Grade Inflation Update Part 1: On the Path to Perfection

In order to spur me on and actually do the work that I've promised to do (and people keep emailing to do), Wednesdays are now officially grade inflation days. Every week I'll put up some new data that eventually will find their way to gradeinflation.com. Think of this as a preview. Here we go!

Data aren't as easy for me to get as they were when I first collected data six years ago. Basically, people aren't as cooperative. That said, there are data available at universities that are still open to the idea of sharing knowledge. Imagine that! There are still some universities that believe that data should be open and public. What will they think of next?

OK, enough sarcasm. Here are some data from the Ivy League, Brown and Cornell. If you want to look at the graph in detail, just click on it. Brown and Cornell represent the high and low end of what can be found in these private schools grade-wise. Brown crashed through the 3.6 threshold last year. Cornell hit the 3.3 mark in 2004.

When I stated to collect data way back in 2002, I had two notions that proved to be incorrect: grade inflation would be confined mostly to wealthy schools; rates of grade increases would start to wane as average grades approached a B+ level. That second notion was based on the idea that sooner or later professors would get embarrassed by the number of As they were handing out and they simply would hit a wall and say something to the effect, "Well I know I'm trying to be nice here, but this paper is so damn mediocre that sorry, I just can't give it an A."

If you look at the Brown data, you find that we still haven't hit that wall. Grades keep rising steadily. Even in the humanities, where the average grade is 3.7, grades are still rising. Excellent work, mediocre work, and maybe even lousy work in humanities departments get As at Brown (to be fair, it should be noted that about 1/3 of all grades in the humanities at Brown are Pass/No Credit). The situation isn't a whole lot better in the physical sciences.* Given the current state of grading at Brown, I would advise employers and graduate schools to ignore GPAs of Brown undergraduates altogether with the exception of the following rule of thumb: if a Brown student has less than an A- GPA, he or she is a slacker or just plain dumb or both. That last sentence was not meant to be sarcastic.

Cornell appears to be about 20 years behind Brown in terms of grading practices. Its grades continue to rise as well. Sometime around 2030, grades at Cornell may well enter the meaningless category and be like Brown today.

It's worth noting that if current trends continue at Brown, almost every student will have a 3.8 or better GPA by about 2040. Perfection of a sort will be achieved.

What's interesting to me is that somehow when confronted with the news that two thirds of all letter grades given at Brown are As, some professors continue to believe that all of these students are doing excellent work. They are living in a fantasy world.

For 15 years, I taught at a school very similar to Brown in terms of its student body. About 80 percent of the students were very bright. That percentage didn't change over time; students did not get significantly better over those 15 years. Grades did however go higher both in my classes and for the university as a whole.

In any given class about 1/6 were smart, creative, worked hard and truly produced excellent work. On the other end of the spectrum, 1/3 barely did a thing and should not have been in college.

That leaves another 50 percent of very good to fair students. Some lacked creativity. Some lacked a work ethic. Hardly any of those students worked more than three hours a week. What grade should those students receive? At Brown over two thirds of these fair to very good students who don't work very hard receive As. If I was one of the students at Brown who truly excelled, I would not be happy about being lumped together with those that are mediocre. Brown is abrogating its responsibility to reward excellence and push students to excel.

If Brown wants to give up on grading altogether that is of course its right. But the current state of affairs, pretending to have significant academic standards and handing out As two out of three times letter grades are given, is silly.

As noted above, Cornell may well be where Brown is in about 20 years. Quite a few others will likely get there sooner. Some schools may be there already; they also refuse to provide data on grades. Brown has made its grades meaningless, but at least it's willing to make that fact readily retrievable on its web site.

*The differential between humanities and sciences at Brown is typical of what I've seen elsewhere. The social sciences line up between these two extremes.

Obama and the Feinstein Model

Unlike a lot of liberals, I like the job Dianne Feinstein is doing as Senator. I don't agree with her on a lot of issues. She historically has been tone deaf when it comes to health care. Her views on national security and terrorism routinely ignore civil liberties (I might be a hawk on issues of terrorism, too, if I had, like her, watched my boss get gunned down by a lunatic). She consistently fought for helping the financial industry ease regulations and we saw what happened with that.

That said, her negatives are more than balanced by her ability to work well within the Senate to get legislation passed, her strong environmental record, her work to keep banking and medical records private, and her efforts at fighting the powerful gun lobby. I respect her as a person and admire her political skills. I'd vote for her again in a heartbeat. As a matter of fact, I'd vote for Feinstein over Barbara Boxer if given the choice even though my political views are aligned more with Boxer.

I was thinking of Obama the other day, and the thought entered my head that he is quite a lot like Feinstein. He's not a liberal in the least. He talks a big game about helping the little guy, but like Feinstein is a big business supporting Democrat. He doesn't seem to care about civil liberties much either and like Feinstein seems quite happy with the use of the death penalty, a punishment that almost all of the rest of the civilized world rightly finds barbaric.

Where Obama differs significantly from Feinstein is his wan support for the gay community. Obama is currently in hot water for inviting Rick Warren to give a prayer at his inauguration. Gays were right to express their outrage. They helped Obama win the election and in return they get to watch Obama give a plumb job to an ignorant bigot who thinks being gay is a sin and a lifestyle choice. It's bad enough that Obama has decided to go with the flow and follow the hostile views of the nation toward gays by opposing gay marriage. It was tacky and gutless for him to refuse to be photographed with SF Mayor Newsom at a fundraiser. In my view, the invitation of Rick Warren was another misstep and a cruel act on the part of Obama.

Those that try to toss the Rick Warren invitation aside as simply "symbolic" are underestimating the power of symbolism. I think it's highly akin to a politician in the 1950s extending a warm welcome to a racist because the country is pervasively racist and that politician feels the need to go with the flow. I don't understand how a black man like Obama could be so callous on an issue that in 50 years time will likely look like pure bigotry in hindsight.

As I noted above, Feinstein, unlike Obama, has been a supporter of many gay issues including her opposition to California's Proposition 8. It wasn't always so. She learned. Now she doesn't equivocate and speaks plainly and forthrightly about gay marriage. "I think as more and more people have gay friends, gay associations, see gay heroism, that their views change," she has said. "I think people are beginning to look at it differently, I know it's happened for me. I started out not supporting it. The longer I've lived, the more I've seen the happiness of people, the stability that these commitments bring to a life. Many adopted children who would have ended up in foster care now have good solid homes and are brought up learning the difference between right and wrong. It's a very positive thing."

My hope for Obama is that like Feinstein, he is capable of learning from the world around him and changing his views on many topics including gay marriage. I hope that he also proves to be the kind of politician that works well to push through legislation. In essence, I hope that Obama becomes Feinstein-like as president, a centrist whom I don't agree with much of the time, but I do respect and admire.

A Modest Proposal for Reducing Government Corruption

Given the recent problems with Illinois' corrupt Governor Blagojevich, I think it's reasonable to ask, "Can anything be done to reduce political corruption in the US?" And the answer is, "Of course!" But I don't think we need more laws or oversight. Nosiree Bob. The problem can be solved at its root and that root has nothing to do with regulation. Rather it has everything to do with location. To see what I mean, take a look at Corporate Crime Report's list of the most corrupt states in the country.

1. Louisiana
2. Mississippi
3. Kentucky
4. Alabama
5. Ohio
6. Illinois
7. Pennsylvania
8. Florida
9. New Jersey
10. New York
11. Tennessee
12. Virginia
13. Oklahoma
14. Connecticut
15. Missouri
16. Arkansas
17. Massachusetts
18. Texas
19. Maryland
20. Michigan
21. Georgia
22. Wisconsin
23. California
24. North Carolina
25. Arizona

If you know your state geography (and you should have learned that in 6th grade!), you can see a clear pattern. The states that are the most corrupt tend to have their state capitals in some of their tiniest and most dreary cities. Baton Rouge, Jackson, Frankfort, Montgomery, Springfield, Harrisburg, Trenton, and Albany. Nine of the top ten most corrupt states have their capitals in some true armpit cities. The only exception is Columbus, Ohio and that's not much of an exception.

Now imagine being an elected state official from a wonderful city like Chicago or NYC. For your job you have to move to some dreadful place like Springfield or Albany. You're completely out of your element. The town is tiny and insular. You grow bored and depressed. The next thing you know you're taking bribes just trying to bring some spark into your life.

The bottom line is that a state government is only as good as the city in which it is housed. There's no way anyone is going to confuse a place like Frankfort with Paris. It's completely predictable that Kentucky would have a government that is a sewer.

So how do we change things for the better? Move the capitals of course! The new capital of Kentucky is now Louisville. The new capital of Illinois is Chicago. OK, I know that moving the capital of Louisiana to New Orleans won't improve anything, but it definitely couldn't be any worse.

In other states, though, I guarantee marked improvement. Illinois and New York will be transformed into model states I'm certain. Corruption will be down nationwide. Just like real estate, good government is all about three things: location, location, location.

Now what about our Federal government? It's the same deal. People come from all over the country to live in a hot, muggy, damp swampland. No wonder they get all cozy with lobbyists! They are bored silly. Washington, DC is no reasonable place for anyone to live. We need to dump Washington, DC like a hot potato.

But I realize picking a new city for our Nation's capital would be fraught with trouble and controversy. So I propose a political compromise. We'll rotate our capital city every five years. Just like the NCAA basketball tournament finals or Olympics, the location of our Nation's capital will no longer be fixed. Every five years a new major city will be randomly picked. Such a move will be a temporary boon to any city's economy. Plus, it will keep those corrupt lobbyists on the run, too busy arranging their office furniture and installing their computer networks to do any major damage.

