Like a scar, the hurt will always show

The pop and rock and roll landscape is littered with heartbreak: Delicious slices of misery from lonely and despondent souls.

For my money, this is the best and a version when The Band absolutely nailed it. Good Lord, Rick Danko harmonizing with Levon Helm...Robbie Robertson's mathematical guitar. Garth Hudson's mini-sax.

What a Band. What a Song: The Band: "It Makes No Difference"

But as exquisite as it is (and there are almost no words profound enough to describe its greatness), it's not quite my favorite version.

In the following video, a bloated Rick Danko, just two years from the end, struggles to hit a few notes, and his voice doesn't have nearly the power that it once had. But it's purity is staggering: you see, hear and feel the pain that lives within the Robbie Robertson composition.

It's a devastating and epic performance on several levels, and while miles from being technically perfect, never has any performance better represented the essence of a song.

Gut-wrenching and achingly beautiful at the same time: Rick Danko: "It Makes No Difference"


Strictly 100 -- Number 31: "It Makes No Difference"

Some came to witness

Sometimes you have to cut away all the excess: the tape loops, the droning electronics and synthesizers, the fancy revolving, hi-tech stages, the ambiguous, existential lyrics, the "what's the point of all this" nonsense.

Strip things down to the essence. Two guitars, bass and drums. No frills. Spare and precise, and incredibly moving.

Rock and roll of the first order.

Creedence Clearwater Revival.

Last night, "Ramble Tamble," shuffled onto my Ipod. An anomaly among CCR's work, this extended jam features a long, instrumental buildup that builds and builds in intensity and goes on and on until you think it's going to explode. You get lost in it, and you want it to go on forever.

But Fogerty and the band's stock and trade were three-minute masterpieces long on riffs and social commentary. Flannel shirts, jeans, and America's conscience, wrapped up in hit singles that were all over the radio. They may have been out-of-step fashion-wise with the counterculture, but that was of no matter to Fogerty, who could define the pulse of the nation and make you dance at the same time.

Hooks and more hooks and "Fortunate Son," as good a protest song as you will ever hear.

I still remember the first time I heard "Proud Mary" on WMLP out of Milton, PA, which was our go-to Top 40 station at the time. It sounded new and ancient at the same time, like it might have drifted up from the Bayou a hundred years ago. It was the first song I ever heard that sounded like the standard from day one.

Other course, there are dozens more: "Green River." "Who'll Stop the Rain," "Lodi," "Hey Tonight." Each one better than the last and forever part of America's fabric.

Creedence Clearwater Revival -- Ramble Tamble

Creedence Clearwater Revival -- Fortunate Son

Strictly 100 -- Number 30: Creedence Clearwater Revival

Ought to be easy, ought to be simple enough

What does it mean when you can't trust your own heart, let alone your partner? What does it mean when that lack of trust, both internally and externally, strips away your vulnerability, your essence, your self-confidence, your dreams?

Bruce Springsteen takes a long road trip through the land of adult relationships on "Tunnel of Love," and the result is an intense and deeply emotional song cycle that explores all things love and decides that relationships, commitment and marriage are all part of a driving-while-blind journey into the unknown.

And that's a jolting conclusion (and realization) for anyone who happened to grow up with those typical romantic dreams in their head.

Twelve years earlier he and Wendy went off to find out if love was real. Here, after thinking he'd finally found the answer, he realizes that he still doesn't know and wonders if he, or anyone, ever will.

"You've got to learn to live with what you can't rise above," he sings in the title track, "if you want to ride on down, into the Tunnel of Love."

My favorite Springsteen album varies on my mood, and that's understandable when dealing with an artist with such a rich catalog.

Right now, This is the One.

Strictly 100: Number 29: Bruce Springsteen, "Tunnel of Love"

Look now baby, and see what we have undone

Kevin Kavanaugh was the first "rock star" who ever took the time to talk to me.

You might think the original pianist for Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes was not a "rock star" and you would be right, at least in the traditional sense.

