Butler won. In spite of, or as a result of my Swiftian exhortations? I don't know. All I know is that my son, keen little pitcher with big ears that he is, when I asked what he thought about Butler winning, said, "I'm speechless. I don't know what to say." He heard this phrase from someone at my parents' house, either my mother or Bob Proctor. Nevertheless, he knew that we were all hooting and hollering about something rather unexpected and unprecedented and he brought out the line on cue. I almost swerved off the road.
In five days, Butler will play a semi-final game against Michigan State in Lucas Oil Stadium, Indianapolis, Indiana. And here, in the seemingly wonderful serendipity of the location, lies the only impediment to their winning the whole dang thing. It is not their lack of relative size compared to other teams. It is not that MSU and West Virginia are spectacular rebounding teams, or that Duke has three NBA players in its starting lineup. The home city advantage is actually a very sharp, double-edged sword for these Bulldogs, because no matter what the result this weekend, these Bulldogs cannot lose.
They may get beaten by twenty-points on the scoreboard, but in the end they are winners. Gordon Hayward, Shelvin Mack, Ron Nored, Matt Howard, Willie Veasly, and all their teammates will be conquering heroes whether they win or lose. In the eyes of Indiana residents and the country at-large, they are the underdogs who made it to the Final Four. Everything else is gravy on the taters. So Brad Stevens' lone challenge is not game-planning for the Spartans and crazy-good coach Tom Izzo, rather it is to get his team to fear contentedness and satisfaction.
Even the most competitive sumbiches could get pretty swelled up and slow if they came back home at 4 in the morning to screaming, delirious crowds. And if they are anything, these Bulldogs are competitive. But fighting against the insidious mindset that they have "already won" has to be tough for player and coach alike.
Forgive me, I could ramble on about these less-than-concrete ideas for too long. My hope is this, Butler goes out looking for blood. Elbows to the neck, heel-kicks when defending in the low blocks, rabbit punches to the kidneys. No holds barred. Use every flipping foul they give you and get ready to take a punch and shoot the technical afterwords. Butler may be a feel-good story but their opponents will give them no quarter. They should be ready to do the same.
Go out and try to win, because they already can't lose.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Underrated H - Hinkle Huskers
Please, whatever you do, you faithful readers out there in the interlands, do NOT root for Butler. If you are not a Butler Alum or a resident of the Butler-Tarkington/MKNA neighborhoods of Indianapolis, do not make this team the spunky underdog you are going to pull for. If you have never been to Hinkle Fieldhouse to see a game, don't know who Barry Collier is, haven't heard of A.J. Graves, Mike Green, Rylan Hainje, Joel Cornette, Darnell Archey, Jon Neuhouser, Jermaine Guice, or Darin Archbold, STAY THE EFF AWAY FROM THIS TEAM BECAUSE YOU WILL RUIN THEM.
I say this only kind of jokingly, because for the last twenty years Butler has defined the rise of the Mid-Major in college basketball, and they've done so, in part, by always being slightly underrated. In the early 90's, I went to way too many Butler games when I should have been doing Chemistry homework or trying to get dates with girls. However, this wasn't foolish escapism. The fact was that Butler was putting high-caliber basketball on display every time they hit the floor of hallowed Hinkle. It wasn't until 1997 that they finally made an NCAA tournament for the first time since old man Hinkle was at the helm; they were a casualty of an exceptionally competitive conference and conference tourney in the MCC and Horizon. However, I remember the level of play exhibited from 1991-1996 and it was indistinguishable from some of the middle rung Big Ten and Big East schools. And of course, within a few years of their first NCAA shot, Butler made a run at knocking off highly-ranked Florida, a feat they would repeat in 2007 when they nearly derailed the Gators who were on their way to a second consecutive championship.
Despite this success, Butler still doesn't sell out every home game. And they play their home games in the stadium where Hoosiers was filmed for jeebus' sake. Somehow this all helps them. Butler rosters are usually composed of a bunch of kids who wouldn't start on ACC, SEC or Big Ten teams because they aren't quite selfish or flashy enough. AJ Graves would've gotten clean-up minutes at IU. Mike Green transferred from a small Philadelphia school and when he got to Butler played like he was trying destroy every "big-time" program who passed on him. He made every player on Butler's team better and played harder and stronger than guys a foot taller than him. Darnell Archey came to Butler and showed everyone else in basketball what consistency and dedication really was. He hit 85 free-throws in a row at one point in the season. And still, the bleachers in the top of the Fieldhouse aren't always full.
