The revolution may not be televised, but it will surely be available on special edition DVD

Comics, Media,

I’ve been in a fair amount of comic book stores in my life, and I can count on two hands the number of times I’ve seen a woman browsing around, and count on two fingers the number of times I’ve seen a woman actually working there. So kudos to my local comic shop for busting stereotypes.

But as much as I support the tearing down of cultural barriers (and as much as it behooves some of my comic-loving brethren to actually have a conversation with a girl), is it really necessary for her to play the Grey’s Anatomy DVDs while she’s working? I’m all for moving forward, but dear God woman, take us in baby steps, please! It would be so much easier to handle with the de riguer murmur of obscure sci-fi flicks and/or British television comedies on a seemingly endless repeat in the background.

I’m joking, of course. Geekery – in all its forms – is about enjoying what you like, consequences be damned. The enjoyment proves its value, whether it’s comics or a show where doctors act like they’re in high school. It proves that the thing does not exist in a vacuum, but says something else about who you are, and how you relate to the world. Not all forms of culture get people geeked about them, as evidenced by the intense lack of Internet fanpages devoted to According to Jim.

So a love of Grey’s is no more or no less a form of geekery than a love of Green Lantern. Still, I’m hoping she compromises by rotating in some old episodes of Wonder Woman. Or hell, even Cagney and Lacey.

Oblivious Living Part 1.6: "The Politics of Dancing" by re-flex

Music

MP3 – “The Politics of Dancing” by re-flex
Lyrics – “The Politics of Dancing” by re-flex

This is really depressing.

After blogging five of the arguably best known one-hit wonders of the 80s, I was set to kick off a slew of fairly obscure songs. These little-known tracks would allow me to let my id run free. Like onions, I’d slice off one layer at a time, delving into the minutiae of each, as I unearthed themes, motifs, and heretofore unknown nuggets of wisdom hidden inside these gems, like so many diamonds inside lumps of coal.

And the first track I start with is an incredible disappointment.

I had a passing familiarity with “The Politics of Dancing,” derived mainly from the chorus. Therefore, I was convinced it was some kind of stealth gay rights anthem. That somehow the song suggested there was, in fact, politics – or rather the advancement of a civil rights agenda – in the relatively benign act of dancing.

If there is a political bent to the lyrics, it’s at the high school level of rhetoric: all fire and no lucidity.

Honestly, with a few tweaks, it really could have weight. In fact, just switch two stanzas, and you’ve got a pretty powerful statement. Instead of:

We got the message
I heard it on the airwaves
The politicians
Are now DJs

You swap those last two lines so “the DJs/are now politicians” and you’ve really got something. Otherwise, you’ve got this image of Ted Kennedy behind the wheels of steel saying “Ahd lahke to dehdicate this sahng to Brad Dehlp, who rahcked so successfully as a paht ahf Bahston ahl those yea-ahs.”

In all fairness to my point of view, it appears that I’m not the only one to consider it. According to Wikipedia, there’s a film called Edge of Seventeen that includes this song on its soundtrack. The film is about “a gay teenager finds out who he is and what he wants, who his friends are, and who loves him.” Take out the word “gay” and that’s pretty much every John Hughes film ever made. But whatever. Someone else feels this song has resonance as a gay rights anthem. We are an army of two.

Here’s what’s really sad though: this song was the band’s only hit. In fact, they recorded another album, but it was never actually released. I can’t even find a picture of the band to post here. Little surprise since the band didn’t think enough of itself to capitalize its name.

Plus, they got beat out by Shalamar’s “Dancing in the Sheets” for a spot on the Footloose soundtrack. If there was ever a film that begged for a song that spoke of a crossroads between politics and dancing, this was it. But no dice.

There’s probably some notion of sexual politics at play here, but I’m too irritated to even consider it at this point. On the other hand, if I somehow found myself at Roscoe’s and this song came on, I would totally dance to it. It’s got that beat that even white people can groove to. So if nothing else, it’s got that going for it.

