown into one of the tightest relationships I have. I was the best man in his first wedding, an honor I still hold close to my heart even though that relationship didn’t last. That wedding took place in late summer, 1991, just after I returned from my first California adventure. While I’m not an ardent Billy Joel fan, “And So It Goes” is a reminder of that time in his life, and it conjures images of Bob’s strength against the punches life threw at him when things fell apart.

Bob and I met during my freshman year at Bowling Green; he was the pledge trainer in my fraternity. Since it was the band fraternity, I didn’t take the organization too seriously; I was a cocky freshman who thought he was much better than those other band geeks. Thankfully, I learned what a fool I was, as the men in that fraternity became my best friends. Bob and I wound up living next to each other during my sophomore year; that was the point when things changed, and we began to turn to each other for advice, encouragement, and beer. Throughout the remainder of my college years, whenever Bob came to Bowling Green for a visit, he was sure to stop by our house and hang out, maybe even crash for the night.

(more…)

Steven Bochco (Hill Street Blues, NYPD Blue) returns to the television landscape tonight at 10 PM EST with another lawyer series on TNT.

Raising the Bar focuses on the justice system through the eyes of the DA’s office and the public defenders office. Although wonderful actresses Jane Kaczmarek (Malcolm in the Middle) and Gloria Reuben (ER) are on hand to add stature to the series, the real stars of the show are the young, good-looking actors playing young, good-looking lawyers. They’re led by Mark-Paul Gosselaar, the former teen star (do I even need to tell you?) who has a real “in” with Bochco, having appeared in Bochco’s NYPD Blue and Commander in Chief.

Gosselaar portrays Jerry Kellerman, a brash, idealistic public defender who is constantly butting heads with the justice system, primarily Kaczmarek’s off-kilter Judge Kessler (it is a bit strange that each case he has is assigned to Kessler). Reuben is Kellerman’s boss, although she only seems to appear when he needs advice. So far she has been wasted in her role.

As with most of Bochco’s series in the past, the draw of this show isn’t the issues, but the characters. Like I said, the cast members are good-looking thirtysomethings with enough charm and sex appeal to entice viewers back each week. In both tone and execution, Raising the Bar feels like a legal version of Grey’s Anatomy, especially in the manner in which all of these same lawyers seem to be good friends and hang out at the same watering hole after a long day at the job. Am I the only person who, when the work day is done, actually goes home to the wife and kids? I don’t know.

Despite the show’s familiarity, it isn’t bad; the acting is excellent, and the production values are top-notch. TNT has really become a destination place for producers to take shows that may not have caught on with the other 4 “big” networks. Additionally, TNT and its cable cousins seem to be more patient with a series, allowing it time to work out the kinks. Case in point: the pilot episode of Raising the Bar was pretty clunky, and almost made me not want to watch any more episodes. However, by the second episode, Kaczmarek’s antics were toned down and Gosselaar’s histrionics were kind of shoved out the window. This was a positive move for the show. (more…)

The freshman’s bags sat on the floor next to the bed his mother had just finished making up. It would be the last time she made his bed and the last time his dorm room would look this neat. He and his parents had already met the R.A., toured the music building, and eaten dinner at one of the uptown restaurants. It was time to say goodbye.

His father and mother had timed it so that they would leave for home just as he was walking across the campus of Bowling Green State University to his first meeting of incoming marching band members; the young man was at school a week early for band camp. After hugs and kisses, his parents departed and he headed over to the music hall with butterflies in his stomach.

In the massive band rehearsal room he sat among a group of fellow freshmen and some upperclassmen. He didn’t know it at the time but the people who would become his best friends and future roommates were also sitting in that room, probably feeling just as anxious as he was.

Later that night, when these new students had returned to their dorm rooms with instructions to get plenty of sleep (they had a long day ahead of them), the freshman found himself alone in a vast, empty dorm building. His R.A. was already hitting the bars and the rest of his classmates were living in a group of dorms where 90% of all incoming freshmen lived. He was away from them, having been placed in an upperclassmen dorm due to the fact that he would be rooming with his cousin, a sophomore.

