THE STORY BEHIND THE MUSIC: JOHN YOUNGREN'S 2002 CHRISTMAS CD
By JOHN YOUNGREN
[Editor's Note: This column won't make much sense to some website fans … but rest assured, we'll have a new entry for everyone in the next few days.]
Behind-the-scenes stories of the Christmas CD, for those of you in the know…
First of all, what is my general approach to a musical mix tape? Basically, I'm a commercial fool – meaning I go for songs by artists who are known and popular. The pace of the mix is also crucial to me; I like to vary songs by tempo and theme. I try to avoid too many slow ones in a row, or whatever. When I'm making a mix, I like to think of it as me broadcasting live. So, even though I keep many ideas for songs written down throughout the year and I have a general sense of what I want to put on the mix, I'm constantly changing it up and adding or pulling something at the last minute.
That was certainly the case on this one. Two or three or four songs were mid-mix audibles, thrown in more for feel and tempo than months of planning and predisposition.
Unlike many other years, when I had a list of "secret meanings" that went along with the main list of songs, that list doesn't exist this year. Truth is, I had gotten somewhat tired of the whole thing. And trying to justify the latest Matthew Sweet song by making a cryptic reference to an unrequited love in my life just got a little old.
But I do understand that some of you may wonder where some of these songs came from and why they're in the order they're in. So, for those of you smart enough to link from the CD to the website, I offer some random thoughts on the selected songs below:
1. "Happy Xmas (War Is Over) by John Lennon. I gave it a different subtitle on the back of the Christmas CD, because for the first year ever I decided to actually include a Christmas song on the Christmas mix. In previous years, I had always avoided making this obvious choice because I wanted people to play the mix throughout the year. But on the 10th anniversary, I felt it was time – and I put it at No. 1 so people could click by fast after the holidays. Plus, "Happy Christmas" has always been the theme of the disc, and this is the song that inspired that title.
2. "Dig In" by Lenny Kravitz. This could be considered the opening song of the "real" mix. For the past few years, I've always tried to lead off with a bouncing, tough opener, to lure people in. "Dig In" certainly works this year. Plus, it's "Dig In" to the music, dig in to the mix, dig in to the year.
3. "Song for the Lonely," by Cher. Just a great song. I loved the video. Sometimes, that's about all that's behind one of these choices – nothing cryptic. Plus, Cher has universal appeal, spanning all age demos.
4. "Tiny Dancer," by Tim McGraw. This has always been one of my favorite Elton John songs, though it's never made a Christmas mix before. Plus, I always like to find covers by contemporary artists of rock classics, so Tim McGraw made the cut this year. It's just a perfect song, and his rendition is terrific.
5. "Big Yellow Taxi," by the Counting Crows. See No. 4, above. This is a Joni Mitchell classic. I love the song and to sing along, and that's another Christmas mix application. The Counting Crows have this as kind of a hidden track on their new "Hard Candy" album, but I wanted to bring it front and center here (which was somewhat selfish, so I wouldn't have to surf through a track to find it on their real album).
6. "Beautiful" by Christina Aguilera. This was the latest addition to the Christmas mix – and it only made version three. It was a pure audible. I had no reason to even think about it, other than I just really liked the performance and sentiment of the song on the final night I was putting things together.
7. "Summer in the City" by the Lovin' Spoonful. Another truly fun, pop song. That's it. It's almost made the mix about five years running. This year, there it is.
8. "Whitewash" by Gin Blossoms. I thought I'd run my course of Gin Blossoms songs, but I wanted to include something this year, because they're always such a great pop band to include. The electronic feedback sound that leads off the song is kind of a fun touch. Plus, if I was doing my cryptic references, "Whitewash" could be construed as being representative of an incident or three in my life.
9. "Beast of Burden" by the Rolling Stones. I like to include Stones' songs. They're classic, and get people moving. This is one I'd throw on the player at a party at Tom and Liz Carlson's house. Sometimes, especially mid-disc, that's what you go for, if nothing else than to wake people up.
10. "Hole In My Pocket" by Sheryl Crow. I love the 2002 Sheryl Crow album, "C'Mon, C'Mon." It's been a favorite all year. The hits so far from it have been "Soak Up The Sun," "Steve McQueen" and, to a lesser extent, "C'mon, C'mon" and "Abilene." Sometimes, if a new album has an obvious hit, I'll ignore it and throw a fun track from somewhere else on the album on the mix instead. "Hole In My Pocket" is one of the best album songs.
11. "Just Between You and Me" by April Wine. When I was in high school in 1982-83, I did the announcements. I would mix news of the day with music of the era. On many of the Christmas mixes, I've included what I call "announcement" songs. This is a classic announcements song.
12. "Big Machine" by Goo Goo Dolls. Nothing too cryptic. I got the new Goos' album a few months ago and this song just stuck in my head. I knew it'd be on the mix before they even released it as the second single.
13. "Near Wild Heaven" by R.E.M. This is one of those brilliant R.E.M. songs from the "Losin' My Religion" period, and one that's sometimes hard to place. I heard it in a store while Christmas shopping right around Thanksgiving and knew it had to be there.
14. "Unwell" by Matchbox 20. The new Matchbox 20 album came out right around the time I was doing the first cut of the mix. I liked a number of the songs, but this one just spoke to me. I'll let you take it from there.
15. "Get Over Yourself" by SHeDAISY. SHeDAISY is from Utah. The three Osborn sisters are very talented and beautiful and have had much success with their two albums. They're country with a real pop tinge. "Pop Stew" readers know I met them personally in July of 2001 and loved their new album, "Knock On The Sky," which came out this year. I could have picked a number of songs from the album to include on the mix but chose the hit (see? Totally different logic from the Sheryl Crow situation. That's what makes it fun.) I also used to have a rule that if I saw a band live during the year in question, I'd include a song they performed when I saw them on the mix. So that counts here, too, for I saw SHeDAISY play live on Nov. 27, 2002 at Kingsbury Hall.
16. "Burning Love" by Elvis Presley. I knew I'd do some Elvis, because he's been so big this year (no pun intended). I thought about "A Little Less Conversation," but it just seemed too predictable. So the two candidates were "Kentucky Rain" and "Burning Love." "Burning Love" just seemed to fit better. And Elvis is always for my Mom, who loves the King.
17. "And Your Bird Can Sing" by the Beatles. Who can follow Elvis? What's a song that's short enough that it won't throw off my master plan? And what's a fun Beatles' song that isn't so overused it will serve as something of a surprise?
18. "Salt Lake City" by the Beach Boys. Five years ago when Harris & Love got the Lagoon account, Andy Cier and I started talking about finding this song because of its reference to Lagoon. We didn't know what we'd do with it, but we needed it. Surprisingly, it was impossible to find – I finally tracked it down on some obscure Beach Boys collection from Amazon.com. I put it on the mix mainly because I found it. And also because it's my salute to Salt Lake City for successfully hosting the 2002 Winter Olympics, tying in as you'll see from the cover and graphics of my CD.
19. "Stuck In The Middle With You" by Stealers Wheel. This has been a candidate for the mix for the past four years. I finally put it on for Joe Evans, my colleague at Love Communications. He came up with a new phrase this year: "Ass Clowns." I thought it would make a great adaptation to the lyrics of the real song.
20. "The Good Stuff" by Kenny Chesney. It would have been easy for me to go even further into the country stuff this year, as I'm listening to a lot of SHeDAISY, Tim McGraw, Shania Twain, Faith Hill, etc. But this was one that had to make it – it caught me with the video and remains stuck in my head, indelibly.
21. "Nothing from Nothing" by Billy Preston. For Kelli Fratto at Love Communications, who was singing it nearly every day this fall after it was in that commercial for Burger King.
22. "Anything Goes" by Frank Sinatra. Sinatra traditionally has a slot near the end of every Christmas mix. This year's song is a fun choice, because it's very familiar but not as predictable as some of his bigger hits.
23. "I Don't Want To Spoil The Party" by the Beatles. I had a few conclusion ideas, but this one came to the top. It's another great, somewhat-obscure Beatles' song from the early days. The theme, "so I'll go," says "goodbye" to the audience for the disc.
24. "Going Through The Motions" by Sarah Michelle Gellar. Very obscure, but most of you know of my "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" fixation. This is from the musical episode that drew such accolades last year. When the musical soundtrack came out this summer, I knew something would make the mix. The novelty aspect of it mandated I put it last, however, as a coda to the mix and another click-by alternative. I figured people could view the body of the 2002 Christmas Mix as tracks No. 2-23, if they preferred.
That's the story. Those of you interested enough to get this far deserve congratulations. The cross-branding from disc to website is something new.
I want to thank, as I did on the disc cover, Craig Lee from Love Communications, who did all the art on the disc and always makes it look so incredible. This year he really outdid himself. I came up with the beret idea and he took it from there. He also created the morphed image of Buffy and me on the back.
My brother-in-law, Craig Watson, took the other pictures of me on the back. They were great, and very handy for a disc or two now. And my company, Love Communications, has been terrific – Preston Wood gave me permission to have Craig print the paper inserts that go in the CD cases. Palmer Pattison of PalmerSound, Inc., who gave me a great price, duplicated the discs.
I hope you all enjoy this year's production.
Merry Christmas!
Saturday, November 30, 2002
THAT TIME OF YEAR: SOME THANKSGIVING WISHES OF GRATITUDE
By JOHN YOUNGREN
Editor's Note: You're seeing right. "Pop Stew" has now undergone a makeover – I liked this fancier blue and white type and figured Thanksgiving was about time to do an update. But it's still the same "Pop Stew" you know and love – only with my name in the headline (which only seems right. It's my damn website after all, Derek).
And while we're on that topic, I thought I'd let you know of another innovation for 2003: Besides the regular blogspot web address you're used to, you can now also find this website at johnyoungren.com. That's right. My name up in lights, or at least a web browser address bar or two. Type in www.johnyoungren.com and it will automatically direct you here.
Wow, right?
I thought so.
* * *
And I also thought, during this weekend of thanks, that I'd offer my own list of things to be thankful for in this good old wonderful world of ours. (Don't take this too seriously. I have a much more personal litany of items to praise that would be a lot less fun.)
Nevertheless, I'm thankful…
…that Paul McCartney seems to be hot again.
…that "Survivor" seems to be not.
…that Shania and Faith both have new albums.
…for Ross and Rachel's new, healthy baby.
…that they quickly gave up on "Birds of Prey" and "Girls Club."
…that George Harrison got in one more CD before he went to the big bandstand in the sky.
…that the Kenny Chesney and Tim McGraw songs I tried to avoid are only running around in my head 23 hours a day.
…for that Toys R Us giraffe, Geoffrey.
…that Buffy still has her fastball.
…for those "Alias" commercials with Jennifer Garner running around in her leather suit.
…that Ann Curry isn't going to be any kind of full-time host of "Today."
…that the fucking "Bachelor" is finally over.
…that "SportsNight" is out on DVD.
…that, however silly it can get from time to time, "The West Wing" can still inspire all of us to be better Americans.
…that older people don't stay up all night afraid of Christina Aguilera.
…that the Olympics pin craze will be left behind in 2002.
…that I got that Roots beret.
…that VeriSign makes it possible for people like me to use my own name in cyberspace.
…that your mama don't dance and your daddy don't rock and roll.
…for Sprint's commercial with that funny little sick monkey with a cold, although they seem to have pulled it out of the rotation, at least for now.
…for Budweiser's commercial with the babbling, embarrassing best man, because I've been that guy.
…that the "Now That's What I Call Music" series of CDs seems to be showing some signs of age.
…that they let Grace get married.
…for that lovely, Magna-bred SHeDAISY.
…that Katie and Matt have natural chemistry.
…for SPAWN toy action figures.
…for Hallmark tree ornaments.
…for Minute Maid Orange Juice.
…for Red Rock Brewing Company.
…for Vodka.
…for Chardonnay.
…for Bud Light.
…for Dr. Martens.
…for celebrity autographs.
…for e-mail.
…for cell phones.
…for baseball caps, low-profile style.
…for Diet Coke.
…for USA Today.
…for leather jackets.
…for the Rolling Stones.
…for sweet memories.
…for Amazon.com.
…for "SportsCenter."
…for VH-1.
…for Saab mechanics.
…for that clever commercial, so simply written, where the announcer just says, "Stamps," and then lists where you'll find them – ATMs, etc.
…for Kermit.
…for pizza.
…for "Hey Jude."
…for David Letterman.
…for Triumph, the Insult Dog.
…for Maxim.
…for CD burning technology.
…for "Friends."
…for cheddar goldfish.
…for Coast soap.
…for Elizabeth Hurley, Sandra Bullock and Sharon Stone.
…for the E Street Band.
…for Derek Jeter.
…for the short rightfield porch.
…that Gore's thinking about it again. (Really.)
…for Entertainment Weekly.
…for televisionwithoutpity.com.
…that no one knows what it's like to be the sad man, to be the bad man, behind blue eyes.
…that Ben finally gave J-Lo that ring, damnit.
…that Favre is still around.
…for Sarah Michelle and Sarah Jessica.
…for Fontanini.
…for the health of my friends and family, colleagues and cohorts, associates past, present and future.
Amen.
# # #
That's it for this time. Tune in again soon for another exciting edition of the one and only, award-winning "Pop Stew!" Or, direct your comments to johnyoungren@earthlink.net
By JOHN YOUNGREN
Editor's Note: You're seeing right. "Pop Stew" has now undergone a makeover – I liked this fancier blue and white type and figured Thanksgiving was about time to do an update. But it's still the same "Pop Stew" you know and love – only with my name in the headline (which only seems right. It's my damn website after all, Derek).
And while we're on that topic, I thought I'd let you know of another innovation for 2003: Besides the regular blogspot web address you're used to, you can now also find this website at johnyoungren.com. That's right. My name up in lights, or at least a web browser address bar or two. Type in www.johnyoungren.com and it will automatically direct you here.
Wow, right?
I thought so.
* * *
And I also thought, during this weekend of thanks, that I'd offer my own list of things to be thankful for in this good old wonderful world of ours. (Don't take this too seriously. I have a much more personal litany of items to praise that would be a lot less fun.)
Nevertheless, I'm thankful…
…that Paul McCartney seems to be hot again.
…that "Survivor" seems to be not.
…that Shania and Faith both have new albums.
…for Ross and Rachel's new, healthy baby.
…that they quickly gave up on "Birds of Prey" and "Girls Club."
…that George Harrison got in one more CD before he went to the big bandstand in the sky.
…that the Kenny Chesney and Tim McGraw songs I tried to avoid are only running around in my head 23 hours a day.
…for that Toys R Us giraffe, Geoffrey.
…that Buffy still has her fastball.
…for those "Alias" commercials with Jennifer Garner running around in her leather suit.
…that Ann Curry isn't going to be any kind of full-time host of "Today."
…that the fucking "Bachelor" is finally over.
…that "SportsNight" is out on DVD.
…that, however silly it can get from time to time, "The West Wing" can still inspire all of us to be better Americans.
…that older people don't stay up all night afraid of Christina Aguilera.
…that the Olympics pin craze will be left behind in 2002.
…that I got that Roots beret.
…that VeriSign makes it possible for people like me to use my own name in cyberspace.
…that your mama don't dance and your daddy don't rock and roll.
…for Sprint's commercial with that funny little sick monkey with a cold, although they seem to have pulled it out of the rotation, at least for now.
…for Budweiser's commercial with the babbling, embarrassing best man, because I've been that guy.
…that the "Now That's What I Call Music" series of CDs seems to be showing some signs of age.
…that they let Grace get married.
…for that lovely, Magna-bred SHeDAISY.
…that Katie and Matt have natural chemistry.
…for SPAWN toy action figures.
…for Hallmark tree ornaments.
…for Minute Maid Orange Juice.
…for Red Rock Brewing Company.
…for Vodka.
…for Chardonnay.
…for Bud Light.
…for Dr. Martens.
…for celebrity autographs.
…for e-mail.
…for cell phones.
…for baseball caps, low-profile style.
…for Diet Coke.
…for USA Today.
…for leather jackets.
…for the Rolling Stones.
…for sweet memories.
…for Amazon.com.
…for "SportsCenter."
…for VH-1.
…for Saab mechanics.
…for that clever commercial, so simply written, where the announcer just says, "Stamps," and then lists where you'll find them – ATMs, etc.
…for Kermit.
…for pizza.
…for "Hey Jude."
…for David Letterman.
…for Triumph, the Insult Dog.
…for Maxim.
…for CD burning technology.
…for "Friends."
…for cheddar goldfish.
…for Coast soap.
…for Elizabeth Hurley, Sandra Bullock and Sharon Stone.
…for the E Street Band.
…for Derek Jeter.
…for the short rightfield porch.
…that Gore's thinking about it again. (Really.)
…for Entertainment Weekly.
…for televisionwithoutpity.com.
…that no one knows what it's like to be the sad man, to be the bad man, behind blue eyes.
…that Ben finally gave J-Lo that ring, damnit.
…that Favre is still around.
…for Sarah Michelle and Sarah Jessica.
…for Fontanini.
…for the health of my friends and family, colleagues and cohorts, associates past, present and future.
Amen.
# # #
That's it for this time. Tune in again soon for another exciting edition of the one and only, award-winning "Pop Stew!" Or, direct your comments to johnyoungren@earthlink.net
Sunday, November 10, 2002
MAGIC MONDAY-NIGHT MEMORIES: THE MONTANAS, MARCUS & ME
By JOHN YOUNGREN
To celebrate tonight's 500th broadcast of "Monday Night Football," ABC is expected to take some time during the half to review the five best "MNF" games in history as determined by fan vote.
One, an Oct. 17, 1994 game in which Joe Montana's Kansas City Chiefs came back to defeat John Elway's Denver Broncos in Denver is rumored to be the favorite.
It's ABC announcer Al Michaels' favorite.
And it's mine.
Because I was there in person, with my friend (and age-old San Francisco 49ers' fan) Peter Behle, for another of our periodic sporting event trips – this one, we really just lucked into – in what turned out to be my one and only time to see the great Montana play live.
Hey, if I was going to see the guy play one game, right?
FROM THE JOHN YOUNGREN JOURNAL, DATED OCT. 17, 1994:
We had been talking about (going on the trip) for so long it seemed as though it would never happen, but then when it finally did it was everything we had talked about and more – right down to a storybook, (non-)surprise ending, played out in front of 70,000-plus fans chilled on Mile High Air.
The Kansas City Chiefs were scheduled to play the Denver Broncos, in what would be a highlight game of the 25th season of "Monday Night Football." The Chiefs, obviously, are an appealing team these days -- if only because their 38-year-old quarterback is the one named Joe (Mr. Montana to you and me), the legend with the gimpy arm and the creaky back and the bruised ribs and the bad hips.
Having been a disciple of Mr. Montana for quite some time now – I followed him for years and really began rooting for him the year he missed half the season for back surgery – this was a game I decided I couldn't miss, if I had access to, mainly because with Joe you never know if it's the last time you'll actually have a chance to see him play, particularly given the fact that with every brutal hit, Joe is another step closer to retirement.