During a heated game against the Evansville Aces in 1991, I was sitting above the Butler goal watching the action unfold. The game was close and the star players, Parrish Casebier for Evansville and Darin Archbold for Butler, were going at it, hammer and tongs. On this particular play, Casebier, wearing the metaphorical black hat, wound up guarding Archbold. Archbold had a killer jumper and a nose for the open space where shots develop--a skill best honed, not through practice with coaches and teammates, but by spending hour upon hour in open gyms with aggressive middle-aged guys who hip-check you every time you try to curl around a screen. You don't call fouls because they'll just call you a pussy under their breath and hit you with a sweaty hamboned elbow in the chest the next time down. Instead, you find the space and you stick the jumper right in their face and then swat the shit out of their lay-up when they attempt to exact some ill-advised revenge.
But I digress. Casebier saved his best stuff for Butler. He was a slick kid, with a bowling ball physique and a nasty attitude. He would talk trash all game and light up anybody who gave him too much room. He would also defend with his beer-belly, which worked because he was still faster than everyone else, despite his layer of insulation. The memory I have of this moment is short and sweet and quintessential Butler basketball. Archbold took a pass and dribbled around a high screen, Casebier switched to him and stuck his tummy into Archbold's hip. Archbold drove toward the baseline and elevated about eight feet from the hoop, with Casebier riding him the whole time, and cooly called out "backboard" as he banked in his shot off the glass while the ref blew his whistle.
In that "backboard," I heard the voice of every kid who I ever played against in my backyard. And Butler has always been made up of the best backyard players. The guys who throw no-look bounce passes, not because it makes them look good, but because their teammates wouldn't dare miss the lay-up after such a great pass. The guys who learned how to bank it from eighteen feet because the rim was just tight enough that a slightly off-center shot would thunk off the iron, as opposed to trickling through as the shot would on a more forgiving, professional rim.
Butler has always been in my backyard. And I feel guilty for not going to enough games, even though I've been to quite a few. So I know the rest of my friends, neighbors, and peers, particularly those who profess to be Hoosiers and basketball fans, must feel extra dopey every March when the Bulldogs make their annual stand against the Goliaths of the basketball world. And therefore, I once again plead with you: do not make this Saturday the night you turn Butler into your prize pony instead of your rented mule. They have been underrated for going on twenty years now. And it works for them. They thrive on it. The minute all us yahoos who didn't really pay attention to which one was Howard and which one was Hayward start cheering and dipping chips in Butler's honor, they lose that advantage. So go cut your grass or plant your tomatoes. But don't play pretend Butler fan.
Save that for next Saturday...
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Underrated G Cont'd. - Cold Beverages and Buffaloes
I'm not sure either of these artists are overrated. So much for being committed to the material. However, when I did my initial assessment, I included them and so I will give them the benefit of the doubt. Each of them reached a kind of career popularity apex where they were perfectly "rated" in terms of how many people were listening to them and singing along, refer to the Klosterman Index here. The Avett Brothers have reached that point RIGHT NOW.
G. Love and Special Sauce - "Stepping Stones," Yeah, It's That Easy
G. Love peaked early in his career. Two songs of his persist in popularity, played regularly at frat parties and keggers across the country, they are both standards in the drunken hook-up hymnal. "Cold Beverage" and "Baby's Got Sauce" from his first album G. Love and Special Sauce are still stand-by's for Delta-Chi's looking to get their white boy blooz on. G. Love, (also known as Garrett Dutton) with his Presley-esque coiffure and his absurd, over-the-top, urbanized Philly patois, never quite achieved the level of sales success these first two singles hinted at. The highly derivative blues and R&B he played became much more marketable when performed by an actual black man (Ben Harper) or by a more neutral hippy-dippy white voice (Jack Johson). Nevertheless, G. Love was a fearless dude when it came to wearing his tastes and influences on his sleeve. His 1997 release Yeah, It's That Easy struggled to encompass all of the myriad musical influences he wanted to acknowledge, a symptom that verged into borderline-schizophrenia on later records. However, on a few tracks G. Love absolutely hits his mark hearkening back to the best of '60s Philly soul while adding a modern twist. This is how all high school dances would sound if Jim Crow had never happened.
Grant Lee Phillips - "Wish I Knew," Virginia Creeper
*Warning - I'm going to use the term alt.country a lot here. It's just easier than anything else and people kind of know what it means, I'll throw in a few synonyms and neologisms for fun, too.
