And I Won't Come Back This Way Again

 

"If you don't dig what I say,
Then I will go away.
And I won't come back this way again. No.
'Cause I don't need a friend."

So ends the third and final verse of the Flamin' Groovies flagship song, Shake Some Action.  And, after the rough reception they were given by a few hooligans at their concert here in Detroit tonight, I would not blame them a bit for not coming back this way again.

But I'm getting ahead of myself here.  I attended this concert with my son who, at the age of 19, has already been a Flamin' Groovies fan for 12 years.  The Magic Stick, on Woodward Avenue in Detroit, seemed to be the perfect venue in which to first hear a band I'd been waiting 37 years to see:  warm, welcoming, and intimate.  And, so it was, at the start.

The Groovies did not disappoint.  As the band blazed through treasured classic covers such as Freddy Cannoon's Tallahassee Lassie, the Byrds' Feel a Whole Lot Better, and the Rolling Stones' Jumpin' Jack Flash, the large crowd responded in lively fashion, clearly appreciating the rare and beautiful event.  The reaction was perhaps still more positive, however, when Cyril Jordan and the boys rolled out a string of the Flamin' Groovies' own hits, including You Tore Me Down and I Can't Hide.

According to my hand-scrawled notes, it was just after a fine cover of the Stones' Paint it Black that the trouble started.  A large and seemingly very drunk audience member decided to grab Cyril's mic and pull it down toward himself to make a request of the group.  Instead, he bonked himself on his bald head with the mic before he finally replaced it clumsily on the stage.

This did not sit well (understandably!) with Groovies' lead singer / guitarist Chris Wilson, who warned the man not to do that kind of thing again.  It seemed a fair warning, and I expected the music to get right back on track, but it didn't quite happen that way.  Apparently this patron and several of his friends were under the mistaken impression that the rest of the audience had come to see them -- that, indeed, they were the show.  Some of them made obscene gestures at Wilson and at least one suggested that Wilson come down and fight him.  

Chris opined that this audience member had rather better wait until after the conclusion of the concert to have his butt kicked (or words to that effect).  At some point, beer bottles were thrown.  One shattered somewhere near me, and I felt a rain of glass shards come down around my head and shoulders.




What Security people were there seemed slow to respond.  Even once they got there, it was difficult for them to wrestle the fat balding man out of the hall.  And then, even after that, it was not over.  Others who remained jeered or shot the bird at Chris and, to his credit, he played the man and would not countenance this type of behavior.  He asked for the troublemakers to be ejected from the music hall.  Security eventually removed one or two other patrons, and the crowd where we were near the stage had thinned out quite a bit.  I thought at that point:  "That's it, that's our concert." 

And I would not have blamed the band one iota if they had called it quits then.  They'd already given us quite a decent show, and hadn't been treated at all well by the several hooligans in the audience.  But, to their great credit, the Flamin' Groovies came back out energized even more, it seemed, by the confrontational behavior of the few, and finished off the concert in a blaze of glory.

The high point for my son was their brilliant performance of their song, Slow Death, during which Chris Wilson could be seen with a distinct glint in his eye, probably thinking of the young punk who had tried to call him out and had ended up disgraced.  The song ended up having the perfect menacing tone.  But then, they outdid themselves with what was nominally their final song, the epic Shake Some Action.  Some action had indeed been shaken up in the Magic Stick that night, and one was only saddened if, indeed, the opening lines of this blog (from the 3rd verse of the song) are to become prophetic.

Chris, though he hadn't done anything untoward, repeatedly apologized to the crowd for the way things had gone down.  But, for the actual perpetrators themselves ... only the chilling warning of the lyrics of the Groovies' encore song, Teenage Head:

" When you see me,
Better turn your tail and run.
'Cause I'm angry,
And I'll mess you up for fun."

I think if the drunks and punks knew what was good for them, they were probably safe at home in their pajamas by the time this encore was actually sung.  So, did my son and I get enough of the Flamin' Groovies tonight?  No way!  We're headed to Cleveland to see them again tomorrow night!

Another Poem: My Muse Has Left Me Desolate

My Muse Has Left Me Desolate

“… and it was ordained by angels in the hand of a mediator.” – Galatians 3:19

My Muse has left me desolate this year.

October, not a single word from her.

My brush will hold no paint, my pen won’t stir,

And I sit trapped in uninspired fear.

Some friend will murmur to me (as a curse):
“No guide but Christ, and no Muse but the Church!”
But God through intermediaries works,

And all who say such things write rotten verse.

When God passed down His holy Law it came

Ordained by angels and through Moses’ hands.

Return, my Muse!  Release me from these bands,

And mediate God’s poems to me the same.

Come home, my holy angel, heed my call.

Return to me, thou “Moses” of my verse.
All other Muses make my writing worse.
I need your kindly succor, lest I fall.

Perhaps some other poet has you now,

And some more agile painter hears your voice.

Abandon them!  Come, make my heart rejoice:
Renew with me our old, truehearted vow.

And then shall heart, hand, pen feel no restraint.

Once more I’ll gladly follow; you shall lead.

The finger-graven tablets you shall read,

And I shall sing and write and dance and paint.

© 2013. Paul Erlandson

A New Blog Recommendation

I've just stumbled upon this blog which is written by Women's Physique and Bodybuilding competitor Lynette Wade.  I find it awesome!  In her most recent entry, Lynette explains what bodybuilding contest prep feels like from the inside.  Very, very accurate.

Beautiful Pain.

Poem: Let Everything that Hath Breath

I wrote this poem for Mr. Kenneth Sweetman, choirmaster and organist at Mariners' Church of Detroit, back in 1999.  (Mariners' Church also has another excellent organist and choirmaster in Mr. Kevin Bylsma!)