Along with a pair of friends of mine, Sam Tallerico and Ken Parker, I (was spending) entirely too much money and brain cells drinking Bud Lights while watching "Monday Night Football" every week at the Canyon Inn [2002 Note: This era lasted about five years]. It turned out that Ken had a line on the Chiefs-Broncos tickets. So I laid out $80 for the pair, talked my buddy Peter into making the trip, made plane reservations, hotel reservations and rental car reservations and flew to Denver on a cold Sunday afternoon.
We went out drinking on that Sunday night, hitting a branch of the national Hooter's chain, followed by a stop at a brewpub in Denver called The Rock Bottom. Again, too many beers and brain cells – but that's sort of the point, right?
The next morning, we awoke brave and true and decided to hit the elevators around 10 a.m., grab some breakfast in a lobby coffee shop – it turned out there wasn't one – and get a start on the day (a tour of the Coors Brewery in Golden, Colo. was on the agenda). We rode down to the lobby, realized there wasn't much of a coffee shop, then rode back to our rooms to get our coats, as it became apparent that we would need to leave the hotel by car to get the greasy, hangover-remedying breakfast we were so craving.
We got back in the elevator on our 17th floor and rode down, with a stop around 9 or 8 for an unidentifiable – and very large – black guy, clearly a player for the Chiefs (I would guess a defensive lineman). We were now sure – though we had earlier clues – that the Chiefs were staying in our same hotel.
Still, that wouldn't prepare us for what happened on the 6th floor. There, the doors opened and a little, blonde girl – I would guess around 6 or 7 years old – appeared in the elevator, holding the door as best she could while waiting for someone behind her. This will all sound too perfect in retrospect, but I swear as I looked at the girl's face – she was cute, in a gangly sort of way, with a nose that looked out of proportion with the rest of her features – that she looked like Joe Montana's daughter. I didn't share this with anyone – particularly our lineman friend – but it was still flashing through my mind as a maybe when all of a sudden (and what do you know?) who should appear in the doorway with a smile and a start but Mrs. Montana herself, Jennifer? (This is the tall willowy blonde Joe met all those years ago in that shampoo commercial, the woman who has become quite a celebrity herself.)
Peter and I just about choked. Jennifer looked at her daughter and then at each of us and then said something along the lines of, "Sorry," as she leaped aboard, apologizing for her daughter's interruption. "No problem," we assured her. [2002 Note: "Do you want to make sweet, sweet love, Jennifer?" I should have asked her, but didn't.]
Jennifer glanced and offered a polite but fleeting hello to our lineman friend, who grunted his return greetings, perhaps mumbling to himself about the multi-million-dollar quarterback and his movie star wife. And she looked like a movie star, too -- at least undercover division. For on this morning, she was dressed head to toe in black, with her thin body embraced by tight, black jeans. You couldn't help but notice (at least I couldn't). She is thin and tall – taller than I am, I know that – and had her hair pulled back, with a make-up free, beautiful face. On her way to breakfast herself, I surmised, kicking myself that we weren't headed to whatever restaurant or coffee shop might be available in the lobby, after all.
She said little else, maybe a murmur or two to the little girl, who was riding patiently by this point. Lineman didn't have much more to say, either. The elevator came to a stop on the M for Mezzanine level, and Lineman walked out. Jennifer and daughter got out too, and we did -- what the hell? -- as well, even though we had originally pushed the L for Lobby button when our descent began.
From there, we had no plan. Lineman sauntered off to what appeared to be a player's only type of breakfast, a buffet in a pre-marked room. Jennifer and daughter looked around, like they were going to the same place but couldn't find it. We couldn't be dorkier -- so we stumbled over each other and jumped on a quick escalator, where we compared notes and considered ourselves lucky. We had a story to tell, first of all. And now we knew: Our man Joe was on 6.
After that breakfast and a tour of the Coors Brewery and some driving through the rain and snow of Denver, we returned to the hotel – this was maybe around 3 or so – to regroup while we prepared a battle plan for the evening. We decided to head out for a late lunch, which would require a journey to the nearby Tabor Center mall. So again we hit the elevator, punched our L for Lobby button, but then just for the hell of it also hit 6, thinking we could get out and take a look around what we knew was Joe's floor – and as we're guests of the hotel, no one could say that much about it, right?
The elevator this time stopped on 8, where we were greeted, with a pleasant but firm nod, by none other than Marcus Allen, the former USC, L.A. Raiders, Heisman Trophy running back now playing for the Chiefs.
I swear I am not making this up.
Marcus was with a security guard type, and both of them seemed a bit grumpy. Again, we rode in silence, Peter and I exchanging another round of "Can you believe this?" glances.
At 6, the doors opened, but no one got on and no one got out. That had been our plan but we were worried it might seem obvious to Marcus. The security guy looked at us and said, "Getting off here, gentlemen?" but Peter said, "No, we're going all the way to the bottom," as the doors shut.
Of course. Where else would we be going?
Marcus rode in silence, right next to me. He, too, is tall and trim, with the well-defined muscles and easy physical presence that make him who he is. It wasn't until somewhere near the end of the elevator trip that it hit me why Marcus might have been upset on this afternoon, though: It was around 3 p.m. in Denver, and all day the talk shows and news shows and radio shows had been talking about the new book that had been released that day about Marcus' good friend O.J. Simpson and his slain wife, Nicole Brown Simpson. Among the charges in the book, of course, was that Nicole Simpson had been having an affair with none other than Marcus Allen.
Allen had issued terse no comments to media begging after him on this day. But, in many ways, he was the newest name in the most celebrated court case in modern American history, the most recent addition to the American O.J. diet. Arguably, he was the most talked-about man in America on this given day.
And we were riding in an elevator with him.
We hit M, Marcus got off, and we did too. Again, we didn't have a plan, so we scurried away – disbelieving our luck and fate. We had a late lunch and went to the game, now with two incredible stories, two brushes with greatness, under our respective belts.
We'd have a third incredible story before the night was through.
Denver was chilled but not wet on this evening, Monday, Oct. 17, 1994. We arrived at the stadium just before 6 p.m., paid $5 for a nearby parking space and made the hike into Mile High Stadium, with temperatures hovering around what must have been 40 degrees at this point. The question of the day, according to the pre-game shows we listened to on our way to the game was, "Would Montana play?" We walked straight through the gates and down onto the field level, where some TV lights drew our attention first to Chris Berman of ESPN fame ("the Boomer" is big and large and wears ill-fitting sportscoats, it turns out) and two-thirds of the "Monday Night Football" crew, Al Michaels and Dan Dierdorf, both of whom were yukking it up with Berman and a host of cronies.
We watched the trio for a few moments, but then couldn't help but get distracted by the uproar on the far end of the field, the closed in portion of Mile High Stadium, where the commotion was growing because the Chiefs were taking the field for their warm-up drills. And who should be jogging out of the tunnel himself but The Myth, Mr. Montana? There he was, [2002 Note: I still have the pictures I took, taped to my refrigerator] clad in his Kansas City white No. 19 jersey with his cherry red helmet, greeted by flashbulbs and a resounding roar from the Kansas City Chiefs fans lining the field behind the near fence.
Joe sauntered to midfield and began playing what could best be described as a stiff game of catch with a couple of his receivers, with someone else catching the ball and tossing it to Joe for his throws. He looked fine, if a bit stiff-armed, but it was early and he was tossing lightly. The fans kept bellowing at him, and I guess you could say he sort of acknowledged us, but mainly he seemed to be concentrating on his pre-game routine and there is such reverence for the man that even the rowdiest (and this was in Elway country, mind you) among us seemed unwilling to disturb the Master as he prepared.
Joe threw and threw and threw some more, with his uncanny, highlight-film-familiar release and fundamental follow-through. He threw to Lynn Swann, the old Steelers' receiver dressed in street clothes (there for ABC's broadcast, for which Swannie was a sideline reporter). Joe exchanged handshakes with Al Michaels, who was still wandering around the field. Joe sprinted a little bit, then got involved in some more throwing drills – this time with a little more heat on the ball, and looking considerably less stiff – and then he ran the Chiefs' offense through some drills, taking snaps, working on timing.
And then, we made our way to our seats and all of a sudden, the game began. It was cold, and so was Joe. Both he and John Elway started slowly; I think it was still 0-0 after the first quarter. But it was something to watch Joe, something to see. If he was off, it was always by just a bit, and he had all the time in the world (the Broncos didn't lay a hand on him all night). When he wasn't on the field he'd put a jacket on and wander around the sidelines, while (back-up QBs) Steve Bono and Matt Blundin talked to him (they wear the headsets and jabber with offensive coordinator Paul Hackett; Joe doesn't bother with it).
The Chiefs' first TD was on a run by Marcus Allen, it turned out, a little short run into the left corner of the end zone just in front of us. Our seats were pretty high up there, on the fourth deck, but I had my camera trained on Joe as he watched Allen tumble in for the score and then – sure enough, also from the highlight reels – raised both arms in his own touchdown gesture, Montana's patented personal signal indicating that yes, once again his team has scored.
The game went on like that. Chiefs, Broncos, Chiefs, Broncos. Kansas City didn't get a score late in the first half when Montana made a rare mistake – he mishandled the remaining timeouts and was caught sprinting off the field as the clock expired, before the Chiefs could try a field goal. By the second half, both Montana and Elway were cooking at full steam; Joe flashed a touchdown pass to someone in our end zone (third quarter) that looked exactly like the Montana-to John Taylor touchdown play the 49ers used to beat the Bengals in Super Bowl XXIII.
By the fourth quarter, the Chiefs had taken a 24-21 lead, and I was thinking this was all pretty sweet. Fly to Denver, visit with Misty and Jennifer Montana and Marcus Allen and see Joe win. But the Broncos weren't done. No comeback slouch himself, the electric Elway marched Denver the length of the field and the Broncos ended up scoring on a quarterback draw play – Elway ran in untouched, despite having only 10 men on the field to defend him – and Denver took a 28 24 lead with a little more than a minute to go in the game.
For months, Peter and I had been making jokes about it and our variations on the theme didn't stop once we were faced with the actual situation: "Would we be in position to see a miraculous Montana comeback?"
A little more than 1:00 on the clock? Joe time, we figured, though we still didn't know whether to really believe. Montana had looked sharp in the second half, let there be no doubt. Still, and though he had two timeouts to work with, how can you really know? How do you know the difference between the game-winning drive and a third-and long, game-ending sack?
Joe knew. With the Broncos' fans howling, he began his TD quest, marching upfield with steady and sure determination. Clip, clip. Receiver on an out-pattern there. Clip, clip. Twelve yards here. Clip, clip. Marcus up the middle there. It was flying by so fast but it was like we were calling the plays right along with Joe, schooled as we were in his art of the comeback. We called the timeouts when he needed them, called the proper sideline pattern to stop the clock. It was Zen, just the 70,000 of us and Joe.
Remember, we were in a hostile stadium, so we couldn't get too crazy. And toward the end, Peter and I didn't even dare talk about it to each other anymore. We just watched. I remember the whole time thinking, "This is it. This is Joe."
It was like watching the ESPN highlight films come to life, without the benefit of instant replays, Michaels' commentary or slow motion. To the contrary; it moved so fast. There was No. 19 on the field in Denver, but it could have just as easily been No. 16 on the field against Cincinnati or Dallas or Philadelphia.
Joe's Greatest Hits.
As my aunt, another Montana disciple, would say later, "There is Joe … and then there is JOE!"
We got to see JOE!
He marched the Chiefs down the field steadily, economically, coolly. So cool. There were no close calls, or almost-misses. Everyone did his job. The Broncos still weren't doing much to slow Montana down; it was almost as if they were giving him the zones and saying, "Go for it, Big Guy."
Big mistake. Joe had his team within the 10 with around 20 seconds left on the clock. On a first-down play, he backed up (traffic all around) and -- and I would only appreciate this later in replays, because I lost sight of the ball on this night -- spiraled the ball to Willie Davis, who bounced and then twirl-stepped into the front flap of the end zone, eluding the defending Broncos with eight seconds left to score.
Yes, score.
Joe was JOE! He ran to the sidelines and hugged Jennifer, wearing what looked to be the same outfit she'd worn in the elevator earlier that day. And the Chiefs had a 31-28 lead.
The Broncos got the ball back, but Elway looked like he didn't quite know what to do -- trumped by the Master -- and time frittered away. A chilled stadium was even chillier now, as the Broncos' fans vented their frustration at what was now a 1-5 team. Strangely enough, little of that venom was directed at Montana and the Chiefs. It was more along the lines of, "How could you let him get the ball with more than a minute left?"
How could you let Montana do that to us?
[2002 Note: This would be the last time Montana and Elway would ever face each other before Montana retired.]
Peter and I, we grinned and kept our giddiness to ourselves. We walked out with the throngs of fans, keeping this little classic close. On a chilly night, when they wondered if he would even play – when that hip and those ribs had threatened to keep him on the bench – Joe had come through with one of his all-time performances, a "Monday Night Football" classic the national media was chirping about for days to come. [2002 Note: See? I knew it was a classic, even then.]
Yes, Joe had been JOE! Like a rock star performing his all-time favorite No. 1 song, Montana had come through with a greatest hit for the ages.
He had done it for us and – in our own way, by being there in the first place – we had done it for Joe. We walked out happy. I ate a pretzel. The lines to leave the parking lot were long. No one had left early.
While in the car, we bandied about new nicknames for the man named Montana.
I said, "St. Joe."
And Peter replied, "We worshiped at the Temple of Joe."
[2002 Note: Every word of this story is true. Especially the part about wanting to have sex with Jennifer Montana.]
# # #
That's it for this time. Tune in again soon for another exciting edition of the one and only, award-winning "Pop Stew!" Or, direct your comments to johnyoungren@earthlink.net
By JOHN YOUNGREN
To celebrate tonight's 500th broadcast of "Monday Night Football," ABC is expected to take some time during the half to review the five best "MNF" games in history as determined by fan vote.
One, an Oct. 17, 1994 game in which Joe Montana's Kansas City Chiefs came back to defeat John Elway's Denver Broncos in Denver is rumored to be the favorite.
It's ABC announcer Al Michaels' favorite.
And it's mine.
Because I was there in person, with my friend (and age-old San Francisco 49ers' fan) Peter Behle, for another of our periodic sporting event trips – this one, we really just lucked into – in what turned out to be my one and only time to see the great Montana play live.
Hey, if I was going to see the guy play one game, right?
FROM THE JOHN YOUNGREN JOURNAL, DATED OCT. 17, 1994:
We had been talking about (going on the trip) for so long it seemed as though it would never happen, but then when it finally did it was everything we had talked about and more – right down to a storybook, (non-)surprise ending, played out in front of 70,000-plus fans chilled on Mile High Air.
The Kansas City Chiefs were scheduled to play the Denver Broncos, in what would be a highlight game of the 25th season of "Monday Night Football." The Chiefs, obviously, are an appealing team these days -- if only because their 38-year-old quarterback is the one named Joe (Mr. Montana to you and me), the legend with the gimpy arm and the creaky back and the bruised ribs and the bad hips.
Having been a disciple of Mr. Montana for quite some time now – I followed him for years and really began rooting for him the year he missed half the season for back surgery – this was a game I decided I couldn't miss, if I had access to, mainly because with Joe you never know if it's the last time you'll actually have a chance to see him play, particularly given the fact that with every brutal hit, Joe is another step closer to retirement.
Along with a pair of friends of mine, Sam Tallerico and Ken Parker, I (was spending) entirely too much money and brain cells drinking Bud Lights while watching "Monday Night Football" every week at the Canyon Inn [2002 Note: This era lasted about five years]. It turned out that Ken had a line on the Chiefs-Broncos tickets. So I laid out $80 for the pair, talked my buddy Peter into making the trip, made plane reservations, hotel reservations and rental car reservations and flew to Denver on a cold Sunday afternoon.
We went out drinking on that Sunday night, hitting a branch of the national Hooter's chain, followed by a stop at a brewpub in Denver called The Rock Bottom. Again, too many beers and brain cells – but that's sort of the point, right?
The next morning, we awoke brave and true and decided to hit the elevators around 10 a.m., grab some breakfast in a lobby coffee shop – it turned out there wasn't one – and get a start on the day (a tour of the Coors Brewery in Golden, Colo. was on the agenda). We rode down to the lobby, realized there wasn't much of a coffee shop, then rode back to our rooms to get our coats, as it became apparent that we would need to leave the hotel by car to get the greasy, hangover-remedying breakfast we were so craving.
We got back in the elevator on our 17th floor and rode down, with a stop around 9 or 8 for an unidentifiable – and very large – black guy, clearly a player for the Chiefs (I would guess a defensive lineman). We were now sure – though we had earlier clues – that the Chiefs were staying in our same hotel.
Still, that wouldn't prepare us for what happened on the 6th floor. There, the doors opened and a little, blonde girl – I would guess around 6 or 7 years old – appeared in the elevator, holding the door as best she could while waiting for someone behind her. This will all sound too perfect in retrospect, but I swear as I looked at the girl's face – she was cute, in a gangly sort of way, with a nose that looked out of proportion with the rest of her features – that she looked like Joe Montana's daughter. I didn't share this with anyone – particularly our lineman friend – but it was still flashing through my mind as a maybe when all of a sudden (and what do you know?) who should appear in the doorway with a smile and a start but Mrs. Montana herself, Jennifer? (This is the tall willowy blonde Joe met all those years ago in that shampoo commercial, the woman who has become quite a celebrity herself.)
Peter and I just about choked. Jennifer looked at her daughter and then at each of us and then said something along the lines of, "Sorry," as she leaped aboard, apologizing for her daughter's interruption. "No problem," we assured her. [2002 Note: "Do you want to make sweet, sweet love, Jennifer?" I should have asked her, but didn't.]
Jennifer glanced and offered a polite but fleeting hello to our lineman friend, who grunted his return greetings, perhaps mumbling to himself about the multi-million-dollar quarterback and his movie star wife. And she looked like a movie star, too -- at least undercover division. For on this morning, she was dressed head to toe in black, with her thin body embraced by tight, black jeans. You couldn't help but notice (at least I couldn't). She is thin and tall – taller than I am, I know that – and had her hair pulled back, with a make-up free, beautiful face. On her way to breakfast herself, I surmised, kicking myself that we weren't headed to whatever restaurant or coffee shop might be available in the lobby, after all.
She said little else, maybe a murmur or two to the little girl, who was riding patiently by this point. Lineman didn't have much more to say, either. The elevator came to a stop on the M for Mezzanine level, and Lineman walked out. Jennifer and daughter got out too, and we did -- what the hell? -- as well, even though we had originally pushed the L for Lobby button when our descent began.
From there, we had no plan. Lineman sauntered off to what appeared to be a player's only type of breakfast, a buffet in a pre-marked room. Jennifer and daughter looked around, like they were going to the same place but couldn't find it. We couldn't be dorkier -- so we stumbled over each other and jumped on a quick escalator, where we compared notes and considered ourselves lucky. We had a story to tell, first of all. And now we knew: Our man Joe was on 6.