From the archives

Uncategorized, ,

When I was doing some freelance work, I wrote a couple pieces for Centerstage Chicago as part of its “Out From Behind the Bar” series, which were interviews with local bartenders. Without getting to into Chicago’s history, this is a tavern town. Not so much now, but certainly before. There are some amazing stories out there, and it’s a shame there aren’t enough venues for them. Moreover, there wasn’t room for everything in the published pieces, and some great stories got dropped for space.

Tonight I was at the Village Tap, and ran into John Talley, who I interviewed for a BTB piece a while back. As I was sitting there tonight, I thought it was a crime that some of his stories would never see the light of day. The full interview is a lot of fun, though some of it was off the record. So here’s a combination of my original edit, combined with the piece as it originally ran.

Truth be told, the whole reason I’m posting this is for the “worst night working here” story.

Life in the Village with John Talley
Storytelling with the Village Tap’s longtime bartender

Over the past few years, strollers and dogs have replaced the gangs that used to hang out on the street corners of Roscoe Village. Yet the Village Tap – and bartender John Talley – remain.

Often cited for its award-winning, year-round beer garden, the bar resides in a space with a long, alcoholic history, dating back to the 1930s. The atmosphere changes depending on the night, or who’s behind the bar, but the warm wood and exposed brick give patrons a feeling of coming home.

Like the bar, Talley’s own history is closely tied to the neighborhood. With the exception of a yearlong motorcycle trek down to South America, he’s worked at the Village Tap for the last 13 years, not too far from where his father and grandfather grew up.

“It afforded me to go to school, to buy my own place, to take off for a year, all that kind of stuff,” he says. “In any job, that’s all you’re looking for.”

Best drink in the house: “Probably the Bloody Marys. I make my own mix. People come in and ask for that on Saturdays and Sundays, for sure. Nothing fancy. Some people like to put meats and cheeses into it, but I don’t do any of that. It’s more in the ratios. I think Bloody Marys should be spicy, but I don’t make it super spicy right away. It should have a sweet spice. Horseradish, Tabasco, steak sauce, pepper, that’s about it. I have it down to how many shakes of each I put in the mix.

The patron most likely to score a free drink is: “Somebody that doesn’t ask for one. Or says it’s their birthday right off the bat. Anybody that’s very nice and polite and tips well the first couple of times, that’ll get you a free drink.”

Little known fact about this joint: “It’s all in what it used to be, not what it is anymore. The whole neighborhood was rough, even when I came here. I used to see kids on their bikes doing ‘bike-bys,’ getting shot. It wasn’t that long ago. When I first started here, we used to have little Pac-Man/Asteroid tabletops. Every tabletop was a video game. There used to be a bowling machine against the wall, we used to have pinball. We used to have an old English phone booth that never worked.”

For good grub before or after a shift, you hit up: “I’m so cheap, I usually just get my shift meal here before I start. I’m a sucker for the burger or I’ll usually get the special. Most of the recipes come up from Jak’s Tap. Wednesdays, I always get the pork chop. Today [Sunday] I didn’t eat the brisket. I had a BLT because someone had one back there and it looked good. I’m friends with a lot of people in the neighborhood so I’ll go over to Volo sometimes.”

When you’re not boozing here, you prefer to patronize: “I’ll go to Four Moon. Lately, because I moved to Uptown, I’ll go up to Holiday Club because I know all the people there. I don’t go to the 4 o’clock bars anymore. People say ‘What are you doing after work?’ I’m sitting right here at the end of the bar, I’m having my two shift drinks, and then I’m calling a cab and going home. I’ve been doing the microbrew thing for so long, I got burnt out on it. I’ll taste everything, but I can’t drink all the hoppy ales or it’ll stick in my mouth the whole night. So I’ll drink Guinness or a stout or a porter or Sprecher Black.”

Another bartender/owner we should know is: “Aaron Watkins, who worked here. Everybody still misses him; he was the best bartender. He passed away a couple years ago last summer. He was just open, honest, and didn’t give a fuck. Died of a really rare form of cancer; it was at stage three or four when they found it. Within a month and a half, he was dead. But he was one of the people in this bar that people would come to see all the time.”

