Blog Sabbatical Ends--Read All About It

It's over. My blog sabbatical, that is. I'm not sure who that Mica guy in the picture is, but the "He's Back" sign says it all. My apologies, dear readers, for failing to announce my sabbatical in advance. I've long admired college professors for their ability to take sabbaticals. I decided to indulge myself. Or maybe I just got lazy or too busy with other stuff or found myself running out of topics worthy of your time and attention. Whatever the case, I'm draping my MIA period with a cloak of respectability by calling it a blog sabbatical. If my absence has let anyone down, hopefully this distinguished sounding excuse will make amends. I apologize. There, I said it.

Theoretically, sabbaticals allow one time to conduct research, make progress on new projects while unencumbered by the routine demands of employment and emerge from this period refreshed and reinvigorated. My sabbatical experience fell somewhat short of accomplishing these lofty ideals, but there were some good times. I literally climbed a mountaintop, a near vertical granite spire in the Canadian Rockies, to be precise. Yup, the one in the picture. I played music, entertaining folks from far and wide. But mostly, I toiled in fulfillment of my daily responsibilities back home in Eugene.

Am I refreshed? Uh, not really. But I stand prepared to make this commitment to you (not a promise, just a soft, fluffy "commitment", and a rather feeble one at that). My commitment is this: once again, I will provide blog content on a semi-regular basis starting now. Yes, you can read it all here, well-crafted prose drenched with meaningful literary content, rich with irony and sarcasm, self-aggrandizing blather about our life (ok, MY life) and times. Why bother reading the New York Times or the Washington Post op-ed pages when you can just read this instead. OK, I can't equal Garrison Keillor, but the rest of those guys, they've got nothing on me, especially now that I'm reinvigorated and refreshed. Look out Thomas Freidman and Charles Krugman, and especially those arrogant, self-important ones, guys like Charles Krauthammer and George Will. Now that I'm back, like phoenix rising from the ashes, you, my friends, are toast.

Birther Blather

Will the real Republicans please stand up? Who are the real Republicans these days anyway? Certainly the Birthers number themselves as Republicans but many in the party are reluctant to claim them. And it's easy to understand why given that the Birthers claim that Obama was born in Kenya is supported by no evidence whatsoever.

It is satisfying at some level to see that the Republican ranks include at least some folks who appreciate how foolish one looks when they go public with something as outlandish as the Birthers do.

Maybe what happened in the 2000 election warped their brains permanently. Emboldened by Bush's success in being declared president after losing the general election and having his brother steal the critical Florida electoral vote, the Birthers must figure that every election is theirs for the taking. In their minds, I guess electoral success depends so little on actual voting and so much on gaming the system. Unless of course you are a Republican who actually won an election, in which case, no further inquiry is needed, a la 2004, in which the Democrats showed considerable discretion in not making a big fuss about the peculiar goings on in Ohio.

If the Birthers had any power, they would be truly dangerous. Oh, wait, some Birthers DO have power. Heaven help us.

Shame on mainstream media, Lou Dobbs comes to mind, for dignifying this non-story with coverage. Even the crazies at Fox thought better of it.

Consider how such controversies might be avoided in the future, from a Birther perspective. Apparently having a birth certificate coupled with a media announcement of a birth is insufficient to establish proof of birth in America. Better take away those Birther passports to safeguard against the possibiliy that they might be illegal immigrants.

I suggest that parents who aspire for their children to be future presidents arrange for live births to be videotaped, witnessed by at least two unbiased properly certified verifying witnesses and a lawyer or two.

What a great country this is. Between the Birthers and the screamers who like to disrupt community meetings so that we can't conduct public discussions about universal health care, it's clear that freedom still rings around here, but the problem is that the sound is generally inferior to that of silence.

Apple Changes Everything

Apples have always had a special appeal. Early on, it was the fruit. Going way back, in fact, wasn't Adam's inability to resist the apple closely related, in some obscure way, to his inability to refrain from dipping early humankinds ink into the well of Eve, or something like that? Shame on apples.

When The Beatles formed their record label, they called it Apple Records. Unfortunately, things didn't work out so well for the fledgling label. Turns out that in the record business, having the most popular band in the world is no substitute for having, well, I'm not sure what. Apple's A&R people signed James Taylor, for one, but they lacked the business acumen to make the enterprise profitable.

The Beatles spent plenty to make the Apple Store in London the coolest retail establishment on the planet, but that wasn't enough to keep things afloat, bottom line-wise. The Beatles were damn poor businessmen, and like most pop superstars, their financial fortunes were compromised by self-serving managers.