After that breakfast and a tour of the Coors Brewery and some driving through the rain and snow of Denver, we returned to the hotel – this was maybe around 3 or so – to regroup while we prepared a battle plan for the evening. We decided to head out for a late lunch, which would require a journey to the nearby Tabor Center mall. So again we hit the elevator, punched our L for Lobby button, but then just for the hell of it also hit 6, thinking we could get out and take a look around what we knew was Joe's floor – and as we're guests of the hotel, no one could say that much about it, right?
The elevator this time stopped on 8, where we were greeted, with a pleasant but firm nod, by none other than Marcus Allen, the former USC, L.A. Raiders, Heisman Trophy running back now playing for the Chiefs.
I swear I am not making this up.
Marcus was with a security guard type, and both of them seemed a bit grumpy. Again, we rode in silence, Peter and I exchanging another round of "Can you believe this?" glances.
At 6, the doors opened, but no one got on and no one got out. That had been our plan but we were worried it might seem obvious to Marcus. The security guy looked at us and said, "Getting off here, gentlemen?" but Peter said, "No, we're going all the way to the bottom," as the doors shut.
Of course. Where else would we be going?
Marcus rode in silence, right next to me. He, too, is tall and trim, with the well-defined muscles and easy physical presence that make him who he is. It wasn't until somewhere near the end of the elevator trip that it hit me why Marcus might have been upset on this afternoon, though: It was around 3 p.m. in Denver, and all day the talk shows and news shows and radio shows had been talking about the new book that had been released that day about Marcus' good friend O.J. Simpson and his slain wife, Nicole Brown Simpson. Among the charges in the book, of course, was that Nicole Simpson had been having an affair with none other than Marcus Allen.
Allen had issued terse no comments to media begging after him on this day. But, in many ways, he was the newest name in the most celebrated court case in modern American history, the most recent addition to the American O.J. diet. Arguably, he was the most talked-about man in America on this given day.
And we were riding in an elevator with him.
We hit M, Marcus got off, and we did too. Again, we didn't have a plan, so we scurried away – disbelieving our luck and fate. We had a late lunch and went to the game, now with two incredible stories, two brushes with greatness, under our respective belts.
We'd have a third incredible story before the night was through.
Denver was chilled but not wet on this evening, Monday, Oct. 17, 1994. We arrived at the stadium just before 6 p.m., paid $5 for a nearby parking space and made the hike into Mile High Stadium, with temperatures hovering around what must have been 40 degrees at this point. The question of the day, according to the pre-game shows we listened to on our way to the game was, "Would Montana play?" We walked straight through the gates and down onto the field level, where some TV lights drew our attention first to Chris Berman of ESPN fame ("the Boomer" is big and large and wears ill-fitting sportscoats, it turns out) and two-thirds of the "Monday Night Football" crew, Al Michaels and Dan Dierdorf, both of whom were yukking it up with Berman and a host of cronies.
We watched the trio for a few moments, but then couldn't help but get distracted by the uproar on the far end of the field, the closed in portion of Mile High Stadium, where the commotion was growing because the Chiefs were taking the field for their warm-up drills. And who should be jogging out of the tunnel himself but The Myth, Mr. Montana? There he was, [2002 Note: I still have the pictures I took, taped to my refrigerator] clad in his Kansas City white No. 19 jersey with his cherry red helmet, greeted by flashbulbs and a resounding roar from the Kansas City Chiefs fans lining the field behind the near fence.
Joe sauntered to midfield and began playing what could best be described as a stiff game of catch with a couple of his receivers, with someone else catching the ball and tossing it to Joe for his throws. He looked fine, if a bit stiff-armed, but it was early and he was tossing lightly. The fans kept bellowing at him, and I guess you could say he sort of acknowledged us, but mainly he seemed to be concentrating on his pre-game routine and there is such reverence for the man that even the rowdiest (and this was in Elway country, mind you) among us seemed unwilling to disturb the Master as he prepared.
Joe threw and threw and threw some more, with his uncanny, highlight-film-familiar release and fundamental follow-through. He threw to Lynn Swann, the old Steelers' receiver dressed in street clothes (there for ABC's broadcast, for which Swannie was a sideline reporter). Joe exchanged handshakes with Al Michaels, who was still wandering around the field. Joe sprinted a little bit, then got involved in some more throwing drills – this time with a little more heat on the ball, and looking considerably less stiff – and then he ran the Chiefs' offense through some drills, taking snaps, working on timing.
And then, we made our way to our seats and all of a sudden, the game began. It was cold, and so was Joe. Both he and John Elway started slowly; I think it was still 0-0 after the first quarter. But it was something to watch Joe, something to see. If he was off, it was always by just a bit, and he had all the time in the world (the Broncos didn't lay a hand on him all night). When he wasn't on the field he'd put a jacket on and wander around the sidelines, while (back-up QBs) Steve Bono and Matt Blundin talked to him (they wear the headsets and jabber with offensive coordinator Paul Hackett; Joe doesn't bother with it).
The Chiefs' first TD was on a run by Marcus Allen, it turned out, a little short run into the left corner of the end zone just in front of us. Our seats were pretty high up there, on the fourth deck, but I had my camera trained on Joe as he watched Allen tumble in for the score and then – sure enough, also from the highlight reels – raised both arms in his own touchdown gesture, Montana's patented personal signal indicating that yes, once again his team has scored.
The game went on like that. Chiefs, Broncos, Chiefs, Broncos. Kansas City didn't get a score late in the first half when Montana made a rare mistake – he mishandled the remaining timeouts and was caught sprinting off the field as the clock expired, before the Chiefs could try a field goal. By the second half, both Montana and Elway were cooking at full steam; Joe flashed a touchdown pass to someone in our end zone (third quarter) that looked exactly like the Montana-to John Taylor touchdown play the 49ers used to beat the Bengals in Super Bowl XXIII.
By the fourth quarter, the Chiefs had taken a 24-21 lead, and I was thinking this was all pretty sweet. Fly to Denver, visit with Misty and Jennifer Montana and Marcus Allen and see Joe win. But the Broncos weren't done. No comeback slouch himself, the electric Elway marched Denver the length of the field and the Broncos ended up scoring on a quarterback draw play – Elway ran in untouched, despite having only 10 men on the field to defend him – and Denver took a 28 24 lead with a little more than a minute to go in the game.
For months, Peter and I had been making jokes about it and our variations on the theme didn't stop once we were faced with the actual situation: "Would we be in position to see a miraculous Montana comeback?"
A little more than 1:00 on the clock? Joe time, we figured, though we still didn't know whether to really believe. Montana had looked sharp in the second half, let there be no doubt. Still, and though he had two timeouts to work with, how can you really know? How do you know the difference between the game-winning drive and a third-and long, game-ending sack?
Joe knew. With the Broncos' fans howling, he began his TD quest, marching upfield with steady and sure determination. Clip, clip. Receiver on an out-pattern there. Clip, clip. Twelve yards here. Clip, clip. Marcus up the middle there. It was flying by so fast but it was like we were calling the plays right along with Joe, schooled as we were in his art of the comeback. We called the timeouts when he needed them, called the proper sideline pattern to stop the clock. It was Zen, just the 70,000 of us and Joe.
Remember, we were in a hostile stadium, so we couldn't get too crazy. And toward the end, Peter and I didn't even dare talk about it to each other anymore. We just watched. I remember the whole time thinking, "This is it. This is Joe."
It was like watching the ESPN highlight films come to life, without the benefit of instant replays, Michaels' commentary or slow motion. To the contrary; it moved so fast. There was No. 19 on the field in Denver, but it could have just as easily been No. 16 on the field against Cincinnati or Dallas or Philadelphia.
Joe's Greatest Hits.
As my aunt, another Montana disciple, would say later, "There is Joe … and then there is JOE!"
We got to see JOE!
He marched the Chiefs down the field steadily, economically, coolly. So cool. There were no close calls, or almost-misses. Everyone did his job. The Broncos still weren't doing much to slow Montana down; it was almost as if they were giving him the zones and saying, "Go for it, Big Guy."
Big mistake. Joe had his team within the 10 with around 20 seconds left on the clock. On a first-down play, he backed up (traffic all around) and -- and I would only appreciate this later in replays, because I lost sight of the ball on this night -- spiraled the ball to Willie Davis, who bounced and then twirl-stepped into the front flap of the end zone, eluding the defending Broncos with eight seconds left to score.
Yes, score.
Joe was JOE! He ran to the sidelines and hugged Jennifer, wearing what looked to be the same outfit she'd worn in the elevator earlier that day. And the Chiefs had a 31-28 lead.
The Broncos got the ball back, but Elway looked like he didn't quite know what to do -- trumped by the Master -- and time frittered away. A chilled stadium was even chillier now, as the Broncos' fans vented their frustration at what was now a 1-5 team. Strangely enough, little of that venom was directed at Montana and the Chiefs. It was more along the lines of, "How could you let him get the ball with more than a minute left?"
How could you let Montana do that to us?
[2002 Note: This would be the last time Montana and Elway would ever face each other before Montana retired.]
Peter and I, we grinned and kept our giddiness to ourselves. We walked out with the throngs of fans, keeping this little classic close. On a chilly night, when they wondered if he would even play – when that hip and those ribs had threatened to keep him on the bench – Joe had come through with one of his all-time performances, a "Monday Night Football" classic the national media was chirping about for days to come. [2002 Note: See? I knew it was a classic, even then.]
Yes, Joe had been JOE! Like a rock star performing his all-time favorite No. 1 song, Montana had come through with a greatest hit for the ages.
He had done it for us and – in our own way, by being there in the first place – we had done it for Joe. We walked out happy. I ate a pretzel. The lines to leave the parking lot were long. No one had left early.
While in the car, we bandied about new nicknames for the man named Montana.
I said, "St. Joe."
And Peter replied, "We worshiped at the Temple of Joe."
[2002 Note: Every word of this story is true. Especially the part about wanting to have sex with Jennifer Montana.]
# # #
That's it for this time. Tune in again soon for another exciting edition of the one and only, award-winning "Pop Stew!" Or, direct your comments to johnyoungren@earthlink.net
Wednesday, October 30, 2002
A POP STEW POTPOURII: PARSLEY, SAGE, ROSEMARY AND THYME
By JOHN YOUNGREN
So we're (finally) whipping up a new "Pop Stew" … just add a sprinkle of this, a pinch of that:
--If Shania Twain's new album is as cool as her four-carrot new video ("I'm Gonna Get You Good"), she's got another hit on her hands.
--Shania's talking about releasing a rock mix of her country album too (it will be a double CD), so we know she's not screwing around.
--"Live From New York," a new hardcover oral history of the nearly 30 years of "Saturday Night Live" (Little, Brown & Company, $25.95) is a four-carrot affair, featuring interviews with nearly all the living key players from the show's history. Two afterthoughts: You'll leave not liking Chevy Chase as much because no one else did. And you'll remember that the Eddie Murphy era was bit overrated, as is Eddie Murphy (read a few more of my recent book musings, down below).
--Best album of the summer gone by? The Counting Crows' "Hard Candy." Four carrots.
--Fun DVD? The newly released widescreen edition of "Scooby Doo." Three carrots, especially if you use the actors' commentary portion of the DVD features to watch the movie by.
--Are people using the special features of DVDs, like actor/director commentaries? I engage them all the time. Does that make me the strange one?
--Regis and Kelly are cute. Especially Kelly.
--I'm worried Faith Hill is relying too much on image. Her new video is sexy and stuff, but her new album ("Cry") is a snooze. Two carrots.
--I'm going to make every effort to get into Fox's "24" this season. That Kiefer Sutherland is just dreamy.
--Second-best album of the summer gone by, in my book? Sheryl Crow's "C'Mon, C'Mon" (four carrots). If she's smart, she'd stop promoting "Steve McQueen," (the album's overplayed second single) and move on to "Abilene" or "Diamond Road."
--Best single song of the summer? Either Bruce Springsteen's "Lonesome Day" from his over-hyped "The Rising" or the Dixie Chicks' "Long Time Gone" from their new "Home." The songs are gems; the albums, a bit inconsistent. 3-1/2 carrots apiece.
--How is still on the air?, Part I: "Survivor" Who the hell really cares anymore?
--David Caruso and Kim Delaney don't have the va-va-va-voom I was hoping for when they teamed them up in "CSI: Miami." I give the show 3 carrots, mainly because of Caruso's brooding delivery. Delaney isn't well served here at all.
--Maybe it's because I'm a latecomer to the whole "CSI" formula -- but aren't these shows just a bit predictable? First 10 minutes, the crime. Next 40 minutes, whiz-bang science most people don't know exists extracts a fiber of ass hair from someone's jacket. Last 10 minutes, ass hair matches the killer. Uh, isn't it a little harder than that?
--If Andy Sipowicz (Dennis Franz on "NYPD Blue") was investigating the Elizabeth Smart case in Utah, it'd already have been solved. Andy would have just beaten up Richard Ricci (now dead anyway) in the interrogation room and we'd have all the answers, and the little girl.
--My mother's mornings: She watches "The View" on ABC at 11 a.m. But if she misses it, she makes sure to catch it the next day on A&E at 10 a.m. Meaning, she can watch yesterday's show before today's forever. (Isn't this kind of like looking at yourself in a mirror in a mirror in a mirror?)
--Guilty pleasure: Kenny Chesney's "The Good Stuff." Watch the video, no way you won't tear up.
--Everyone laughed at "Maxim" magazine when it launched. But, in the past couple of months, both "Rolling Stone" and "Playboy" (two venerable mainstays) have hired top "Maxim" editors to, uh, maximize their rags.
--Elvis Presley's "30 #1 Hits" is a 4-carrot must-have CD, but it does make you realize how much crap Elvis produced, even if people bought enough of it to make it No. 1: "Hard Headed Woman," "Wooden Heart," "Good Luck Charm," huh? I guess it had to be this way. Elvis' "17 #1 Hits That Anyone Liked" just doesn't have the same ring as a CD title.
--In my six-CD car stereo shuffle right now: The aforementioned newish albums by Elvis, Counting Crows, Sheryl Crow and Dixie Chicks. Rounding out the lineup are two surprises: SheDaisy's "Knock On The Sky" and -- wait for it -- the official soundtrack album of "Once More, With Feeling" the special musical episode of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" from last season.
--Buffy's the one I'm listening to the most. Four carrots. As if.
--I love Joe Buck. And I mean this in a purely non-sexual, he's-one-helluva-sportscaster kind of way.
--How is it still on the air?, Part II: "Dawson's Creek." In this year's turn of events, Pacey, who struggled to get through high school and isn't interested in attending college, is studying to become a stockbroker, a la Charlie Sheen in "Wall Street." Pacey is 19.
--Oh, and for those of you who've lost track but might be wondering: Dawson and Joey did screw, but broke up again right afterward. Good thing I'm still watching, huh?
--Is it just me, or has that sweet Christine Aguilera turned into a bit of a whore?
--My three best personal Halloween costumes, ever: "Batman" when I was 3, "Batman" when I was 7 and "Batman" when I was 24. The "Devil" year was also good, but I was too drunk to appreciate it.
--Is the California vs. California World Series over? Maybe the other 49 states can wake up now.
--Poor Harry Smith. Somehow, they talked him back into co-hosting "The Early Show" on CBS with about 52 other people. Harry had the job in the '90s, and was part of the show's best team, with Paula Zahn. But CBS cleaned them out a few years ago, and Harry had what seemed to be a pretty nice gig, hosting "Biography" on A&E. Now's he's back getting up early in the mornings. Harry, I hope they paid you a shitload.
--Best commercial, right now? Sprint. The wife told the husband to bring home "a movie -- something old." What did hubby pick up? "A monkey with a cold." That damn cellular static.
--Grimace acts the hell out of that commercial with Donald Trump.
--Speaking of monkeys, and maybe we're beyond this point, but it'd sure be nice if the Anaheim Angels' "Rally Monkeys" remain a kind of grassroots phenomenon, instead of a full-fledged marketing effort. Somehow, I doubt this will be the case. (It turned out I was right: A check of the Angels' official website found blue Rally Monkeys, World Series T-shirt and all, on sale for the low, low price of $24.95).
--Hemorrhoid surgery is easier to bounce back from than hernia surgery, and believe me I know. Hemorrhoid surgery is no freakin' picnic, by the way.
--How is it still on the air?, Part III: "Frasier." It's been a decade since it debuted. Each individual episode feels like a decade (or more) in duration now.
--Great website to visit: televisionwithoutpity.com. Takes a while to get into, but well worth it for TV buffs.
--The five best '80s bands to sing and play air guitar by: 1) Boston. 2) Journey. 3) Fleetwood Mac. 4) Foreigner. 5) Styx.
--Pat Summerall got screwed. Summerall was forced to retire from Fox's No. 1 team, so he and John Madden called it a career. Madden jumped over to ABC, where he's meshed well with Al Michaels on "Monday Night Football." Summerall, meanwhile, got a call a few weeks later from Fox -- looking for a bench announcer to handle some regional Dallas Cowboys action. So there's Pat, evidently still competent enough to work games, just not the big ones.
--Pleasant new surprises, TV-wise: NBC's "Hidden Hills," WB's "Birds of Prey." I'm trying to think of more, I really am.
--Unpleasant new shows, and not going to get any better, it appears: Fox's "Girls Club" (David E. Kelley has lost the fastball), Fox's "Fastlane," (dumber than it looks -- and it looks dumb), ABC's "MDs" (I knew), NBC's "American Dreams" (too much reliance on the "American Bandstand" gimmick).
--Staggering, staggering, staggering: Besides "Frasier," it's tougher and tougher to watch increasingly desperate shows like "ER," "The Practice," "Boston Public," "Just Shoot Me" and "Charmed."
--Returning favorites off to good starts: "Alias," "Buffy" (seriously -- no bias), "Will & Grace," "Gilmore Girls," "Angel," "NYPD Blue," "Friends," "The West Wing" and "Ed."
* * *
I WANT MY DVDS: These full-season TV DVDs are too good to be true. Let me share a little about some of my recent acquisitions with you.
--"Friends," the complete second season (about $60). Many of the episodes really do include footage you've never seen before (snappy jokes to end scenes, or other throwaway gags that didn't make the final cut), which makes them fun. There is also commentary on an episode or two (including great insight on the Ross Rachel relationship, which dominated the series at the time) by series executive producers Marta Kauffman, David Crane and Kevin S. Bright.
Yes, the "Friends" backlash had started by midway through this second year, when they did that one-hour Super Bowl edition with Julia Roberts and Jean Claude Van Damme, but Season 2 also featured a few seminal episodes of the series, including "The One with the Prom Video" and "The One Where Ross Finds Out." My rating? Four carrots.
--"M*A*S*H," the complete second season (about $40). This was the year when the war series really began to hit its stride -- the three-disc set includes favorites like "Five O'Clock Charlie," "Carry On, Hawkeye" (in which everyone but Hawkeye gets the flu) "Deal Me Out" (about the weekly poker game) and "For Want of a Boot" (Hawkeye's). It's classic stuff. Yes, four carrots.