“[And] Sparky at Four Moons Tavern. He’s been in the neighborhood forever. He got grandfathered in at Four Moon. When they sold that place – it used to be Kokopelli – one of the stipulations was that the old owner told the new owner, “You gotta keep this bartender.” He can make anything, he’s a good listener and talker. He gives sage advice. He has the persona of a professional bartender, but he’s also surly and drinks a lot while he works. So he’s what you would expect from a bartender.”

The worst night working here was: “Two years ago, I was working when we had the TV put in. Somebody forgot to screw the top adjustment thing on. I’m bartending in here on a Saturday and we’re full. Two girls I know who are regulars are sitting at the end of the bar, watching TV when BOOM! It fell straight down on the bar in front of them and cracked. You can still see the indentation of a shot glass there. They fell off their barstools, the TV is now lying on the ground, I almost have a heart attack because it’s so loud, everybody is freaking out. I take the TV, put it in the back. About 10-15 minutes later some guy comes running from the back yelling ‘Call 911, call 911!’ And I’m like ‘No, it’s OK, everybody’s OK.’ He says ‘No, somebody just had a heart attack.’ There was a 50-year class reunion in the back and some old guy had a heart attack. So right after that happened, I had the ambulance come in and they’re wheeling a guy out in a mask. That was bad.”

The surest way to get banned from the bar is to: “Starting fights with everybody. Not literal fights, but talking shit every time you walk in the bar. Just being an ass. When you walk in and everybody moans? That can get you banned. You’re bad for business.”

If I wasn’t doing this, I’d be: “Teaching, that’s an easy one. Or travel around the world on my motorcycle. That’s what I’d be doing, dreamwise. Practicalwise, teaching. When I’m ready to retire into a career, that’s what I’ll be doing.”

Random notes

Music

Has anyone else seen the new commercial for the BMW 5 series? I wouldn’t normally have noticed for two reasons:

1. I rock the Tivo.
2. I have no money, and can barely afford a ride in one of those bike rickshaws, much less a BMW.

In any case, a chassis is seen cruising the streets as this black goo surrounds the car, creating the steering wheel, the seats, and the rest of the vehicle. I kept waiting to hear “You can see the new BMW 5 series in Spider-Man 3“, but it never happened.

The rest of this is mostly local, so I apologize to those folks from Sweden who keep ending up here as the result of Google searches for Naked Eyes songs.

Leave it to the University of Chicago to make fun complicated. Next up, a kegger which requires you to brew your own beer first.

Chicagoans: remember how Radiohead was denied a permit to perform at Millennium Park, and we all laughed at the rubes who wouldn’t let the “dangerous” rock band play in the pretty park? Well, maybe they had a point. Because apparently when you mix rock and rich people venues, it causes Skip, Lance and Reginald to start some m’f’in’ shit! Seriously? At a Ben Folds show? At the Boston Pops? Rockin’ the suburbs indeed.

Finally, TOC just launched its Summer Festival Guide. We’ve got all the street fests laid out for you, plus articles, interviews, etc. Look for more updates throughout the summer. Yours truly contributed a do’s and don’ts list with some valuable tips to keep you from puking, looking like a stalker or acting like a jackass this summer.

God bless this poor bastard

Uncategorized,

There’s is nothing in this story that isn’t purely factual. It’s all there, pure and simple. There’s no tone of condescension, no lingering hint of pomposity.

And yet…

And yet…

Something in the story doesn’t quite jibe. There’s something there that says “I can’t believe I had to cover this. I’d rather be a library board meeting.” I couldn’t figure it out for a while, and then I realized it:

He never tells us the winner’s last name. All the other contestants get last names. The winner? Not so much. Well played, Chris Hack. Well played.

