It's hard to ignore the pain

Ian Dury notwithstanding, Herman Brood was the epitome of sex, drugs and rock and roll. Mostly unknown in the U.S., Brood was a Dutch painter and rock musician, with an emphasis on excess. I saw the album at right in the cutout bin circa 1979 at Joe Nardone's Galley of Sound in Wilkes-Barre, Pa. It was only $2.99 and just intriguing enough to take a chance.

Thirty-eight years later, it remains one of rock and roll's great unknown records. Drenched in drugs, dripping with sex, this is mostly straight-ahead  rock music. But it's loaded, and I mean loaded, with hooks, and the oohs from the back-up girl singers go for the groin every time. Brood is no great singer, but his emotion drives the music. After all, here is a guy who sang, "When I do my suicide for you, I hope you miss me too," 22 years before jumping off a roof to his death due to his drug demons. In "Dope Sucks," he tells a friend (girlfriend?) that (I) hate to see you fade away in some heartbreak-hotel room." Drugs were killing him, but don't let it happen to you too. Another bonus is the slightly weird but ultimately cool "cha-chas" Brood throws into almost every song.

It's just a tad overproduced, but still sounds fresh. Rock and roll driven by pain often finds the sweet spot.

Love's a gift that's surely handmade

RIP to a couple of folks with absolutely no connection to each other.

Yeah, I had this card

Except in my memories.

June 19, 1966, was the date of my first major league game. Yankee Stadium, Mickey Mantle, the green grass in the outfield that went on forever. A shrine. A cathedral.

Tiger second baseman Dick McAuliffe threw cold water on my dreams that day, hitting two home runs that accounted for both Detroit runs in a 2-1 victory. Jim Bouton was the losing pitcher for my Yankees team that had begun the long drop to despair.

But that Tigers squad was loaded: Al Kaline, Norm Cash and Bill Freehan would form the nucleus, along with Denny McLain and Mickey Lolich, for a great World Series-winning team two years later.

I'd forgotten about McAuliffe over the years, but not the way he made me feel that overcast day in the Bronx. That feeling was multiplied by the trip home, when my Dad got lost (which he always did when we drove to the City). I think it took us about 8 hours to get home. I still remember my Mother shaking her head in front seat.

But I wouldn't trade that memory for anything.

I bought Guy Clark's "Old No. 1" album in a long-gone record store in Wilkes-Barre when it came out. It was featured on a rack and it caught my eye. I was just getting knee-deep in Texas singer-songwriter fascination: Jerry Jeff Walker was an early favorite and his covers of "Desperadoes Waiting for a Train," and "L.A. Freeway" were both immense, and I knew Clark had written them.

I still love "Old No. 1" (just listened to it the other day), with this being a song that still sticks with me -- the imagery here puts me smack-dab in that West Texas town on that hot day. Like "Desperadoes," it paints a vivid landscape of beauty and wonder:

I saw Clark several times, and his songs broke my heart time and time again. But, unlike Dick McAuliffe, it was a heart that was broken in a sweet and satisfying way.

The 70s: The heat from below can burn your eyes out

The concert advertised at left, which I attended, was so long ago I may have forgotten some of the details.

* Was this the 2nd or 3rd rock concert I went to?
* How was the crowd?
* What were the highlights/was it any good?
* Was this show the reason I dislike Rush?
* Does it prove my 70s rock cred, or what?

My first rock show was The Eagles at Lock Haven State College (more on that soon), about four months prior to this in 1974; I think this triple header was number two.

And look at that lineup. Looking back, I am surprised Blue Oyster Cult were the headliners, although I guess they were more popular than the others at that point in time. And despite what many others might think, I still argue they were the best band on the bill.

Yes, the individual members of Rush are stellar musicians. Great, even. But as I have noted before, the music they make --all progressive and "complex" and deep is just....blah, blah, blah. And Geddy Lee's voice, well, enough said.

Of course, Kiss had explosions and fake blood and kabuki makeup, which were all so interesting to a teenager. But now, it all seems rather silly.

BOC had loud and then louder guitars, Buck Dharma, and "Hot Rails to Hell."

BOC wins.

Testosterone overload, oh so sweet.

In retrospect, this was quite a lineup for one bill, especially in that it was held in a 1,500 or so seat theater. Even in these band's advanced state of decay today (I know, some think these bands are still going strong -- especially Rush), what would a ticket for this show cost now?

Memories for $6.50 -- what a deal.

You're all dressed up in blue

I was in a room with Dean Smith on a number of occasions.

