RIP Scott Miller

This Just Sucks

As announced here, Scott Miller (of Game Theory and Loud Family fame and the author of Music: What Happened?) has died far too young at age 53.

This seems so wrong on so many levels... Please send all your best wishes, thoughts, love, and prayers (in whatever combination works best for you) to his family and friends). It's not enough -- it's never enough -- but it's all we can do.

Here's a rerun from two years back:




They Suggest Piano Lessons for Young Beauty Queens

The days got longer, the pants got shorter, and the sun got warmer.

And the plans started hatching. Where we'd go. Who we'd visit. What we'd eat.

Then the couples shattered, stretched, and broke.

And another summer had arrived. This one different. This one less carefree, more serious.

This time the end was in sight. And for most of us, it wasn't filled with joy and gladness. It was filled with doubt and despair.

The internships were horrific, hours of torture bookending endless drinking. More and more, conversations would begin with "Can you believe people live like this?"

The phone calls were more tense.

The concerts were harder to plan.

The standing Tuesday night Frisbee games moved to Thursday, then to Saturday afternoon, then to never.

The interruptions -- which had made each previous summer bearable -- now became something we dreaded.

There was a chill everywhere, even when it was over 100 degrees and the wind was blowing inland off the tides of shorelines gone.

The ones who'd already left were divided into two groups: the ones who admitted their unhappiness and the ones who could hide their unhappiness.

We didn't know what was happening... only that it was important.

And, as we struggled to wring the last drop of May out of the air, we couldn't wait for June to come. Everything would change.

Of course, back then, we thought we could come back anytime we wanted.



You could argue that Enigma Records was the coolest label in the world in 1985.

I wore most of the oxide off a 1985 cassette sampler from Enigma, driving far too fast on roads in 21 different states in a French car constructed (poorly) in Kenosha, Wisconsin. (Who knows, the tape might still be around in an old shoe box or still in the glove compartment that car, which I haven't owned since the 90s.)

I don't remember much about the cassette, but it had songs on it by Don Dixon, Game Theory, the Smithereens, the Dead Milkmen, and (if memory serves) Mojo Nixon.

If I had the tape right now (okay, and if I had a car that could play tapes), I'd get on the nearest highway right now, roll down all the windows, blast the rest of the oxide off it at high levels of volume, and drive approximately 123mph.

Hey Man, Let's Go Out and Get Some Wisdom

You Can't Make It Drink

It's a funny thing, intention.

You think you're doing something. You insist you're doing only that thing.

But you're not.

You're doing something else. The opposite of what you thought. What you insisted.

And if someone points it out to you, you object.

You rant and rave. You rail against it.

You don't want to hear it. Don't want to consider it.

You wear down anyone who points it out to you.

Until they give up.

Until they go away.

Until they think four times before bringing it up again.

You live your life with blinders on.

And insist you're the only one who sees the whole picture.

Needless to say, this doesn't help anyone. Especially you.




When this was recorded, George Harrison was too weak to play guitar. He was probably too weak to sing properly, but he sang it anyway. Eight weeks later, he was dead.

And Sam Brown just knocks this out of the park in the Concert for George. But you already knew that.

Bonus:

Bare Trees

It Was A Cold Night

The trees sway.

THey've always swayed, you say.

You might be right.

The swaying just seems more pronounced now.

Maybe it's the recent storms.

They took down a bunch of the smaller trees. Left an opening that wasn't there before.

Or maybe it was. Maybe. If you looked at it the right way.

The trick of memory makes it hard to tell.

The trick of memory makes you wonder if that fence was always there. If those birds were always around (and so loud).

The fog rolls in. Bringing with it a mystery about the trees.

The wind is still now, but still the trees are moving.

Maybe when the fog burns off we'll see.

Maybe the dead trees will come back again.

Filled with leaves. Bursting with mysteries. Covered in song.

New Minus Five

Lights, Cameras, Girls, Guitars

Listen to this:

Is It Any Wonder

Just watched Family Band, the documentary on the Cowsills.

Between the Cowsills and the Beach Boys, is it any wonder that family bands pushed onto stage by abusive dads lead to tragedy?

And that's not even counting the Jacksons.



(Although one of the Cowsills is married to one of the Bangles. So I guess the story has something of a happy ending...)

How Much Do I Love This?

A lot.

Just a freaking lot.

Something More Than In-Between

Probably Strange But It's Basically True

If I were a songwriter and all I had to show for a lifetime of work was this:



I'd be happy.

(And am I the only one who wants Marshall Crenshaw to cover this? Or Chris Stamey? Or Don Dixon?)