Wilco (The Song): For Whom Them Bells Toll?

No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manner of thine own
Or of thine friend's were.
Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.

In late 1998, Wilco agreed to allow Reprise Records as a "once and once only" thing to take the song 'Can't Stand It' off their album 'Summerteeth' and attempt to make it radio-friendly.

It was to be a good-faith gesture towards Reprise who had otherwise granted Wilco artistic freedom on the 'Summerteeth' project (and 'Mermaid Avenue' and 'Being There').

The song was re-mixed, portions of the song were cut-- and bells were added.

The song was a flop.

Reprise refused to release 'Yankee Hotel Foxtrot', believing it wouldn't have success, and then fired Wilco.

The rest is, as they say, rock history.

Wilco (the Album) will open with Wilco (the song), described "as hooky and catchy a number as they've done in a long, long time".

I say it's the bells.

They're back. But Tweedy and Gang no doubt made their own call this go around. And even though no man is an island in and of itself, it begs for an explanation. Here's what I came up with:

1. A coincidental shot at one more catchy, radio-friendly single?

2. Ever the tricksters, its a playful, inside joke?

3. The middle finger to Reprise and all other Wilco-doubters?

4. Tweedy's hubris determined to make a hit using those goddamn bells?

5. In a mystically poetic, rock 'n roll twist, perhaps the bells were for Jay Bennet.

6. And then also, since we bothered to ask, for me and thee--Tweedy and the whole gang.

7. All of the above?

***Now after first listen, album officially in hand (and morning traffic jams proving good for something), the discussion with mortality seems to continue as an underlying theme throughout the album. Or if not mortality, the question of, "what it means to live."

Tweedy is one of the great song writer's of our time, and with Wilco (The Album) he writes an addendum to the great American story, projecting some synthesized and hard fought perspective regarding the deeper questions of life.

And while it isn't the sound, but rather the tone that makes this Wilco album distinct-- I find it innerly peaceful but not naive. Joyous at times--like Summer again on the landing, but instead of being kids, this time, you've got kids-- with the layers all that implies.

I admit I've covered some terrain with my Wilco albums. It almost puts a strain on my relationship with some of their music. (When you hear the song that got you through, you can't help being a little Pavlonian-- the eyes watering, instead of the teeth.)

And yet, we know from power-lifting, that when you work through the strain, you become stronger. And when a song comes your way like "Country Disappeared", which does for foreclosure what "War On War" does for death-- you realize Wilco has helped you do more than just carry your weight. They've helped give meaning.

Wilco (The Album) reminds us we always have "a lyrical shoulder to cry on", while presenting an album like a dappled early-summer afternoon in Illinois-- barbecue on the wind, a thematic transcendent synthesis of albums past. Strong in fundamentals, searching to rekindle buried, good things, perhaps thought lost.

America's National Pastime

Sports Illustrated broke the story last week that Alex Rodriguez, Baseball's brightest star, used steroids during three of the most productive years of his career.  

You got the sense that A-Rod was always MLB's golden boy.  

But his clean-cut Yankeeness, lack of a World Series ring--and Huge contracts-- made him an easy target for ridicule.  

And as much as I always kinda disliked the cut of A-Rod's jib, I realize now that I still believed--like a child--that he could break Barry Bonds home run record and save baseball.  

Now I hear things like, "oh yeah, the so-called National Pastime."

On NPR, yet another Sports Illustrated reporter broke the story of a Dominican named Esmailyn "Smiley" Gonzalez who signed a $1.4 Million minor league contract with the Washington Nationals in 2006 as a 16-year old and he hit .343 last year.

1.4 at 16?  .343?  Well gee whiz, maybe S-Gon will save the game!

Or maybe they'll call him "Smile-Gone", because it was then revealed that his real name is actually Carlos Lugo.  And he's 23.  

And juicing?  Why not?

Baseball is full of Liars, Juicers, Cheats, Scam Artists.  Desperate individuals, looking for any way to get ahead.    

And yet--because of that fact--don't give me that "America's so-called National Pastime" bullshit.  

Look around people.  If anything, now it should be "America's National Pastime Many-Fold".

And if life imitates baseball.  Just wait until America gets its hands on the list from UBS.

  

Just like A-Rod's anonymous urine sample, those famously anonymous Swiss Bank accounts are about to become public knowledge.  