Also, I’m resisting the urge to go for the easy joke on this cat’s name, because, frankly, that story is a silk purse from a sow’s ear if I ever read one. But if I was him, I’d see if I could convince the Web Editor (hint hint) to put a line break after my name so my byline didn’t read “hack staff writer.”

Oblivious Living Part 1.5: "Turning Japanese" by The Vapors

Music

MP3 – “Turning Japanese” by The Vapors
Lyrics – “Turning Japanese” by The Vapors

There is one other well-known song on this volume of Living in Oblivion, but this closes out the compilation’s opening five-song salvo of hits, and it’s a doozy. This is the third song of this collection to clock in around 3:42, and I’m starting to think that’s the perfect length for a pop song.

The phrase “one hit wonders” gets overused at times, as the minor achievements in a band’s history get lost to time, and it becomes easier to tell their story with a slur. But in the case of The Vapors, it’s apt. The album that followed the single was not well-received, and the second album even less so.

But the single goes down like a caramel of the perfect consistency. VH1 logged it at #36, which is a shame. It’s a damn sight better than “Stumblin’ In’” by Suzi Quatro. I feel pretty confident in saying this even though I haven’t ever heard “Stumblin’ In’” or even heard of it. Not to mention that I can name two other Suzi Quatro songs, both of which were hits in England, which ought to eliminate her from the list, even though they weren’t hits here.

ANYWAY, there’s not much to say about the song in totality. On its face, the song is about a guy who misses his girlfriend, but somehow gets by on a very evocative piece of photography, and well-developed forearms. The chorus is merely a twist on the old warning that abusing oneself might cause blindness (or conversely, the warning most mothers gave that if you made a certain face long enough, it would freeze that way). But if you dig a little, some interesting bits emerge.

First, “Turning Japanese” is yet another example of the “racism can be funny” school of the 80s. I’m not going to get all ranty here, because I think it’s kind of funny, in a way. Look at the following examples:

* The song “Turning Japanese” wherein a English pop band compares the squinty look one supposedly gets when masturbating to the facial features of Japan.

* The movie Soul Man wherein a white guy pretends to be black in order to get access to scholarship money, intended for an African-American student.

* The song “Illegal Alien” by Genesis wherein Phil Collins puts on the worst accent this side of Speedy Gonzales and sings of the difficulties of getting a green card.

And nobody batted an eye. It’s just amazing what people were getting away with in popular culture at the time.

On matters less serious, there’s this often misheard lyric:


Everyone around me is a total stranger
Everyone avoids me like a cyclone ranger

Several sites on the Internet will try and tell you that line is “psyched Lone Ranger,” but they’re wrong. Think about it: that line makes no sense. First, why would the Lone Ranger be “psyched?” And even if he was, why would this cause people to avoid him?

“Aw shit, Lone Ranger totally wants to go down to the Hitching Post and check out this sale on masks and kerchiefs. He will not shut up about it. Just avoid him, if you can. He’ll get distracted and then go back to trying to convince you that Zorro’s a pussy.”

Also, there’s an old movie called The Cyclone Rangers, about a bunch of cattle rustlers, who try to put their thieving ways behind them. So it makes more sense that the song would be referring to mistrustful horse thieves, though I’ll grant you it’s a bit confusing as to why a band from Surrey would be referencing an obscure American western.

Finally, has anyone else ever realized this song is totally a letter from some creepy serial killer-type guy in prison? The lyric where he mentions putting up a million of his beloved’s picture in “his cell?” The bit about photographing her from the inside? The references to cattle rustling and self-love? Come on!

In any case, I still enjoy it so long as I can keep the Buffalo Bill images out of my head.

The ugly truth

Media, ,


I have a confession to make. I really enjoy The Ultimate Coyote Ugly Search. Not ironically, mind you (that’s a whole other post). I really enjoy it.

My accidental enjoyment of this show began when I was flipping channels at my lady’s house, and curiosity got the better of me. “How would one go about a search for a singing, dancing, hot-pantsed, bartender?” After a few minutes, my lady sat right down next to me and proceeded to engage in a spirited discussion of the cultural impact of gender roles in television, which means we pretty much made fun of the whole thing.