But the fact that he spent 10-15 minutes talking to me before a Jukes show in Mansfield, PA, around 1977 or so made him a rock star in my eyes. We spoke about their first couple of albums, the sounds of Asbury Park and why Beaver Brown could probably not escape the long shadow of Springsteen. We also talked about our favorite bands and what my favorite Jukes song was ("Sweeter than Honey"). And then when he actually recognized me and spoke with me again for a short time a year or so later at the The Stone Pony; well, not only did he play in one of my favorite bands, it proved to me that he really was a nice guy. And genuine to boot.

His melodic work graced some of the Jukes' best songs, including the seminal "Hearts of Stone" album.

Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes never quite made the big time. But for several years, I followed them from the Stone Pony to places like Bucknell, Bloomsburg, Trenton and the afore-mentioned Mansfield State College (now University), among others.

They did more than just fill in the gaps when Springsteen wasn't touring. They were a sweating, rollicking encyclopedia of rhythm and blues and soul, and quite possibly the best bar band of all the bar bands. And by the time of "Hearts of Stone," with a handful of sterling Van Zandt/Springsteen originals, they were one of the top 3-4 bands period in the country.

They were plenty big time to me.

Especially Kevin Kavanaugh, who died last week at the too-young-age of 58.

"Love on the Wrong Side of Town"
(THE Jukes lineup; look at those suits......and one of my favorite Asbury Jukes songs, with Kevin Kavanaugh playing piano and singing backup)

Strictly 100: Number 26 - Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes

Can't tell my courage from my desperation

Stumbled across this last night, and it reminded me why Jackson Browne is among the most literate and soul searching of all singer-songwriters.

And this song, in particular, continues to strike an exposed nerve with me some 37 years after I first heard it.

I guess it's not a surprise that the artist who helped guide me through my first crush would still be providing timeless adult middle-aged lessons as I seemingly grow more introspective each day. "These Days' is also all about regrets, ending with "don't confront me with my failures, I had not forgotten them," as perfect a closing line as exists in a song about missed chances.

And he wrote this when he was 16 years old.

My old friend Dave Sprout turned me on to Browne. In 1974, I prided myself of being ahead of the new music curve, but "For Everyman" had escaped me. I was still waist deep in the Alice Cooper, Santana and Doobie Brothers waters (not that there is anything wrong with that), and the idea of quiet, reflective ballads free of bombast seemed a little, well, unmanly, for a teenager who liked to drive around with "Frankenstein" blaring from his Torino's 8-track.

But I listened. And I listened some more, and I heard beauty and truth, in spades. And I also heard the wondrous sideman David Lindley, whose elegant accompaniments grace Browne's best work.

I went out and bought Browne's first album, and I've been with him for the ride for all these years. For many, "Late for the Sky," remains his crowning achievement. I prefer "For Everyman" on a personal level, if only for that was my first exposure to his music. But "For a Dancer," "Fountain of Sorrow," and "Before the Deluge" are monumental achievements and drive home the point of how songwriting is too often a lost art today. His melodic exploration of the holy trinity of love, forgiveness and redemption were educational and especially ear-opening for an impressionable youth trying to figure out life, the opposite sex and other unfathomable things.

There was a time when I wore my Jackson Browne fandom on my sleeve with the idea it would show girls how knowledgeable and deep I was in all the ways of love. We all know how that turned out.

Maybe I was hanging out with the wrong girls.

Strictly 100: Number 21 -- Jackson Browne

Now our luck may have died

Wow. 52 years since the day the music died. Well, obviously it really didn't die, per se, but the man who paved the way for the Beatles, Rolling Stones, Dylan and Springsteen, among countless others, departed this earth from a frigid Iowa cornfield on Feb. 3, 1959.

Buddy Holly was all of 22 years old.

What a spectacular musical legacy for someone who was here for such a short time. In the dictionary, when you look up the word "visionary," you should see his face.

So, it's worthly to mention this today; a great excuse to post a couple of monumental tracks from the great Buddy Holly.

Buddy Holly -- It Doesn't Matter Anymore

Buddy Holly -- Everyday

Strictly 100: Number 17 -- Buddy Holly

You remember the faces, the places, the names

The kids got a hamster and two gerbils in the last few days. Names for the gerbils, a father and son, have been chosen as Chewy and Tunneler.