Despite insider exploitation, the swollen Beatles pie was sufficiently engorged to insure that everyone had enough to get by, and oddly, when Paul casually remarked to his friend Michael Jackson about the financial benefits of investing in publication rights and MJ took the advice, Paul was angered by Jackson's decision to act on his advice. Now, strangely, whoever prevails in the blood feud over Jackson's estate will own the publication royalties for most of the Lennon-McCartney musical library, an asset worth billions over time.

Now, back to Apple. Well, the record label has been dead for decades. But Steve Jobs' Apple grows stronger every year. And what started as a computer company now generates unbelievable profits from music.

Consider the strange journey of the apple. Among the fruit, vegetable, poultry and meat products on our planet, throw in the seafood, vegan and dessert food groups too, nobody can touch Apple. How weird is that?

As an Oregonian, I feel a special connection to apples. Some of the world's finest are grown in Oregon. And I feel a powerful connection to The Beatles, my favorite band of all time. And to Adam because, after all, who can't relate to his urgings to bite the apple, if you know what I mean. At the moment, I'm listening the Beatles Radio on iTunes, courtesy of Apple and I'm loving it.


Red on the outside. White on the inside. Full of sweet, juicy fruit. Beautiful to behold. Symbolic of so much of the best of our peculiar world, but like all superior things, partly flawed and in some ways perhaps more appealing because of it. Bless the apple.

Jo Feds Is Dead

It was a swingin' hot spot. For over twenty years, Jo Feds was a major part of the music scene in Eugene. Now it's doors are closed, another victim of our sputtering economy. Around here, folks mourn the passage of Jo Feds.

Sometimes musical venues close because they become passe, failing to change with the times. Jo Feds closure wasn't like that. Jo Feds had become venerable in a good way. Nationally, we are seeing an epidemic of restaurants and night clubs going dark. Bailout money isn't available for such folks, but maybe it should be.

I guess the problem is that night clubs don't pass the "too big to fail" test. We seldom stop to consider that the owners of musical venues are, in a way, curators of the arts. And when it's time to make cutbacks in personal spending, art is usually the first item on the chopping block, along with high-priced meals at fancy restaurants.

Such reductions in spending come at a steep cost to our communities. Beyond the unemployed waiters and cooks, as our palette of restaurants and clubs diminishes, local culture becomes increasingly bland. Collectively, we pay a higher price than we think when our nighttime entertainment choices disappear.

For me, personally, the closure of Jo Feds came one week before a Friday night gig I was scheduled to play there. Last year, another prominent Eugene night spot where I had performed many times, Luna Jazz Club, faded into history. I suppose I'm as guilty as the next guy of not doing enough to support such establishments. To lament the passage of musical venues which, after all, are businesses, while failing to adequately nurture them is to exalt sentimentality over pragmatism. Yet the loss of anything one cares about inevitably evokes an emotional response, so we are to be forgiven.

At the same time, there are lessons to be learned and they aren't hard to figure out. First, we should appreciate our favorite night spots more BEFORE they vanish from the scene. Second, our methods of appreciation should involve going there frequently and spending money, as much as we can afford. Jo Feds is dead, but not forgotten, and the best way to honor the memory of places we care about is to preserve the survivors.

One Hundred and Counting

Welcome to my 100th blog post. In accordance with journalistic tradition, I will exploit this moment with a brief retrospective in which I subtly congratulate myself for my oh so notable contributions to the blogosphere.

This blog was launched in October of 2007 with the modest ambition of providing those interested in my music with a means of learning more about the, uh hum, artist behind the music. I was advised to post something at least once a week and preferably at the same time each week. In this way, I was told, I would maximize my prospects for gaining a wider audience and thereby elevate my profile as a musician.

Pretty soon I found myself missing deadlines. Since I didn't have the budget to hire an editor to remind me, or threaten to fire me, I eventually became quite random in my posting activity. But that didn't stop me from making a genuine, earnest attempt to write about things that mattered to me and to write in a style which accurately reflects my inscrutable personality.

When I launched this blog, I had no idea where it would take me, and I'm not sure I cared. To be clear, I harbored no illusions that this blog would lead to anything. I was dubious about the advice I received that by blogging, new musical doors would open. And sure enough, I cannot say that this blog has led to anything tangible. But in the process of writing, I have found an outlet for my creative energy which I truly enjoy. OK, I'll admit that it's more thrilling to write songs I can record and perform than it is to write in this forum. But still, I cannot deny the sense that the body of work this blog represents means something to me. Strangely, and quite unexpectedly, this blog has become a sort of mirror I can hold up to myself.