The overall change would be helpful to all six graders, too. They won't have to memorize the names of tiny no account cities like Salem anymore. They'll just focus on the big cities in every state. It will make their studies infinitely easier. All in all, I see no downside to this proposal at all. Remember where you heard it first!

Tales From The Old Country and Beyond, Part 35

Merry Kratzmas

When we were living in North Carolina, my mom would visit us quite a bit. We'd built our house so that there was essentially a little mother-in-law unit on the first floor. The idea was to make it comfortable for her to come by whenever she wanted. I'm a momma's boy through and through, what can I say? My mom even bought a lot a block away from my house with the vague intention of building a house of her own. The neighbors loved her. There was a Jewish widow across the street she would kibbitz with and a Polish couple next door who would always invite her over for coffee when she was around.

But I don't think she would have ever moved down there. One time I was at the grocery with her on a Sunday morning. She'd put a bottle of wine in the cart for dinner with my in-laws (who did move to NC). But you can't buy liquor of any kind, including wine, on Sunday before 12. It's a state law. The grocery clerk pulled the bottle aside and didn't even say why. I told my mom the rule. "What?" She shouted out in the checkout line. She was pissed.

On the drive home, my mom went on and on about what she perceived was this affront to her civil liberties. "This place is just like Poland. Same trees. Same everything. Same stupid, dumb Christians." My father, had he been living, would have undoubtedly said the same thing.

If Christianity had been a Hollywood movie, my parents would have given it two emphatic thumbs down. My parents hated Christianity. They hated churches. They detested priests and pastors. If they saw a religious collar on a man, they couldn't hide their revulsion. They were highly suspicious of anyone who went to church regularly. This hatred was endemic to Jewish Eastern European culture. It's embedded in Yiddish language from the slang for a dummy, goyisher kopf, which means the the brains of a Gentile, to the slang for a group of teenage Gentile boys, schootzim, or dirty ones.

Christmas was jokingly called Kratzmas, a word that when said aloud almost always included a facial expression of disgust.

You could go on and on about how bigoted this all was. My view of this hatred was not that it was justifiable, but completely understandable. I'll start explaining this with an expression in Yiddish, Goyisher mazel, literally the luck of a Gentile. If a Jew possesses such a thing, it's truly magical. Nothing, absolutely nothing bad can happen to him. In contrast, Yiddisher mazel, is nothing anyone wants. It means you are doomed no matter what you do.

In Eastern Europe, a Gentile could ruin a Jew's life in an instant. The churches reflexively spread anti-Semitism in their Sunday sermons, constantly reminding their followers that Jews killed their savior (you'd think that after 2000 years they'd practice a little Christian forgiveness). Government routinely used Jews as scapegoats for anything and everything that was wrong in society (this is oddly still true in many of these places even though Jewish populations are essentially non-existent). Under such a constant barrage of hate and not occasional violence, how could you not develop a hatred of Christianity?

When my parents went into their tirades about Christianity and its stupid followers I accepted it for what is was. Payback. I knew they weren't alone. All of the greenhorns I knew had this hatred.

One time the pianist and outstanding Chopin interpreter, Arthur Rubenstein, came to Milwaukee for a concert. On the drive from the airport, his host, knowing Arthur was from Poland (born into a wealthy Jewish family from Lodz), asked if he wanted to see the pride of Milwaukee's South Side, the twin gold-leaf painted domes of St. Stanislau Polish church (shown above). Arthur Rubenstein demurred, saying, "I've seen a lot of Polish churches." I'm certain what he was thinking was something along the lines of, "I'm a Jew and this fool wants me to go see a place where anti-Semitism is born and bred? You've got to be kidding."

I don't think either of my parents ever went into a church until about 1973 when a friend of theirs invited them to the confirmation of their son. By then, they had developed the equanimity to do this. And while my parents hated Christianity until their dying days, some of their more casual friends - not close ones - were Christians. They were the exceptions to the rule. My mother would single them out calling them voyle Christs, good Christians. There was a certain far off pensive tone in her voice whenever she said those words that conveyed the sentiment that the world had wonders beyond understanding.

That all said, they were dead set against any of their children going into a church for any reason. It was more than a hatred of Christianity that fueled them in this case. There was always the fear that somehow in the confines of a church, a child's mind could be twisted. A child could walk in a devout Jew, but those priests were tricky devils, and that child might walk out praising the name of Jesus. In my teens, I would regularly sing in churches, often masses and other Christian works. If you're interested in classical music and are a singer, that's what you do. Most classical vocal music is about Christ.

I never told my mother where I was and what I was singing. She would have been mortified. Sometimes I'd try to make up for my deceit; during practices instead of singing "hallelujah" I'd sing the words "holy roller." I know my mother would have been quite pleased. My father would have beamed and said, "That's my boy."

Uncle Stuey's American Top 40, December 24th

It was Christmas, Christmas, Christmas all the time on the radio this week (just like in the stores). Going past the Christmas tunes, there's nothing here that I've listened to that gets to me in a good way. Sorry. I'm ridiculously picky. I'd make a horrible music critic. I've put an asterisk after titles I've actually listened to.

I note that the pianist Alfred Brendel gave his farewell performance about a week ago in Vienna. He wouldn't ever be on this list, but I was lucky enough to hear him play once. It was magic, one of the most memorable concerts I've ever attended.

1 Various Artists Jingle Bell Jazz Columbia 1985
2 Vince Guaraldi A Charlie Brown Christmas [Original Soundtrack] Fantasy 1965
3 Various Artists Putumayo Presents: A Jazz & Blues Christmas Putumayo 2008
4 Frightened Rabbit The Midnight Organ Fight Fat Cat 2008
5 Ella Fitzgerald Ella Wishes You A Swinging Christmas Verve 1960
6 David Byrne & Brian Eno Everything That Happens Will Happen Today Todomundo 2008
7 Al Jarreau Christmas Rhino Company 2008
8 James Moody & Hank Jones Our Delight IPO 2008*
9 Yo-Yo Ma & Friends Songs Of Joy & Peace Sony Classical 2008
10 Various Artists Warner Bros. Jazz Christmas Party Warner Bros. 1997
10 Various Artists Genuine Houserockin' Christmas Alligator 2003
12 Kings Of Leon Only By The Night RCA 2008*
13 Various Artists Jingle Bell Swing Columbia 1999
14 The Pretenders Break Up The Concrete Shangri-La 2008*
14 The Decemberists Always The Bridesmaid: Vol. I Capitol 2008*
14 Various Artists Verve Remixed Christmas Verve 2008
17 Diana Krall & The Clayton/Hamilton Orchestra Christmas Songs Verve 2005
18 Vampire Weekend Vampire Weekend XL / Beggars Group 2008*
18 Jenny Lewis Acid Tongue Warner Bros. 2008*
18 Ray LaMontagne Gossip In The Grain RCA 2008*
18 Ryan Adams & The Cardinals Cardinology Lost Highway 2008*
18 Radiohead In Rainbows TBD / ATO 2008*
23 Lucinda Williams Little Honey Lost Highway 2008*
23 Various Artists Jingle Bell Jam: Jazz Christmas Classics Rhino 1994
23 Dave Holland Pass It On Dare2 / EmArcy 2008
26 Various Artists Jazz Yule Love Mack Avenue 2002
26 Various Artists Maxjazz Holiday MAXJAZZ 2001
26 McCoy Tyner Guitars McCoy Tyner / Half Note 2008*
26 Delta Spirit Ode To Sunshine Rounder 2008
26 The David Leonhardt Jazz Group I'll Be Home For Christmas Big Bang 2005
31 Various Artists A Christmas Gift For You From Phil Spector Phil Spector / ABKCO 1955
31 Taj Mahal Maestro Kan-Du / Heads Up 2008
33 Dianne Reeves Christmas Time Is Here Blue Note 2004
33 Natalie Cole Still Unforgettable DMI / Atco 2008*
33 Various Artists New Orleans Christmas Putumayo 2006
33 Fleet Foxes Fleet Foxes Sub Pop 2008*
33 Javon Jackson Once Upon A Melody Palmetto 2008*
33 Various Artists Hip Holidays EMI 2001
39 Bill Cunliffe The Blues And The Abstract Truth Resonance 2008
40 The Stryker/Slagle Band The Scene Zoho 2008*
40 The Hold Steady Stay Positive Vagrant 2008

About Uncle Stuey's American Top 40

Below are the stations, a little over 50, that are monitored on my radio chart. I picked them because they are the kind of stations I listen to, non-commercial either with jazz, adult alternative or "variety" programming.

I haven't listened to commercial radio in over 20 years. There was a time when commercial stations played decent music, but that was back when each station was worth tens of thousands of dollars. Now they are worth millions and to make the revenue stream commensurate with their value, they have to reach a wider audience, which means they have to play junk all of the time. Don't blame the radio stations for this please. I know some of their DJs. They would love to play good stuff. But the mass market listener just doesn't want it. So they are stuck.

Even the stations below play a lot of junk mixed with the good stuff. They too have audience considerations. They have to depend on listener dollars and if these radio stations play the stuff for snobs like me all of the time, they'd go under. That said, they do have a much higher batting average. That's why I listen.