--"Sex & The City," the complete third season (about $40). Watching the HBO sitcom on DVD is a pleasure because of the real turn the series took in year 3, with Sarah Jessica Parker's Carrie cheating on her new boyfriend, Aidan, with the infamous Mr. Big. This was the year in which "Sex" was willing to prove its characters had depth to go with style, and plotlines were more realistically driven. Audio commentary by "Sex" producer Michael Patrick King is particularly enlightening. Another four carrots.
--"Buffy the Vampire Slayer," the complete second season (about $60). This year of "Buffy" on DVD is a keeper, as many fans of the series (including this one) think Season 2 might have been the show's best of all time. Sarah Michelle Gellar had found her look and pace, and most of the rest of the cast and storylines had evolved in as well, developing a mythos that continues to influence the series to this day. "What's My Line?" parts one and two,
"Surprise," "Innocence," "Passion" and the season finale two-parter "Becoming" rank among the series' best episodes, ever. And you bet, four carrots. Plus.
* * *
ON THE BOOKSHELF: -- From my just-finished pile:
--"The Catsitters," by James Wolcott (Perennial, paperback, $12.95). Well-written romantic fluff. Three carrots.
--"The Lovely Bones," by Alice Sebold (Little, Brown & Company, $21.95). Extremely provocative, sentimental and timely. Four carrots.
--"Martha Inc.," by Christopher Byron (John Wiley & Sons, Inc., $27.95). Came out just before Martha's stock troubles began. Makes you hate her even more. She should fry. Three carrots.
--"KISS and Make-Up," by Gene Simmons (Crown Publishers, $25.95, now in paperback at about $15). The KISS legend babbles about the history of the group and his own sexual prowess (he's no Wilt Chamberlain, but …). Surprisingly entertaining, despite its subject and author. Three carrots.
--"Bite Me: An Unofficial Guide to the World of Buffy the Vampire Slayer" by Nikki Stafford (ECW Press, $17.95). A new, six-year episode guide with a fresh perspective and insights, as well as new information, even for diehards. Four carrots.
--"Old Gods Almost Dead," by Stephen Davis (Broadway Books, $27.50). The 40-year history of the Rolling Stones. You'll leave not liking Mick Jagger as much. But Keith? Keith's a fucking God. Still, this one gets a little drowsy here and there, even for fans. Two carrots.
# # #
Put it all on simmer and you've got "Pop Stew!" Get it? OK, that’s it for this time. Tune in again soon for another exciting edition of the one and only, award-winning "Pop Stew!" Or, direct your comments to johnyoungren@earthlink.net
By JOHN YOUNGREN
So we're (finally) whipping up a new "Pop Stew" … just add a sprinkle of this, a pinch of that:
--If Shania Twain's new album is as cool as her four-carrot new video ("I'm Gonna Get You Good"), she's got another hit on her hands.
--Shania's talking about releasing a rock mix of her country album too (it will be a double CD), so we know she's not screwing around.
--"Live From New York," a new hardcover oral history of the nearly 30 years of "Saturday Night Live" (Little, Brown & Company, $25.95) is a four-carrot affair, featuring interviews with nearly all the living key players from the show's history. Two afterthoughts: You'll leave not liking Chevy Chase as much because no one else did. And you'll remember that the Eddie Murphy era was bit overrated, as is Eddie Murphy (read a few more of my recent book musings, down below).
--Best album of the summer gone by? The Counting Crows' "Hard Candy." Four carrots.
--Fun DVD? The newly released widescreen edition of "Scooby Doo." Three carrots, especially if you use the actors' commentary portion of the DVD features to watch the movie by.
--Are people using the special features of DVDs, like actor/director commentaries? I engage them all the time. Does that make me the strange one?
--Regis and Kelly are cute. Especially Kelly.
--I'm worried Faith Hill is relying too much on image. Her new video is sexy and stuff, but her new album ("Cry") is a snooze. Two carrots.
--I'm going to make every effort to get into Fox's "24" this season. That Kiefer Sutherland is just dreamy.
--Second-best album of the summer gone by, in my book? Sheryl Crow's "C'Mon, C'Mon" (four carrots). If she's smart, she'd stop promoting "Steve McQueen," (the album's overplayed second single) and move on to "Abilene" or "Diamond Road."
--Best single song of the summer? Either Bruce Springsteen's "Lonesome Day" from his over-hyped "The Rising" or the Dixie Chicks' "Long Time Gone" from their new "Home." The songs are gems; the albums, a bit inconsistent. 3-1/2 carrots apiece.
--How is still on the air?, Part I: "Survivor" Who the hell really cares anymore?
--David Caruso and Kim Delaney don't have the va-va-va-voom I was hoping for when they teamed them up in "CSI: Miami." I give the show 3 carrots, mainly because of Caruso's brooding delivery. Delaney isn't well served here at all.
--Maybe it's because I'm a latecomer to the whole "CSI" formula -- but aren't these shows just a bit predictable? First 10 minutes, the crime. Next 40 minutes, whiz-bang science most people don't know exists extracts a fiber of ass hair from someone's jacket. Last 10 minutes, ass hair matches the killer. Uh, isn't it a little harder than that?
--If Andy Sipowicz (Dennis Franz on "NYPD Blue") was investigating the Elizabeth Smart case in Utah, it'd already have been solved. Andy would have just beaten up Richard Ricci (now dead anyway) in the interrogation room and we'd have all the answers, and the little girl.
--My mother's mornings: She watches "The View" on ABC at 11 a.m. But if she misses it, she makes sure to catch it the next day on A&E at 10 a.m. Meaning, she can watch yesterday's show before today's forever. (Isn't this kind of like looking at yourself in a mirror in a mirror in a mirror?)
--Guilty pleasure: Kenny Chesney's "The Good Stuff." Watch the video, no way you won't tear up.
--Everyone laughed at "Maxim" magazine when it launched. But, in the past couple of months, both "Rolling Stone" and "Playboy" (two venerable mainstays) have hired top "Maxim" editors to, uh, maximize their rags.
--Elvis Presley's "30 #1 Hits" is a 4-carrot must-have CD, but it does make you realize how much crap Elvis produced, even if people bought enough of it to make it No. 1: "Hard Headed Woman," "Wooden Heart," "Good Luck Charm," huh? I guess it had to be this way. Elvis' "17 #1 Hits That Anyone Liked" just doesn't have the same ring as a CD title.
--In my six-CD car stereo shuffle right now: The aforementioned newish albums by Elvis, Counting Crows, Sheryl Crow and Dixie Chicks. Rounding out the lineup are two surprises: SheDaisy's "Knock On The Sky" and -- wait for it -- the official soundtrack album of "Once More, With Feeling" the special musical episode of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" from last season.
--Buffy's the one I'm listening to the most. Four carrots. As if.
--I love Joe Buck. And I mean this in a purely non-sexual, he's-one-helluva-sportscaster kind of way.
--How is it still on the air?, Part II: "Dawson's Creek." In this year's turn of events, Pacey, who struggled to get through high school and isn't interested in attending college, is studying to become a stockbroker, a la Charlie Sheen in "Wall Street." Pacey is 19.
--Oh, and for those of you who've lost track but might be wondering: Dawson and Joey did screw, but broke up again right afterward. Good thing I'm still watching, huh?
--Is it just me, or has that sweet Christine Aguilera turned into a bit of a whore?
--My three best personal Halloween costumes, ever: "Batman" when I was 3, "Batman" when I was 7 and "Batman" when I was 24. The "Devil" year was also good, but I was too drunk to appreciate it.
--Is the California vs. California World Series over? Maybe the other 49 states can wake up now.
--Poor Harry Smith. Somehow, they talked him back into co-hosting "The Early Show" on CBS with about 52 other people. Harry had the job in the '90s, and was part of the show's best team, with Paula Zahn. But CBS cleaned them out a few years ago, and Harry had what seemed to be a pretty nice gig, hosting "Biography" on A&E. Now's he's back getting up early in the mornings. Harry, I hope they paid you a shitload.
--Best commercial, right now? Sprint. The wife told the husband to bring home "a movie -- something old." What did hubby pick up? "A monkey with a cold." That damn cellular static.
--Grimace acts the hell out of that commercial with Donald Trump.
--Speaking of monkeys, and maybe we're beyond this point, but it'd sure be nice if the Anaheim Angels' "Rally Monkeys" remain a kind of grassroots phenomenon, instead of a full-fledged marketing effort. Somehow, I doubt this will be the case. (It turned out I was right: A check of the Angels' official website found blue Rally Monkeys, World Series T-shirt and all, on sale for the low, low price of $24.95).
--Hemorrhoid surgery is easier to bounce back from than hernia surgery, and believe me I know. Hemorrhoid surgery is no freakin' picnic, by the way.
--How is it still on the air?, Part III: "Frasier." It's been a decade since it debuted. Each individual episode feels like a decade (or more) in duration now.
--Great website to visit: televisionwithoutpity.com. Takes a while to get into, but well worth it for TV buffs.
--The five best '80s bands to sing and play air guitar by: 1) Boston. 2) Journey. 3) Fleetwood Mac. 4) Foreigner. 5) Styx.
--Pat Summerall got screwed. Summerall was forced to retire from Fox's No. 1 team, so he and John Madden called it a career. Madden jumped over to ABC, where he's meshed well with Al Michaels on "Monday Night Football." Summerall, meanwhile, got a call a few weeks later from Fox -- looking for a bench announcer to handle some regional Dallas Cowboys action. So there's Pat, evidently still competent enough to work games, just not the big ones.
--Pleasant new surprises, TV-wise: NBC's "Hidden Hills," WB's "Birds of Prey." I'm trying to think of more, I really am.
--Unpleasant new shows, and not going to get any better, it appears: Fox's "Girls Club" (David E. Kelley has lost the fastball), Fox's "Fastlane," (dumber than it looks -- and it looks dumb), ABC's "MDs" (I knew), NBC's "American Dreams" (too much reliance on the "American Bandstand" gimmick).
--Staggering, staggering, staggering: Besides "Frasier," it's tougher and tougher to watch increasingly desperate shows like "ER," "The Practice," "Boston Public," "Just Shoot Me" and "Charmed."
--Returning favorites off to good starts: "Alias," "Buffy" (seriously -- no bias), "Will & Grace," "Gilmore Girls," "Angel," "NYPD Blue," "Friends," "The West Wing" and "Ed."
* * *
I WANT MY DVDS: These full-season TV DVDs are too good to be true. Let me share a little about some of my recent acquisitions with you.
--"Friends," the complete second season (about $60). Many of the episodes really do include footage you've never seen before (snappy jokes to end scenes, or other throwaway gags that didn't make the final cut), which makes them fun. There is also commentary on an episode or two (including great insight on the Ross Rachel relationship, which dominated the series at the time) by series executive producers Marta Kauffman, David Crane and Kevin S. Bright.
Yes, the "Friends" backlash had started by midway through this second year, when they did that one-hour Super Bowl edition with Julia Roberts and Jean Claude Van Damme, but Season 2 also featured a few seminal episodes of the series, including "The One with the Prom Video" and "The One Where Ross Finds Out." My rating? Four carrots.
--"M*A*S*H," the complete second season (about $40). This was the year when the war series really began to hit its stride -- the three-disc set includes favorites like "Five O'Clock Charlie," "Carry On, Hawkeye" (in which everyone but Hawkeye gets the flu) "Deal Me Out" (about the weekly poker game) and "For Want of a Boot" (Hawkeye's). It's classic stuff. Yes, four carrots.
--"Sex & The City," the complete third season (about $40). Watching the HBO sitcom on DVD is a pleasure because of the real turn the series took in year 3, with Sarah Jessica Parker's Carrie cheating on her new boyfriend, Aidan, with the infamous Mr. Big. This was the year in which "Sex" was willing to prove its characters had depth to go with style, and plotlines were more realistically driven. Audio commentary by "Sex" producer Michael Patrick King is particularly enlightening. Another four carrots.
--"Buffy the Vampire Slayer," the complete second season (about $60). This year of "Buffy" on DVD is a keeper, as many fans of the series (including this one) think Season 2 might have been the show's best of all time. Sarah Michelle Gellar had found her look and pace, and most of the rest of the cast and storylines had evolved in as well, developing a mythos that continues to influence the series to this day. "What's My Line?" parts one and two,
"Surprise," "Innocence," "Passion" and the season finale two-parter "Becoming" rank among the series' best episodes, ever. And you bet, four carrots. Plus.
* * *
ON THE BOOKSHELF: -- From my just-finished pile:
--"The Catsitters," by James Wolcott (Perennial, paperback, $12.95). Well-written romantic fluff. Three carrots.
--"The Lovely Bones," by Alice Sebold (Little, Brown & Company, $21.95). Extremely provocative, sentimental and timely. Four carrots.
--"Martha Inc.," by Christopher Byron (John Wiley & Sons, Inc., $27.95). Came out just before Martha's stock troubles began. Makes you hate her even more. She should fry. Three carrots.
--"KISS and Make-Up," by Gene Simmons (Crown Publishers, $25.95, now in paperback at about $15). The KISS legend babbles about the history of the group and his own sexual prowess (he's no Wilt Chamberlain, but …). Surprisingly entertaining, despite its subject and author. Three carrots.
--"Bite Me: An Unofficial Guide to the World of Buffy the Vampire Slayer" by Nikki Stafford (ECW Press, $17.95). A new, six-year episode guide with a fresh perspective and insights, as well as new information, even for diehards. Four carrots.
--"Old Gods Almost Dead," by Stephen Davis (Broadway Books, $27.50). The 40-year history of the Rolling Stones. You'll leave not liking Mick Jagger as much. But Keith? Keith's a fucking God. Still, this one gets a little drowsy here and there, even for fans. Two carrots.
# # #
Put it all on simmer and you've got "Pop Stew!" Get it? OK, that’s it for this time. Tune in again soon for another exciting edition of the one and only, award-winning "Pop Stew!" Or, direct your comments to johnyoungren@earthlink.net
Friday, October 11, 2002
Tuesday, September 17, 2002
NEW TV GUIDE MEANS ALL'S WELL AGAIN -- FALL TV IS ABOUT TO BEGIN
By JOHN YOUNGREN
The air had a little cold snap and drizzle in it as I went into work today, and I knew for sure that the time had come -- fall is pretty much here.
When I opened the mailbox, I knew for sure.
For me, autumn's rites of recognition are always pretty definite, a mix of memories and passages that forever signify fall for me: The World Series. The start of the NFL season. School gets under way. RUSH week. Switching from sandals to boots, short sleeves to long, shorts to Levi's.
And the start of the new television season.
No kidding here, sadly enough. Since I was a kid, in fact, one of the more memorable days of any year -- right up there with sitting on Santa's lap and getting a new kite on my March birthday -- has been the start of the new TV season, signified more often than not by the arrival (wait for it) of the new TV Guide "Fall Preview" edition.
There was a time when this issue was so thick; it rivaled Sears' Christmas catalogue (a winter rite of passage). It'd be in the stores, at the checkout counters, for -- what? -- 35 cents a copy, full of insights and wonderful color pictures of all the new stars of all the new shows, as well as changes in returning favorites and a list of what else to look for in the TV season ahead.
I grew up loving (and watching, and watching, and watching) network television, so it should come as no surprise that to me, the annual TV Guide fall edition was akin to a new issue of the Bible arriving (which rarely happened, admittedly), so magical was the info it carried, photos it beheld, clever writing it boasted, predictions it advanced. It was everything to me.
My eyes would fill with wonder and glee, often with tears.
Alas, after a hard day at the office and a few other difficult hurdles in the past few weeks, I got home from work the other day and -- voila! -- there it was, the Fall Preview TV Guide edition, with David Caruso and Gail O'Grady and a few other stars I didn't recognize on the cover.
TV Guide does it a bit differently these days -- trying to spread the joy, I assume. So two weeks ago they talked about changes on "Returning Favorites" and next week, I think, they'll be doing something about their 50th anniversary (with spy babe Jennifer Garner on the cover -- but more in a moment).
But this Fall Preview edition is still the flagship -- they've been doing a special TV preview each autumn since 1953, apparently -- and still the surest sign that we're about to get serious about television again after a summer of repeats and (in this day and age) horrible reality series and so-so cable originals.
Needless to say, TV Guide isn't the only one that does a fall preview these days; I also got my Entertainment Weekly fall premiere edition on Saturday, and USA Today and a host of other publications will join in as well. Nevertheless, I offer a few thoughts and predictions on the upcoming TV season (and its related business), based on what I've gleaned from all of the above.
(Keep in mind, I was the one who predicted last fall that "Alias" would be a hit when I lost my breath for about 43 seconds after seeing Jennifer Garner's photo in the EW fall preview last year, so I do know what the hell I'm talking about).
To wit:
--ABC's best new show? "8 Simple Rules for Dating My Teenage Daughter." CBS' best new show? "CSI: Miami." NBC's best new show? "Boomtown." Fox's? "Fastlane." The WB's? "Birds of Prey." UPN's? "Haunted."
--The two I'll be watching for sure: "CSI: Miami" (if only to appreciate the irony of David Caruso and Kim Delaney together -- playing potential lovers -- in a drama after "NYPD Blue") and "Birds of Prey" (the daughter of Catwoman and Batman gets together with other babes and fights crime).
--All this fretting about John Madden joining Al Michaels on "Monday Night Football?" Fret no more. In a couple of games, the two have proven to be everything you'd anticipate: Informed, informational, funny and entertaining.
--My most anticipated returning series: Five-way tie between "Alias," "Buffy the Vampire Slayer," "The West Wing," "Friends" and "Ed."
--I remain lukewarm on "ER's" continuing without Anthony Edwards.
--Any talk about "Buffy" continuing past this season without star Sarah Michelle Gellar should stop.
--Is it just me, or is "The Sopranos" a bit overrated?
--Has anyone really been hankering for a "Baywatch" reunion movie (yes, they're shooting it right now)?
--One dumb new show: "MDs" on ABC. Stars William Fichtner and John Hannah are two renegade surgeons, the "Hawkeye and Trapper" of this generation. But instead of fighting the Korean War, they're fighting HMOs. Thrilling. Maybe they'll do whole episodes about deductibles and pre-authorizations.
--Who was the network executive when, as producers pitched "Dinotopia," said, "let's go with it!"
--If this Ed and Carol business is going to go on for too much longer on "Ed," I might just give up on "Ed."
--Stop with the Joey and Rachel shit. It's Ross and Rachel, period.
--Is anyone still watching "Becker?"
--Why is it that David E. Kelley's new show looks a lot like "Ally McBeal," only with three Ally McBeals?
--I want to be touched by an angel.
--It's hard to imagine any new show creating as much buzz as "American Idol," and for that we should all feel ashamed.
--Rob Lowe can go ahead and leave "The West Wing." Perhaps he can join up with Judd Nelson, Emilio Estevez and Ally Sheedy for "St. Elmo's Fire 2."
--Everybody else might, but I've stopped loving Raymond.
--I'm going to miss that damn Felicity.
OK, that's about it for the moment -- I actually have to SEE some of these new shows to advance any further opinions. So, look for some more random TV thoughts in the next few days, because the fall TV Guide is here, the fall TV Guide is here, the fall TV Guide is here.