It's hard to imagine a time when Jeff Tweedy wasn't the foremost practitioner of bent Americana. After Uncle Tupelo broke apart, Farrar and Tweedy quickly formed new outfits, but except for the hit single "Drown," neither Wilco or Son Volt seemed like they would set the alt.country world on fire in the way they did with tunes like "Whiskey Bottle" and "Graveyard Shift." A.M. was good, Trace was good, but I wasn't sure they were great. (In retrospect both these records are absolutely perfect middle steps in the careers of two of the best songwriters of the last twenty-five years.) Late 1993 into 1994 it wasn't clear if the No Depression-era of country-influenced rock was going to continue.
In walks Grant-Lee Buffalo and alt.country became something altogether different. GLB continued, where Tupelo had begun, re-inventing what American rock and roll sounded like. But this re-invention of country bore signs of influence more far-flung than the Carter Family and Nashville Skyline Dylan. There were hints of 80's New Wave mixed with the banjoes and dobros. It had the fuzzy impertinence of Neil Young with the queer take on rock and roll that made R.E.M. so intriguing. In fact, their first record was called Fuzzy. And within a year of that album, they released Mighty Joe Moon. They toured with Pearl Jam when nobody was bigger than Pearl Jam.
All of this had to do with Grant-Lee Phillips' songwriting and his vocals. His tone was precise and he commanded a perfect Nashville vibrato, but he was able to be vocally eccentric and odd when the moment called for it.
In 1996 Wilco released Being There and Beck released Odelay and alt.country and cow.hop's kings were crowned. By 1999 Grant-Lee Buffalo had disbanded and Phillips was playing and recording as a solo artist, as he has been now for the last decade. And he is still damn good at it. Perhaps he's not the greatest alt.country figure of our time, but he was very important for a moment. And his albums from the 2000's have some real gems. Great American songwriter and definitely underrated.
G. Love and Special Sauce - "Stepping Stones," Yeah, It's That EasyG. Love peaked early in his career. Two songs of his persist in popularity, played regularly at frat parties and keggers across the country, they are both standards in the drunken hook-up hymnal. "Cold Beverage" and "Baby's Got Sauce" from his first album G. Love and Special Sauce are still stand-by's for Delta-Chi's looking to get their white boy blooz on. G. Love, (also known as Garrett Dutton) with his Presley-esque coiffure and his absurd, over-the-top, urbanized Philly patois, never quite achieved the level of sales success these first two singles hinted at. The highly derivative blues and R&B he played became much more marketable when performed by an actual black man (Ben Harper) or by a more neutral hippy-dippy white voice (Jack Johson). Nevertheless, G. Love was a fearless dude when it came to wearing his tastes and influences on his sleeve. His 1997 release Yeah, It's That Easy struggled to encompass all of the myriad musical influences he wanted to acknowledge, a symptom that verged into borderline-schizophrenia on later records. However, on a few tracks G. Love absolutely hits his mark hearkening back to the best of '60s Philly soul while adding a modern twist. This is how all high school dances would sound if Jim Crow had never happened.
Grant Lee Phillips - "Wish I Knew," Virginia Creeper
*Warning - I'm going to use the term alt.country a lot here. It's just easier than anything else and people kind of know what it means, I'll throw in a few synonyms and neologisms for fun, too.
It's hard to imagine a time when Jeff Tweedy wasn't the foremost practitioner of bent Americana. After Uncle Tupelo broke apart, Farrar and Tweedy quickly formed new outfits, but except for the hit single "Drown," neither Wilco or Son Volt seemed like they would set the alt.country world on fire in the way they did with tunes like "Whiskey Bottle" and "Graveyard Shift." A.M. was good, Trace was good, but I wasn't sure they were great. (In retrospect both these records are absolutely perfect middle steps in the careers of two of the best songwriters of the last twenty-five years.) Late 1993 into 1994 it wasn't clear if the No Depression-era of country-influenced rock was going to continue.
In walks Grant-Lee Buffalo and alt.country became something altogether different. GLB continued, where Tupelo had begun, re-inventing what American rock and roll sounded like. But this re-invention of country bore signs of influence more far-flung than the Carter Family and Nashville Skyline Dylan. There were hints of 80's New Wave mixed with the banjoes and dobros. It had the fuzzy impertinence of Neil Young with the queer take on rock and roll that made R.E.M. so intriguing. In fact, their first record was called Fuzzy. And within a year of that album, they released Mighty Joe Moon. They toured with Pearl Jam when nobody was bigger than Pearl Jam.