There are many more stations than the ones listed below that play interesting music. They just aren't electrically monitored, which means I have no way of knowing what they are spinning. My guess is that there are at least 500 stations in this country that still play interesting music now and then. That's a heartening thing if my guess is true.

Radio does not have the impact on music that it once did. Nowadays, attention to music mostly comes from the blogosphere and internet publications, soundtracks from TV shows and even commercials. Audiences for radio are down across the country. I think it is almost impossible to "break an act" on the basis of radio anymore (with the exception being country music, whose fans still seem to be influenced by the radio). And with the stations below it's completely impossible. To break an act, you need stations to play a single 20-30 times a week. The stations on Uncle Stuey's American Top 40 just don't do that (with some exceptions). That's why they are interesting: they believe in variety. If you are a new musical act playing interesting music and trying to get attention, you need to find a means of getting it other than radio.

That said, it's still nice to hear a tune of yours on the radio. Someone asked the songwriter Jimmy Webb once about how he feels when he hears a bad version of one of his songs on the radio and he said, "It feels real good. It always feels real good no matter what the version." Then he just broke out in a grin and laughed, something very uncharacteristic of Jimmy Webb. I know exactly what he meant. I'd love to hear someone sing a song of mine on the radio, butchered or exquisitely done. Right now, I'm lucky enough to hear me singing my own tunes now and then. I happen to think a lot of people could do them better than me. I'm singing out of desperation not desire. But it feels good nonetheless.


KBEM-FM Minneapolis - St. Paul, MN
KCBX-FM Santa Maria - Lompoc, CA
KCSM-FM San Francisco, CA
KFSR-FM Fresno, CA
KJZZ-FM Phoenix, AZ
KKJZ-FM Los Angeles, CA
KLCC-FM Eugene - Springfield, OR
KMHD-FM Portland, OR
KMUW-FM Wichita, KS
KPFT-FM Houston - Galveston, TX
KPIG-FM Monterey - Salinas - Santa Cruz, CA
KPLU-FM Seattle - Tacoma, WA
KRCC-FM Colorado Springs, CO
KRTU-FM College Variety San Antonio, TX
KSDS-FM San Diego, CA
KSJS-FM San Jose, CA
KSYM-FM San Antonio, TX
KUER-FM Salt Lake City - Ogden - Provo, UT
KUNC-FM Ft. Collins - Greeley, CO
KUNM-FM Albuquerque, NM
KUNV-FM Las Vegas, NV
KUT-FM Austin, TX
KUVO-FM Denver - Boulder, CO
KXCI-FM Tucson, AZ
KXJZ-FM Sacramento, CA
KZSC-FM Monterey - Salinas - Santa Cruz, CA
KZSU-FM San Jose, CA
WBFO-FM Buffalo - Niagara Falls, NY
WBGO-FM New York, NY
WCBE-FM Columbus, OH
WCLK-FM Atlanta, GA
WCMU-FM Saginaw - Bay City - Midland, MI
WDNA-FM Miami - Ft. Lauderdale - Hollywood, FL
WDUQ-FM Pittsburgh, PA
WEVL-FM Memphis, TN
WFCR-FM Springfield, MA
WFSS-FM Fayetteville, NC
WFUV-FM New York, NY
WGBH-FM Boston, MA
WGLT-FM Bloomington, IL
WGMC-FM Rochester, NY
WGVU-FM Grand Rapids, MI
WMNF-FM Tampa - St. Petersburg - Clearwater, FL
WNCW-FM Asheville, NC
WNKU-FM Cincinnati, OH
WNYC-FM New York, NY
WRFG-FM Atlanta, GA
WSGE-FM Charlotte - Gastonia, NC - Rock Hill, SC
WSHA-FM Raleigh - Durham, NC
WVIA-FM Wilkes Barre - Scranton, PA
WVXU-FM Cincinnati, OH
WXPN-FM Philadelphia, PA
WYCE-FM Grand Rapids, MI
WYEP-FM Pittsburgh, PA

Uncle Stuey Votes For the Grammys

Voting for the Grammys was easy this year. You could listen to most of the nominees through iTunes. Here are my votes.

Record of the Year
Not any good choices here. So I skipped it.
Album of the Year
Lil' Wayne is just too vulgar for me so he's off my list; creatively, though, he's probably the best of the lot. Sigh. I go with In Rainbows not because I think it's Radiohead's best but I liked how they marketed it.
Song of the Year
I would have skipped this one, too, but there's a local girl on the list, Sara Bareilles, with a Brill Building Carol King sound, so I voted for her.
Best New Artist
I've always liked the Philly sound so even though she sings every song the same way, she does have a big voice and Jazmine Sullivan gets my vote.
Musical Show
Why no Passing Strange? Well you could go down the list of bum nominations and unfortunate no-picks in other categories, too. Gypsy gets my vote not because of this cast, but because it's one of the greatest musicals ever written.
Country Album
This one isn't even close. Jamey Johnson is one of the best damn country writers around. That Lonesome Song gets my vote.
Country Song
It's Jamey Johnson again. In Color.
Country Instrumental
Sleigh Ride is pure fun and it is close to Christmas. Bela Fleck and the Flecktones get my vote not so much for the banjo as for Andy Statman on clarinet. Wonderful.
Country Collaboration
It's overproduced as anything (can't get away from that nowadays), but George Stait and Patty Loveless get my vote for House of Cash.

OK, enough of country.

Best Jazz Vocals
Not her best album, but she's got the voice to die for: Cassandra Wilson, Loverly.
Best Jazz Instrumental
The guitar king of this era: Bill Frisell, History, Mystery.
Best Jazz Ensemble
Joe Lovano, Symphonica: Very sweet and well made.

OK, enough jazz and the rest of the stuff I'd want to vote on (Classical, World, Folk and Blues) is nowhere to be found on the iTunes/Grammys streaming site. So I'm done. Most of this stuff was horrible, but some of it was damn good. The Grammys are like a blind pig; they do find a truffle every now and then.

Tales From The Old Country and Beyond, Part 34

Snot

My parents didn't spend much time with fellow greenhorns. They were strivers trying to make their way in America and I think they perceived that they would be held down if they lived in the same neighborhood as other greener or socialized with them. We lived apart, twenty blocks away from the Orthodox synagogues, and then ultimately left the city altogether.

That said, there were some immigrants that my parents saw now and then. Of course, there were landsleit in Chicago and a few distant relatives in Milwaukee and elsewhere. But there were also people my parents would run into in the real estate business. One of them had the same first name as my father in Yiddish. In English he was known simply by his first name by many, Leo. He was a real character, short, slight of build, with a bald head, a perpetual five o'clock shadow, and olive skin.

Leo Blum didn't build houses like my father, but he did invest in real estate, mostly slum dwellings on Milwaukee's near north side. This also had been where (not so coincidently) post-WWII Jewish greenhorns like my parents had first lived, although it hadn't been nearly as rundown at the time. Where did Leo Blum get the money for these investments? Lord knows. He was a crook through and through. But it's worth noting that this man, who was always overflowing with nervous energy and talked at an astonishing clip, was admired by my parents.

My mother used to visit Leo's wife on occasion, socially. She used to laugh at how Mrs. Blum would serve Coke and in the kitchen would cut it with seltzer to save some money. The glasses, too, were small and there were never any refills. My mother, the ultimate Jewish hostess who filled plates and glasses to the brim, would shake her head as she talked about how much of a penny pincher Mrs. Blum was. She didn't have to be, either.

Leo used to carry a gun with him when he went down to the slums to collect late rents. The ballsiness of this man outweighed his negatives in my parents' estimation. That he was a crook mattered little to my parents, although they never wanted to do business with him. Leo Blum, like my parents, was a striver. As Mrs. Blum, a dark haired beauty with not too much upstairs would always say, "With my Leo, I never have to worry about the mortgage." My mother understood this sentiment completely.

My parents didn't play by the rules either as I'll talk about another time. My father bribed aldermen routinely. My mother didn't exactly approve of this, but she also felt that if this is what it took to get ahead in this country, it had to be done. That said, she used to call all the bribing "snot" in Yiddish, as in "I know you. You always get a kick out of using snot." Less often and more benevolently she would use the word "spread," like the butter or cream cheese you put on a piece of bread, as in "You spread it on good, I'm sure." She didn't like bribes, but she did tolerate them.

I didn't like Leo Blum at all. His nervousness irritated me. His transparent crookedness appalled me. One day in the summer of 1967, I ran into him. I can't remember the context. We'd moved out to the suburbs the previous winter. I wasn't happy about the move at all and would go back down to the old neighborhood and stew in my sadness. Mr. Blum looked at me and said, "Leon's boy." I nodded. "I need some help today. I could give you 20 bucks."

That was a lot of money back then, especially for a kid. But there was no way I was going to spend any time with that guy. I declined.

If my recollection of the timing is correct, it was sometime in late July or early August that Leo Blum asked me to help him. That would line up with the race riots in Milwaukee that took place in sympathy with the riots in Detroit. You could smell the smoke from the inner city in my old neighborhood. That week Leo Blum went into the inner city and burned down all of his buildings to collect on the insurance. It might well be that in exchange for 20 dollars I would have been asked, at the age of 11, to commit arson. I wouldn't put it past him.

Again, my parents admired Leo for his balls. They talked about his burning down his buildings quite a bit. Leo took the insurance money and never worked again. He also, having lost direction and drive, fell off the deep end. He womanized openly instead of hiding it like he used to. His wife divorced him and took him to the cleaners in the settlement. He drank heavily and died in his fifties.