The new fall TV season isn't far behind.
Yes sir (or maam), we get down to business next week.
# # #
That’s it for this time. Tune in again soon for another exciting edition of the one and only, award-winning "Pop Stew!" Or, direct your comments to johnyoungren@earthlink.net
By JOHN YOUNGREN
The air had a little cold snap and drizzle in it as I went into work today, and I knew for sure that the time had come -- fall is pretty much here.
When I opened the mailbox, I knew for sure.
For me, autumn's rites of recognition are always pretty definite, a mix of memories and passages that forever signify fall for me: The World Series. The start of the NFL season. School gets under way. RUSH week. Switching from sandals to boots, short sleeves to long, shorts to Levi's.
And the start of the new television season.
No kidding here, sadly enough. Since I was a kid, in fact, one of the more memorable days of any year -- right up there with sitting on Santa's lap and getting a new kite on my March birthday -- has been the start of the new TV season, signified more often than not by the arrival (wait for it) of the new TV Guide "Fall Preview" edition.
There was a time when this issue was so thick; it rivaled Sears' Christmas catalogue (a winter rite of passage). It'd be in the stores, at the checkout counters, for -- what? -- 35 cents a copy, full of insights and wonderful color pictures of all the new stars of all the new shows, as well as changes in returning favorites and a list of what else to look for in the TV season ahead.
I grew up loving (and watching, and watching, and watching) network television, so it should come as no surprise that to me, the annual TV Guide fall edition was akin to a new issue of the Bible arriving (which rarely happened, admittedly), so magical was the info it carried, photos it beheld, clever writing it boasted, predictions it advanced. It was everything to me.
My eyes would fill with wonder and glee, often with tears.
Alas, after a hard day at the office and a few other difficult hurdles in the past few weeks, I got home from work the other day and -- voila! -- there it was, the Fall Preview TV Guide edition, with David Caruso and Gail O'Grady and a few other stars I didn't recognize on the cover.
TV Guide does it a bit differently these days -- trying to spread the joy, I assume. So two weeks ago they talked about changes on "Returning Favorites" and next week, I think, they'll be doing something about their 50th anniversary (with spy babe Jennifer Garner on the cover -- but more in a moment).
But this Fall Preview edition is still the flagship -- they've been doing a special TV preview each autumn since 1953, apparently -- and still the surest sign that we're about to get serious about television again after a summer of repeats and (in this day and age) horrible reality series and so-so cable originals.
Needless to say, TV Guide isn't the only one that does a fall preview these days; I also got my Entertainment Weekly fall premiere edition on Saturday, and USA Today and a host of other publications will join in as well. Nevertheless, I offer a few thoughts and predictions on the upcoming TV season (and its related business), based on what I've gleaned from all of the above.
(Keep in mind, I was the one who predicted last fall that "Alias" would be a hit when I lost my breath for about 43 seconds after seeing Jennifer Garner's photo in the EW fall preview last year, so I do know what the hell I'm talking about).
To wit:
--ABC's best new show? "8 Simple Rules for Dating My Teenage Daughter." CBS' best new show? "CSI: Miami." NBC's best new show? "Boomtown." Fox's? "Fastlane." The WB's? "Birds of Prey." UPN's? "Haunted."
--The two I'll be watching for sure: "CSI: Miami" (if only to appreciate the irony of David Caruso and Kim Delaney together -- playing potential lovers -- in a drama after "NYPD Blue") and "Birds of Prey" (the daughter of Catwoman and Batman gets together with other babes and fights crime).
--All this fretting about John Madden joining Al Michaels on "Monday Night Football?" Fret no more. In a couple of games, the two have proven to be everything you'd anticipate: Informed, informational, funny and entertaining.
--My most anticipated returning series: Five-way tie between "Alias," "Buffy the Vampire Slayer," "The West Wing," "Friends" and "Ed."
--I remain lukewarm on "ER's" continuing without Anthony Edwards.
--Any talk about "Buffy" continuing past this season without star Sarah Michelle Gellar should stop.
--Is it just me, or is "The Sopranos" a bit overrated?
--Has anyone really been hankering for a "Baywatch" reunion movie (yes, they're shooting it right now)?
--One dumb new show: "MDs" on ABC. Stars William Fichtner and John Hannah are two renegade surgeons, the "Hawkeye and Trapper" of this generation. But instead of fighting the Korean War, they're fighting HMOs. Thrilling. Maybe they'll do whole episodes about deductibles and pre-authorizations.
--Who was the network executive when, as producers pitched "Dinotopia," said, "let's go with it!"
--If this Ed and Carol business is going to go on for too much longer on "Ed," I might just give up on "Ed."
--Stop with the Joey and Rachel shit. It's Ross and Rachel, period.
--Is anyone still watching "Becker?"
--Why is it that David E. Kelley's new show looks a lot like "Ally McBeal," only with three Ally McBeals?
--I want to be touched by an angel.
--It's hard to imagine any new show creating as much buzz as "American Idol," and for that we should all feel ashamed.
--Rob Lowe can go ahead and leave "The West Wing." Perhaps he can join up with Judd Nelson, Emilio Estevez and Ally Sheedy for "St. Elmo's Fire 2."
--Everybody else might, but I've stopped loving Raymond.
--I'm going to miss that damn Felicity.
OK, that's about it for the moment -- I actually have to SEE some of these new shows to advance any further opinions. So, look for some more random TV thoughts in the next few days, because the fall TV Guide is here, the fall TV Guide is here, the fall TV Guide is here.
The new fall TV season isn't far behind.
Yes sir (or maam), we get down to business next week.
# # #
That’s it for this time. Tune in again soon for another exciting edition of the one and only, award-winning "Pop Stew!" Or, direct your comments to johnyoungren@earthlink.net
Wednesday, September 11, 2002
MEMORIES OF SEPT. 11: WHAT A LONG STRANGE YEAR IT'S BEEN
By JOHN YOUNGREN
"Where were you when the world stopped turning, on that September day?"
--Alan Jackson
A year later, to the day, I go back to notes I wrote to myself that evening, Sept. 11, 2001:
"The images were so surreal, I could only stare in wonderment, sickness and shock. From the moment the 'Today' show began airing, live Mountain Time at 7 a.m., the disturbing fires at the top of the World Trade Center were compelling. But the events of the next 90 minutes were like no other I've ever seen in my life.
"Even now, 16 hours after I first watched the first two hours of 'Today,' I am sickened and shocked by the events of the day.
"First, the burning World Trade Center towers. Then, Matt Lauer calling the shot -- and the 'Today' studio crew literally and audibly gasping -- as another plane, a 747 or 757 or whatever, sliced through the second tower. With 'Today' ram-rodding witnesses and reports live, the Pentagon was hit. Then, the first World Trade Center tower collapsed. Then, the second.
"I was sick and unable to move. I finally got to work a bit after 9, shaken. All of my colleagues were gathered in our conference room, watching the news. We were all comparing notes, stories, horrors, fears, tries at black humor. Katie and Matt and Tom Brokaw took us through things. When would it all end?
"The whole day was so strange; like nothing I've ever seen. Today was the first I've ever spent essentially in front of the television for hours at a time, only taking a call or two along the way. I watched buildings I've long admired and noted (being born in and attached to New York) toppled. And all those thousands of people killed."
* * *
Though I watched the Challenger explode on videotape (within minutes of the actual event) and I was acutely aware of President Reagan getting shot during his first term, the events of Sept. 11 a year ago (particularly those planes crashing into the World Trade Center) were the first time in my life I can ever remember staring at something so traumatizing live, unfolding before my eyes, on my good old television. I was viewing it all from the safety of my own home, but I was scared
shitless.
For around ten years, I've awakened every morning to the "Today" show; my TV goes off like an alarm clock at 7 a.m. Normally, I sleep through the first 45 minutes or so, with one ear cocked toward the screen for the news of the day.
But on this morning, I jolted early, and I remember so clearly watching that second plane slam into that second tower, and then watching live as the Pentagon was stormed, then the plane crashed in Pennsylvania, then the towers collapsed, blow by blow by blow.
With the passage of a year and so many reams of perspective, it's at least comprehensible these days to put things in sequence, if not order. I know the backstory; I know the human stories.
But on that morning, it was so rapid fire, so unlike anything I'd ever seen before. I've watched the gunshots ring into JFK's motorcade so many times over the years; I've seen the footage where Bobby Kennedy gets shot. But this was live and unyielding, narrated by Matt and Katie (with whom I've shared many mornings, many interviews, and many events, both large and small), as strangely distant as it was in-my-face immediate, as foreign as it was familiar.
For the next week, truly spooked, I'd stay up all night, watching the
coverage, talking to friends and family. Little did I know that Sept. 11, 2001
would begin a year of horrible health problems for my mother, ongoing
difficulties for my family, particular twists and turns that continue to haunt
us, 12 months later.
Where was I when the world stopped turning, that September day?
Right here, you know. Same bedroom, same TV.
Watching in fear. Holding my breath.
And praying it was all somehow just pretend.
# # #
That's it for this time. Tune in again soon for another exciting edition of
the one and only, award-winning "Pop Stew!" Or, direct your comments to
johnyoungren@earthlink.net
By JOHN YOUNGREN
"Where were you when the world stopped turning, on that September day?"
--Alan Jackson
A year later, to the day, I go back to notes I wrote to myself that evening, Sept. 11, 2001:
"The images were so surreal, I could only stare in wonderment, sickness and shock. From the moment the 'Today' show began airing, live Mountain Time at 7 a.m., the disturbing fires at the top of the World Trade Center were compelling. But the events of the next 90 minutes were like no other I've ever seen in my life.
"Even now, 16 hours after I first watched the first two hours of 'Today,' I am sickened and shocked by the events of the day.
"First, the burning World Trade Center towers. Then, Matt Lauer calling the shot -- and the 'Today' studio crew literally and audibly gasping -- as another plane, a 747 or 757 or whatever, sliced through the second tower. With 'Today' ram-rodding witnesses and reports live, the Pentagon was hit. Then, the first World Trade Center tower collapsed. Then, the second.
"I was sick and unable to move. I finally got to work a bit after 9, shaken. All of my colleagues were gathered in our conference room, watching the news. We were all comparing notes, stories, horrors, fears, tries at black humor. Katie and Matt and Tom Brokaw took us through things. When would it all end?
"The whole day was so strange; like nothing I've ever seen. Today was the first I've ever spent essentially in front of the television for hours at a time, only taking a call or two along the way. I watched buildings I've long admired and noted (being born in and attached to New York) toppled. And all those thousands of people killed."
* * *
Though I watched the Challenger explode on videotape (within minutes of the actual event) and I was acutely aware of President Reagan getting shot during his first term, the events of Sept. 11 a year ago (particularly those planes crashing into the World Trade Center) were the first time in my life I can ever remember staring at something so traumatizing live, unfolding before my eyes, on my good old television. I was viewing it all from the safety of my own home, but I was scared
shitless.
For around ten years, I've awakened every morning to the "Today" show; my TV goes off like an alarm clock at 7 a.m. Normally, I sleep through the first 45 minutes or so, with one ear cocked toward the screen for the news of the day.
But on this morning, I jolted early, and I remember so clearly watching that second plane slam into that second tower, and then watching live as the Pentagon was stormed, then the plane crashed in Pennsylvania, then the towers collapsed, blow by blow by blow.
With the passage of a year and so many reams of perspective, it's at least comprehensible these days to put things in sequence, if not order. I know the backstory; I know the human stories.
But on that morning, it was so rapid fire, so unlike anything I'd ever seen before. I've watched the gunshots ring into JFK's motorcade so many times over the years; I've seen the footage where Bobby Kennedy gets shot. But this was live and unyielding, narrated by Matt and Katie (with whom I've shared many mornings, many interviews, and many events, both large and small), as strangely distant as it was in-my-face immediate, as foreign as it was familiar.
For the next week, truly spooked, I'd stay up all night, watching the
coverage, talking to friends and family. Little did I know that Sept. 11, 2001
would begin a year of horrible health problems for my mother, ongoing
difficulties for my family, particular twists and turns that continue to haunt
us, 12 months later.
Where was I when the world stopped turning, that September day?
Right here, you know. Same bedroom, same TV.
Watching in fear. Holding my breath.
And praying it was all somehow just pretend.
# # #
That's it for this time. Tune in again soon for another exciting edition of
the one and only, award-winning "Pop Stew!" Or, direct your comments to
johnyoungren@earthlink.net
Thursday, August 15, 2002
A QUARTER CENTURY LATER, ELVIS' DEATH MEANS BITTERSWEET MEMORIES
By JOHN YOUNGREN
As with the death of any run-of-the-mill incredibly popular cultural icon, I can still remember where I was when I heard Elvis Presley died.
It was Aug. 16, 1977, and I was riding with my grandparents, mother and sister to John F. Kennedy International Airport in New York City. My mother, sister and I were flying out to go back home, to Salt Lake City, after spending several weeks visiting my mother's family in Newburgh, N.Y., our summer vacation spot all my childhood life.
What's funny is, it's my mother who's the biggest Elvis fan I know -- still is. She's passionate about the King and his early music, especially before he went away to war and ruled the pre-British Invasion rock and roll scene. And in the '70s, my mother saw the glitzy, Las Vegas version of Elvis in a memorable show at the old Salt Palace in Salt Lake City.
It was, and remains, one of the great nights of her life.
But in August of '77, there we were, making our way to JFK, in the back of my grandfather's Chevrolet Impala -- brown with a white roof. We hit the tollbooth on the George Washington Bridge. There were particularly long lines of cars that day, waiting to get through on a sweltering New York afternoon. As I recall, all these years later, there were newspaper carriers making their way between the rows of cars with special editions of New York afternoon newspapers, news about the King's death blistered across the front.
But we didn't notice any of that until we got to the front of the line and our toll booth attendant, a large man (from what I recall), leaned out and almost literally cried (with a high-pitched voice I still hear in my mind all these years later), "Elvis died!"
And then we drove through and that's all we knew. We fumbled for the radio to hear more. We finally noticed the newspapers with the early bulletin.
My mother began crying in the backseat.
And we caught a plane less than an hour later and took what seemed like a 10-hour trip home, my mother as emotional about the death of one of her idols as she was, on this strange occasion, about saying goodbye to her parents for yet another year.
Strange now to think back on it all, in this day of Internet and cable TV and 24-hour access and USA Today. When we got home, I flipped on our television -- hoping to find news on one of the three local TV stations at my disposal -- and found a late-night documentary, on staid NBC.
The information age had yet to dawn. The celebrity age was not yet here. Other greats had died, of course. Presidents had been shot, Marilyn Monroe committed suicide. But -- though I wasn't particularly a fan at the time -- Elvis touched a nerve that had rarely been nudged; his death seemed to be the first of a new era of cultural voyeurism.
It was Elvis, after all, whose body soon thereafter appeared in his coffin on the cover of the National Enquirer.
It was Elvis, after all, whose autopsy and lifestyle and final days led to scads of "What Happened?"-style documentaries and articles and books, all precursors to later eras, when tabloid TV and Entertainment Tonight would thrive on such tawdriness, perfecting the potion for O.J. and Marv Albert, Princess Diana and Monica Lewinsky.
Elvis was the first time it all came together, arguably. He was always larger than life as it was, so of course he'd be larger in death. His success, renown and accomplishment were parts of the puzzle. His ostentatious living, lifestyle, habits and appetites were others. Though Elvis seems now like kitsch industry, it's important to remember that his fan base was as rabid then -- Graceland may not have been a tourist attraction, but it was the home of the King -- as it is now.
Elvis threw his perspiration-stained scarves into the audience for his female fans to fight over, even when his weight and performance had become bloated and disoriented. By his last year or two, his mannered performance style had lapsed into self-parody. But his name, songs, approach and face had long become part of the national lexicon.
I've grown to appreciate Elvis more over the quarter-century since. I own some of his earlier albums and greatest hits on CD; I admit more than a passing fascination with his life and success, his image and self-destruction. I've read a few biographies and watched those old TV specials with interest, sadness and joy.
The hoopla surrounding the 25th anniversary of Elvis' death is bittersweet, of course. There is nothing happy about the man's death, even in retrospect. And despite our best efforts, we all fall into the journalistic trapping of marking one's death as a way of celebrating their life.
Still, I suppose it's as good an excuse as any. For marking these types of where-were-you-when? occasions is, in many ways, the way we mark the passages of our own lives, whether the moment in question brings back a happy memory -- or a bad.
And for me, in August of 1977, it was spending time with my mother and my grandparents and Newburgh in the summer. Wiffle ball and Thurman Munson's Yankees. Orange soda and coffee cakes. "Star Trek" and my first beer.
These are all people, places and memories I'll always love and never forget. That's what Elvis' death brings back for me.
Even if it was because the man himself had suddenly left the building.
# # #
That’s it for this time. Tune in again soon for another exciting edition of the one and only, award-winning "Pop Stew!" Or, direct your comments to johnyoungren@earthlink.net
By JOHN YOUNGREN
As with the death of any run-of-the-mill incredibly popular cultural icon, I can still remember where I was when I heard Elvis Presley died.
It was Aug. 16, 1977, and I was riding with my grandparents, mother and sister to John F. Kennedy International Airport in New York City. My mother, sister and I were flying out to go back home, to Salt Lake City, after spending several weeks visiting my mother's family in Newburgh, N.Y., our summer vacation spot all my childhood life.
What's funny is, it's my mother who's the biggest Elvis fan I know -- still is. She's passionate about the King and his early music, especially before he went away to war and ruled the pre-British Invasion rock and roll scene. And in the '70s, my mother saw the glitzy, Las Vegas version of Elvis in a memorable show at the old Salt Palace in Salt Lake City.
It was, and remains, one of the great nights of her life.
But in August of '77, there we were, making our way to JFK, in the back of my grandfather's Chevrolet Impala -- brown with a white roof. We hit the tollbooth on the George Washington Bridge. There were particularly long lines of cars that day, waiting to get through on a sweltering New York afternoon. As I recall, all these years later, there were newspaper carriers making their way between the rows of cars with special editions of New York afternoon newspapers, news about the King's death blistered across the front.
But we didn't notice any of that until we got to the front of the line and our toll booth attendant, a large man (from what I recall), leaned out and almost literally cried (with a high-pitched voice I still hear in my mind all these years later), "Elvis died!"
And then we drove through and that's all we knew. We fumbled for the radio to hear more. We finally noticed the newspapers with the early bulletin.
My mother began crying in the backseat.
And we caught a plane less than an hour later and took what seemed like a 10-hour trip home, my mother as emotional about the death of one of her idols as she was, on this strange occasion, about saying goodbye to her parents for yet another year.
Strange now to think back on it all, in this day of Internet and cable TV and 24-hour access and USA Today. When we got home, I flipped on our television -- hoping to find news on one of the three local TV stations at my disposal -- and found a late-night documentary, on staid NBC.
The information age had yet to dawn. The celebrity age was not yet here. Other greats had died, of course. Presidents had been shot, Marilyn Monroe committed suicide. But -- though I wasn't particularly a fan at the time -- Elvis touched a nerve that had rarely been nudged; his death seemed to be the first of a new era of cultural voyeurism.