All of this had to do with Grant-Lee Phillips' songwriting and his vocals. His tone was precise and he commanded a perfect Nashville vibrato, but he was able to be vocally eccentric and odd when the moment called for it.
In 1996 Wilco released Being There and Beck released Odelay and alt.country and cow.hop's kings were crowned. By 1999 Grant-Lee Buffalo had disbanded and Phillips was playing and recording as a solo artist, as he has been now for the last decade. And he is still damn good at it. Perhaps he's not the greatest alt.country figure of our time, but he was very important for a moment. And his albums from the 2000's have some real gems. Great American songwriter and definitely underrated.
Wish I Knew - Grant Lee Philli...
As a post script, I wish to acknowledge and thank any of yous who are "following" this blog. I didn't even know that function existed until a month ago. So, thanks. You are very kind.
As a post script, I wish to acknowledge and thank any of yous who are "following" this blog. I didn't even know that function existed until a month ago. So, thanks. You are very kind.
Monday, March 01, 2010
Underrated G - Golly, Sarge.
Maybe I am just a bit of liberal snob, but for a long time I was prejudiced towards people with Southern accents. Southern United States, to be geographically and linguistically specific. Below the Mason-Dixon Line, East of the Mississippi and throw in Texas for good measure. In my mind, the dialects and the speakers all mash up into a pretty unsophisticated stereotype not too far from ol' Gomer Pyle.
My prejudice told me that people who spoke in such a manner were intellectually inferior to most of the rest of our nation (save for Anglo-Southern California natives). Even "Southern" music, from the Delta Blues to Allman-style Blue-eyed Blues, hillbilly to juke-joint, struck me as less smart than similar artists from other regions. Sure, it was visceral and moving, and sometimes absolutely transcendent, but I never felt challenged by those of southern-ilk, never felt engaged in my brain, only in my legs and pelvis.
Many would say, "Well, that's the point of popular music. DUH." And in return I'd say, "After the dancin' and the luvin', I still want to be able to listen to the song and feel connected and inspired. So it helps if they're sing about somethin' with some substance."
Being an Indiana native, I have absolutely no right to a sense of regional superiority and elitism. Heckfire, we gave birth to Jim Nabors, for Heaven's sake. Nevertheless, my musical opinions were surely affected by my snootiness towards the Southern drawl.
At some point, probably while listening to Woody Guthrie or reading Faulkner (Hey, I am still a liberal elitist, c'mon...) my better angel prevailed and I realized that out of the mouths of Southerners can come profoundly satisfying artistic statements. Along that continuum of smart Southern folk comes Joey Kneiser and his compatriots from Murfreesboro, TN in the band Glossary.
And here's where my sales pitch starts. No, I'm not going to try to sell you timeshares. I'm going to try to sell you Glossary. I'm going to try to get you to buy two, three, maybe four records. I've written about them before , but didn't really come out and say, "Glossary is badass and underrated and you should go get one of their records right now, motherfiretruckers!" So now I will.
Glossary - "Little Caney", "Save Your Money for the Weekend", "Days Go By", etc. - Various albums
Glossary is silly underrated. Go get a record.
You want rock music composed with thematic through-lines and a strong narrative presence? Glossary is your band. You need indie lo-fi mixed with whiskey-fueled alt.country? Here you go. You like Exile-era Stones? Merle Haggard? Thin Lizzy? Superchunk? Come and get you some.
Joey Kneiser's songwriting is at its best when he writes about concrete experiences framed within the context of life as a Southern musician. He writes songs about being on the road that don't ask you to feel sorry for him, they simply ask you to look at the gray areas that enshroud the black and white choices an artist makes. In Glossary's world there is always sacrifice for the sake of art. Are some nights, "too easy to forget," as Kneiser says in the song "Shakin' Like a Flame"? You bet. Do you wake up some mornings so elated from the night before--still a little buzzed, still a little horny--that you wanna go out and get married to the sweet girl laying next to you? Absolutely.
Another frequent Glossary theme is the dichotomy between the values preached in Southern churches and the behavior of the parishioners once they hit the sidewalk in front of the church. Sometimes Mr. Kneiser rails against the hypocrisy other times he relishes the forbidden fruit created when a religion espouses deprivation over moderation. "Save Your Money for the Weekend" takes a big bite of that apple, letting us know that "Southern girls are the sweetest when they're full of Jesus' love." Wink wink.
I'll admit that the casual listener will probably not be as into the entire Glossary discography (I celebrate their entire catalog) as I am. But every one of their albums has at least one single that is a major league alt.country grand-slam. Here they are for your listening pleasure:
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