I grew up around a lot of crooks, big and small. They didn't believe rules applied to them and were convinced the only way you could succeed in America was to bend and break those rules. Ultimately, I think they are right. Whenever I see a highly successful person or company, I can't help but think that they got to where they are by bribing someone or cheating somewhere. There must have been some snot, as my mother would say, delivered along the way. That's how business is done in America. That's how business is done everywhere. Merit and talent can only take you so far.

I'll talk a little about my parent's snot in the next post. They did what they had to do. I still hold extreme admiration for them. Unlike Leo Blum, they were prudent, disciplined and focused. I feel compelled to borrow from Mrs. Blum and say, "With my parents, I never had to worry about our mortgage."

Uncle Stuey's American Top 40, December 17th

Here's what about 50 Jazz and Adult Alternative stations were playing this week. You can tell it's Christmas time from the CDs on the chart and that reminds me to go out there and try to write a Christmas classic (hard to do, I know).

Since the James Moody and Hank Jones CD has been so popular on radio, I just downloaded it. If I like it, I'll review it in a future post. Bob Dylan is the best lyricist of his generation, but I can only occasionally listen to him sing. She & Him is just plain painful to listen to both musically and lyrically.

Sonny Rollins, whose latest has been on this chart for awhile, is always worth a jaw dropping listen. Jonatha Brooke has been pouring her heart out as a troubadour for awhile now - she's kind of like Dar Williams except a little smarter - and I would think she would have a significant following. She doesn't, which shows you what I know. You can download a free tune from her latest on allaboutjazz.com and see if it's to your taste. You can find a couple tunes of mine there, too, but you won't ever see me on Uncle Stuey's American Top 40. I was 359! Then again, my latest CD isn't out officially on radio, yet. I should be able to make it up to 126 or so with a little wind behind me.

1 James Moody & Hank Jones Our Delight IPO 2008
2 Bob Dylan Tell Tale Signs: The Bootleg Series Vol. 8 Columbia / Legacy 2008
3 Vince Guaraldi A Charlie Brown Christmas [Original Soundtrack] Fantasy 1965
3 Fleet Foxes Fleet Foxes Sub Pop 2008
5 Bill Cunliffe The Blues And The Abstract Truth Resonance 2008
6 Jacques Loussier Mozart Piano Concertos 20/23 Telarc 2005
7 Will Bernard Blue Plate Special Palmetto 2008
7 Lucinda Williams Little Honey Lost Highway 2008
7 The Pretenders Break Up The Concrete Shangri-La 2008
10 She & Him Volume One Merge 2008
11 Javon Jackson Once Upon A Melody Palmetto 2008
12 Bela Fleck Tales From The Acoustic Planet Warner Bros. 1995
13 Taj Mahal Maestro Kan-Du / Heads Up 2008
13 Jenny Lewis Acid Tongue Warner Bros. 2008
13 Dave Holland Pass It On Dare2 / EmArcy 2008
13 Joey DeFrancesco Joey D! HighNote 2008
17 Alejandro Escovedo Real Animal Back Porch / Manhattan 2008
17 Bruce Springsteen Working On A Dream Columbia 2009
17 TV On The Radio Dear Science Touch And Go / Interscope 2008
20 Brad Mehldau House On Hill Nonesuch 2006
20 David Byrne & Brian Eno Everything That Happens Will Happen Today Todomundo 2008
20 Mike LeDonne FiveLive Savant 2008
20 Ryan Adams & The Cardinals Cardinology Lost Highway 2008
20 Kings Of Leon Only By The Night RCA 2008
25 Natalie Cole Still Unforgettable DMI / Atco 2008
26 Ray LaMontagne Gossip In The Grain RCA 2008
27 Joseph Arthur & The Lonely Astronauts Temporary People Lonely Astronaut 2008
28 Calexico Carried To Dust Quarterstick 2008
28 Dena Derose Live At The Jazz Standard: Volume Two MaxJazz 2008
30 Roger Kellaway Live At The Jazz Standard IPO 2008
30 Yo-Yo Ma & Friends Songs Of Joy & Peace Sony Classical 2008
32 Nikka Costa Pebble To A Pearl Go Funk Yourself / Stax 2008
32 Various Artists Jingle Bell Jazz Columbia 1985
34 Various Artists Cadillac Records [Original Soundtrack] Columbia 2008
34 Raphael Saadiq The Way I See It Columbia 2008
34 Conor Oberst Conor Oberst Merge 2008
34 Al Jarreau Christmas Rhino Company 2008
34 Sonny Rollins Road Shows, Vol. 1 Doxy / Emarcy 2008
34 Death Cab For Cutie Narrow Stairs Atlantic 2008
34 John Mellencamp Life, Death, Love and Freedom Hear 2008
34 Jonatha Brooke The Works Bad Dog 2008
34 Patricia Barber The Cole Porter Mix Blue Note 2008
34 McCoy Tyner Guitars McCoy Tyner / Half Note 2008

A Reconsideration

I was talking with a singer from Nashville who'd read a post I wrote about Taylor Swift - my most read post as of late - and she politely told me that I needed to be kinder. Ms. Swift was playing with all the passion in her heart and millions of people loved her music.

I think she's right about that. I'm a curmudgeon and in contrast most people are (praise the Lord) far more open and uncritical. They judge, sure, but maybe their judgment is based more on whether the person they're listening to sounds genuine and speaks to them personally. Millions of people do love Taylor Swift and her music.

That said, I'm usually listening to music for its musicality not its crowd-pleasing potential. Those are two different things entirely and I'm so lousy at evaluating crowd pleasing potential that I stay away from doing it.

I think it's worth noting that it's very generous of this singer to go out of her way to come to Taylor Swift's defense over a blog post. She too recorded an album with a Nashville label, but unlike Ms. Swift, her album was never released. Music is a very tough and unfair business. You have to be strong to deal with those kinds of up and downs and still have any sort of grace.

There is so much musical talent out there. Somehow you have to fit into the tiny keyhole that allows you access to the public at large. The singer who called me has wonderful vocal chops and looks that would make any CD cover stand out. All she needs is luck and I wish her all the luck in the world.

Courtship Wins Hands Down

There was an article in the NY Times the other day about hook up culture in Generation Y and beyond. It produced the usual comments about the decay of morals in society, yada, yada. I'm not too concerned. Hook ups are an inevitable progression. People get married later in life. They have - as a result of the pervasive use of the computer and less casual time just plain hanging out with friends - fewer social skills than my generation (which had, as a result of TV, fewer social skills than my parent's generation). They do have, however, physical needs. It makes some sense that instead of dating with its requirements for interpersonal communication and implications for emotional involvement and possibly marriage, the youth of today would hang out in packs and bonk their friends on occasion.

That all said, it doesn't seem like much fun. "I like you, need to have an o, so let's go" doesn't quite have the same wallop as "I'm madly infatuated with you, can't get you out of my head, and have an irrepressible desire to rip off your clothes." I'm sure hook up culture leads to o's. But it can't possibly lead to OOOs.

And here's another thing. According to the CDC, it leads to less sex. The youth of America isn't bonking as much as I did. So there it is in a nutshell. Smaller o's and less of them. I don't think that the hook up culture of today is a bad thing societally; but it is apparently a lousy way to get laid.

Courtship it seems still wins hands down. I mean look at me. I was bonking every day the sun rose when I was 20. Nearly all of those times involved very big Os. And it was all because of courtship. When you're 20, that's exactly what you need. If it takes social skills and emotional involvement to make that happen, I'd say it's worth it.

I try to imagine what things would be like for me in today's hook up culture if I was 20 again. We're talking one bonk a week probably max. And it would just be a mechanical, perfunctory thing at that. Yuck. Twenty years old, all full of testosterone and one mechanical bonk a week. Sounds like a nightmare to me.

So my advice to the youth of America is to abandon your little wolf packs of friends. Somehow find and refine the talent to ask someone out, engage in conversation, and let the romance build and build. The proof is in the pudding and there is a lot more pudding in courtship than there is in hooking up. If you think that last line was disgusting, I didn't mean it that way; get your head out of the gutter!

We're talking courtship here, after all. You know. Witty banter. Furtive glances. Passing notes in class. The light touch against the elbow. The shared uncontrollable smile. You don't know? You have no idea what you're missing.

Tales From The Old Country and Beyond, Part 33

The Big Boys

Most work days, my father would have an early breakfast at a restaurant a few blocks from our house on the West Side of Milwaukee, Marcus' Big Boy. The Big Boy was a national chain of restaurants and a local Jewish family, the Marcuses, owned over 50 of them both in Wisconsin and Illinois. They are no more, although the chain does exist elsewhere. The picture on this post - which shows the icon of these restaurants and was visible from a distance of a hundred yards away - tells you exactly what these restaurants were about: it was the era where everybody had big hips and heart disease was rampant.

The Big Boy served mostly hamburgers and breakfast. There was a counter, but most people sat in the naugahyde cushioned booths. The restaurants tended to be long and skinny with ample windows for views outside. The customers tended to be short and fat. With your burger came french fries and a quarter wedge of iceberg lettuce drenched in thousand island dressing. The quarter wedge of lettuce was kind of a signature of the place. They called it a salad.

It you ordered soda, it came with a straw already in the glass with the tip still covered in the original (I hope) paper. This was considered classy. All in all, it was for its time a pretty classy burger joint. At the counter where you paid, you'd find some candy bars and cigars in a glass case.