From Salem to McCarthyism to Steroids and Tax-Evaders, lets face it-- our Puritanical roots love a good Witch hunt.  

Apocalypto Now

Heads rolled, still-beating hearts were torn out...

The chopping block was painted red last week with the jobs and livelihoods of 100,000 Americans.

The minions cheer. Will this sacrifice fulfill the Sun God's bloodthirst? Or do more heads need to roll?

This I pondered from the comfort of my leather sofa as I sat in amazement at how life sometimes resembles a Mel Gibson allegory.

Indeed the extended metaphors in Gibson's Mayan "Apocalypto" jungle--intended or not-- can be dragged like Jaguar Paw from his hut, through history and space time, from fiction into reality, and superimposed onto this very moment in history.

Next time its on HBO, watch it again-- the metaphors overlap as densely as the rainforest canopy. Some themes:

1. FEAR: Flint Sky explaining his philosophy to son Jaguar Paw, "fear is a sickness, it upsets your peace... strike it from your heart."

Mirrors FDR's famous "nothing to fear but fear itself" quote. A poignant message during scary and confusing economic times.

2. SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST: When Jaguar Paw does take a moment to clear his mind of fear, he finds strength and intuition.

And while he's subjected to the same fights, struggle and circumstances as everyone else, his intuition, at key moments, is what sets him apart--what saves him and his family.

As Emerson wrote of intuition in Self-Reliance, "A man should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light which flashes across his mind from within."

Also, you'll run your ass off and fight now and then, or die, so have endurance and get tough.

3. THE UNKNOWN UNKNOWNS: For all of our personal struggles, there might be systems in place (like the Mayan calender) that allow the smarter men at the top of the pyramid to know more or less exactly when and how the Sun (or almighty dollar) will cycle back to full glory, and this gyrating mass shuddering with very real emotion may simply be collateral damage.

All well and good for the high priests, but no one, no one, is prepared for the Spanish Armada, carrying cross and influenza, that just dropped ancor on the course of human history...

What might be the Spanish Armada of our time? WWII was one. 9/11 was one. Stem cell research might find another? Perhaps something at the Large Hadron Collider?

Worth considering since those metaphorical Spanish Armadas are always washing up.

-----------------------------------------------------------

UPDATE: And before I could even proof read this and post it... Now its my turn.

I've been taken off salary, struck by COBRA, and moved to independent contractor. Not technically a job loss. But that puts me on my own and the mortgage will go unpaid in April unless I intuit my way out of this.

My name is Brian Deines. This is my jungle.

And I am not afraid.

Buy Me Some Penis And Crack: A Winter Ode To Fantasy Baseball

By the time the confetti falls on Super Bowl XLIII, one of the most desperate months in American History will have already begun for the men of this nation.

With everything going on in the world, America is about to enter a very dangerous time.

We need change, but change won't happen over night.

So until it does, more than anything, we need distraction.

Millions of American men winter their hardships suckling the opiate of the masses. Watching. Betting. Fantasy. Sporting.

Getting mindlessly lost at the bottom of a beer--and the top of the division.

That makes February the cruelest month: Our sweet nepenthe frozen within the creeping tick-tock of these long winter shadows.

A barren wasteland for sports junkies... nothing but bad college and worse NBA basketball.

Sustaining us alone, is the knowledge that eventually the shadows will creep no more. And the madness will come again...


And when it does, marched along by the ritual bracket dance and a week-long festival of green beer, the growing inner madness will chisel into a single clandestine midnight gathering known ominously as, 'The Draft'.

In dimly-lit caverns across the land, a mass Frankensteinian-experiment will unfold, as entire fantastic imaginary baseball teams, leagues, and seasons are created out of thin air.

We hold our creations dear. We name them. Rearrange them. Power-rank them.

The bottled-in ecstasy of now-forgotten winter culminates with the long-denied major league 'home opener'.

And thus, we are renewed.

With the 'home opener', according to tradition, we will not speak to our mates for the next 6 months.

Instead we devote our will to a single purpose. Worship of our hand-selected heroes. Our very own Mt. Olympus.

And with these Heroes we prepare for battle, starting one for each field position, three utilities, seven pitchers and six bench.

