Greatest Song Evah 8/11/23

This Is England

This week presents a paradox. The Clash were one of the greatest bands there ever was, some may call them The Only Band That Matters. And yet, this entry into the pantheon comes from their justifiably maligned final album, at a time by which 2 of the 4 core members were no longer part of the group. In addition, the song prominently features synthesizers as well as electronic drums, both of which should be considered anathema to The Clash. So why honor this one?

The answer is simple, despite everything I’ve mentioned the song kicks serious butt. Half of the classic lineup may be absent, but Joe Strummer and Paul Simonon are at the tops of their games. It still contains everything you want in a Clash song; a rousing chorus, a killer guitar riff, and pointed lyrics. The song runs through the negative elements of Thatcher era UK: similar to what happened the previous year with Bruce Springsteen I’ll bet there were plenty of people joyfully singing the chorus out loud, believing they were singing a patriotic anthem without listening to what the verses are saying.

So, yes, this is clearly a final burst of glory from a brilliant band that was running on fumes at this point. Yes, it’s likely the 3 younger members of the band who performed on the suitably named Cut the Crap album have spent the last few decades constantly telling people, “no seriously, I was in The Clash. Why won’t you believe me?” But they still had the capability of producing greatness in the end stage of their career and this song is perfect proof.

Greatest Geek Year

The CW Network just aired a 4-part documentary called 1982: The Greatest Geek Year Ever! As implied by the title, it’s a run through of the major films released that year, primarily focused on those with a strong geek appeal. The format was pretty standard for specials of this type - clips, talking head segments with actors/directors/critics, etc. If that kind of special is your thing, you’d enjoy it. If not, no. But what stands out is that 1982 was a truly amazing year, and not just for the types of movies marketed for that particular audience.

E.T., Blade Runner, and Tootsie. All in the same year. The Thing, 48 Hours, and The Verdict. All in the same year. Fast Times At Ridgemont High, Missing, and Night Shift. All in the same year. My Favorite Year, Poltergeist, and Star Trek II: The Wrath Of Khan. All in the same year. Diner, Sophie’s Choice, and An Officer & a Gentleman. All in the same year. There were plenty more, even a movie such as The World According To Garp that wasn’t covered at all in the special.

That is an astonishing, wide-ranging amount of greatness. Not all of the above titles were hits at the time, but they have all stood the test of time. Take The Thing for example. At its release critics harped a bit too much on the admittedly gross special effects, and E.T. destroyed it at the box office. Now it is considered to be a legitimate masterpiece. I was 16 years old in 1982, so I suppose my affinity for all of these movies is due to the fact that they came out at such a crucial time in my life, but on the other hand all of these have become classics, which proves that it’s more than just my personal perspective.

The general consensus among film scholars is that 1939 was the single greatest year in history, but 1982 has to rank right up there. It was more than 40 years ago, after all. That’s more than enough time to prove that these are all classics that have lasted. Which is why the results of that year’s Oscar race still bug me. The Best Picture nominees included 4 great ones - E.T., Missing, Tootsie, and The Verdict. But what won? Gandhi! I have nothing against it - but it feels like an Oscar movie created in a lab. An epic tale of a great man. It was well made, but even at the time it felt like a movie to be admired, not loved. How many people still watch it these days? I haven’t seen it since 1982, but I’ve rewatched so many of the movies mentioned in the second paragraph multiple times. What a year; at the time I didn’t fully appreciate what a special year it was to experience.

Robbie

There are legends, and there are LEGENDS. Robbie Robertson was the latter. As the guitarist and chief songwriter for The Band, he left a humongous legacy behind. His passing following a long illness marks the end of one of the most significant chapters in rock history.

After his introductory stint backing up Ronnie Hawkins with The Hawks, the majority of that band went on to back up Bob Dylan in his legendary going electric phase. They eventually recorded on their own, simply calling themselves The Band. Their first two albums are stone cold Americana classics, made more notable by the fact that 4 of the 5 members were actually Canadian. They were truly a magical collective, with a set of versatile musicians easily able to switch off into different instruments and a trio of distinctive lead singers.

Robertson himself was the 4th singer, rarely taking the lead himself, but he wrote the songs, a distinction that came with much internal controversy. His fellow members often pushed back on his tendency to grab sole songwriting credit, saying that it ignored the collaboration involved in the creative process. As a result, it cost the other members royalties as the years went on. Later albums did feature more co-writing credits, but the damage was done. Levon Helm famously did not attend The Band’s Hall Of Fame induction because he wanted nothing to do with Robertson.

The Last Waltz didn’t help much in that regard either. Robertson and Martin Scorsese had become close friends, and much of the movie looked like a lengthy screen test for Robertson. It’s true that he had a tremendous amount of charisma, something that the other members of The Band did not share, but it’s also true that Scorsese went a bit overboard with his star worship. It certainly is worth noting that the reunited only a few years after The Last Waltz without Robbie Robertson.