This is what the property looks like now. It looks abandoned. Many of the buildings of my youth have been razed and the lots are now empty. This one looks like it was "remodeled" sometime around 1975 and sheathed with the wood of choice for all cheap remodel jobs and tacky subdivisions, T1-11 siding. It looked different in the 60s. Imagine a giant statue of "The Big Boy" high up, a stone facade, lots more windows, and there you have it.

My father didn't go to the Big Boy for the food. Rather it was for the company, the group of real estate men who met there regularly to kibbitz about who was building and buying what and where. These guys were straight out of a David Mamet play in their language, attitudes and total lack of ethics. They wore suits and ties regularly. Some wore hats. They were all American born Jews except for my father.

Sometimes I would go with my father and eat with these men. No other children ever came except for me. Our family was European in attitude and that meant that children were expected to learn adult ways early; childhood and its associated play were often considered a silly luxury for "stupid, lazy, weak Americans." We were better than that. But those stupid, lazy, weak Americans seemed to think otherwise.

I could sense my father was truly an outsider in this club of real estate sharks. They looked down on him for being a greenhorn. I knew it. He knew it. We would talk about this sometimes, the fact that these people simply didn't give him respect. It irked him. But ultimately, he didn't care. They had knowledge that he needed for his business and that need superseded whatever slights he had to endure. He would say to me sometimes, "One day, I'll be able to buy all of those shmucks over and over. I'll piss on them."

My father had a real chip on his shoulder about American Jews. In his view, they had so many advantages over him that there was no reason they shouldn't all be millionaires by the time they were 30. That they weren't millionaires was testimony to their laziness and stupidity.

My father was always incredibly competitive. I don't think there was a day when he didn't leave the Big Boy without the feeling that he was going to beat those jerks at their own game. It was always in the back of his mind. And he hated to lose. I'll insert myself into this story just to give you a couple of examples.

The first time I beat my father at chess he swept his hand over the board, the pieces flying in the air and swore at me in Russian, "f*ck your mother." He didn't talk to me for two days.

When he taught me poker, he insisted I play with my allowance money and when he was down, he'd resort to cheating. At nine, I finally caught him at it. I looked at him in complete shock, "Dad, you're cheating!" He looked at me coldly. "You figured it out, finally. Better you learn from me than you learn from someone else." He was perfectly serious about this. In his view, he was giving me an education. That he was also cheating me out of my allowance was icing on the cake.

Once when I was 12, we were playing poker, just five card draw, and the almost impossible happened. He had four tens. I had four kings. This was without wild cards. The bidding went crazy, many times over what we both had in terms of cash in hand. When I showed him my kings, he was furious. Again, he erupted with "f*ck your mother" in Russian. Then he said, "I'm your father. I'm not going to pay you. It's my right as a father. F*ck your mother." He never did pay.

OK enough with examples. None of this scarred me by the way; where I came from, it was just the ordinary stuff of emotional people. The bottom line was my father was competitive to an extreme, hated to lose, and didn't care much about ethics when it came to money. He didn't have a way with words like those sharks at the Big Boy, but he was far more ambitious and much smarter. He was confident that one day he would indeed show them up.

But how was he going to do it? Building single family homes, one at a time, a few every year, wasn't going to make him wealthy. It was safe, but ultimately a depressing way to make money. And because of an earlier mishap he was more than a bit scared of doing anything else.

In the late 1950s, my father had tried to scale up to something bigger. He built two four families on speculation. As bad luck would have it, just as he finished the country went into recession. He sat with the mortgages month after month, the first time he ever got a loan from a bank. No one was buying. It was a time when many builders in Milwaukee went bankrupt. My father was filled with worry that this would happen to him.

Eventually, he sold those apartments for virtually no profit, and the experience of almost defaulting on his first mortgages left him with a fear of borrowing that lasted for years. At the Big Boy though, he learned that everyone borrowed. To make money you had to borrow money. It was as simple as that. If he was going to scale up, he needed to get some loans, which meant that my mother would have to put on her best clothes and visit some banks. That's exactly what happened as I'll talk about next time.

Uncle Stuey's American Top 40, December 10th

Here's what about 50 Jazz and Adult Alternative stations were playing on December 10th. It must have been O'Jays night on some station somewhere. Love Train was played 22 times! Randy Newman's Harps and Angels shows up on the list this week, surprise, surprise. I never got the CD, but I'm next on the list for my library's copy and I'll post a review if I like it. Right now I'm listening to two older CDs that I like, Memoirs with Carla Bley et al. and The Story of Maryam with Paul Motian et al. Actually both have Motian playing drums. Happy listening.

1 James Moody & Hank Jones Our Delight IPO 2008
2 Bill Cunliffe The Blues And The Abstract Truth Resonance 2008
2 The O'Jays Back Stabbers Philadelphia International / Legacy 1972
4 Ryan Adams & The Cardinals Cardinology Lost Highway 2008
4 The Pretenders Break Up The Concrete Shangri-La 2008
4 McCoy Tyner Guitars McCoy Tyner / Half Note 2008
7 Various Artists Cadillac Records [Original Soundtrack] Columbia 2008
8 David Byrne & Brian Eno Everything That Happens Will Happen Today Todomundo 2008
8 David Sanborn Here And Gone Decca 2008
8 Explosions In The Sky How Strange, Innocence Temporary Residence 2005
11 Yo-Yo Ma & Friends Songs Of Joy & Peace Sony Classical 2008
11 Natalie Cole Still Unforgettable DMI / Atco 2008
11 Chick Corea & Bela Fleck The Enchantment Concord 2007
14 Dave Holland Pass It On Dare2 / EmArcy 2008
15 Ray LaMontagne Gossip In The Grain RCA 2008
15 Bob Dylan Tell Tale Signs: The Bootleg Series Vol. 8 Columbia / Legacy 2008
17 Joey DeFrancesco Joey D! HighNote 2008
17 Gene Bertoncini & Roni Ben-Hur Smile Motema 2008
17 Joe Locke Force Of Four Origin 2008
20 My Morning Jacket Evil Urges ATO 2008
20 Roger Kellaway Live At The Jazz Standard IPO 2008
20 The Vanguard Jazz Orchestra Monday Night Live At The Village Vanguard Planet Arts 2008
20 The Felice Brothers The Felice Brothers Team Love 2008
20 Garage A Trois Outre Mer [Original Soundtrack] Spire Artists Media / Telarc 2005
25 Death Cab For Cutie Narrow Stairs Atlantic 2008
25 The Decemberists Always The Bridesmaid: Vol. I Capitol 2008
25 Javon Jackson Once Upon A Melody Palmetto 2008
25 Gordon Goodwin's Big Phat Band Act Your Age Immergent 2008
25 Roy Hargrove Earfood Groovin' High / Emarcy 2008
25 Will Bernard Blue Plate Special Palmetto 2008
25 Generations Tough Guys Center For The Arts 2008
25 Jolie Holland The Living And The Dead ANTI- / Epitaph 2008
25 The Marco Benevento/Joe Russo Duo Best Reason To Buy The Sun Ropeadope 2005
34 Phil Norman 'Totally' Live At Catalina Jazz Club MAMA 2008
34 The Stryker/Slagle Band The Scene Zoho 2008
34 Sonny Rollins Road Shows, Vol. 1 Doxy / Emarcy 2008
34 Okkervil River The Stand Ins Jagjaguwar 2008
34 Daniel Martin Moore Stray Age Sub Pop 2008
34 Bob Dylan Bringing It All Back Home Columbia 1965
40 Little Joy Little Joy Rough Trade 2008
40 Fleet Foxes Fleet Foxes Sub Pop 2008
40 Kings Of Leon Only By The Night RCA 2008
40 JJ Grey & Mofro Orange Blossoms Alligator 2008
40 Beck Modern Guilt Interscope 2008
40 Hayes Carll Trouble In Mind Lost Highway 2008
40 The Black Keys Attack & Release Nonesuch 2008
40 Randy Newman Harps And Angels Nonesuch 2008
40 Mylo Destroy Rock & Roll Breastfed / RCA 2006

Copycats: On the Incredibly Repetitious Nature of Pop Music

The modern era of pop music began about 50 years ago. The Beatles, Elvis, and Brill Building songwriters like Neil Diamond all came along over a decade interval and cast the molds that have been surprisingly static. By and large, people cling to the same simple chord progressions that drive the same simple melodies that were used by these people and other songwriters decades ago. They also talk about the same things lyrically for the most part: I love my girl/boy or I don't love my girl/boy anymore. It's not surprising that given the narrow nature of the music and lyrical content, people repeat themselves. And they do. Over and over again.

It's true I'm a music snob. For me to listen to a song, something has to be interesting about it. There has to be something going on rhythmically, melodically or lyrically (hopefully two out of three) that is a bit different. If I can predict the next three notes or next three words in advance, my mind turns the music off. I love music. Music shouldn't be boring.

Pop music is incredibly boring. It's been that way for a long time. Someone long ago figured out that the public actually loves those same chord structures, melodies and love themes over and over again. They can't get enough of them. In response, record companies and commercial radio decided to, of course, give people what they want, the same stuff over and over.

The more positive way to look at this is that about 50 years ago songwriters identified the ultimate neurologically pleasing sounds. They found that place in our brain that produces wonderful thoughts all of the time. Why shouldn't we want to hear that stuff over and over?

That said, it doesn't work for me. Call me an deviant with a warped brain, but I can't listen to pop radio. It's mind numbing. Actually, it's worse than that. It's offensive to anyone who actually appreciates real music. I'll hear something in a store in the background or in an airport and I'll get heartburn. It isn't soothing to me that's for certain. You can't get away from it.