My suggestions of Sanford and Son, or Fred and Lamont, were met with silence and quizzical looks. Which is to be expected I guess – those in my house don’t know about this seminal show.

I watched Sanford and Son every week (and for years afterward in syndication and on TV Land), at least until Redd Foxx stopped caring and began reading his lines from cue cards while having a coke spoon blatantly hanging from his neck. Back in my hometown in Pennsylvania, we thought Aunt Esther, Rollo, Bubba and Grady, et al, were hysterical.

But was it racist for us sitting in our lily-white town to be laughing at poor, black junk dealers in Watts? Or did we get a glimpse (even if it was sanitized and exaggerated) of what urban life was like in the decade following the tumultuous Civil Rights riots of the 60s?

Maybe it doesn’t matter. In the end, I’ve decided to take the show and the era in which it was created at face value. It was, as most things were and are, a product of its time.

And it was a particularly fine and reliable product in a most uncertain era that also included the aftermath of Vietnam, the social carnage leftover from the 60s, and Watergate.

Strictly 100: Number 16 – Sanford and Son

I had a dream our love would last forever

Ray Davies always seemed to revere the past, and brilliantly at that. Much of his work was also tinted with a heavy brush of melancholy and a knowing world weariness.

This always struck a chord with me; I’ve always been able to relate a fellow old soul.

But every now and then, he could throw a nice dose of optimism into the mix. Not that I’m often the glass half-full sort, but given the imminent new year, I feel it’s my duty to toss this out there, paired with a flip-side companion piece:

The Kinks – No More Looking Back
The Kinks – Better Things

I hate to wish years away as they are disappearing rapidly, but….

…good riddance to 2010 and the sooner the better.

As for the Kinks: My favorite British band other than the Beatles. Some of the most literate songs in rock and roll, and the quintessential British band. I can hear the sound of the majestic and ultimately fading British Monarchy in “Sunny Afternoon,” “Shangri-la,"“Well-Respected Man” and "20th Century Man," among dozens of others. “Muswell Hillbillies” remains one of the great albums of the 70s, if not in history. And “Schoolboys in Disgrace” covered the same themes as Pink Floyd’s “The Wall,” except that it was far more coherent and released three years earlier. And it’s a hell of a lot more tuneful.

And, of course, “Waterloo Sunset,” the high mark in a career of high marks.

I only saw the Kinks once, in a small auditorium in Bloomsburg, Pa. Their best work was behind them at that time, but they reminded me why I fell in love with rock in roll in the first place. To this day, I get the same feeling every time I listen to them.

Strictly 100: Number 14: The Kinks

We liked the same music, we liked the same bands, we liked the same clothes

Thirty years ago tonight I was at a Springsteen show with my friend Marty Hasselman at The Spectrum in South Philadelphia. After a typically riveting River-era performance, we headed out to the parking lot, where a dazed and confused guy ambled up to us and said, “John Lennon just got shot.” We both said, “what?” and headed quickly to my car and turned on the radio.

WMMR, which usually followed Philly-area shows with uber-jock Ed Sciaky playing a couple of hours of what they called, “Bruce Juice,” instead was playing the Beatles' “In My Life.” They quickly followed it with “Imagine.”

We knew it was true.

Many things factor into my love of and passion for music, but none more so than The Beatles. Their three consecutive appearances on the Ed Sullivan Show in February of ’64 caused a seismic shift in my second-grade world, and the world around me as well.

I started listening to the radio intently, waiting for the next Beatles single. Out next-door neighbor Jim Balavage started a mop-topped, Beatles-influenced band that rehearsed in their living room, and I would argue with his sister Cathy the merits of the Beatles versus The Dave Clark Five. Jim also tried to show me how to play the opening riff to "Day Tripper" on the guitar.

I sang “I Saw Her Standing There,” to my parents in full voice while riding in the car on the way to Acme. I had Beatles bubble-gum cards, watched Beatles cartoons and pretended I was Paul McCartney and John Lennon in front of a tiny record player in my bedroom.