While groups of kids began to mingle and form friendships, the young man propped his feet up on the windowsill and continued reading John Irving’s The World According to Garp.

(more…)

For me, the waning days of summer always bring to mind the city homecoming fair that took place at the end of every August in my hometown of North Olmsted, Ohio. The fair, a celebration of the city’s past and present, was held at the North Olmsted Park, located right around from my childhood house, and was a weekend-long affair that always began on the last Friday night in August and ran through late Sunday afternoon.

I can recall the mystery, allure and romanticism of that city fair from the eyes of a child. At night, when the traffic noises had quieted, you could hear the excitement of the fair through the open windows of my bedroom. The cranking of the carnival rides, kids screaming, cotton candy machines swirling, grills sizzling, and rock and roll bands playing from the gazebo. Man, I wanted to be there; I wanted to be grown up enough to wander through the crowd and absorb those noises and smells and to feel like a part of the community.

By sixth grade, I was deemed old enough to venture up to the park during homecoming, as long as I was with a group of friends. If we were a pack we couldn’t get into trouble, right? Actually, I hung out with a good bunch of kids, and the heightened feelings and butterflies we felt around girls were more exciting than any mischief we might get into. Even as an awkward kid who didn’t attract many girls, it was still a great feeling to have.

Something happened during the transition between ninth and 10^th grade, though, and the fair was no longer exciting; rather, it had become a quaint symbol of complacency. In my arrogant teenage mind, I looked at the hundreds of folks who had grown up in North Olmsted (and still lived there), and thought, “I’m not going to be like them. I’m going to get out of here.” Instead of looking forward to the fair’s wondrous foods and prizes, I looked forward to pointless nights of cruising the Metropark valley in the back of some guy’s Escort while the radio blared acts like the Who, Lou Reed and Joe Jackson. (more…)

I am running for my son.

That is the mantra I repeated to myself in times of exhaustion when I was training for my first two marathons back in 2003 and 2004. The early morning runs, the aching joints, the self doubt, all of these things played a factor in wearing me down and making me want to quit. But then I would repeat those six words to myself and I would find some buried reservoir of energy and continue moving forward.

I am running for my son.

The reason behind my sudden urge to run a marathon was raising money to find a cure for cystic fibrosis, the deadly disease that Jacob was diagnosed with when he was barely a month old. Cystic fibrosis is an inherited chronic disease that affects the lungs and digestive system of about 30,000 children and adults in the United States (70,000 worldwide). A defective gene causes the body to produce thick, sticky mucus that clogs the lungs and leads to life-threatening lung infections, and obstructs the pancreas and stops natural enzymes from helping the body break down and absorb food. To combat the disease, Jacob must do daily breathing treatment with a nebulizer and a machine called “The Vest,” which vibrates his chest to break up any mucus build up in his lungs.

Additionally, he must take enzyme supplements to help him digest food. Jacob takes a total of 13 different medications daily to keep him a healthy little boy who loves to play with his older sister, Sophie.

After a two-year hiatus, a simple jog through a rain-soaked parking lot last Thanksgiving lit a spark in me to begin running again. Between 2003 and 2006, over $20,000 was raised for the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation through the marathon fundraisers I ran. The time felt right to make another go at it. New shoes were bought, a slow steady regime was adopted, and on November 16, I will participate in the Pasadena half marathon, just two days after Jacob’s 7th birthday.

This past summer, we visited family in Ohio and I stuck with my training as best as possible. The very first morning, as I cut a path through the memories of my childhood jogging through the neighborhoods where I grew up, an epiphany hit me. I vividly recall a Coldplay song chiming through my headphones and I had a clear vision of the future. Jacob and his loving sister, Sophie, were sitting together on a swing, reading, he with his head on her shoulder. They were older, in their teens, and the sun was setting behind them. In this vision, I stood, observing, feeling blessed for the wonderful life I have and the beautiful family I love. And it occurred to me, suddenly, that I am not just running for my son.