If it means something to you too, then my satisfaction is multiplied exponentially. Over the course of these 100 posts, my greatest source of satisfaction is how the world has changed for the better with the replacement of an inept, dangerous president with Barack Obama. I also see that for me personally, my musical activities have subsided as the time demands of my green building projects have increased. While this saddens me somewhat, I find satisfaction in developing architecturally interesting, sustainable building projects which benefit neighborhoods and the community.

Music remains an important, vital part of my life. This month I am playing more shows than I have in months with several gigs around Oregon. I'm just completing a song entitled "Truth and Justice". In it, I elaborate on the nature of our judicial process based upon three decades of experience as a public defender. I have almost enough material for my third full length record and I'm in the early stages of planning trips to Europe, Australia and New Zealand which will include a series of performances. All of this brings me considerable satisfaction.

In short, I'm planning to stick around for a while. If you'll hang with me, I'll do my best to make it worth your while. Thanks to you all.

The Shifting Relevance of Blogs

When I started this blog in October of '07, the blogosphere was exploding. Along with social networking, blogs had become the next big thing. As I write this post, my ninety ninth, I can't help but wonder where things are heading.

Some say there are now too many blogs. Point taken. Like the fictional, laid-off career journalist with the Washington Post featured in Doonesberry, bloggers must face a discouraging reality. There is so much content out there, readership is hard to come by. Better get used to it.

Many bloggers use their blog as a means of keeping friends and family informed of their lives, right? Such diary blogs hold no interest, of course, to anyone unfamiliar with their creator.

Like unemployed actors working as waiters, unemployed journalists have taken to the blogosphere in droves. Where else can they ply their trade? The new media has no place for the traditional approach of slogging manuscripts around to publishers.

Luckily, as a person not dependent on the ability to turn written material into cash, I am not feeling the pressure. This probably explains why my contributions to this blog arrive randomly and unpredictably. Thanks for bearing with me. You ARE bearing with me, right?

My next blog post will mark a milestone for Americana Dan. Careful readers were tipped off in paragraph one of this post, oh, and the not too subtle 99th birthday cake photograph, to the upcoming momentous event. The new post will be number ONE HUNDRED!!! Getting into triple digits is, to me, a big deal. Sure, my late brother Steve, author of over 4000 (yes, four thousand) columns for the Chicago Sun Times and the Chicago Tribune would have no reason to be impressed, and probably you don't either. But hey, when I started this thing, I gave little thought to the possibility that I would remain committed to this undertaking for so long. I guess I must like the opportunity this forum presents for me to say whatever I want. Again, thank you all for checking in from time to time. I'll keep doing my best to make it worth your while.

"Songwriter Denies Harvard Killing"

"Songwriter Denies Harvard Killing"? What kind of headline is that? Well, there it was in this morning's newspaper---a headline implying that songwriters are a violent, murderous lot. Maybe the fact that I'm a songwriter heightens my sensitivity to this notion. Or could it be the songwriters are the new butlers, as in, "the butler did it!" Have songwriters become the default suspect of highest interest?

Imagine the police briefing. "Violent crime is on the rise. Round up the usual suspects. Yea, the songwriters. And don't forget the poets. We've got to rid the city of that scum. Nobody's safe with them around."

"Songwriter Denies Harvard Killing". Awfully suspicious that a songwriter was anywhere near Harvard. I mean songwriters aren't exactly known for having Ivy League educations.

Of course the songwriter denies it. Everybody accused of murder denies it. You want a more shocking headline? How about "Songwriter Admits Harvard Killing"? Songwriters might not be that well educated, but they're smart enough to follow their lawyers advice, even if they killed someone in the proverbial broad daylight in front of a busload of vigilant nuns

Got a cold case, a la Miami: CSI? I suggest you check the entertainment listings, see who had a gig in town that night. Remember the Talking Heads song "Psycho Killer"? Maybe David Byrne's lyrics are a window into the schizophrenic mind of your average songwriter.

Sure, songwriters look all innocent with their artsy clothes and gentle manner, especially the folkies. Nothing like a good disguise to lead the authorities off-track. Beware the songwriter. You never know what unspeakable acts of random violence were performed by the innocuous looking dude with the acoustic guitar.