A week-long imaginary gladiatorial contest erupts wherein we match strength, speed, batting average and ERA with a worthy challenger.

Most of all, we match eachother's ability to transcend time--to read the strings of unseen dimensions. To read the future.

In the seventh inning of every game, we remind ourselves of this pledge to future and current synchronization with the ritualistic mantra, "I don't care if I ever go back."

And so--during the 26-week season--if we prove to have superior clairvoyance and be blessed with luck, we will be granted access to a special or 'post season' where we battle wits with increasingly fierce competitors.

In the end only two will remain.

This is where eternal glory is forged, a champion crowned, and myths written.

If the fantasy gods favour us, we will be crowned the victor and bask in Zeus' glory for six moons...


And yet... by the time the confetti falls on our Baseball Championship, the warrior in us is battle ready and already fixed on the next tournament-- Fantasy Football.

For we know thereafter, the shadows of winter are long and dark.

The More Perfect Union

With two million Americans on the Capital Mall to witness the moment when hope and history rhymed, the peaceful transfer of power and inauguration of Barack Obama as President of the United States signaled the beginning of a new era.

How, in the grand swath of World history, might the Obama Era be defined?

Three hundred or five hundred years from now, it is possible that the Barack Obama Era will share political context with, and serve as direct counterpoint to, Adolf Hitler and Nazi Germany.

The sixty years separating Hitler and Obama will dissolve with time, and their sharp polar-opposites will serve as thesis and antithesis to help focus and synthesize the discourse of World history, especially each man's remark on global human evolution.

Hitler believed and propagated the ancient doctrine of the Aryan "master race" as justification for genocide and Holocaust.

Obama, himself a man of color, emphasized a doctrine of inclusion and the declaration that "all men are created equal".

Hitler died fearing that his own blood might be tainted, while his faulty eugenics theory resulted in horrific slaughter, crimes against humanity, and the widely-held viewpoint that his very name coincides with evil.

Obama initially criticized for "not being black enough", has effectively assimilated his own melting pot of roots into such a strong unified identify, that notions of racial inequality were shattered the day he became the most powerful man in the world.

Both men captured audiences with their rhetorical style and both men roused great public passion.

Hitler did so in speeches by exhorting an even greater, somewhat manic, passion-- calming in archival video footage only to slick his hair back into place.

Obama, used passion precisely during his ascent to office, pragmatically shape-shifting between cool debater and passionate orator.

The penultimate showcase of his oratorical range was his much-anticipated inaugural address that many considered complex, if not solemn.

In it, Obama channeled the cadence and nuances of speech of Martin Luther King Jr., as he transitioned before our eyes from a cool/rapturous campaigner to a patriarchal and pragmatic leader.

Lastly, both men are influenced by a musical nationalism.

Hitler was heavily influenced by the tragic Operas of German composer and anti-Semite Richard Wagner.

Cultural Historians argue that the Third Reich and Hitler's destruction was informed, if not made inevitable, based on his self-selected contextual lens of Wagnerian tragedy.

Obama in turn, is influenced by the Blues tradition of his culture and ancestry (as showcased during the Presidential "first dance"-- a Beyonce Knowles rendition of the Etta James/ Chess Records standard "At Last").

Southside Chicago's Chess Records (owned and operated by Jewish immigrants Leonard and Philip Chess) begat along with James, blues musician Muddy Waters who wrote "Rollingstone", which influenced Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, who have in turn influenced billions-- including Barack Obama (Gimme Shelter), so on and so forth.

Blues, with descendants Jazz, Rock n Roll, Hip Hop, R&B, Soul, Reggae (and all of their offshoots), mirrors the melting pot of America.

Princeton Professor Cornel West wrote that The Blues, more than just music, is an emotion or sensibility, which like pragmatism, is deeply embedded in American history.

West states that the blues tradition informs a "tragicomic" sensibility-- born of the absurd cruelties African Americans faced during their time on this continent-- "to carry on in the face of absurdity, to see the lightness in the dark, and to confront the impossible--with creative energy."

Like the melting pot he embodies, Obama appears to have a personal more perfect union, developed not from the ease of being one thing, but through the burden of synthesizing many things into one.

And by becoming the most powerful man in the world, he now presents a new evolutionary model.