And I really heard music for the very first time.

The music of The Beatles was and is monumental, and those who question that or demean the group's influence are willing participants in a most-questionable revisionist history.

It stands the test of time; to this day much of it sounds as fresh and vital as ever.

And my kids love them. Their influence will live on.

John Lennon once famously said, “Before Elvis, there was nothing.”

I feel the same way about The Beatles.

Strictly 100: Number 12 – The Beatles

Walking on the wild side, runnin’ down a one way street

My kids are so used to umpteen channels, with something on every moment worth watching (or so they think): Cartoons, Nickelodeon, "Dirty Jobs,""Swamp Loggers" and on and on.

It wasn’t always this way.

At our house when I was a kid it was three channels and a cloud of dust, and ultimately four when PBS arrived. Cartoons were only on Saturday mornings, and daily kids entertainment consisted of Captain Kangaroo (the greatest children's show in the history of time) and “Hatchy Milatchy,” a local morning show. One of the highlights of the latter show was when Miss Judy (I had a massive crush on her) wished me a happy birthday personally on the air.

Just imagine hearing Miss Judy say, “Happy Birthday to Denny Lockard from Shavertown. Look under the davenport for your birthday surprise.” I looked, and there it was – a new baseball bat!

I still remember seeing my excitement reflected in my mom’s eyes.

And the theme song still provides indescribable flashbacks.

These shows were all we knew, and we thought it was all pretty great.

But it wasn’t always great on Sunday afternoons, when I would hope against hope that Channel 22 in Scranton would show the Giants game. That was a weekly crapshoot, given that we lived closer to Philly than NY. That meant I had to often listen on the radio which, while better than nothing, wasn't and isn’t as entertaining and perfect as baseball on the radio. At my grandmother’s house, 50 miles away, Giants’ games were usually on Channel 12 out of Binghamton. But we were often not there on Sundays.

Fast forward to today and cue the greatest invention ever for football fans: NFL Sunday Ticket. The idea of having the ability to watch every Giants game, and every other game as well, was inconceivable until a few years ago. The cost is prohibitive, and although it seems to go up each year, it’s still worth it. The addition of a DVR (another splendid invention) allows me to record games and watch them after the kids go to bed, which works great as long as I can avoid the scores before I sit down to watch.

This is now what passes for unforgettable excitement in my TV land these days. And that’s all right with me.

But the wonder of children’s shows being a special occasion is long gone for my kids in this on-demand world. Who knows what technology will bring us by the time they grow up, but the leap from rabbit ears and three stations to Sunday Ticket in my lifetime seems astonishing. Not much else seems worthwhile on television these days; football is a notable exception and the ability to see your team every week on your schedule still boggles the mind.

Technology may or may not save us; I suspect it will not, but it has made some things far more enjoyable.

Strictly 100: Number 11 – NFL Sunday Ticket

You were here just a moment ago

When I mentioned Barbara Billingsley’s death last week to Liz, I said something about how June Cleaver always seemed so classy. Liz said, “It was a TV show,“ inferring that it wasn’t real life.

Well, it was just a TV show, but at the time her portrayal seemed very much like real life, and as I look back, it still stands more true-to-life any other sitcom mom portrayal in history. My mom didn’t wear pearls at home (that I can remember) and rarely wore heels either, but there was the same warmth, lack of cynicism, down-to-earth advice and warnings about nefarious individuals such as Eddie Haskell. In fact, June seemed very similar to some of my friend’s moms as well.

“Leave it to Beaver’s” '50s and early '60s nostalgia registers with me for other reasons as well. The innocence, for one, but like me, he had an older brother, had similar interests to mine and got in the same sort of trouble I found myself in. No, I never climbed a billboard and got stuck in a giant cup of coffee, but I did hit passing cars with crabapples – and got caught. He broke the car window and tried to cover it up. I cracked the glass in one of our French doors and tried to cover it up.

And as much as I continually tried my parent’s patience, they still tried to provide guidance and teach some lessons.