It was Elvis, after all, whose body soon thereafter appeared in his coffin on the cover of the National Enquirer.
It was Elvis, after all, whose autopsy and lifestyle and final days led to scads of "What Happened?"-style documentaries and articles and books, all precursors to later eras, when tabloid TV and Entertainment Tonight would thrive on such tawdriness, perfecting the potion for O.J. and Marv Albert, Princess Diana and Monica Lewinsky.
Elvis was the first time it all came together, arguably. He was always larger than life as it was, so of course he'd be larger in death. His success, renown and accomplishment were parts of the puzzle. His ostentatious living, lifestyle, habits and appetites were others. Though Elvis seems now like kitsch industry, it's important to remember that his fan base was as rabid then -- Graceland may not have been a tourist attraction, but it was the home of the King -- as it is now.
Elvis threw his perspiration-stained scarves into the audience for his female fans to fight over, even when his weight and performance had become bloated and disoriented. By his last year or two, his mannered performance style had lapsed into self-parody. But his name, songs, approach and face had long become part of the national lexicon.
I've grown to appreciate Elvis more over the quarter-century since. I own some of his earlier albums and greatest hits on CD; I admit more than a passing fascination with his life and success, his image and self-destruction. I've read a few biographies and watched those old TV specials with interest, sadness and joy.
The hoopla surrounding the 25th anniversary of Elvis' death is bittersweet, of course. There is nothing happy about the man's death, even in retrospect. And despite our best efforts, we all fall into the journalistic trapping of marking one's death as a way of celebrating their life.
Still, I suppose it's as good an excuse as any. For marking these types of where-were-you-when? occasions is, in many ways, the way we mark the passages of our own lives, whether the moment in question brings back a happy memory -- or a bad.
And for me, in August of 1977, it was spending time with my mother and my grandparents and Newburgh in the summer. Wiffle ball and Thurman Munson's Yankees. Orange soda and coffee cakes. "Star Trek" and my first beer.
These are all people, places and memories I'll always love and never forget. That's what Elvis' death brings back for me.
Even if it was because the man himself had suddenly left the building.
# # #
That’s it for this time. Tune in again soon for another exciting edition of the one and only, award-winning "Pop Stew!" Or, direct your comments to johnyoungren@earthlink.net
Thursday, August 08, 2002
DISPATCH FROM SALT LAKE: DONNY OSMOND'S PERSONAL GIFT TO ME
By JOHN YOUNGREN
SALT LAKE CITY -- Every once in a while, life hands you a little gift: You find a dollar in a parking lot. You make three green lights in a row. You get to work late but realize the bosses are gone.
Me, I was looking for such a gift. It's been a rough stretch. The new job's a hassle and the kids have the flu. I've been trying to pay the bills, keep up with work and not have a heart attack along the way.
Seriously.
My health's been a little off and I've been a little burned out. It's the dog days of summer -- the time of year when you're just playing out the stretch, trying not to focus on the fact that you're 22-1/2 games behind the league leaders, simply looking for the weather to break and hoping something will come along to give you a third wind as you head to September.
I got the gift Thursday night, totally unexpectedly. KSL-Channel 5, the NBC affiliate here in Salt Lake City, was holding a fall premiere party for advertisers and clients. It was a '50s-themed party held in the gymnasium at West High School. They had hamburgers and hula-hoops. They had milkshakes and a band playing hits from the '50s and early '60s.
They had Donny Osmond.
Now, I'll be the first to admit that I've never been particularly fond of the Osmonds overall -- but I've always liked Donny and his sister Marie. How could you not? I used to watch their TV variety show in the '70s, and my sister and I had their "Greatest Hits" album, and I can still find myself humming "I'm a little bit country … and I'm a little bit rock-n-roll," if it's a lazy summer night and I've had too much Merlot.
Thursday at West High, Donny was one of the celebrity guests -- along with the KSL news team (somewhat anti-climactic) and Caroline Rhea, who will be taking over this fall as the new host of what had been known as "The Rosie O'Donnell Show."
Though all the KSL personalities and behind-the-scenes people were dressed like some version of '50s greasers or bobbysoxers, it was easy to spot Donny: Though shorter than he appears on TV (what celebrity isn't?), he was dressed all in black and making his way around the room, flashing that mouth of Osmond pearly caps wherever he went.
The KSL people were introducing him around, for -- in addition to the obvious Utah ties -- Donny is going to host a new game show, "Pyramid," an updated riff on the old game show "The $20,000 Pyramid," to be broadcast this fall in syndication.
Around 6:30 p.m., or about an hour or so into the evening, they called Donny up front to say "hi" to the audience along with Caroline Rhea, and both of them were forced to go through some idiot routine along with Jeff Olson, a local actor/comedian (and I use the terms loosely), who was playing the role of the principal of the school. Donny and Caroline gamely answered a few questions and then started to walk away.
And then, the damndest thing happened: The '50s cover band, maybe suitably made up of members who looked like they might all be in their '50s, began playing the first few notes of "Puppy Love," far and away Donny's biggest hit of all time.
And you know what? Donny playfully took the mike, told the guys in the band to adjust to "his key" and began singing the song.
"And they called it puppy love/
Oh I guess they'll never know/
How a young heart really feels/
And why I love her so…"
Donny started off by goofing around, but that's the thing about talent. Even while improvising around his key, even after just grabbing the random microphone they had been using in the principal skit, even to a gymnasium full of half-listening clients and advertisers and Dick Nourse and Caroline Rhea, Donny quickly found his stride.
"And they called it puppy love/
Just because we're seventeen/
Tell them all it isn't fair/
To take away my only dream…"
What's funny is, Donny had the attention of most of the audience now, and he even gestured for a young woman in the audience to come out and dance with him. And, as strange as it all was, as disjointed and incongruous as it still seems, I couldn't help but think, "Damn, this is Donny Osmond. And he's singing fucking 'Puppy Love.'"
"I cry each night these tears for you/
My tears are all in vain/
Oh I'll hope and I'll pray that may be some day/
You'll be back in my arms once again…"
Now, don't get me wrong: I don't have Donny posters tacked to my wall, and I never owned a "Puppy Love" single. The song's not exactly "Imagine" or "Born In The U.S.A.," either (though did you know Paul Anka wrote it?).
"Someone help me, help me please/
Is the answer up above/
How can I ever tell them/
This is not a puppy love…"
Maybe, not a big deal. Me? I guess I just thought it was interesting that on this night, at this place, in this city, totally unexpectedly and undoubtedly good-humoredly, Donny Osmond delivered maybe the most famous song of his career with a wink and a smile. And you know what? He sounded pretty good doing it, too.
"Someone help me, help me please/
Is the answer up above/
How can I ever tell them/
This is not a puppy love."
It's been a long year, and a longer summer. Health and home are still concerns. Thursday night, I got an unexpected gift.
It won't carry me through till September, but it helped in its own way. Though this is not a puppy love.
# # #
That’s it for this time. Tune in again soon for another exciting edition of the one and only, award-winning "Pop Stew!" Or, direct your comments to johnyoungren@earthlink.net
By JOHN YOUNGREN
SALT LAKE CITY -- Every once in a while, life hands you a little gift: You find a dollar in a parking lot. You make three green lights in a row. You get to work late but realize the bosses are gone.
Me, I was looking for such a gift. It's been a rough stretch. The new job's a hassle and the kids have the flu. I've been trying to pay the bills, keep up with work and not have a heart attack along the way.
Seriously.
My health's been a little off and I've been a little burned out. It's the dog days of summer -- the time of year when you're just playing out the stretch, trying not to focus on the fact that you're 22-1/2 games behind the league leaders, simply looking for the weather to break and hoping something will come along to give you a third wind as you head to September.
I got the gift Thursday night, totally unexpectedly. KSL-Channel 5, the NBC affiliate here in Salt Lake City, was holding a fall premiere party for advertisers and clients. It was a '50s-themed party held in the gymnasium at West High School. They had hamburgers and hula-hoops. They had milkshakes and a band playing hits from the '50s and early '60s.
They had Donny Osmond.
Now, I'll be the first to admit that I've never been particularly fond of the Osmonds overall -- but I've always liked Donny and his sister Marie. How could you not? I used to watch their TV variety show in the '70s, and my sister and I had their "Greatest Hits" album, and I can still find myself humming "I'm a little bit country … and I'm a little bit rock-n-roll," if it's a lazy summer night and I've had too much Merlot.
Thursday at West High, Donny was one of the celebrity guests -- along with the KSL news team (somewhat anti-climactic) and Caroline Rhea, who will be taking over this fall as the new host of what had been known as "The Rosie O'Donnell Show."
Though all the KSL personalities and behind-the-scenes people were dressed like some version of '50s greasers or bobbysoxers, it was easy to spot Donny: Though shorter than he appears on TV (what celebrity isn't?), he was dressed all in black and making his way around the room, flashing that mouth of Osmond pearly caps wherever he went.
The KSL people were introducing him around, for -- in addition to the obvious Utah ties -- Donny is going to host a new game show, "Pyramid," an updated riff on the old game show "The $20,000 Pyramid," to be broadcast this fall in syndication.
Around 6:30 p.m., or about an hour or so into the evening, they called Donny up front to say "hi" to the audience along with Caroline Rhea, and both of them were forced to go through some idiot routine along with Jeff Olson, a local actor/comedian (and I use the terms loosely), who was playing the role of the principal of the school. Donny and Caroline gamely answered a few questions and then started to walk away.
And then, the damndest thing happened: The '50s cover band, maybe suitably made up of members who looked like they might all be in their '50s, began playing the first few notes of "Puppy Love," far and away Donny's biggest hit of all time.
And you know what? Donny playfully took the mike, told the guys in the band to adjust to "his key" and began singing the song.
"And they called it puppy love/
Oh I guess they'll never know/
How a young heart really feels/
And why I love her so…"
Donny started off by goofing around, but that's the thing about talent. Even while improvising around his key, even after just grabbing the random microphone they had been using in the principal skit, even to a gymnasium full of half-listening clients and advertisers and Dick Nourse and Caroline Rhea, Donny quickly found his stride.
"And they called it puppy love/
Just because we're seventeen/
Tell them all it isn't fair/
To take away my only dream…"
What's funny is, Donny had the attention of most of the audience now, and he even gestured for a young woman in the audience to come out and dance with him. And, as strange as it all was, as disjointed and incongruous as it still seems, I couldn't help but think, "Damn, this is Donny Osmond. And he's singing fucking 'Puppy Love.'"
"I cry each night these tears for you/
My tears are all in vain/
Oh I'll hope and I'll pray that may be some day/
You'll be back in my arms once again…"
Now, don't get me wrong: I don't have Donny posters tacked to my wall, and I never owned a "Puppy Love" single. The song's not exactly "Imagine" or "Born In The U.S.A.," either (though did you know Paul Anka wrote it?).
"Someone help me, help me please/
Is the answer up above/
How can I ever tell them/
This is not a puppy love…"
Maybe, not a big deal. Me? I guess I just thought it was interesting that on this night, at this place, in this city, totally unexpectedly and undoubtedly good-humoredly, Donny Osmond delivered maybe the most famous song of his career with a wink and a smile. And you know what? He sounded pretty good doing it, too.
"Someone help me, help me please/
Is the answer up above/
How can I ever tell them/
This is not a puppy love."
It's been a long year, and a longer summer. Health and home are still concerns. Thursday night, I got an unexpected gift.
It won't carry me through till September, but it helped in its own way. Though this is not a puppy love.
# # #
That’s it for this time. Tune in again soon for another exciting edition of the one and only, award-winning "Pop Stew!" Or, direct your comments to johnyoungren@earthlink.net
Wednesday, July 31, 2002
NEW DVD SETS PROVE THE POINT: EARLY "MASH" THE BEST, EVER
By JOHN YOUNGREN
I was home sick one day this week and spent too much time between phone calls from the office watching interminable episodes of "M*A*S*H" on the fX cable network.
Much to my amazement, I happened upon -- by sheer coincidence -- three straight late-period episodes I generally despise, including the one in which Hawkeye and B.J. rush to transplant a man's aorta (a.k.a., the one with the clock in the corner); the one in which everyone has crazy nightmares influenced by the war and the one in which Hawkeye and B.J. wander around the camp telling the same asinine joke about a man doing bird imitations (which has the bonus subplot of Father Mulcahy trying to write a song about the Korean War).
If you know the show, you know the episodes. That's one of the things about "M*A*S*H:" Because of its many years in syndication and the general popularity of the show, you can generally sum up an episode in one or two plot points and people will immediately remember.
For better or worse.
For me, on this morning, these episodes were for worse. It was as if someone at fX was personally programming episodes to torment me, so consistently were they turning to scripts from the series' last couple of years, when for some reason everyone is acting so over-the-top it's like they're suddenly performing a stage play instead of a one-camera filmed sitcom (which maybe makes sense, as it's apparent they're doing most of their episodes on a stage, with about four extras).
So, if I can't stand those later years, how is that a couple of months ago, I decided upon my No. 1 television show of all time, and I rated the seminal sitcom "M*A*S*H" at the top of my list?
Simple, really. In my mind, "M*A*S*H" has always been two different shows: The clever, subversive anti-war comedy of its first five years (which is my No. 1); the sappy, overwrought melodrama of its second (which isn't).
And the seemingly contradictory notion is only strengthened after watching a couple of seasons of "M*A*S*H" on DVD (Twentieth Century Fox, approximately $30 per season, the second of which was released last week). They prove my point. So that's why I think "M*A*S*H" (and from now on, I'll do away with these asterisks, so I can type at something approaching my normal speed) is the best there ever was.
And again, that reputation is basically built on the first 3-5 seasons of the show, when Trapper John and Henry Blake were still around and Hawkeye still had an edge and before Alan Alda went crazy and wrote and directed every episode with a cliched, self-conscious approach that sometimes bordered on the nauseating.
Let's put it this way: I'll eagerly buy the first three seasons of "MASH" on DVD. I'll think about 4-5. I don't want to own any of the later years (I have fX for that).
Indeed, "MASH" was the archetype of the show that wasn't appreciated when it was at its best, far overrated when it was at its worst. (There are many ways to know the episode is going to be a shitty latter-year edition up front. One relatively overlooked one is Klinger's appearance: Is it the graying, 57-year-old Jamie Farr playing the company clerk?)
Those first few seasons of "MASH" (horribly underrated until it joined "All In The Family" and "The Mary Tyler Moore Show" on Saturday nights, the great Must-See CBS TV lineup of the mid-70s) is like taking a class in television writing. With a cast that would embody their roles and a versatile, war-is-hijinks format, the first few years of "MASH" are so well crafted it's stupefying.
Instead of the rat-a-tat-tat pace of sitcoms in our modern world, "MASH" is written in a much more believable, less punch-liney style. Hawkeye Pierce, in his earliest incarnations, is believable because he's a clever, tortured, articulate guy. Period. He's not Will or Grace or some other one-note current TV sitcom character.
Hawkeye doesn't so much tell jokes as he reacts to the people around him. He just says funny things. And his brilliance is shining but not beyond life; it's possible you've known a Hawkeye somewhere in your own experience.
Much like I did with dreams and aortas above, you can do the same thing with so many of the early episodes and draw generally positive memories from people. Remember the one when they made up Captain Tuttle? The one in which a lack of supplies forces everyone to bunk together? The one in which everyone gets the flu but Hawkeye? The first time we met Col. Flagg? The one with 5o'clock Charlie? The ones in which Hawkeye writes his Dad? The one in which Hawkeye and Trapper make deals around the camp to replace Hawkeye's worn-out boot?
Even all these years later, these episodes hold, given their pure comic bent and literate pedigree.
Indeed, if there is anything unsettling about watching these early episodes, it's that the show sometimes seemed a bit unsure of what tone it was going after -- some of the early "MASH" plots play like knockoffs of old "Hogan's Heroes" scripts, only Frank Burns and "Hot Lips" Houlihan take the places of Col. Klink and Sgt. Schultz.
And too many of those early episodes did have a relatively predictable pace -- some unforeseen force had come to rally against our wacky war surgeons and they proved their worth beyond the insanity by brilliantly saving lives. It was a "MASH" plot device that would last for each of the show's 11 years on the air, with varying degrees of effectiveness.
But the purity of the show's first couple of seasons makes up for any faults -- and is what makes these DVD sets so enjoyable. Plus, there are extra scenes and punchlines added, cut for syndication commercials years ago and added to the DVD collections. (For those of us whose memories of the show are honed by permanent rerun, given its many years and many lives in syndication, it can be strange when the lines and scenes we have many times memorized are jarred by an extra beat or long-forgotten scene.)
Together, it all adds up. The first few seasons of "MASH" make it my No. 1 show of all time, even if I have did have to put up with crappy Winchester episodes three straight times one sick day.
[POP STEW RATINGS: "MASH," DVD Season 1 = 3-1/2 carrots. "MASH," DVD Season 2 = 4 carrots. Overall "MASH" on fX = 3 carrots.]
# # #
That’s it for this time. Tune in again soon for another exciting edition of the one and only, award-winning "Pop Stew!" Or, direct your comments to johnyoungren@earthlink.net
By JOHN YOUNGREN
I was home sick one day this week and spent too much time between phone calls from the office watching interminable episodes of "M*A*S*H" on the fX cable network.
Much to my amazement, I happened upon -- by sheer coincidence -- three straight late-period episodes I generally despise, including the one in which Hawkeye and B.J. rush to transplant a man's aorta (a.k.a., the one with the clock in the corner); the one in which everyone has crazy nightmares influenced by the war and the one in which Hawkeye and B.J. wander around the camp telling the same asinine joke about a man doing bird imitations (which has the bonus subplot of Father Mulcahy trying to write a song about the Korean War).
If you know the show, you know the episodes. That's one of the things about "M*A*S*H:" Because of its many years in syndication and the general popularity of the show, you can generally sum up an episode in one or two plot points and people will immediately remember.
For better or worse.
For me, on this morning, these episodes were for worse. It was as if someone at fX was personally programming episodes to torment me, so consistently were they turning to scripts from the series' last couple of years, when for some reason everyone is acting so over-the-top it's like they're suddenly performing a stage play instead of a one-camera filmed sitcom (which maybe makes sense, as it's apparent they're doing most of their episodes on a stage, with about four extras).
So, if I can't stand those later years, how is that a couple of months ago, I decided upon my No. 1 television show of all time, and I rated the seminal sitcom "M*A*S*H" at the top of my list?
Simple, really. In my mind, "M*A*S*H" has always been two different shows: The clever, subversive anti-war comedy of its first five years (which is my No. 1); the sappy, overwrought melodrama of its second (which isn't).
And the seemingly contradictory notion is only strengthened after watching a couple of seasons of "M*A*S*H" on DVD (Twentieth Century Fox, approximately $30 per season, the second of which was released last week). They prove my point. So that's why I think "M*A*S*H" (and from now on, I'll do away with these asterisks, so I can type at something approaching my normal speed) is the best there ever was.