In July 2008, as he stood at Hitler's favoured monument to German supremacy, the Tiergarten Victory Column, Obama came to Germany with a message which, underemphasized during the general election, will now regain prominence-- World citizenship.

“Yes, there have been differences between America and Europe. “No doubt, there will be differences in the future. But the burdens of global citizenship continue to bind us together... In this new century, Americans and Europeans alike will be required to do more — not less. Partnership and cooperation among nations is not a choice; it is the one way, the only way, to protect our common security and advance our common humanity.”

Thus, Obama, like Hitler before him, will attempt to take over the world by reshaping it in step with his own more-perfect version of self.

Sharpened through the revisions of time, this moment in history is sure to become merely a preamble.

The "We Are All About Numero Uno' Concert

"Politics is Hollywood for ugly people." --James Carville.

"Hollywood is Politics for beautiful people." --Sue Bylevyn.

If commentators claimed there was a certain buzz in the air, I want all you armchair marketing majors out there to consider this string-theory:

1. The Washington mall reflection pond as "Vagina of the Motherland."
2. Barack Obama welcoming us all to "the rejuvenation of America."
3. And Peggy's 'rejuvenator' from "Madmen" Episode 1:11.



"The Rejuvenator, it makes you feel healthy and girlish. You’ll love the way it makes you feel.”

This scripted who's-who gathering at the Lincoln memorial was supposed to climax with a "We are the World" moment at the end of the concer, but instead I think everyone was faking it.

Maybe it was Tom Hanks in full bullshit mode. Or Denzel watching Barack for the movie (4:1 odds) and trying to thrill Michelle with a 'TV on the Radio' beard.

Or the way when John Cougar Mellancamp sang, "little pink houses for you and me", I couldn't help thinking about George W. Bush's homeownership-for-all initiative, and how I can't really afford HBO anymore. Or my house.

I found the pomp and circumstance of an Obama-centric Inauguration Day Tuesday appropriately Ten Balls over-the-top. I felt healthy and rejuvenated for sure.

But the tightly choreographed and plastic display of Hollywood self-indulgence on our nations reflection pool-- didn't even feel like it was about Barack Obama.

As Don Draper described the rejuvenator, it was" like the feel of a man, without the man."

And it just didn't do it for me.

Apple's Rockstar Moment

"By positioning Jobs as the creative force behind Apple's products, the company has made his health a public concern. I wish Mr. Jobs well. Perhaps during his leave of absence Apple can showcase other "faces" and make it clear that its current and future products are the result of Apple's corporate vision and genius, not only Steve Jobs' latest idea." --Lou Malnasssy at ragan.com's 'PR Junkie'.

I love my ipod. I love my imac. I even love the Apple products I can't afford, including their stock.

Apple stock has become increasingly more affordable in recent days as Internet chatter about CEO Steve Jobs' health creates shareholder anxiety.

With the current and future vision of Apple in question, I offer the curious parallel this situation has with the arch of megaband, 'Guns 'N Roses'.

Lou's comment could easily describe Geffen Record's positioning of Axl Rose as the sole creative force behind Guns 'N Roses in the late 1980's.

In actuality, GNR began as a synthesis of all member's creative vision. The band itself was the combination of two bands, L.A. Guns and Hollywood Rose. Over time, Axl the front man, eventually acquired a disproportionate amount of creative credit.

Early videos of Guns 'N Roses showcase a democratic environment. Duff McKagan and Izzy Stradlin banter with the Sunset Strip crowd as much a pre-Appetite For Destruction Axl.

Similar to Jobs' personal rise to fame, public interest in all things Axl (including his (mental) health) soon developed, disproportionate to his collaborators.

As we came to love and buy GNR products, Geffen Records assumed the model of frontman-as-talent was working once more and perpetuated it.

In stark contrast to the image propogated by Geffen Records, in a 1991 interview Axl described the collaborative process utilized on the then soon-to-be-released "Use Your Illusion" albums as nothing short of Democratic.

By then the future of Guns 'N Roses' had already begun unraveling with the axing of strung out drummer Steven Adler. Izzy Stradlin then left in the middle of the European Leg of the Illusion Tour. Slash left sometime in 1994 due officially to artistic differences. Duff McKagan left in 1997.

Axl retained the legal rights to the Guns 'N Roses name and employed a revolving phone book of musicians while spending $13 Million over seventeen years to do the same job five kids did half-drunk and better.