There are other people like me. I've talked to some of them. One of them confessed that, despite the fact that he can't stand the music, he does put on Dave Matthews quite a bit. I asked him why. "If I bring a girl over, there's something about that music they respond to." I understood completely. People do a lot of silly things for nookie.

When it comes to music, I have a simple rule: if it sells a ton, it's bound to be awful. There are exceptions to that rule. But not many. The last exception I remember was Nirvana. That was a long time ago. The Beatles were another exception, the biggest exception of them all. That was almost fifty years ago. In between the Beatles and Nirvana there wasn't a whole lot worth listening to in the pop megahits realm. The Stones? No. U2? No. Michael Jackson? No. Whitney Houston? No. Madonna? No. Genesis? No. The list goes on.

Probably the biggest pop band out there right now, Coldplay, follows the formula established by Genesis and continued by U2. The American version of it I guess was Journey. It's very formulaic stuff. It follows well defined chord progressions, and has a very thick bed (rhythm section); it more or less applies the wall of sound approach defined by Phil Spector ages ago. On top of that you put plaintive vocals with vague lyrics or lyrics about love. Then you add a lead guitar with minimal distortion. I guess you could call it anthemic rock. It bores the hell out of me. If I was 12, I'd love it. I'm not 12 anymore.

Given that everything is so constrained, it's not surprising that one song can sound identical to another. Sometimes groups will essentially rerecord a song they recorded a year or two back with a different title. While boring as anything, it isn't illegal. But what happens when one of these musical acts records the same song of someone else with a different title? That isn't legal if it can be shown that the copycat copied the musically more or less knowingly.

The latest broo-ha-ha about copycats involves the aforementioned boring band Coldplay and a hit song of theirs, Viva La Vida. Another boring pop act not as popular as Coldplay, Joe Satriani, has made the legal claim that the Coldplay hit is the same as a song of his, If I Could Fly Away. He's right. Listen away here to the two songs mashed up without any manipulation.

My listening to these two songs is probably different than a listen by Coldplay or Joe Satriani. First off, they are dull. Second, the key hook in both songs is essentially the same hook contained in two songs of thirty years ago: a song by Stephen Bishop called On and On and a song by Billy Joel called Honesty. They all have more or less the same chord progression, and more or less the same nine note sequence with the same little stutter step on the second note. I'm sure there are many other pop songs besides these four that do this. It's kind of catchy in a way. That's why it's used over and over. And over and over.

So maybe Stephen Bishop and Billy Joel should get in on the legal action, too.

I end this by noting that this week the most popular album in terms of sales will be the latest by Britney Spears. She makes both Joe Satriani and Coldplay seem like Puccini in comparison. And undoubtedly every song on Britney Spears' latest has been essentially done before lyrically, melodically or both. That's what pop does. It repeats. And that's exactly why it's popular.

The Twisted Mind of Bill Ayers

About 30 plus years ago, I went to a documentary in Madison, Wisconsin about the Weather Underground. The subjects in the movie were filmed while they were still in hiding. At the time, it all looked kind of cool in the way that criminals and criminal behavior seem cool to an adolescent. When I was a young teen, I participated in largely peaceful demonstrations against the Vietnam War. I even through a rock at a bank window when a demonstration got out of control.

In hindsight, throwing that rock was an incredibly stupid thing to do. Yes, the war was wrong and immoral. But breaking that window didn't accomplish anything. At best, it was just a kid acting out. I regret that I did it.

I don't regret participating in those demonstrations however. They were incredibly effective tools in ending the war. Had not millions participated in those demonstrations, our country would undoubtedly have stayed in Vietnam for many, many more years. Peaceful protest worked.

During those years, not everyone believed this would be the case. For a handful, waiting several years for the war to end was too long. They grew impatient. And in their impatience, they truly went off the deep end and resorted to violence. They became criminals and set off bombs. They convinced themselves that their actions would hasten the end of the war. They failed to meet their objectives.

What they did do was cause loss of property, injury and death. In New York City, an explosion caused the death of the Weather Underground's own people. In Madison, Wisconsin, a bomb on the University of Wisconsin campus - set off by a group not from the Weather Underground, but similarly focused on destruction of property - inadvertently caused the death of a campus researcher who was working into the night.

Not only did such acts of violence have no positive effect on ending the war, they had negative repercussions. At the University of Wisconsin after the blast on campus, the Vietnam protest movement essentially ended. No one wanted to be associated with such murderous activity, even if the association was the tenuous one of sharing a purpose to end the war.

If I saw the documentary about the Weather Underground today that I saw over thirty years ago, I know that my view of the people filmed would be different. I'd view them as violent criminals who were at best completely misguided. I'm not a teen anymore. I'm an adult. In hindsight, it all looks very ugly and deranged.

You would think that those who committed acts of violence back then who were still living would in hindsight realize the damage to the antiwar movement their actions caused. You'd think that they would have extreme remorse over the injuries and lives lost. If they wouldn't have remorse, you'd at least question their humanity and possibly question their sanity.

Last week Bill Ayers, a former member of the Weather Underground, wrote an opinion piece in the NY Times. In his op-ed, Professor Ayers was correct in stating that the Republican Party tried to use him to smear Barack Obama. But there is little else in that opinion piece that makes any sort of sense.

With regard to his activities during the Vietnam era, Professor Ayers states:

"The Weather Underground crossed lines of legality, of propriety and perhaps even of common sense. Our effectiveness can be — and still is being — debated. We did carry out symbolic acts of extreme vandalism directed at monuments to war and racism, and the attacks on property, never on people, were meant to respect human life and convey outrage and determination to end the Vietnam war."

This is a flimsy and sad rationalization for violent activity that resulted in death and injury. In his op-ed, Professor Ayers makes the false claim that peaceful protest did not end the war. He makes the false claim that he and members of his organization were not terrorists.

I understand that Professor Ayers has to live with his mistakes and the death his organization caused. That he cannot admit that he was misguided not only tells me that he cannot face the truth, but that he has to resort to twisting reality to look at himself in the mirror.

Professor Ayers likely leads a productive and respectable life now. But in the 1970s, he was a terrorist and violent criminal. There is absolutely nothing positive about his behavior during that time. It was reprehensible and inhumane to an extreme. If he cannot admit to remorse over his actions back then, he fully deserves contempt.

There are those from the left, small in number, who still continue to romanticize this time period and its violence. Supposedly all of this death and destruction was "speaking truth to power" or "sticking it to the man" or whatever catch phrase you want to make up to create the illusion that this violence did anything positive. At best, this is immature thinking. At worst, it gives a rationale for terrorism. Thinking like this is ultimately barbaric.

Twitter

I'm going to try out twitter. Id: stuartrosh

Tales From The Old Country and Beyond, Part 32

Way Out West

It's a right of passage for many families to take one trip out to the West Coast if they aren't living there already. Virtually everyone I know from the Midwest can tell tales of their one big car trip. When a family takes a trip like this it's a sign of some sort that they are likely cohesive enough to manage this lengthy journey. I'm sure there are tales of families falling apart during their "big trip," but for most families, I imagine that this two week or more journey is a happy time full of wonders never seen before. So it was with my family's trip out West.

I have no idea how many families, though, took their Western trip as an exploratory thing with the idea of eventually moving. The percentage probably is not insignificant. Maybe as many as 20 percent of those traveling have an eye on potentially relocating to California. The trip is one part pleasure and one part business. That was definitely true for us.

In 1963, we loaded up our Ford station wagon and headed West for about 14 days. When my father drove, he didn't like to stop. We'd put in 800 mile days, including stops at tourist traps and whatnot along the way. We went West through South Dakota to see Mt. Rushmore. If I remember correctly, we got to San Francisco in four and a half days including a two day stopover in Yellowstone. My father didn't like to stop for bathroom breaks so that meant my brother and I would have to pee into Seven Up bottles while he drove, not a particularly easy thing to do.

The trip reflected my father's interest in human creations, thus the reason we stopped at Mt. Rushmore. We went to San Francisco principally to see the "Golden Gates Bridge;" my father always pluralized the word "gate" whenever he mentioned it. I can remember crossing that bridge in our station wagon and the sense of wonder in my father's eyes reflected in the rear view mirror. It was like he was visiting a shrine to what humans can do if they put their minds to it. I cross that bridge back and forth about 1 to 2 times a month nowadays. I think of my father often as I cross it and have pretty much the same sense of wonder he possessed.

I might talk about our Yellowstone stay another time. But the real reason we were traveling West was not to see the great wonders of the world, but to take a look at Los Angeles and San Diego as potential places to live. The idea in my father's head was to join the carpenter's union again, save some money, and then start building again except this time on a bigger scale.

My mother had a close friend from her days in post-War Germany who lived off of Fairfax in LA, which at the time was the center for Jewish life in that city. Like my mother, she was married to a greenhorn and had a couple of kids. The plan was for my mother and us kids to spend some time with this family while my father did some investigating.

In 1963, air quality in LA was atrocious, even worse than now. As we entered the city, we could almost taste and feel the thick smog produced by the hot summer day. My father didn't like this at all. He complained about his eyes stinging and his lungs being filled with crap. In an earlier post, I talked about my father being a bit of a health food nut. He loved the outdoors and nature. He didn't like heat. Hot smoggy Los Angeles was clearly not going to be the place for him.

