Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

Back in the day, the best part of hanging out was exchanging music.

Chicks, man. What about the chicks?

OK, the second best thing about hanging out back in the day was exchanging music. I couldn't begin to count the number of times I heard something new being played on someone's tunes box. If you wish you still had reliable music critics within your circle of friends as much as I do, then this is the posting for you.

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club is a trio out of San Francisco (Now based in LA) with Peter Hayes on guitar and Robert Levon Been on bass, although they occasionally swap instruments. Both sing, and their singing voices are almost indistinguishable. Their music is gritty, hard-rockin' badass Rock 'n' Roll, much like the stuff we used to listen to in high school.

My brother and I caught their act a couple of years ago here in Asheville. When he and I argue about the state of the music world (he argues rock is dead), BRMC is the first band I cite that it is not. If you are unfamiliar with their work, oooooohhhh are you in for a treat today. I got the good stuff for you here.

The album you'll want to get is Baby 81. It's good from beginning to end. Arguably, the catchiest song from it is Weapon of Choice. Here's the video from YouTube.



That's badass, right? Here's some songs for you to download and add to your ipod. Weapon of Choice and Berlin are from Baby 81, but I'm giving you the version of Berlin from their Live album and DVD released last November that can only be purchased online from their official website here. If you'd like to check out a way-cool video of an interview on BBC Radio, click here (caution - it's 199 MB). I also have for you Whenever You're Ready from American X, and Shuffle Your Feet from Howl. Their next album, Beat the Devil's Tatoo, is due out next March. Here's an early taste of it posted on YouTube.

Another Prodigal Son Found

Back in the day, I didn't know him very well because he was a bit younger than me and he wasn't much of a skater (that I remember anyways - sorry dude). I remember him being much skinnier. I don't know when this picture was taken, but he clearly has a David Lee Roth Rockstar thing going on here. Without further ado - Pope! Hey Pope, how about dropping a comment telling us what you've been up to.

Veteran's Day Posting

So I was reading Sons of Slum and Gravy about the Class of 1962 at West Point, and it occurred to me that a lot of my dad's classmates didn't make it back from Vietnam. My dad was pretty seriously injured there, but he fully recovered. It kinda made me think about what would have happened if he hadn't come back. Probably, we would have been raised in Monterey (CA) where my mom grew up. I don't think I would have experienced one thing in the life that I can remember back to. Kind of mind-blowing.

I hope everyone has a good Veteran's Day and takes time out to remember what it's all about. More on Veteran's Day here.

Mad Props

My brother passed on to me recently that our dad has a chapter written about him in a book offered on Amazon.com, Sons of Slum and Gravy, that puts a quite a light on him. I ordered the book, but I haven't gotten it to read it yet. I'm sure it'll be quite interesting.

I'm old enough to have had a hand in raising two grown stepsons, and many of us have either done the same or are doing so now. It ain't easy. A million decisions to make on the fly, some good ones, some not so good. So I was thinking maybe it was time here to recognize our 'rents for putting up with our sorry asses and the craziness and mayhem and still raising us to be pretty solid citizens.

My favorite story I have about my dad is a sports related one that pre-dates our West Point slacker skateboard days. I was in the 7th grade and my brother was in the 6th grade, and we played in a church basketball league with my dad coaching the team. We were pretty good, but far from the best.

One game, we played the Jewish Community Center team that was roughly about as good as us. The first half was a comedy of errors for us and JCC whipped our asses pretty good. On the tip for the second half, JCC stole the ball and scored a lay up. Only we hadn't switch sides, so they actually scored for us! Whoo-hoo! How awesome is that - 2 of the easiest points our team ever scored! My dad, however, didn't see it that way. He demanded that the points be taken off and the second half be restarted! We couldn't believe it! The whole team was pouting and whining, as 11 and 12 year olds are wont to do. I think he even threatened to forfeit the game if the ref didn't do it!

After pissing and moaning, we played an uneventful 3rd quarter. Down by 10 in the 4th with only a few minutes left, something magical happened - we became the Harlem Freakin' Globetrotters! We scored, stole the ball on the inbounds or JCC's attempt to get it upcourt, and then scored again, basket after basket! With about a minute left, we tied the game, and we ended up winning by 10. I swear to you, if we had played another minute, we would have won by 30! Was it because of what my dad did at the beginning of the second half? I couldn't say for sure. He never yelled at us for messing up on the court or for losing, though, like a lot of parents did/do.

Contrast that with my worst experience in sports: playing little league the year before. Our coach was this fucking asshole Mr. Barlow who only cared about winning. He had favorites, and players that didn't start saw minimal playing time. Neither my brother nor I played organized baseball as a kid after that year. Oh, and we were 20-0! Worst. Sports. Experience. Ever.