I am running for my family. (more…)

On A&E’s new dramatic series, The Cleaner, Benjamin Bratt is doing some of his finest acting since leaving Law & Order. After walking off the beat of NBC’s venerable cops and lawyers show, Bratt has tried to find substantive parts to sink his teeth into. The results have been mixed, at best.

So I approached The Cleaner with some trepidation. It appears that the years of searching for the right role have paid off, landing Bratt back on television. On the show, Bratt portrays William Banks, a recovering addict who, upon finally getting clean, took a vow with God to help other people kick their habits by using whatever tactics are necessary. Using a secretive team of rehab operatives, Banks and company literally yank people off the streets, go undercover, and get involved with high-speed car chases to help people get clean (at the request of at wits end loved ones). If that sounds a little preposterous, you should know that the series is based on the experiences of Warren Boyd, a drug counselor who not only beat his own demons, but used tactics similar to those shown in The Cleaner to help friends and complete strangers. Boyd serves as an executive producer on the show.

The Cleaner has the general feel of any procedural show: tracking down the dealers or addicts, doing surveillance, and then going in for the kill (or in this case, injecting the addict with some kind of tranquilizer, rendering them unconscious and carrying that person off in a van). This aspect of the show feels pretty familiar, and were it not for the charm and appeal of the actors in Banks’ team (Grace Park, Esteban Powell and Kevin Michael Richardson), it might not be worth watching each week. However, the other aspect of the show, Banks’s family life, if far more interesting and is what gives the show its soul.

Banks is married with two good kids. His wife, Melissa, is a strong, smart working mother who binds the family together. Their two children, Ben (Brett Delano) and Lula (Liliana Mumy) are smart, eager to please, and coming into their own as individuals. This means plenty of questions about William’s past and rebellion because of it. (more…)

Running is a solitary sport.

You may train with a group or run a race in the company of one or two other people, but in the end, the concentration and dedication falls upon your shoulders alone. Sometimes when I run, it’s with music blaring through headphones; other times, with only my thoughts and the rhythmic slapping of my soles (and my soul) on the ground. In some ways, being a runner is similar to being a musician — the hours spent practicing and training are all for an experience that may only last an hour of your life.

That was my experience when I was a devoted drummer, but that was back in the ‘80s, when I emulated musicians like Neil Peart of Rush. I believe every drummer goes through a rite of passage in discovering Rush, a period of exploration in which, as a drummer, you come to appreciate Peart’s precision and flawless technique. What I’ve always loved is the ease in which he makes every drum fill sound effortless, whether it’s 16 toms or just his snare. One listen to that famous drum section in “Tom Sawyer” (from 1981’s Moving Pictures) and you’ll know what I mean.

I came into Rush, which also includes guitarist Alex Lifeson and bassist/vocalist/keyboardist Geddy Lee, after their space-age prog period had ended and they’d moved into a more mainstream rock territory. These years coincided with the principal period of my life in the basement, between junior high and college. This was a time I was tinkering daily with my eight-piece white Rogers brand drum set. (more…)

Eric Clapton - “I’ve Got a Rock and Roll Heart”

Dave: Did Clapton have to record this to pay back the writers for lending him money for blow? This record is such a piece of dogshit that a couple of Phil Collins-produced records and selling out to Michelob were considered a “return to form.” And that lyric “I get off on screaming guitars” would be horrible even if the guitar lick actually, you know, screamed. Maybe the problem was that he was too busy removing his dick from the tailpipe of a ‘57 Chevy to realize his tone sucked.