And like Ward and June, they probably hoped and prayed that I would never again do stupid things.

To no avail.

“Beaver” also had a host of other memorable characters; the great Hugh Beaumont; the afore-mentioned Haskell, one of the first psychopaths-to-be in the history of television; Fred and Lumpy Rutherford; and the unforgettable Larry Mondello and his oft-suffering mother, who seemed 60-years old. Oh well, I guess that’s what living with Larry with do to you. Larry spent much of the time complaining that the grownups were “hollerin” at him.

Extraordinarily tame by today’s standards, “Leave it to Beaver” is almost quaint now, the way a Norman Rockwell painting seemed even when I was growing up. But it captured a slipping-away time in an essential manner and had (and has) real resonance to the baby boom generation.

And especially to me.

Strictly 100 – Number 8: Leave it to Beaver.

There's something happy and there's something sad

My taste to old school obviously carries through to music, movies, books and television. But it’s also the same with comedy.

I simply don’t think the majority of today’s stand-ups, situation comedies or purported film comedies are funny. Mostly because everything is quick to go for the gutter; i.e. sex or bathroom jokes, which are a crutch for lazy writers or comics.

That’s not to say that some current and recent comedy isn’t funny. It is, but more often than not it’s lifeless and oh-so-predictable. And cheap.

Now that I have kids, I’m much more aware of this, and it’s almost a hot-button issue for me. I realize that I have crossed into the “Hey, you kids, get off my lawn,” territory.

Nevertheless, give me the Marx Brothers, Gleason and Carney, Buster Keaton, and Woody Allen, among many others.

And Abbott and Costello.

Not just because Bud and Lou were brilliant. Witness the spectacular timing of "Who’s on First?" or the small quirky pleasures of their groundbreaking television show (Sidney Fields remains one of TV’s greatest characters), along with "Abbott and Costello meet Frankenstein" and the "Susquehanna Hat Company."

But also because I am related to Bud Abbott. The story goes that his father was the second cousin of my great-grandmother on my mother’s side. I don’t know what that makes me to him; someone else will have to do that math. And speaking of math….

I remember one Saturday afternoon watching “Who’s on First” with my dad for the first time and having him tell me that I was related to the “tall guy.” That didn’t mean much to me then; I was far more interested in why the baseball team had such weird names.

Well, it means something to me now. And as popular culture gets more crass and below-the-belt (literally), I hope Abbott and Costello means something to my kids as well.

Strictly 100 – Number 7: Abbott and Costello

She's an angel in the night, what she does is alright

I came to Kirsty MacColl late.

But I will commemorate her birthday early.

This Sunday, Oct. 10, would have been her 51st birthday. Her fans will gather on that day as they do each year on Oct. 10 near a bench placed in her honor in London’s Soho Square, after a lyric to her marvelous song of the same name.

MacColl only released five albums (along with several compilations), but she crafted numerous gems, of which "There’s a Guy Works Down the Chip Show Swears He’s Elvis" was the first to catch my ear (about a dozen years after it was released – how did I miss it?) But "Chip Shop" was the perfect introduction, with its sense of humor, British attitude and Billy Bremner’s sterling rockabilly guitar.

This led me to her entire catalog, of which there are many small (and not so small) pop masterpieces that showcased wry lyrics and lovely vocals (with many multi-tracked harmony backups by MacColl herself). Of those, "Titanic Days" and "Caroline" are, respectively, haunting and soaring. and rank among the better pop songs written in the last quarter century. And dare I say that her version of the magnificent “Days” topped that of the Kinks?

I was lucky enough to see MacColl once, at Shepherd’s Bush in London a year or so before her death. I could sense her self-admitted stage fright, but her voice rose above the room’s thick haze and carried her through.

Hers was music that was witty and sophisticated, and some of it was damn near brilliant.

Strictly 100 – Number 6: Kirsty MacColl

Lives on the line where dreams are found and lost

When I was 14 or so, a neighbor of my grandmother, upon hearing me go on about something that was bothering me at school, said to me: “Quit complaining. These are the best years of your life.”