Enter 'Chinese Democracy'. An oxymoronic album name to mirror Axl's dictatorial regime. Guns 'N Roses exists only as a name and a memory. To his credit, 'Chinese Democracy' is great, but iconic for the wrong reasons.

Recessions have ill effects on marriages. And the current recession is for Apple what the onset of the Grunge and Hip Hop movements was to Guns 'N Roses. Faced with great uncertainty, Guns 'N Roses self-destructed.

Apple would be well served to recognize the elements outside their control which dominate this moment in their history.

Faced with a Recession and Jobs' extended absence, Apple will surely restructure. Perhaps like Axl, they will realize that 50 people couldn't do what once took five.

Hopefully for all of us, the wait for the next Apple invention is shorter than seventeen years. The worst progections have this Recession lasting until 2010.

When the economy does cycle back and the masses can once again afford Apple's non-essentials, in all likelyhood it will be without Jobs as frontman. And in that sense, a better Apple parallel than GNR might be Velvet Revolver.

But Apple's next big thing can certainly look forward to the same unrealistically high expectations as 'Chinese Democracy'-- unfortunately, a recipe for disappointment.

On the flip side, Apple's next big thing will no doubt sell. They can bank on a good bounce from previously satisfied customers. They will benefit from the syncopation of the gears of nostalgia and hipness (ala the 'Guitar Hero' video game genre). And frankly, like the incessant repetition of 'Welcome To The Jungle' during 4th quarter timeouts at Chicago Bulls games, Apple is ingrained in our culture.

Ultimately, cultural phenomenon or not, the instant gratification Apple has afforded their clientele will be their undoing, Steve Jobs or not, if their can't satisfy.

Perpetual hope is one thing, a phenomenon who's moment has past is another.

Blagojevich Is (On A Runner's) High

Today the Illinois House of Representatives voted almost unanimously to impeach Governor Rod Blagojovich for having a cocksucker hairdo and trying to sell Barack Obama's Senate seat to the highest bidder.

Blagojevich continues to maintain his innocence in the few public statements he's made since the story broke a month ago.

In the interim, Blagojevich has taken to literal referrence, symbolism and hyperbole when confronted by the paparazzi dogs hounding his Northside Chicago home.

And while the media lynch-mob questions his mental health, it appears Blagojevich has synthesized his predicament into motivation to improve his physical health.

Confronted for a comment on today's unanimous impeachment vote, Blagojevich referred instead to the pace of his seven mile jog while categorizing his strife as akin to the story of "the Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner".




In a weird-go-pro political maneuver, Blagojevich has converted his daily Rocky jogs into Brittany Spears-style staged photo-ops.

When one paparazzo snapped a shot of Blagojevich's mid-stride forehead, it was uploaded immediately for the masses who voyeuristicaly devoured the exposed hidden realm beneath Blagojevich's Paul-Mitchell-perfect rug, the same way they did Britney's snatch.

For Blagojevich the photo op song-and-dance serves the dual narcissistic purposes of:

1. Showcasing his sexy tracksuit-body while,
2. He enters the public discussion over his own tumble from power by passive-aggressively dropping literary hints about which tragic figure he personally feels he most resembles.

And FYI, for those of you on death watch, at the big finale of "The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner", hinges upon the Runner subverting Authority by stopping short of the finish line-- refusing to win the big race on behalf of his slave masters/ captors.

Before he officially went crazy, Friedrich Nietzche like to state that "all of life is a will to power."

Blagojevich concurred (and then sounded suicidal) when he commented, "I'm going to fight, I'm going to fight, I'm going to fight... until I take my last breath."

Offing himself--and some warning signs are there--would be a subversive power grab in line with the distance runner's final race.

But Blagojevich proved to be a scrappy, masochistic political street-fighter when he made the Roland Burris selection despite all the heat. And his Rocky-jogs are a symbolic haymaker.

So instead of that old Alan Sillitoe short story, perhaps he'd be better served by referencing Iron Maiden's, "Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner."

And as a last resort, he can always just shave his head.



5.1.09 UPDATE:



This stencil of Blagojevich popped up around Chicago this Spring, forever bronzing the image of Tracksuit-Rod. No reports yet of any Orange-Jumpsuit-Rod stencils.