Scott: What do you have against a man and his masturbatory habits, David? When Clapton recorded this song, he’d kicked drugs for the first time; he needed something to get his rocks off. Still, this song isn’t that bad. It’s an natural extension of the drug fueled reggae influenced shuffles he churned out in the 70’s, except this time he was sober. Maybe “I get off” was a bad selection of words, but when you look at the charts from 1983 (Men at Work, Human League, Culture Club) who the hell expected this song to be a hit? Certainly not Clapton. The look of his face on the cover of “Money and Cigarettes” tells it all: “I don’t give a shit. I’m Eric Clapton.” I’m sure some dumb ass exec enthusiastically told him that this song was a bona fide hit. To which Clapton most likely replied, “Fuck it, ya poofter, release whatever god damn song you want. I’m ERIC FUCKING CLAPTON! Now bring me a Trans Am, I’m through with that saggy old Chevy.” Seriously, the song’s obviously a throwaway that became a fluke hit. How else do you explain him selling his soul to the devil and teaming up with Phil Collins?
(more…)

The Popdose staff was sitting around the other day, doing what we do best — namely, talking about records that most people wish they didn’t remember — when a discussion about the Moody Blues’ “Your Wildest Dreams” somehow led into some heavy-duty reminiscing about the records we all listened to when we were kids — and how those records were more or less culled from the Top 40 hits of the day, hits that our parents, as often as not, listened to along with us.

So, we wondered, who’s making music these days that impressionable preteens and their parents enjoy? Top 40 radio is pretty much dead, and the lines between Radio Disney, MTV, and whatever the hell it is that the over-30 crowd is listening to these days have been drawn depressingly deep. Look, it isn’t just that we think the Jonas Brothers and Lil Wayne aren’t all that great; it’s that some of us can remember enjoying the latest hits from the Spinners, the Bangles, or Cheap Trick right alongside our parents.

Current music is still a multigenerational thing, but not the way it used to be — so here, without further ado, is a list (with downloads, natch) of some of the stuff your faithful Popdosers were listening to in their formative preteen years. Pull up a chair and a set of headphones, and give in to Tweener Mixtape Madness! (more…)

David Medsker: I love Paul Carrack as much as the next guy, but is what I refer to as a non-song. Not a whole lot of meat on these bones.

Jeff Giles: An odd little hit from an odd little record. People remember Paul Carrack and Paul Young (no, the other Paul Young) as Mike +/& the Mechanics’ singers, but this album featured lead vocals from two other guys. I can’t remember either of their names, but I do remember that I like “Taken In” more than “Silent Running” or “All I Need Is a Miracle.”

Jon Cummings: If I remember correctly, M+M albums were packaged with drool cups. Or did I just dream that during the 48-hour nap that was induced by my one and only full hearing of this song? Even 23 years on, it’s extraordinary that a nuclear war/Terminator/whatever prog-rock “epic” could be so abysmally boring. (Compared to this oblique blather, Sting’s contemporaneous “Russians” was a Tolstoy novel.) It’s also extraordinary that Carrack’s voice could be so thoroughly wasted. His M+M work is so pulse-deadening that it calls into question everything he did before. (Was “How Long” really that good? Doesn’t Glenn Tilbrook sing “Tempted” just as well in concert as Carrack did on record?) God, I hated this band.

Dw. Dunphy: Mike + the Mechanics got off to a good start, didn’t they? Big hit, nice synth-y melody, Paul Carrack — but it’s all for naught. I don’t understand a whit of this song. It sounds like the theme to some really bad syndicated sci-fi show. If you don’t pay too much attention to it, perfectly pleasant.

Scott Malchus: I often wonder what songs from the ’80s, with all of the lame electronic drums and synths, would sound like with real instruments. This song holds up okay. I guess I always expected more from Mike Rutherford since he was the lead guitarist from Genesis (and, before that, the bassist). All of the Mike + the Mechanics songs sound very “lite rock” compared to what he did in the ’70s. Then again, look at Phil Collins’s solo output. Worse, look what Genesis had become by the end of the ’80s. How is it that only Peter Gabriel was able to maintain his artistic integrity after he quit the band?

(more…)