I coached modified basketball at the fancy-pants girls school I worked at, and I can say the relaxed sports environment my dad provided for us continued with me there. I won't bore you with story after story, but I have to relate one to you. For a few games a year, I would choose a player, a different one each time, to be the "Coach-For-A-Quarter". The player I chose would name the starting line-up, pick the defenses, and make decisions on substitutions for the first quarter. It was sheer genius. Not a single player started herself in the dozen or so games in which I did this. I came up with this idea entirely on my own, but how can I say my experience of my dad's coaching and support, that winning or losing didn't make or break you, had nothing to do with the way I turned out? I can't. Thanks dad.

More Signs We Are Awesome!

The West Point Skateboard Gang Blog has a follower!

It's not even anyone we know (I think), and it's not even someone from our generation - how awesome is that?

The Orignal Blooperman is a fellow skater. His blog is Blooperman's Rawsome Blog. Almost all of us WPSG'ers are too old, too out of shape, or too brittle to skate, except for the Rogers Brothers of course...

... but we can all still remember those days of shedding our old halfpipe and ramps and bombing down River Road lying on the front of our boards. I, for one, remember many a race and wish I could be out there with the Dave and John today. Of course, you can't reach over and push back the guy trying to pass you like we did back then! Still... Good to have you aboard Blooperman! I hope you are as radical and break as many rules as we did when we were your age!

Google Legit
Try this next time you're on Google. When you type in "W-E-S"...you know when it starts to recommend terms for you?...."T-_-P-O-I-N-"...what for it..."T-_-S-K-A"...BAM! There it is! "West Point Skateboard Gang"! How awesome is that?

Kessler...

Andy Kessler was from what I call the 2nd Generation of skaters, but certainly had the spirit of the early 1st gen Dogtowners. He died recently and this article was sent to me by a friend. Jackson may be more familiar with his impact on NYC skating, but I liked the piece for the way the author encapsulates the soul of a true skateboarder.

"For most of Kessler’s life, years of which were mired in violence and addiction and the existential angst that torments many a non-conformist, skateboarding wasn’t merely a sport or pastime or even the artistic expression of his soul. It was the path to his soul’s salvation."

That's good stuff. RIP Andy Kessler. I didn't know ya, but then again maybe I did.

Catching Up With An Old Friend

A couple weekends ago, McLovin', aka Gorko, showed up at my place, with kids and girlfriend in tow.  He was on his way from Connecticut to his folks place in Tallahassee and Asheville seemed like a good stopover.  

McLovin' hasn't changed much, personality-wise, since we'd last hung out about 25 years ago (man, where does the time go?).  He gave me a brief update.  After graduating from Northern Illinois as an Engineering major and a Language minor (earning the nickname "Lazy-Ass" in German from his unwillingness to study whatsoever and still be able to ace tests, even at the highest levels), he got his Master's in Engineering.  Upon returning to West Point and holding a string of laughable, menial jobs, not unlike the vast majority of us, he landed a cushy job in Germany for Mercedes-Benz.  He did that for awhile, returned to the states and has remained in the engineering field.  He explained to me that at his current job he is the one that decides to keep or scrap the airplane engine parts (some of which cost up to $125,000 to produce) that are only 99.9% perfect.

He was married but is now divorced and has 2 extremely well-behaved kids, son Paul, 10, and daughter Riley, 12.  Said kids are suspiciously well behaved.  I suspect they are actually aliens from another planet sent to scout earth for their future invasion.  I mean, come on, no fighting? No whining?  What's up with that?

 

After a BBQ and a few beers, we broke out my yearbook and settled down for a classic story telling session.  I reminded him of how he vandalized my yearbook.  He didn't remember doing it but readily conceded it was his handwriting, and since he/we were such assholes back then, it's exactly the kind of thing he'd/we'd do.  Many laughs later we called it a night.  The next day we went to Asheville's big hippifest, the Belle Chere.  Then they headed out after dinner for the long drive overnight to Tallahassee, a typical McLovin' Doin'-Things-My-Way move.

Here are some of the highlights of his stay:

• Through sheer coincidence, he has witnessed virtually all of my brother's left hooks back in the day.  I was kinda surprised by how many there were.  Fortunately, none were directed at him.
• He still has that hilarious way about him of dismissing anything that isn't of 100% importance.  I'm not sure I'm able to describe it well, but if you knew him back then, you'd know what I'm talking about.  For instance, if he had been a counselor of some sort, here's how I would imagine him:  Client- "I'm having trouble cutting down on the drinking..." McLovin' - "OK. Listen. This is what you have to do: stop drinking."  Client - "But.." McLovin' - "OK, shut up. You're being stupid. Just stop drinking..."etc...
• Sister Brigeet cautioned his daughter about me, telling her (among other horrible things probably) that I was most likely fat and bald.  Hey, whatever lie you gotta tell yourself honey so that you don't cry yourself to sleep each night over having let this prize get away is fine by me.  Do what you gotta do!
• He's lost track of the number of degrees his father has earned/is still earning but is running out of new ones to pursue.  His best guess: 42.  Wow.

Me, decidedly not fat and bald (L), and McLovin' (R), drinking brews, talking shop.

My brother has been kicking around the idea of us having some kind of reunion.  I don't know if it'll happen or not, but I'm definitely on board after this visit.  

Stay thirsty my friends.