And again, that reputation is basically built on the first 3-5 seasons of the show, when Trapper John and Henry Blake were still around and Hawkeye still had an edge and before Alan Alda went crazy and wrote and directed every episode with a cliched, self-conscious approach that sometimes bordered on the nauseating.
Let's put it this way: I'll eagerly buy the first three seasons of "MASH" on DVD. I'll think about 4-5. I don't want to own any of the later years (I have fX for that).
Indeed, "MASH" was the archetype of the show that wasn't appreciated when it was at its best, far overrated when it was at its worst. (There are many ways to know the episode is going to be a shitty latter-year edition up front. One relatively overlooked one is Klinger's appearance: Is it the graying, 57-year-old Jamie Farr playing the company clerk?)
Those first few seasons of "MASH" (horribly underrated until it joined "All In The Family" and "The Mary Tyler Moore Show" on Saturday nights, the great Must-See CBS TV lineup of the mid-70s) is like taking a class in television writing. With a cast that would embody their roles and a versatile, war-is-hijinks format, the first few years of "MASH" are so well crafted it's stupefying.
Instead of the rat-a-tat-tat pace of sitcoms in our modern world, "MASH" is written in a much more believable, less punch-liney style. Hawkeye Pierce, in his earliest incarnations, is believable because he's a clever, tortured, articulate guy. Period. He's not Will or Grace or some other one-note current TV sitcom character.
Hawkeye doesn't so much tell jokes as he reacts to the people around him. He just says funny things. And his brilliance is shining but not beyond life; it's possible you've known a Hawkeye somewhere in your own experience.
Much like I did with dreams and aortas above, you can do the same thing with so many of the early episodes and draw generally positive memories from people. Remember the one when they made up Captain Tuttle? The one in which a lack of supplies forces everyone to bunk together? The one in which everyone gets the flu but Hawkeye? The first time we met Col. Flagg? The one with 5o'clock Charlie? The ones in which Hawkeye writes his Dad? The one in which Hawkeye and Trapper make deals around the camp to replace Hawkeye's worn-out boot?
Even all these years later, these episodes hold, given their pure comic bent and literate pedigree.
Indeed, if there is anything unsettling about watching these early episodes, it's that the show sometimes seemed a bit unsure of what tone it was going after -- some of the early "MASH" plots play like knockoffs of old "Hogan's Heroes" scripts, only Frank Burns and "Hot Lips" Houlihan take the places of Col. Klink and Sgt. Schultz.
And too many of those early episodes did have a relatively predictable pace -- some unforeseen force had come to rally against our wacky war surgeons and they proved their worth beyond the insanity by brilliantly saving lives. It was a "MASH" plot device that would last for each of the show's 11 years on the air, with varying degrees of effectiveness.
But the purity of the show's first couple of seasons makes up for any faults -- and is what makes these DVD sets so enjoyable. Plus, there are extra scenes and punchlines added, cut for syndication commercials years ago and added to the DVD collections. (For those of us whose memories of the show are honed by permanent rerun, given its many years and many lives in syndication, it can be strange when the lines and scenes we have many times memorized are jarred by an extra beat or long-forgotten scene.)
Together, it all adds up. The first few seasons of "MASH" make it my No. 1 show of all time, even if I have did have to put up with crappy Winchester episodes three straight times one sick day.
[POP STEW RATINGS: "MASH," DVD Season 1 = 3-1/2 carrots. "MASH," DVD Season 2 = 4 carrots. Overall "MASH" on fX = 3 carrots.]
# # #
That’s it for this time. Tune in again soon for another exciting edition of the one and only, award-winning "Pop Stew!" Or, direct your comments to johnyoungren@earthlink.net
Monday, July 22, 2002
A FEW POP QUESTIONS TO PONDER ON A HOT SUMMER DAY
By JOHN YOUNGREN
My meandering mind on a summer day.
So, is it just me, or…
Doesn't it seem like "Sex & The City" gets an inordinate amount of hype?
Isn't Ann Curry the single most embarrassing (and inept) morning television personality since Barney?
Isn't it great news that "Felicity," "Sports Night" and "Once & Again" will be coming to DVD?
Do you already miss "Felicity?"
Don't you just love boxed DVD sets?
Does anyone miss the irony of ex-"NYPD Blue" star Kim Delaney joining ex-"NYPD Blue" star David Caruso on the new crime drama "CSI: Miami?"
Does anyone else realize how really well crafted those first 2-3 seasons of "M*A*S*H" really were?
When did we all just give up on "The Real World?"
Wasn't it nice to see Robin Williams working the stage again?
Doesn't the new David E. Kelley show on Fox -- "Girls Club" -- sound a lot like "Ally McBeal x 3?"
If VH-1 is talking mojo, are they sure they want to rate Britney ahead of Cher and J Lo ahead of Madonna?
Aren't the Counting Crows one of the great (and arguably underrated) pop bands of the past decade?
Aren't the Red Hot Chili Peppers one of the great overrated rock bands of the past 10 years?
Isn't "The View" one of the most overrated pieces of shit TV you've ever seen?
Was anyone really surprised when "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?" failed to keep viewers, given that it was on 43 hours a week at the end?
Doesn't it seem like Harrison Ford is already too old to play Indiana Jones?
Why, if this Simon fellow is really such a pain, is everyone talking about "American Idol?"
Wouldn't it be nice if Matt Lauer just let his hair grow in a little bit?
If the lovely and talented Jennifer Garner can get nominated for an Emmy for "Alias," why not the lovely and talented Sarah Michelle Gellar for "Buffy the Vampire Slayer?"
Does "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" just get dissed because everybody thinks it's a show with a stupid name?
Don't you think anyone who uses the word "dissed" is pretty much an idiot?
Does anyone really care than Angelina broke up with Billy Bob?
Wouldn't you have broken up with someone named Billy Bob?
Doesn't Tom Hanks seem like a nice guy?
Doesn't Tom Brokaw seem like a nice guy?
Doesn't Tom Cruise seem like a nice guy?
Doesn't Tom Green seem like a jackass?
Does "ER" pretty much suck these days -- especially if you compare it to one of those old episodes in syndication?
Didn't the Who finally really sell out by going on tour about 12 minutes after John Entwistle died?
Does Will Smith seem like a fun guy to grab a few beers with?
Has Kevin Costner's time passed us by?
Has Kevin Costner's time passed him by?
Does "Speed" seem like a period piece?
Is Shannen Doherty's departure from "Charmed" only proving my thesis that her shows suck once she's forced to leave them (witness later years of "Beverly Hills 90210").
Does it seem like Dana Carvey should just give up on movies and go back to "Saturday Night Live?"
Why is the Dave Matthews Band regarded as consistently great when Hootie & The Blowfish are considered has-beens?
Isn't it about time for another "Hootie" album?
Did no one but me read "Bookends" by Jane Green -- the first "Pop Stew" proposed book club entry?
Aren't book clubs pretty much a pain in the ass?
Isn't Sharon Stone a lot bigger star then her one hit movie -- "Basic Instinct" -- would seem to indicate?
If you were going to do the audio commentary on a DVD, wouldn't you watch the damn movie first to refresh your memory?
Does Sheryl Crow seem too good-looking to be as talented as she is?
Does George W. Bush look like he just got hit in the head with a flying safe marked "ACME" on the side?
Did Paul McCartney suddenly become a Beatle again?
Is Austin Powers an incredible example of one (admittedly great) joke carrying three movies?
Well?
I don't know. Maybe it is just me.
# # #
That’s it for this time. Tune in again soon -- really, damnit -- for another exciting edition of the one and only, award-winning "Pop Stew!" Or, direct your comments to johnyoungren@earthlink.net
By JOHN YOUNGREN
My meandering mind on a summer day.
So, is it just me, or…
Doesn't it seem like "Sex & The City" gets an inordinate amount of hype?
Isn't Ann Curry the single most embarrassing (and inept) morning television personality since Barney?
Isn't it great news that "Felicity," "Sports Night" and "Once & Again" will be coming to DVD?
Do you already miss "Felicity?"
Don't you just love boxed DVD sets?
Does anyone miss the irony of ex-"NYPD Blue" star Kim Delaney joining ex-"NYPD Blue" star David Caruso on the new crime drama "CSI: Miami?"
Does anyone else realize how really well crafted those first 2-3 seasons of "M*A*S*H" really were?
When did we all just give up on "The Real World?"
Wasn't it nice to see Robin Williams working the stage again?
Doesn't the new David E. Kelley show on Fox -- "Girls Club" -- sound a lot like "Ally McBeal x 3?"
If VH-1 is talking mojo, are they sure they want to rate Britney ahead of Cher and J Lo ahead of Madonna?
Aren't the Counting Crows one of the great (and arguably underrated) pop bands of the past decade?
Aren't the Red Hot Chili Peppers one of the great overrated rock bands of the past 10 years?
Isn't "The View" one of the most overrated pieces of shit TV you've ever seen?
Was anyone really surprised when "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?" failed to keep viewers, given that it was on 43 hours a week at the end?
Doesn't it seem like Harrison Ford is already too old to play Indiana Jones?
Why, if this Simon fellow is really such a pain, is everyone talking about "American Idol?"
Wouldn't it be nice if Matt Lauer just let his hair grow in a little bit?
If the lovely and talented Jennifer Garner can get nominated for an Emmy for "Alias," why not the lovely and talented Sarah Michelle Gellar for "Buffy the Vampire Slayer?"
Does "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" just get dissed because everybody thinks it's a show with a stupid name?
Don't you think anyone who uses the word "dissed" is pretty much an idiot?
Does anyone really care than Angelina broke up with Billy Bob?
Wouldn't you have broken up with someone named Billy Bob?
Doesn't Tom Hanks seem like a nice guy?
Doesn't Tom Brokaw seem like a nice guy?
Doesn't Tom Cruise seem like a nice guy?
Doesn't Tom Green seem like a jackass?
Does "ER" pretty much suck these days -- especially if you compare it to one of those old episodes in syndication?
Didn't the Who finally really sell out by going on tour about 12 minutes after John Entwistle died?
Does Will Smith seem like a fun guy to grab a few beers with?
Has Kevin Costner's time passed us by?
Has Kevin Costner's time passed him by?
Does "Speed" seem like a period piece?
Is Shannen Doherty's departure from "Charmed" only proving my thesis that her shows suck once she's forced to leave them (witness later years of "Beverly Hills 90210").
Does it seem like Dana Carvey should just give up on movies and go back to "Saturday Night Live?"
Why is the Dave Matthews Band regarded as consistently great when Hootie & The Blowfish are considered has-beens?
Isn't it about time for another "Hootie" album?
Did no one but me read "Bookends" by Jane Green -- the first "Pop Stew" proposed book club entry?
Aren't book clubs pretty much a pain in the ass?
Isn't Sharon Stone a lot bigger star then her one hit movie -- "Basic Instinct" -- would seem to indicate?
If you were going to do the audio commentary on a DVD, wouldn't you watch the damn movie first to refresh your memory?
Does Sheryl Crow seem too good-looking to be as talented as she is?
Does George W. Bush look like he just got hit in the head with a flying safe marked "ACME" on the side?
Did Paul McCartney suddenly become a Beatle again?
Is Austin Powers an incredible example of one (admittedly great) joke carrying three movies?
Well?
I don't know. Maybe it is just me.
# # #
That’s it for this time. Tune in again soon -- really, damnit -- for another exciting edition of the one and only, award-winning "Pop Stew!" Or, direct your comments to johnyoungren@earthlink.net
Wednesday, July 17, 2002
Saturday, June 29, 2002
DISPATCH FROM SALT LAKE: MY SHEDAISY 'SISTERS' BRING IT ON HOME
By JOHN YOUNGREN
SALT LAKE CITY -- Maybe it's because I don't exactly run with a shit-kickin' crowd, but one of the biggest acts in country music is sometimes a bit under-appreciated by my friends and colleagues, even right here in our own backyard.
Nevertheless, as the local TV stations say, "Utah's own SHeDAISY" released their new album, "Knock On The Sky," this week, and it's clear they've got another hit on their hands (it's their first real follow-up to their successful debut, 1999's "The Whole Shebang").
Much like that first album, one of those infectious CDs that sort of emerges, fully formed, as a greatest hits collection in its own right, "Knock On the Sky" is loaded with an exquisitely harmonic lineup of songs, sometimes a bit more mature and world-weary than "The Whole Shebang," but in no way less enjoyable.
In fact, for any music fan who cringes everytime a group decides to evolve to a more "mature" sound after a successful debut (Hootie, anyone?), "Knock On The Sky" should be Exhibit A: It can be done, at least in the hands of a talented songwriter like SHeDAISY leader Kristyn Osborn, the blonde oldest sister of the trio that lives in Nashville but still considers Magna, Utah, its home.
Kristyn, along with younger sisters Kassidy (the talented brunette lead singer) and Kelsi (the redhead on harmonies) and producer Dann Huff have given "Knock On The Sky" a professional sheen more akin to power pop than country ballads. Despite some rather world-weary lyrics (more on that in a moment), "Knock On The Sky" skates through a textured mix of infectious hooks and the Osborns' patented, indelible harmonies. Nashville or not, what they've created is a soaring summer platter of plaintive love songs.
It's especially exciting to see another home run for SHeDAISY when I consider that it was exactly a year ago that I met the group in person, when they were visiting Salt Lake City to perform at a July 4th concert at Rice-Eccles Stadium.
A colleague of mine who's close to the group, Mark Stevenett, got me in the doors at the SHeDAISY soundcheck, where they were working out the evening's kinks and trying to hold off handlers for Huey Lewis & The News, who were on the same bill that night as the headlining act. (Never mind the easy jokes about Huey … let's just say SHeDAISY should headline if that particular combination ever comes together again).
Despite what could have understandably been a lot of pressure -- getting ready to perform for a hometown crowd on a sweltering morning in a large, unfamiliar stadium -- all three members of the group couldn't have been more gracious. Screw Huey. SHeDAISY took time to chat, sign autographs and pose for pictures with me -- surely, their geekiest fan.
I still have one of the photos from that day on my desk and can't help but think I look a little like a Disneyland mascot standing with my sunglasses on and my arms wrapped around the three svelte Osborn sisters, like the crazy bald brother they hoped and prayed they never had.
Still, that meeting isn't why I've been a fan. As I told the girls that day (my casual manner underscoring our close relationship), I bought "The Whole Shebang" long before I even knew they were from Utah or had any local ties. I saw it as more of a companion to my Dixie Chicks collection, an apt comparison then and now. And the damnably memorable melodies of those early songs like "Little Good-Byes," "I Will … But" and "Lucky 4 You (Tonight I'm Just Me)" sold me for good.
Same goes after repeated listenings since the Tuesday release of "Knock On The Sky," No. 1 in my car CD changer for the past few days. And that despite the fact that all through the album and in several interviews Kristyn has repeatedly hinted at a more mature, lived-in perspective as the driving theme behind her songs.
"[I am] compelled by some 'greater creative force' to fully expose my inner workings: my fears and heartaches, my personal discoveries and regrets, indignation, fervor, joy in the form of lyrics and music," says Kristyn, who wrote or co-wrote every song on the album, in the new CD's liner notes.
"I am both terrified and appreciative that you have chosen to listen to what I have to say," she says. "Hopefully the messages laced throughout each melody and wrapped around every word will reach those they are intended to reach."
That said, the album's first single, the bombastic "Get Over Yourself" -- complete with rap ultimatums and shout-outs to those who've wronged -- is fun and fearless, not so much preachy as purposeful strut.
There are other highlights. The album's opener, "Mine All Mine," is a clever dish of regret wrapped in wordplay: "My loss, my lonely/My mistake, mine only." And the twangy "Repent" is maybe more country than anything else on the album; you could easily see it covered by some certain Chicks.
Other songs too, seem inspired by a variety of influences: There's almost a Beatlesque opening to "Everybody Wants You;" an undercurrent of distinctly non-Osborn drinking-to-forget behavior in"I'm Lit" ("Do you know I'm thinking you?/Can you feel me drinking you?/Is any of this sinking through?") and the Shania-styled "Man Goin' Down," among other highlights.
Best of all is the album's closer (more or less -- a "hidden" track, called "Knock On The Sky," awaits either the patient or forgetful), a soaring epic called "Keep Me." Written by Kristyn alone, the song succeeds in capturing the lost integrity and lingering regret of romance gone kaput. Like the best of Stevie Nicks or (even) mid-period Madonna, "Keep Me" effectively sums up an album's worth of heartbreak, remorse, reminiscence and wanderlust in a song that's simultaneously apologetic and hopeful.
So my posse -- my sisters -- from SHeDAISY were shooting for the sky.
They knocked this one out of the park.
["POP STEW" RATING: 4 CARROTS]
# # #
That’s it for this time. Tune in again soon for another exciting edition of the one and only, award-winning "Pop Stew!" Or, direct your comments to johnyoungren@earthlink.net
By JOHN YOUNGREN
SALT LAKE CITY -- Maybe it's because I don't exactly run with a shit-kickin' crowd, but one of the biggest acts in country music is sometimes a bit under-appreciated by my friends and colleagues, even right here in our own backyard.
Nevertheless, as the local TV stations say, "Utah's own SHeDAISY" released their new album, "Knock On The Sky," this week, and it's clear they've got another hit on their hands (it's their first real follow-up to their successful debut, 1999's "The Whole Shebang").
Much like that first album, one of those infectious CDs that sort of emerges, fully formed, as a greatest hits collection in its own right, "Knock On the Sky" is loaded with an exquisitely harmonic lineup of songs, sometimes a bit more mature and world-weary than "The Whole Shebang," but in no way less enjoyable.
In fact, for any music fan who cringes everytime a group decides to evolve to a more "mature" sound after a successful debut (Hootie, anyone?), "Knock On The Sky" should be Exhibit A: It can be done, at least in the hands of a talented songwriter like SHeDAISY leader Kristyn Osborn, the blonde oldest sister of the trio that lives in Nashville but still considers Magna, Utah, its home.
Kristyn, along with younger sisters Kassidy (the talented brunette lead singer) and Kelsi (the redhead on harmonies) and producer Dann Huff have given "Knock On The Sky" a professional sheen more akin to power pop than country ballads. Despite some rather world-weary lyrics (more on that in a moment), "Knock On The Sky" skates through a textured mix of infectious hooks and the Osborns' patented, indelible harmonies. Nashville or not, what they've created is a soaring summer platter of plaintive love songs.
It's especially exciting to see another home run for SHeDAISY when I consider that it was exactly a year ago that I met the group in person, when they were visiting Salt Lake City to perform at a July 4th concert at Rice-Eccles Stadium.
A colleague of mine who's close to the group, Mark Stevenett, got me in the doors at the SHeDAISY soundcheck, where they were working out the evening's kinks and trying to hold off handlers for Huey Lewis & The News, who were on the same bill that night as the headlining act. (Never mind the easy jokes about Huey … let's just say SHeDAISY should headline if that particular combination ever comes together again).
Despite what could have understandably been a lot of pressure -- getting ready to perform for a hometown crowd on a sweltering morning in a large, unfamiliar stadium -- all three members of the group couldn't have been more gracious. Screw Huey. SHeDAISY took time to chat, sign autographs and pose for pictures with me -- surely, their geekiest fan.