Still he did look around. But his plan of joining the union didn't look very solid since most construction jobs were dominated by non-union labor and the union was weak. While my father continued to explore, we spent a few days with my mother's friend. It had been 14 years since my mother had seen her old best friend from German Jewish gymnasium and while on the surface their lives were similar, underneath there were profound differences.

My mother's friend and her family looked worn out by just day to day living. Walking into their house, you could feel the weariness in the air, the tension between the husband and wife, and the pervasive feeling that nothing truly good would ever happen to them. In contrast, my mother was always optimistic and both my mother and father were convinced that they could achieve the American dream.

The contrast between the two families was palpable and I can remember my mother's disappointment that her good friend had lost her energy and spirit. After that trip, they rarely talked.

Los Angeles was out of the question for my father. It was onto San Diego with a stop along the way at Disneyland, a side trip with prices that shocked my mother and father. To their credit, they dug deep in the wallets and let their kids enjoy as many rides as they wanted for two days.

San Diego on the surface looked far more inviting than Los Angeles. The air was clean. The traffic was manageable. There was no overwhelming heat. And then there was, like in Los Angeles, the ocean. My father loved water. He was a fishing enthusiast. As luck would have it, he met a carpenter along a beach just north of San Diego. The man was fishing for halibut and was being quite successful at it. My father looked at the flatfish that were already caught, both eyes of the fish on the same side, and he just shook his head. He wondered to himself if such a fish was kosher. It looked foreign to him. The man insisted that halibut were tasty. My father had his doubts.

He asked the carpenter about construction in San Diego. Like in Los Angeles, building was dominated by non-union crews. Work was available at a wage of $3.25 an hour, far below what my father could earn in Milwaukee. My father had a look of disgust on his face as he listened, like he had put a bad piece of food into his mouth. Still maybe, this man's tale was just that. Perhaps he wasn't speaking the truth.

But he was. Over the next couple of days, my father asked around and heard the same story everywhere. Plus there was no Jewish community and certainly no immigrant Jewish community of a significant size in San Diego. My father's knowledge of Polish, German, Russian and Yiddish would do him no good here. He'd have to learn English far better if he was going to make it, and even then, given the wages he would earn, it was going to be a slow road to getting back to being an independent contractor.

My father's idea of moving out West was turning out to be unrealistic. I know he was disappointed. But he wasn't profoundly so. Looking back, I try to auger his emotional state back then and think that his attitude was more or less, "nothing ventured, nothing gained." He'd taken a look. He was glad that he looked. But now it was time to go home.

We took the Southern route back. We stopped in Las Vegas, spent a few hours a Hoover Dam (where I complained bitterly about being dragged to see a "pile of concrete;" even at seven I had strong opinions), and then went onto the Grand Canyon. From Arizona, we drove and drove, 14 hour days with few stops along the way. I fell asleep in the back seat for most of the journey.

In West Texas I awoke, soaked from head to toe. I felt my hair, which was also wet. It was burning hot outside. I sat up embarrassed and worried by how wet I was. "Can someone sweat this much?" I asked.

My mom laughed. "You looked hot. I poured water on you." That was the essence of my mother's approach to problem solving. Her son was hot; she'd pour water from the water jug to cool him down while he slept. The mess made in the car as a result could be wiped up after. She was always exceedingly pragmatic.

As for my father, he proved to be resilient. If he couldn't scale up and build bigger homes in California, there was nothing stopping him from doing so in Milwaukee. That's more or less what he did when we got back as I'll talk about in another post.

Uncle Stuey's American Top 40, December 3rd

Here's my Top 40 chart of what some pretty good radio stations - about 40 across the country, mostly jazz mixed with some AAA formats - were spinning this week. I can't say there's a lot of good music here. On the AAA side, it tends to be very simple stuff musically and mundane lyrically. On the jazz side, it tends to be predictable musically, but well done. Here's to better music next week.

It's worth noting that Kind of Blue is about the only album that will show up regularly on a spin list like this that isn't a new release. It's also the best selling jazz album of all time. 1959 was a great year for music.

Recent albums that I've liked that aren't on this list, but are getting spun at least a little bit are: Jeremy Pelt/November, Christian Scott/Live at Newport, Anat Cohen/Notes From the Village. I haven't heard any pop recently that made me want to listen a second time.

And now on to the weekly countdown!

1 James Moody & Hank Jones Our Delight IPO 2008
2 Javon Jackson Once Upon A Melody Palmetto 2008
2 McCoy Tyner Guitars McCoy Tyner / Half Note 2008
4 Dave Holland Pass It On Dare2 / EmArcy 2008
5 David Byrne & Brian Eno Everything That Happens Will Happen Today Todomundo 2008
6 Minus The Bear Menos El Oso Suicide Squeeze 2005
6 Bill Cunliffe The Blues And The Abstract Truth Resonance 2008
8 Joey DeFrancesco Joey D! HighNote 2008
8 Ray LaMontagne Gossip In The Grain RCA 2008
10 Jenny Lewis Acid Tongue Warner Bros. 2008
10 Bob Dylan Tell Tale Signs: The Bootleg Series Vol. 8 Columbia / Legacy 2008
12 Ryan Adams & The Cardinals Cardinology Lost Highway 2008
12 Fleet Foxes Fleet Foxes Sub Pop 2008
14 Passion Pit Chunk Of Change Frenchkiss 2008
14 Natalie Cole Still Unforgettable DMI / Atco 2008
14 Conor Oberst Conor Oberst Merge 2008
17 Roger Kellaway Live At The Jazz Standard IPO 2008
17 Joe Locke Force Of Four Origin 2008
17 Lucinda Williams Little Honey Lost Highway 2008
17 Gene Bertoncini & Roni Ben-Hur Smile Motema 2008
17 Brett Dennen Hope For The Hopeless Dualtone / Downtown 2008
17 Sherrie Maricle & The Diva Jazz Orchestra Live From Jazz At Lincoln Center's Dizzy's Club Coca-Cola 2008
23 Kings Of Leon Only By The Night RCA 2008
23 David Sanborn Here And Gone Decca 2008
25 Taj Mahal Maestro Kan-Du / Heads Up 2008
25 Dr. Dog Fate Park The Van 2008
27 Sonny Rollins Road Shows, Vol. 1 Doxy / Emarcy 2008
27 Patricia Barber The Cole Porter Mix Blue Note 2008
27 Joan Osborne Little Wild One Womanly Hips / Plum 2008
27 Pacifika Asuncion Six Degrees 2008
27 Miles Davis Kind Of Blue Columbia 1959
32 Bill Heid Asian Persuasion Doodlin' 2008
32 The Stryker/Slagle Band The Scene Zoho 2008
32 The Pretenders Break Up The Concrete Shangri-La 2008
32 Amina Figarova Above The Clouds Munich 2008
32 Cassandra Wilson Loverly Blue Note 2008
32 Kenny Barron The Traveler Sunnyside 2008
32 Mylo Destroy Rock & Roll Breastfed / RCA 2006
39 Boz Scaggs Speak Low Decca 2008
39 Will Bernard Blue Plate Special Palmetto 2008
39 Bruce Springsteen Working On A Dream Columbia 2009
39 Gordon Goodwin's Big Phat Band Act Your Age Immergent 2008
39 Beck Modern Guilt Interscope 2008
39 Christian Jacob Live In Japan Wilder Jazz 2008
39 Death Cab For Cutie Narrow Stairs Atlantic 2008
39 Generations Tough Guys Center For The Arts 2008
39 Nikka Costa Pebble To A Pearl Go Funk Yourself / Stax 2008
39 Phil Norman 'Totally' Live At Catalina Jazz Club MAMA 2008
39 Robert Plant & Alison Krauss Raising Sand Rounder 2007
39 Ryan Bingham Mescalito Lost Highway 2007
39 Miles Davis Kind Of Blue Sony 1997

Solid Gold Health Care

I have a health insurance policy that represents the dreams, desires and aspirations of conservative politicians concerning health care. It has a high deductible, $8000. It provides for nothing other than an annual visit to the doctor (but not for any annual blood tests). It ties into the Health Savings Account created by the Bush administration. I dutifully put in a few thousand tax free dollars a year into that account to pay for future medical expenses.

According to Bush and other conservatives, what I have is what all people should have. With the high deductibles, somehow we the public will demand that the medical industry keep down its costs. Through the magic of the marketplace, health care will become a reasonable expense again.

This is silly beyond belief.

A case in point is my recently sprained (I think) elbow. I fell two days before Thanksgiving. For details, see yesterday's post. On Wednesday, I was at my cabin up north nursing my elbow. Everybody - my personal physician who was going on vacation, my sister-in-law the doctor, my sweetie, my daughter - was telling me to go have it looked at. I called up the nearest urgent care clinic, which was about 20 miles away. They would soon close for the holiday. I asked them what my x-ray would cost. They wouldn't tell me. I insisted that someone give me a ball park figure.

The answer was as follows:

"Well it's 200 dollars just to walk in the door and then about 400 dollars for the x-rays and then whatever else we do."

"So it's going to cost me a thousand dollars for the x-ray and visit?"

"That's about right."

I happen to be fortunate enough to have a thousand dollars to spend to check out my elbow. A lot of people don't. Most people when faced with such a cost will just say, "I'll just live with this thing and hope it gets better." Health care is a luxury right now. Obviously it shouldn't be.