I feel as if I’m being too negative here. His ability to play well with others or his displays of ego could be problems for those he worked with. But what he’ll be long remembered for is his music, and he was brilliant. He was a magnificent guitar player in addition to being a supremely skilled songwriter. Since he wasn’t really a singer - he had a raspy voice without much range - there was only so much he could do as a solo artist, but his debut release in 1987 was absolutely terrific. He recorded sporadically over the years and continued to be a fantastic musical explorer.

He briefly dabbling in acting, but his heart wasn’t into it. He was a prolific composer for film scores, primarily working with Scorsese. In fact, Scorsese’s upcoming film will turn out to be Robertson’s final work. As a student of music theory and music history he made for a valuable raconteur, frequently appearing in music documentaries to add some much needed perspective. He was to music history what Peter Bogdanovich was to film history, he was only missing the cravat.

This is a significant loss. Robbie Robertson was a musical legend of the first order. RIP to one of the greats.

No Escape From The Climate Nightmare

What’s so sobering about the frequency of destructive climate events is the realization that many of them are no longer anomalous. It’s only going to continue to get hotter, and the intensity of these catastrophes are only going to get worse.

This week’s destructive wildfires in Maui have been especially frightening. This one was made worse because the state’s relative isolation meant that the evacuation options were limited. Where, exactly, could someone escape to? Even if someone had the means to travel to one of the other Hawaiian islands, it’s not as if a neighboring island was not facing the similar combo of dry conditions and high winds that made the situation so serious in the first place. Many had no other choice to escape from the fire and smoke but to jump in the ocean and await boat rescue. The day after photos were terribly sad to see; so much destruction.

It didn’t attract the same amount of attention, but Hawaii’s fellow non-contiguous state has been facing serious issues of its own. Melting glaciers have caused massive floods in Juneau, Alaska. The severity varies from location to location, but by this point there is no area of the country immune from the ramifications of climate change. I’d like to believe it’s still not too late to reverse the worst of it, but it takes a will that still isn’t there. As long as we continue to elect skeptics who refuse to acknowledge such clear evidence, we’re trapped in this endless cycle. Remember, “it’s too expensive” is not an appropriate response when we’re already spending billions on cleanup costs, not to mention the human toll. But James Inhofe once brought a snowball onto the Senate floor, so I suppose everything’s OK.

A Time To Boo, A Time To Cheer

Philadelphia sports fans are ruining their collective reputation. Well known for booing Santa Claus, and worse, Mike Schmidt, they have gone out of their way to support Trea Turner as he has terribly struggled in his first year in Philly following his free agent signing. He has received standing ovations, and he has reciprocated by purchasing “thank you” billboards saluting the fans. He has even slowly started to hit a little better, although still well below his standard level of production. It’s almost as if encouraging a player might help him get into a better headspace. Crazy, right?

I never understood booing your own players. Here’s a news flash - no one tries to suck. It has to be an agonizing feeling to find yourself in a prolonged slump and not producing at the rate you expect yourself to. It doesn’t make things any better to have your own fans turn on you. Now, I’m not going to claim I’m perfect. There have probably been a handful of times when I’ve booed the home team, but not very many. It’s counterproductive. Wouldn’t you want your players to succeed and try to encourage and uplift them?

There are of course rare instances in which a player is clearly giving a halfhearted effort, but I don’t believe it’s as common as any people think. Professional athletes are wired much differently than the rest of us are. In order to succeed at that level it takes a lot more than simply talent. It entails a supernatural drive, an almost sociopathic sense of focus, a load of personal pride, and an absurd level of competitive fire. It makes zero sense that an athlete would push oneself to such a high limit and then suddenly become complacent at the moment they get paid. It just goes against their very nature; the few who do get lazy and stop giving a f*** are the outliers.

The happy ending for all would be for Trea Turner to continue to produce in the season’s final weeks and then carry it over and have a big 2024 and beyond. If that does happen, it can’t entirely be chalked up to the support from the fans but it couldn’t hurt. I’m not naive enough to think that this would then cause fans to have the revelation that it it’s in everyone’s best interests to stop booing their own players, but I can dream can’t I?

The 5 O’Clock Whistle

I never purchase lottery tickets, but since last week’s jackpot moved past $1.5 billion I figured what the heck, why not try? Needless to say, I didn’t win, which is just as well. Had I become a sudden billionaire the contents of Tending The Herd would have changed into listicles of my 10 favorite Faberge eggs, and who wants to read that? I assume none of you won either, so let’s join together in our collective disappointment. Thanks for reading, and see you again on Monday.