That is, if you can consider yourself being in the same room if the room happened to hold some 20,000 others.

I saw many a game while at UNC, and I was, and am, a fan of the team, the program and the school. Most of these are a blur, no one game really stands out.

The one game that does still register with me was my first in the same building with him – when he was coaching the 1976 U.S. Olympic Team.

It was a hot summer night in King’s College Gym in Wilkes-Barre, PA, against the Eastern League All-Stars, a long defunct semipro league. Tickets were $3.

I still remember Dean orchestrating and substituting, trying different offenses and rotations. He was constantly off the bench signaling and working his butt off, even though it was, to me, a most meaningless game. But he was determined to find the best lineup for every situation. After the ’72 disaster when the U.S was screwed by the Soviets, Smith knew the importance of Bicentennial Olympics.

The U.S. won the ’76 Gold Medal.

By the way, the U.S. Assistant Coach was John Thompson from Georgetown.

Two other things stood out – Adrian Dantley was clearly the best player on the court, and the Eastern League team featured the legendary Gerald Govan, he with the Buddy Holly glasses held on by a fraying glasses strap. Govan arrived midway through the first half; he wandered along the benches looking for the locker room, carrying an old-school gym bag, the kind we took to our old school for our gym classes.

Anyway, back to Dean. I saw him twice in Chapel Hill, just out and about. Once  ordering a BLT from Merritt’s down on Columbia St., and once gassing up his car at the Glen Lenox Gulf Station – smoking a cigarette (!) while standing next to his Cadillac, gas pump in hand.

So, my memories of the coach who died yesterday are not all that personal, but whenever someone mentions UNC basketball, it will be Dean Smith that I think of.

I have long admired Springsteen for the way he brings it every single night.

So it was the same with Dean Smith – I think he brought it every single day, whether it involved basketball, his family, his faith, or just doing the right thing.

Until he couldn’t bring it any more.

That’s excellence.

Gonna spend the night at the drive-in with the one(s) that I love

Saturday night the kids and I visited a vanishing piece of Americana culture – the drive-in.

My first outdoor-movie experience was at the Comerford Drive-In just outside of Wilkes-Barre, PA, circa mid-60s with my parents. I can’t remember what the movie was, but I do recall just how great it was to watch a movie from the back seat of my Dad’s Dodge in my pajamas.

We went fairly often, and as I got older one of the rites of passage in that neck of the woods was the "all-nights," normally held on the weekends of Memorial Day and Labor Day. These consisted of four of five features starting at dusk, and lasting until daylight. Teenagers sneaking beer onto the grounds in the car trunks and trying to stay awake for the duration. I never made it all the way through.

The Pike Drive-In in Montgomery, PA, was our go-to outdoor theater. It went through several iterations, including a XXX period, which made for a few strange scenes. In fact, I have to admit that I have not experienced anything creepier than the lurkers around the Pike concession stand at 11 p.m. during an unnamed triple-feature around 1974 or so. But, to our delight, there was a small patch between the trees on Route 15 where if you parked the car just right, you got a fairly decent glimpse of the screen. And for a carload of teenage boys trying to see a dirty movie, well, that was like hitting pay dirt.

Thankfully, Saturday’s trip was decidedly less weird and seedy. And some things remained frozen in time: The crunch of the tires on gravel when you enter the lot. The so-bad-it’s-great food at the concession stand. Having your eyes avert the screen for a moment as the first star appears overhead. Needing to turn the sound up just a little louder to drown out the crickets.

This particular drive-in allowed you to sit outside the car (I don’t know if that is common at all drive-ins now or not), so we backed into the stall next to the old posts that used to hold the speaker (the sound now comes from your FM radio). We opened the hatch and put out our two lawn chairs, next to other cars that had spread out blankets that soon were covered with popcorn.

Between features, they had to change the spool and that break in the action meant a few contests to give away movie posters: “The first person to come to the concession stand with jumper cables wins a copy of a 'Spiderman 2' poster.”

As the night moved on, Ruby moved from sitting in the hatch to my lap, snuggling in tighter and tighter as summer night’s air brought a very faint chill.

At that moment, the real world seemed very far away, and the movies playing on the giant screen did not even matter.

Today, only about 375 drive-ins are operating, down from about 4,000 during the 50s and 60s. The closest one to us is an hour away. When the second movie ended, we folded up the chairs and the kids climbed into their seats and quickly fell asleep.

The midnight trip home was silent. Sometimes the long drive to Nostalgia is worth it.