A word or two about the form of this poem.  I did not invent it; my (Anglican) friend Russ Smith did.  It requires that you create a poem which tracks well when displayed in two different ways:  as ten lines of eight syllables and also as eight lines of ten syllables.  And, each way, every pair of successive lines must rhyme.

So, it is a cramped, rigorous, and demanding form.  You might think it would sound very stilted when read aloud, but that is usually not the case.  Because the rhymes pass each other like a faster train passing a slower train, you get a sort of "beat frequency" phenomenon, which ends up sometimes lending it a jazzy feel.  Anyhow, without further ado, here is the poem, with a photo of the Mariners' Church organ, for a little traditional Anglican "eye candy."

Let Everything that Hath Breath
(for Kenneth Sweetman, Advent, 1999)

Let everything that owns a lung

give praise to God.  Let pipe and tongue

rejoice in phase.  The mighty King

of Instruments breaths out to sing

with pulmonary zeal, to shout.

The organist from his redoubt

commands the pipes like ranks of chess-

men by his hands.  And they confess

what each tongue here would say … but, nay,

the King takes all our breath away.

Let everything that owns a lung give praise

to God.  Let pipe and tongue rejoice in phase.

The mighty King of Instruments breathes out

to sing with pulmonary zeal, to shout.

The organist from his redoubt commands

the pipes like ranks of chessmen by his hands.

And they confess what each tongue here would say …

but, nay, the King takes all our breath away.

© 1999, Paul W. Erlandson

The New Civility in Bodybuilding Radio

I've listened to a good many bodybuilding-themed "radio" shows in my time.  I use the scare quotes on "radio" because these are internet-based audio programs, not available on broadcast radio.

I think I have identified a new trend in how these shows go, and how the personalities on them interact.  I have seen a movement away from loud, arrogant, in-your-face meatheads (I do not consider meathead a term of derision, by the way), proudly putting forth their own bodybuilding theories as being superior to those of all others.  What has replaced all this is quiet, soft-spoken gentlemen, who happen to be experts in the field of bodybuilding (usually, high-caliber bodybuilders themselves), dispensing good advice and sharing knowledge in an understated and collegial manner.

Who'd have thunk it?

For some examples of The New Civility in Bodybuilding Radio, I invite you to click on the links below:

Blue Collar Radio (with Shelby Starnes and John Meadows)
,
Ben Pakulski and John Meadows talk with Brad Schoenfeld

Recidivism and the Bodybuilding Diet

In four days, I can eat anything I want, because my bodybuilding contest prep diet will be over.  The contest is on Saturday, and for months I have been daydreaming about what to eat on Sunday.

Pizza?  Cheesecake Factory?  Blonde Brownies?

The possibilities are endless.  Infinite freedom!  No constraints!  No laws!  No dietary lords nor masters!

But, if past experience is a reliable guide, I will find that I cannot handle this amount of freedom.  I have come to lean heavily on the predictable structure of the bodybuilding diet.  It's 2:30 pm?  Chicken breast and green salad.  No questions, no debate, no hand-wringing, no doubt, no guilt.  It's easy, exactly because it leaves me no freedom, no wiggle room.

And do you know what?  The bodybuilding diet makes me feel safe.  Secure.  Big, bad obesity cannot come and devour me if I stick to the bodybuilding diet.  I feel very safe.

As I considered this language I was using to describe my relationship to the bodybuilding diet, I realized that I had heard it all before.  It took me only a few seconds to remember where:  in the mouths of ex-convicts who had lived a life of recidivism, in and out of prison, but mostly in.  Like me, they all dreamed about the day they'd get paroled.  All the girls they'd meet, all the cars they'd drive, all the food they'd eat.  But, like me, life on the outside was too wild, too free, to unstructured.  They didn't know how to survive in that world.  But they had spent years figuring out how to survive inside a prison.  So, they went back.  Back to where they could feel safe.

And, I reckon, so will I.

In Defense of the "Selfie."

I would like to say a word or two in defense of the much-maligned photographic self-portrait, or "selfie." A facebook friend recently made this comment about selfies:  

"You can pretty much tell how self obsessed, narcissistic and in love with one's self, by the amount of selfies they post in a day. Any more than 3 is just too many. It is no wonder these people are single."

Well, now first of all, it must be noted that some of us who are guilty of posting too many selfies actually ARE married, not single.  So, there's that.

But what of the charge of narcissism?  Of self love?  Are these charges valid?  I submit to you that they are not necessarily valid.  Without further delay, then, here are some reasons I think that posting selfies is okay.

1.  We are made in God's image.  How cool is this?  I think that we can be pardoned for occasionally letting this amazing fact overwhelm us, with the glorious fruition of that overwhelming being ... a selfie.

2.  Posting an image of oneself is not necessarily a comment on other people.  Folks take and post selfies for all sorts of reasons, I imagine.  One reason I do is for documention of how I look.  This is necessary for the hobby of bodybuilding.  Without it, one becomes lost.  Granted, not all of these documentary photos need to be posted.  But it is convenient to do so in an online journal, and so I consider it valid.

3.  Others actually may be interested.  I like (and on facebook, Like) the selfies my friends take.  The more the merrier.  Bring them on!  I also like pictures of what you are eating, clever words you spelled in Scrabble, etc.  I love it all.  Please continue to post it.

4.  Although some selfies are artless, this need not be the case.  We are all familiar with the one-arm-extended MySpace-style selfie.  But this does not define or limit the genre.  You would be amazed at the selfies you can take if you simply get hold of a tripod and a camera with a delay timer.
5.  There is a rich artistic heritage of selfies.

Exhibit A:




Exhibit B:




Exhibit C




Exhibit D:




Exhibit E:



Q. E. D.