In any case, it was one night out of my life, and I didn’t think it was something I’d ever revisit, much like the night I got loaded on Tequila Sunrises. But last week, I was sitting in one of my favorite bars, and the show was on the television, which is kind of funny because it’s not like doctors sit around watching ER. The sound was off but the jukebox was playing Aerosmith and Motorhead, so I barely noticed.

I realized my involvement with the show passed from ironic detachment to actual enjoyment when Sandra was chosen for the show during the Memphis audition and I suddenly yelled out “Oh come the fuck on, she was the worst one!” (Incidentally, I’m pretty sure this was some sort of affirmative action hire meant to heighten the “drama”, since Sandra is Latina and her partner on the show is Bri, an African-American, thereby setting up a “women of color” team to compete against all the other white girls, who dominate this show the way white guys dominate professional hockey).

Two things are immediately apparent: First, The Ultimate Coyote Ugly Search is probably the most honest reality show on the air. First, the show’s website calls each girl a “character,” as if to openly acknowledge that what is going on here is so far from the real world that it might as well be on Venus.

Also, it’s refreshing that the show doesn’t bother with any lame catchphrase when it dismisses its “characters.” When someone’s asked to leave, they’re merely told “I’m letting you go” or “I’m cutting you.” I don’t even know what catchphrase would work in this situation. “Your shift is over?” “You’ve poured your last shot?” Or perhaps in keeping with the show’s titular conceit: “You’ve slept on my arm long enough. It’s time for me to gnaw it off.”

And I know this might make me sound naive, but there are no archetypes here. I think this is because the show only features women (with an occasional bar cameo by Drunk Dude Saying “Woo” While Pumping His Fist In The Air, who – again, just like in real life – is played by a different person each time). I went to a co-ed Catholic school, but the women I knew who went to all-girls schools would tell me that the girls there wouldn’t get (as your grandfather might say) “dolled up” and seemed less likely to fall into the prescribed societal roles. In the same way, there’s no “Bitch” or “Virgin” or “Femme Fatale” on the show. And again, this is a pretty homogeneous group so there’s only The Dark-Haired, Tall Bartender With Small Boobs, The Dark-Haired Short Bartender With Big Boobs, The Blond Bartender, The Bartender Who Wears the Hat, and so on.

Second, everyone takes what’s happening very seriously. No kidding, less effort went into picking our last Chief Justice of the Supreme Court.

The women making the decisions over who stays and who goes are Coyote Ugly franchise owner Lil Lovell and a choreographer (whose name escapes me at the moment). As my lady pointed out, it’s amazing to watch these two act and speak with such authority, as if they have introduced an entirely new paradigm into their chosen fields when their success is actually attributed to Jerry Bruckheimer picking his face up out of a mountain of coke and bellowing “Say, let’s make a movie about those broads from the bar last night who got me shit-faced on Wild Turkey.” *

Also, the approach Lil has vis a vis the show seems to suggest a highly-developed skillset. At least three times a show, she’ll say “What I’m really looking for is…” and you’re expecting some kind of nuanced explanation as to why only .001 percent of people are good enough for this gig, when inevitably she finishes the sentence with “…a good dancer, great bartending skills and a decent singer.” (Although apparently even all this isn’t crucial since Lil describes Sally from Nashville – someone who already works for a Coyote Ugly Saloon – as a bad dancer, and a bad bartender, but notes that she succeeds because she’s really nice).

With so little expected of these women, it’s a little off-putting at first to hear phrases from the prospective bartenders like “this has been my dream” or “I’ve looked forward to this my whole life.” Those words must sound particularly chilling to those with, say, ambition. But keep in mind these are mostly 22 year-old women, and what were your goals at 22? Not feeling so judgmental now, huh? These women are the children of a twisted sort of New Feminism, where shaking your ass on the top of a bar is considered empowerment (damn you, Spice Girls) even if it’s at a bar named after a description of women so ugly that their temporary romantic partner regrets sleeping with them.