Well, my mother had died a year earlier, and in my bewilderment it sure didn’t feel like the best years of my life.

All of which now makes me think: When are the best years of our lives? Childhood? The teenage years? College? Newly married? Living with a growing family? Any time you have financial stability? Retirement?

The three returning serviceman in the monumental and beautiful film, “The Best Years of Our Lives,” are undoubtedly wondering the same thing. Now back from “the good war,” these veterans probably thought coming home would be a joyous experience. But all had difficulty adapting in various ways, whether it was in a new job, having trouble finding a job, or trying to find acceptance and peace with a disability. They surely assumed the best was yet to come, but each quickly realize that perhaps the war itself was actually their best years.

“The Best Years of Our Lives,” is an unflinching look at the aftermath of war and the struggle to find your way home. Extraordinarily profound, it is wonderfully photographed and filled with unforgettable moments and first-rate performances throughout. The disabled veteran played by Harold Russell (not an actor, but a real veteran) who lost his hands in the war would have stolen a lesser movie, and the scene with his fiancé when he finally feels comfortable enough to show her what he experiences each night just getting undressed for bed remains one of the most affecting moments ever captured on film. A seemingly small and insignificant moment carries the weight of the entire world and is ultimately life-changing.

This movie, like the ending of the World War II itself, is now nearly 65 years old. To some, it may feel dated, but its emotions are honest, timeless and deeply felt. The ending gives a small glimpse of hope, albeit a hardscrabble one. Are their best years finally ahead of them at last?

A powerful film with an even more powerful message.

When are the best years of our lives? We can’t change the past. We can’t predict the future.

Believe it or not, maybe they are right now.

Strictly 100 – Number 2: “The Best Years of Our Lives”

Searching for my beautiful reward

My family’s ancestral homes are Scotland and England, but it’s Ireland, specifically Connemara, that remains deeply imbedded in my heart and memory.

I’ve only visited twice, and not since 1995, but I can still see the landscape – mountains, lakes and quaint villages of unparalleled beauty and solitude. And the most pristine beach (the Silver Strand) I’ve ever seen. Really.

And I can’t forget green.

Connemara is blanketed in green like you haven’t seen before, unless you’ve been there. Fields upon fields upon fields of deep green.

And I’m not a big fan of green, whether it’s vegetables (for the most part) or the Eagles or Jets. But this is a different green; it literally takes your breath away.

Ahhhh, but the west coast of Ireland: The only place I’ve been where I met no strangers; where I was lucky to be stuck in several traffic jams of farmers with their sheep crossing twisty, narrow roads; where the landscape swoops and soars endlessly with rivers, rocky cliffs and fields of peat; where the nighttime air is redolent with the sweet aroma of the same burning peat, where every hill, every glen, brings a new sense of timeless wonder and where time itself seems to have stood still for centuries; a place of vast and endless stretches of awe-inspiring splendor.

Whlle there I climbed Croagh Patrick, the highest peak in Ireland, on Reek Sunday, and it was deeply moving to be with thousands of pilgrims in an event that has been going on for some 1,500 years. This is the mountain where legend has it that St. Patrick climbed to the top and threw all the snakes out of Ireland.

I’ve long wanted to go with my family to see Connemara, to see one of the last unspoiled places on earth and share this experience.

Sadly, that will probably not happen, but maybe I will visit when I shall never grow so old again.

Strictly 100 – Number 1: Connemara

This fool's halfway to heaven and just a mile outta’ hell

When Rosanne Cash was 18, her father presented her with a list of 100 songs that he thought she needed to know.

This has got me thinking. The main idea for starting this blog was to write about things important (and maybe not so important) to me so my kids will have a sense of me. Obviously, I hope to be around a long time so that should be somewhat accomplished anyway.

But my past says take nothing for granted.

So what if I had my own list? Not just music, but albums, movies, singles, books, people, things, experiences, anything worthy. I’ve already listed many things here, so there will be some repeats.

And isn’t this what Farther On is about anyway?

It will be a daunting task for sure.

So interspersed with other musings, I will begin my own – Strictly 100.

Starting soon…