I decided to not go to urgent care that day. My sister-in-law instead recommended that I go see an orthopedic surgeon asap, since if there was anything seriously wrong that's who an urgent care facility would refer me to anyway. Thursday wasn't going to be be an elbow examination day either. All of those orthopedic surgeons would be eating turkey with family and friends.

I called five orthopedic surgeons on Friday. None of them were around. They all used the same on-call doctor. I called him three times. Finally, his secretary informed me that he doesn't take new patients outside of standard hours. The Friday after Thanksgiving was a holiday in their book. I was not going to get an x-ray on Friday.

By Monday, my elbow was at about 30 percent of full use. My sister-in-law, whom I love dearly, sent me a nagging email to get an x-ray. But now there was no pain in my arm except when I tried to use it to twist and lift things. I was clearly getting better. Even though I have a thousand dollars to spend, it seemed silly to spend it. My elbow might be broken. It might be sprained. Either way, the odds were that the treatment would be the same: don't use your elbow for awhile.

I remembered a time when I got a stress fracture playing basketball. I literally felt the bone crack as I landed after I grabbed a rebound (that'll teach me to jump). I went to a doctor who wanted to x-ray my leg using some fancy nuclear injection to better image my bones. "What for?" I asked. "Will the treatment be any different.?

"No. Either way, you'll be on crutches for a few weeks. But we'll know for sure if it's broken."

"If the treatment is the same, then I don't want or need an x-ray." He thought I was being strange. I wasn't being strange. I was being pragmatic.

This elbow of mine is almost like that. Except that of course my elbow could have more than a sprain or micro-fractures. It could be seriously screwed up and require more than just a sling. But it is getting better day by day and a thousand dollars is a lot of money. Call me stupid, but since I couldn't get my elbow looked at last Friday, I'll pass on the x-ray.

Of course, if I didn't have a ridiculous deductible, I'd already have had an x-ray. If I was on my old Duke or Federal insurance program, my cost would have been negligible. Conservatives have a code word for these types of insurance plans that would have made me get an x-ray without hesitation: gold plated. These plans are bad according to them. People go to doctors unnecessarily because of these "gold plated" insurance programs. Right. They also go to doctors when they need help, something which they wouldn't do without these decent insurance policies.

It's ironic that all of the conservatives in Congress complaining about these insurance programs benefit from the biggest gold plated insurance program of all, Federal health insurance for government employees.

Personally, I don't want a gold plated program any more than conservative politicians. But my desire is different than theirs. I'd happily toss out the fercachte HSA based, high deductible insurance program conservatives view as a model for health care and get the real deal. I don't want gold plated anything. I want real solid gold. I want a national health program that allows someone who falls down easy access to quality care on the Friday after Thanksgiving without having to spend more than a nominal fee for the visit.

I don't see why we don't have such a program right now. I don't see why we didn't have such a program ten years ago. We just bailed out a bunch of arrogant, greedy, ignorant bankers in New York City at a cost that was much, much greater than the cost of national health insurance for a year. In the meantime, almost fifty million people have no health insurance at all and many that do have my kind of insurance, the "I won't cover you unless you get hit by a truck" kind of insurance. Somehow, I think our national priorities are more than a bit out of whack.

That Funny Human Mind

Several days ago, I fell as I tripped across a curb in the middle of a street in San Francisco. There were some streetcar rails that also ran along the street center. The concrete between the rails was fresh and smooth and so as I braced myself with my palms, hitting my knee against the curb, my palms only suffered blood blisters. However, upon impact I sprained my elbow. My kneecap was cut and bruised. I was in shock and acute pain.

I panicked at the thought of getting run over by a streetcar, quickly found my glasses on the concrete, picked myself up, walked to one side of the street and sat down at a wrought iron table in front of a Pete's Coffee. I was sweating from the pain. I knew I wasn't thinking straight. I walked into the Pete's and ordered an espresso. My thinking at the time was that this would somehow make me more alert. I then walked over to a Walgreens to get some bandages for my knee. My elbow started to stiffen up.

As I walked back from the Walgreens to where my sweetie and daughter were shopping, I took a look at where I had tripped. In my mind, I saw two curbs, one on each side of the rails, which were elevated. The curbs were painted dull white and it was eight o'clock at night. It was all very hard to see. I nodded and thought, well I can see how I tripped. Anyone could have missed seeing those curbs.

I couldn't move my elbow at all for a couple of days. Now I can put on my pants, floss and even sort of hold a cup of coffee. I'm getting better. As horrible luck would have it, an old friend also fell this past week. He was hiking in a national park, fell twenty feet down, landed on his head and died. Life is fragile.

A few days after my fall, my sweetie, daughter and I ended up on the same street for dinner. Again I looked at where I tripped. It was about the same time of night. This time I saw something different. There was only a single curb, a divider really, that separated the two sets of rails running across the street. The rails definitely were not elevated. The curb was about 8 inches high and painted such a bright white that anyone should have been able to see it, even in the dark.

The eye processes visual information to the best of its ability. But how that information is interpreted by the brain is a very funny thing. On the night I fell, the interpretation was that anyone could have made the same mistake as me. My brain created details that simply weren't there - an elevated track, a poorly painted curb - to allow for that interpretation. Three nights later, the interpretation was that I was an idiot for not seeing that curb.

Why was my original interpretation so soft and factually inaccurate? I know that I wasn't thinking straight for about 24 hours after my fall. I was trying to read a novel for most of the following day and it seemed incoherent to me, just a stream of words without any underlying meaning. Then at about eight o'clock the following night, the words finally started to make sense. Clearly, my state of mind wasn't the best when I first looked back at where I fell. However, I kind of like the fact that faced with an embarrassing fall, my mind was twisting facts to comfort me over my judgment. When you're hurting, the last thing you need to hear from your id is that you're an idiot.

As for my friend, he was truly a kind person. He was thoughtful and painstakingly considerate of others. He died far, far too young. He will be remembered warmly by many.

So Much Depends on Place

A few years ago, I did a solo gig in Cincinnati at a nice little bar north of downtown. As I was walking up the street trying to find the place, a panhandler came up to me, started to ask for money and then stopped in the middle and said, looking at the guitar I was carrying, “Oh man, I didn’t see you were a musician. Man you got less than me.” He shook his head. Then he walked away.

I got to the bar. The place was packed. About one hundred people were there. All I had was my acoustic guitar. Usually, in bars like that, no one listens especially when you’re singing solo. Not here. They were all facing me. They listened to every word and note. I couldn’t believe it. I sold a bunch of CDs after. “It’s just Cincinnati, again,” I thought to myself.

There is something about me and Cincinnati that clicks. I’m a rational person for the most part. But then there is that irrational side of me. Part of the irrational side feels a certain mood when I’m around a certain place. Certain towns are blessed for me. Cincinnati is one of those. Other towns are cursed. Dallas is definitely a town where nothing goes right when I’m there.

I’ve never had a gig in Dallas. It’s not that I haven’t tried. One booker told me, “Love your sound and what you do. If you were from Texas I’d love to help you out.” Others have been far less kind. But my past history with Dallas says that I should never play there. Something bad is bound to happen.

Maybe it goes back to my childhood watching those classic Green Bay versus Dallas games on TV. I loved the Packers and that meant I hated the Cowboys.

But really, it started before then. It starts with hearing about Kennedy’s assassination as his motorcade drove past that “grassy knoll” in Dallas. I can remember crying about that event as a child. Later as an adult I walked around the grassy knoll and then up to the 6th Floor of the old Book Repository to see where Lee Harvey Oswald took aim. My stomach was churning.

There’s something bleak about Dallas at least when it comes to me. I’m not a drinker by nature. But when I’m in Dallas, I will routinely get drunk. Once in a bar in the district called Deep Ellum, a drunk was slumped over a broken jukebox. He’d put a quarter in the jukebox, pick it up in the return bin, and then reinsert the thing back at the top. He was a jukebox playing Sisyphus.

The story gets a little better because he was no ordinary drunk. He looked familiar. He was in fact a well-known songwriter, John Prine. Among his many great songs is Angel From Montgomery. Someone said, “Hey John, you know that jukebox is broken, don’t you?” John turned around glazed eyed and nodded. Then he went back to feeding the broken jukebox.

To me that’s Dallas in a nutshell.

On the other hand, Cincinnati and me are a great fit. It too goes back in time. Maybe it started with me being in the Milwaukee Arena and hearing over the loudspeaker as the Bucks were playing, “The Milwaukee Bucks announce that they have traded Flynn Robinson for Oscar Robertson.” Oscar Robertson, the Big O, was all about Cincinnati. An NBA championship, the only one won by the Bucks, soon followed.

The best kosher salami I have ever had was made in Cincinnati. Too bad that brand isn’t around anymore. One of my favorite hats was bought at a fabulous hat store, the best I’ve ever visited, in downtown Cincinnati. My favorite pop duo, Over the Rhine, is based in Cincinnati.

A few years ago I was at the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown (a condition for me giving a talk at the University of Syracuse was a visit to the nearby Hall of Fame), and I wanted a jokey picture taken of me with a baseball uniform. The only uniform they had that fit was from the Reds. That pic came out great (see above).

The other day we got an email that Cincinnati’s NPR station was going to feature my latest CD this week. I smiled and thought, “There’s something about me and Cincinnati. Again.” I then went to my computer to see where in Dallas I sent my CD. It turns out that I completely ignored all radio stations in Dallas. Oh, that’s not quite right. I did send my CD to WSGE in Dallas, NC, which is a suburb of Charlotte. But Dallas, TX? I didn’t even bother. So much depends on place.