But the most telling example of the papal-conclave-level of consideration given to this whole process comes during the auditions. Inevitably, the auditioner (current employees who, in the show’s parlance, are referred to by Lil as her “best Coyotes”) will say to an auditionee that she just don’t reach the “ultimate” level. So apparently there’s some Coyote Ugly triple-A league where one trains before getting the call-up. I am pretty sure I was at a bar like this in Kiel, Wisconsin once.

And the women nod, smile politely and then leave. But honestly, how soul-killing does that have to be?

“Sorry, you’re not good enough to dance on a bar, sing off-key renditions of jukebox classics and pour watered-down drinks in tourist traps. Guess you’re going to have to settle for that career in pharmaceutical sales.”

The thing of it is, being a good bartender is actually really hard. While I still think the show is “real,” the irony is that the audition process strips away the ones who would actually bartend at bars you’d want to patronize. From there, the women (though Lil is steadfast in calling them “girls”) are further sculpted until they fit a particular mold. I’ve been to a few chain bars in my life, and Fado is the only one that seems to get it right. Whereas Coyote Ugly Saloons are scripted movies, Fado bars are more like a Christopher Guest film, where the basic structure is there, then filled in with improv.

In any case, I’m hooked on this show and pulling for Bri’s team, despite my reservations above. Further bulletins as events warrant.

* OK, this probably didn’t happen. But it feels like it could have, right?

Oblivious Living Part 1.4: "Kids In America" by Kim Wilde

Music

MP3 – “Kids in America” by Kim Wilde
Lyrics – “Kids in America” by Kim Wilde

About as rock-oriented as any female singer was allowed to get in 1981 unless her last name Harry or Benatar, Kim Wilde’s performance here is something akin to Che Guevara with hairspray.

I was six when the song was originally released, but at some point in my pre-adolescent life, it drifted into my consciousness. Whoever this Kim Wilde was, she was the girl for me. At turns both sexy and gentle, she seemed like the kind of trouble that would have been acceptable to my parents. She was a pied piper of youth empowerment, destined to lead me out of my put-upon existence of cartoon-watching and riding bikes.

“YES! We ARE the kids in America! We live for the music-go-round! Whatever that is!”

But until I started writing this post, I had no idea what she looked like, which is mostly attributable to living in a cable-free (and therefore MTV-less) household. But I was pretty sure she wore day-glo bangle bracelets, a sweatshirt with the collar ripped off a la Flashdance, and legwarmers. Possibly tights. Tights and legwarmers.

“Kids In America” suggested that it was a sociological imperative that Kim and her intended have sex, since there was a wave of change approaching. Oddly enough this sort of reminds me of that scene from Grease II with DiMucci and his girlfriend Sharon in the air raid bunker.

Unfortunately for Kim, his interest in revolution was fleeting. The boy she found in clubland had commitment issues and would later keep her hanging on.* Unfortunately, the listener is also left hanging by three unresolved questions:

1. What was it about the “new wave” that was going to prevent it from spreading to the western portions of California?
2. If kind hearts alone aren’t enough to grab any glory, does the addition of coronets change the equation at all?
3. Did Kim Wilde have dual citizenship in the U.S. that allowed her claim to be one of the kids in America?

Without looking it up, how many albums would you say Kim Wilde recorded between her debut, and her 2006 comeback album, Never Say Never? Eight, for a total of ten in her career. Much like Hasselhoff and Lowenbrau, Kim Wilde is apparently still big in Germany though she does not sell very well here. So apparently the kids here in America have stopped listening, which is a shame as Ms. Wilde still has a lot to say.

Confidential to Avril: Sweetie, it’s not too late to get Kim’s people to put something like this together for you.

Final crazy fact about Kim Wilde: She is a professional gardener. This is amazing to me. Next thing you know, Stacey Q is going to turn out to be a champion shuffleboard player.

* I know it’s a cover. Shut up. You like to tell people the endings of movies before they’ve seen them, don’t you?