I still have one of the photos from that day on my desk and can't help but think I look a little like a Disneyland mascot standing with my sunglasses on and my arms wrapped around the three svelte Osborn sisters, like the crazy bald brother they hoped and prayed they never had.
Still, that meeting isn't why I've been a fan. As I told the girls that day (my casual manner underscoring our close relationship), I bought "The Whole Shebang" long before I even knew they were from Utah or had any local ties. I saw it as more of a companion to my Dixie Chicks collection, an apt comparison then and now. And the damnably memorable melodies of those early songs like "Little Good-Byes," "I Will … But" and "Lucky 4 You (Tonight I'm Just Me)" sold me for good.
Same goes after repeated listenings since the Tuesday release of "Knock On The Sky," No. 1 in my car CD changer for the past few days. And that despite the fact that all through the album and in several interviews Kristyn has repeatedly hinted at a more mature, lived-in perspective as the driving theme behind her songs.
"[I am] compelled by some 'greater creative force' to fully expose my inner workings: my fears and heartaches, my personal discoveries and regrets, indignation, fervor, joy in the form of lyrics and music," says Kristyn, who wrote or co-wrote every song on the album, in the new CD's liner notes.
"I am both terrified and appreciative that you have chosen to listen to what I have to say," she says. "Hopefully the messages laced throughout each melody and wrapped around every word will reach those they are intended to reach."
That said, the album's first single, the bombastic "Get Over Yourself" -- complete with rap ultimatums and shout-outs to those who've wronged -- is fun and fearless, not so much preachy as purposeful strut.
There are other highlights. The album's opener, "Mine All Mine," is a clever dish of regret wrapped in wordplay: "My loss, my lonely/My mistake, mine only." And the twangy "Repent" is maybe more country than anything else on the album; you could easily see it covered by some certain Chicks.
Other songs too, seem inspired by a variety of influences: There's almost a Beatlesque opening to "Everybody Wants You;" an undercurrent of distinctly non-Osborn drinking-to-forget behavior in"I'm Lit" ("Do you know I'm thinking you?/Can you feel me drinking you?/Is any of this sinking through?") and the Shania-styled "Man Goin' Down," among other highlights.
Best of all is the album's closer (more or less -- a "hidden" track, called "Knock On The Sky," awaits either the patient or forgetful), a soaring epic called "Keep Me." Written by Kristyn alone, the song succeeds in capturing the lost integrity and lingering regret of romance gone kaput. Like the best of Stevie Nicks or (even) mid-period Madonna, "Keep Me" effectively sums up an album's worth of heartbreak, remorse, reminiscence and wanderlust in a song that's simultaneously apologetic and hopeful.
So my posse -- my sisters -- from SHeDAISY were shooting for the sky.
They knocked this one out of the park.
["POP STEW" RATING: 4 CARROTS]
# # #
That’s it for this time. Tune in again soon for another exciting edition of the one and only, award-winning "Pop Stew!" Or, direct your comments to johnyoungren@earthlink.net
Monday, June 24, 2002
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING: THE BUZZ OVER LAUER'S HAIR
By JOHN YOUNGREN
I've been amused over the past week about the hoopla surrounding NBC's "Today" co-host Matt Lauer, who had his hair shorn to a razor-thin cut because, as he said, it was time to go toe to toe with Mother Nature.
Lauer, who co-hosts "Today" with America's babe Katie Couric, reasoned that he has been losing his hair for the past several years. As the logic for balding men is to cut whatever hair you have left low -- so as to not show the contrast -- Lauer went for the plan, and allowed his "Today" hairstylist to shave his hair close last weekend.
Beginning last Monday, America took notice. Couric cracked a joke or two, and Lauer began a long week of enduring "Which way does Matt look better?" types of questions, in tabloids, on the Internet and on TV shows all over the nation.
I think it's all pretty funny because I went through much the same thing a
few years ago – and how many times can I compare myself to Matt Lauer?
It all began when my hairstylist at the time -- Judy, who'd been cutting my hair since I was 22 and was now on hand as I turned 30 -- suggested she cut my hair back dramatically, all the better to see my scalp (and confront my impending baldness) by.
Judy'd been talking about some version of all of this for months; let's just say she was a little ahead of my time. For me, the final admission -- this was before Propecia, before any of my other physical remedies for losing my hair – was quite a pronouncement; I talked her out of cutting things low for several months but finally relented, right around eight years ago this month.
Judy did her job and shaved my hair back, cutting it low on top and short on the sides -- similar to Matt's -- while leaving the back of my hair just long
to create the appearance of growth. She then took things a step further by showing me how to use a rather porous hair gel; as it would turn out, I'd adopt Pat Riley's hairstyle before the summer was over and keep my shorn style brushed back, glistened with goop and long on the collar.
All of which was a look I would eventually find to be rather cool. But in those first days, after the first cut, I had no idea how to handle it. Judy cut my hair on Saturday and by Monday I was back in her chair, for an emergency visit. Judy cut my hair on Saturday and by the end of the weekend, I was wondering why I'd let her go so far -- especially given the fact that I had a blind date and a wedding to take part in during the week ahead.
The blind date was the most noteworthy, it'd turn out. Judy's cut took place on Saturday, my emergency visit happened on Monday, and my date -- with a babe named Tracy, who would be the star of this apocryphal story of love lost -- was on Tuesday night. We'd agreed to go to a Triple-A baseball game -- me, my blind date and the couple who'd set us up (who shall forever remain nameless, but well know who they are) on a hot summer night, the better to chat and flirt and enjoy. We were all meeting at our mutual friend's home, and I got there first, still struggling over whether to wear shorts or Levi’s, sandals or sneakers, cap or not.
The hair was a major issue. Though it'd been a couple of days, I still had no idea how to deal with it. My gel attempts were lame. My friend, whom I'll identify here as "Houdini," attempted to help me style something. He couldn't. I knew Tracy-the-babe was on her way. "Help me," I cried. "Help me."
Despite his name, Houdini couldn't do much magic. My hair was far too short, and lame. I didn't know how to juice it up. I had a cap in my car but didn't really want to wear it. So when Tracy arrived, I went to the game, pretending that I was cool but knowing that I wasn't.
"Youngren, it's no big deal," Houdini reasoned. "She's never seen you nor your hair before. She's not going to know that your hair is too short. Don't bring it up, and it'll never be an issue."
Perfectly logical, I'll admit, but I was running strong on neuroses and logic didn't come into play. Once Tracy arrived -- and I settled on jeans, rather than shorts, after polling her on what I should wear, which was another smooth move, I do say -- I proceeded to head off (no pun intended) to the game with her, no cap but short hair exposed, thinking I could be confident and all was right with the world.
A few minutes later, maybe around the third inning or so, I realized I couldn't keep it all inside. "I'm sure you're wondering what the deal is with my hair," I said, then quickly realized by her sideward glance that she had wondered nothing of the sort, but was now wondering what the hell she was doing there with me.
I went on to explain Judy, my short cut, my lack of confidence and expertise when it came to my new style and the fact that I wasn't wearing a cap on this evening because I didn't want to look like a goon.
Forget goons. Tracy was simply looking at me like I was a space alien.
Knowing I'd blown it -- so to speak -- I decided to just drink, heavily. Approximately 11 beers later, the game was over, and I staggered to my car -- which had been keyed down the right-hand side. Tracy looked like her night was over; our friends were looking at me as though I'd been diagnosed with some type of rare blood disease and they were just wishing I'd die. Either way, I'd be OK, I reasoned -- because there was no way it could be worse. (More than $400 in exterior paint repairs, I found it could be worse.)
Though I would try, I would never really see Tracy again. In fact, I don't think I've had a blind date since. God, I've barely had a date since.
In time -- and through transition, including the stylist -- I would grow comfortable with a shorter, more closely shorn hairstyle.
I still look like I'm losing my hair -- because I am -- but just don't give a shit anymore.
And this week, when I saw Matt, it all came back -- Katie and Propecia and hair gel and Tracy be damned.
Matt, hang tough, buddy.
It’ll get better.
It can’t get worse.
* * *
CHAPTER ONE: Introducing … the "Pop Stew" Book Club. Picking up where Oprah left off, and joining "Today," "USA Today," "Live with Regis & Kelly" and so many others in the fun, we’re proud to announce that – at long last – "Pop Stew" will be holding a book club.
Here’s how it works. Go buy the book we’re describing, here. It’s a new novel, out this summer, called "Bookends," by Jane Green. You can find it in your friendly neighborhood Barnes & Noble for about $21. One reviewer said "’Bookends’" is above all a story about friendship – its twists, turns and complications – and how it weathers the challenges of love, ambition, marriage, and, most of all, growing up."
Sounds fun, right?
Take a week, and read the first three or four chapters. Send me an e-mail, at johnyoungren@earthlink.net, and let me know what you think.
We’ll post some e-mails, and compare and contrast our notes on the first third of "Bookends" on Friday, July 5th.
Want more plot summary? Here’s the Booklist summary of "Bookends:" "Green's third novel to be published in the U.S. concerns the plight of four friends in their thirties. Cath, Simon, and Josh have been friends since college. Josh married Lucy, and they have a son, Max; Simon is desperately looking for Mr. Right; and Cath is shirking relationships altogether and dreaming of owning her own bookstore.
"When Lucy proposes that she and Cath make that dream a reality, Cath decides to take a chance: she leaves her boring but stable job, and she and Lucy find a location for the bookstore and begin to renovate it. Meanwhile, Simon has met a man, Will, but Cath finds him pretentious and condescending. Cath herself is receiving attention from James, the gorgeous real estate agent who sold her and Lucy the space for the bookstore, but she's not sure she wants to get involved. Then they find out that Portia, a gorgeous former friend of theirs who broke Josh's heart in college, may be after him again.
"When Cath finally gives in and goes out to dinner with James, she spots Josh and Portia together at the restaurant and fears the worst. As always, Green's characters are winning and fun and her plot entrancing."
Sounds like fun, right? Get out there and get reading. Because reading is fundamental!
# # #
That’s it for this time. Tune in again soon for another exciting edition of the one and only, award-winning "Pop Stew!" Or, direct your comments to johnyoungren@earthlink.net
By JOHN YOUNGREN
I've been amused over the past week about the hoopla surrounding NBC's "Today" co-host Matt Lauer, who had his hair shorn to a razor-thin cut because, as he said, it was time to go toe to toe with Mother Nature.
Lauer, who co-hosts "Today" with America's babe Katie Couric, reasoned that he has been losing his hair for the past several years. As the logic for balding men is to cut whatever hair you have left low -- so as to not show the contrast -- Lauer went for the plan, and allowed his "Today" hairstylist to shave his hair close last weekend.
Beginning last Monday, America took notice. Couric cracked a joke or two, and Lauer began a long week of enduring "Which way does Matt look better?" types of questions, in tabloids, on the Internet and on TV shows all over the nation.
I think it's all pretty funny because I went through much the same thing a
few years ago – and how many times can I compare myself to Matt Lauer?
It all began when my hairstylist at the time -- Judy, who'd been cutting my hair since I was 22 and was now on hand as I turned 30 -- suggested she cut my hair back dramatically, all the better to see my scalp (and confront my impending baldness) by.
Judy'd been talking about some version of all of this for months; let's just say she was a little ahead of my time. For me, the final admission -- this was before Propecia, before any of my other physical remedies for losing my hair – was quite a pronouncement; I talked her out of cutting things low for several months but finally relented, right around eight years ago this month.
Judy did her job and shaved my hair back, cutting it low on top and short on the sides -- similar to Matt's -- while leaving the back of my hair just long
to create the appearance of growth. She then took things a step further by showing me how to use a rather porous hair gel; as it would turn out, I'd adopt Pat Riley's hairstyle before the summer was over and keep my shorn style brushed back, glistened with goop and long on the collar.
All of which was a look I would eventually find to be rather cool. But in those first days, after the first cut, I had no idea how to handle it. Judy cut my hair on Saturday and by Monday I was back in her chair, for an emergency visit. Judy cut my hair on Saturday and by the end of the weekend, I was wondering why I'd let her go so far -- especially given the fact that I had a blind date and a wedding to take part in during the week ahead.
The blind date was the most noteworthy, it'd turn out. Judy's cut took place on Saturday, my emergency visit happened on Monday, and my date -- with a babe named Tracy, who would be the star of this apocryphal story of love lost -- was on Tuesday night. We'd agreed to go to a Triple-A baseball game -- me, my blind date and the couple who'd set us up (who shall forever remain nameless, but well know who they are) on a hot summer night, the better to chat and flirt and enjoy. We were all meeting at our mutual friend's home, and I got there first, still struggling over whether to wear shorts or Levi’s, sandals or sneakers, cap or not.
The hair was a major issue. Though it'd been a couple of days, I still had no idea how to deal with it. My gel attempts were lame. My friend, whom I'll identify here as "Houdini," attempted to help me style something. He couldn't. I knew Tracy-the-babe was on her way. "Help me," I cried. "Help me."
Despite his name, Houdini couldn't do much magic. My hair was far too short, and lame. I didn't know how to juice it up. I had a cap in my car but didn't really want to wear it. So when Tracy arrived, I went to the game, pretending that I was cool but knowing that I wasn't.
"Youngren, it's no big deal," Houdini reasoned. "She's never seen you nor your hair before. She's not going to know that your hair is too short. Don't bring it up, and it'll never be an issue."
Perfectly logical, I'll admit, but I was running strong on neuroses and logic didn't come into play. Once Tracy arrived -- and I settled on jeans, rather than shorts, after polling her on what I should wear, which was another smooth move, I do say -- I proceeded to head off (no pun intended) to the game with her, no cap but short hair exposed, thinking I could be confident and all was right with the world.
A few minutes later, maybe around the third inning or so, I realized I couldn't keep it all inside. "I'm sure you're wondering what the deal is with my hair," I said, then quickly realized by her sideward glance that she had wondered nothing of the sort, but was now wondering what the hell she was doing there with me.
I went on to explain Judy, my short cut, my lack of confidence and expertise when it came to my new style and the fact that I wasn't wearing a cap on this evening because I didn't want to look like a goon.
Forget goons. Tracy was simply looking at me like I was a space alien.
Knowing I'd blown it -- so to speak -- I decided to just drink, heavily. Approximately 11 beers later, the game was over, and I staggered to my car -- which had been keyed down the right-hand side. Tracy looked like her night was over; our friends were looking at me as though I'd been diagnosed with some type of rare blood disease and they were just wishing I'd die. Either way, I'd be OK, I reasoned -- because there was no way it could be worse. (More than $400 in exterior paint repairs, I found it could be worse.)
Though I would try, I would never really see Tracy again. In fact, I don't think I've had a blind date since. God, I've barely had a date since.
In time -- and through transition, including the stylist -- I would grow comfortable with a shorter, more closely shorn hairstyle.
I still look like I'm losing my hair -- because I am -- but just don't give a shit anymore.
And this week, when I saw Matt, it all came back -- Katie and Propecia and hair gel and Tracy be damned.
Matt, hang tough, buddy.
It’ll get better.
It can’t get worse.
* * *
CHAPTER ONE: Introducing … the "Pop Stew" Book Club. Picking up where Oprah left off, and joining "Today," "USA Today," "Live with Regis & Kelly" and so many others in the fun, we’re proud to announce that – at long last – "Pop Stew" will be holding a book club.
Here’s how it works. Go buy the book we’re describing, here. It’s a new novel, out this summer, called "Bookends," by Jane Green. You can find it in your friendly neighborhood Barnes & Noble for about $21. One reviewer said "’Bookends’" is above all a story about friendship – its twists, turns and complications – and how it weathers the challenges of love, ambition, marriage, and, most of all, growing up."
Sounds fun, right?
Take a week, and read the first three or four chapters. Send me an e-mail, at johnyoungren@earthlink.net, and let me know what you think.
We’ll post some e-mails, and compare and contrast our notes on the first third of "Bookends" on Friday, July 5th.
Want more plot summary? Here’s the Booklist summary of "Bookends:" "Green's third novel to be published in the U.S. concerns the plight of four friends in their thirties. Cath, Simon, and Josh have been friends since college. Josh married Lucy, and they have a son, Max; Simon is desperately looking for Mr. Right; and Cath is shirking relationships altogether and dreaming of owning her own bookstore.
"When Lucy proposes that she and Cath make that dream a reality, Cath decides to take a chance: she leaves her boring but stable job, and she and Lucy find a location for the bookstore and begin to renovate it. Meanwhile, Simon has met a man, Will, but Cath finds him pretentious and condescending. Cath herself is receiving attention from James, the gorgeous real estate agent who sold her and Lucy the space for the bookstore, but she's not sure she wants to get involved. Then they find out that Portia, a gorgeous former friend of theirs who broke Josh's heart in college, may be after him again.
"When Cath finally gives in and goes out to dinner with James, she spots Josh and Portia together at the restaurant and fears the worst. As always, Green's characters are winning and fun and her plot entrancing."
Sounds like fun, right? Get out there and get reading. Because reading is fundamental!
# # #
That’s it for this time. Tune in again soon for another exciting edition of the one and only, award-winning "Pop Stew!" Or, direct your comments to johnyoungren@earthlink.net
Tuesday, June 11, 2002
Editor's Note: Hi, it's me again. Work has been an absolute beast. Just trying to keep up has put "Pop Stew" behind since my adventure on another planet over Memorial Day weekend. But stay tuned -- by the end of the week we'll introduce the first edition of the "Pop Stew Book Club," featuring a new novel by Jane Green entitled "Bookends." You can find it in your book stores now. Look for how we'll keep up with Kelly Ripa and the "Today" show and USA Today and everyone else, later this week.
--John Youngren
--John Youngren
Saturday, May 25, 2002
DISPATCH FROM SALT LAKE: MY LONG WEEKEND ON ANOTHER PLANET
By JOHN YOUNGREN
SALT LAKE CITY – So, what did you do for Memorial Day Weekend?
Here is what I did: Served as a panelist at CONduit 12, a Salt Lake City science fiction convention that took place at the Wyndham Hotel downtown on Friday, Saturday and Sunday.
Yes. While you were in the sun, barbecuing or taking a little road trip somewhere with the kids, I was stuck in a cramped Salt Lake hotel with people dressed like Klingons, wizards and "Star Wars" characters.
While you were in the pool, I was on another planet.
How did this come about? Tricky question. Throughout the ‘90s, as many of you know, I wrote TV columns and entertainment articles for the Standard-Examiner in Ogden and, later, the Salt Lake Tribune. Somewhere along the way, I admitted in print that I had been influenced by and was a fan of the original "Star Trek" TV series. In another column or three, I admitted I’d become enthralled by "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" – and this was before that show caught on.
So the CONduit people graciously embraced me and asked me to serve as a moderator on a panel they put together a few years ago. That went well, I thought. In the years since – and though my professional TV writing career since went defunct (with the exception of the award-winning "Pop Stew," of course) -- I would still receive mail from them from time to time. And a few weeks ago, a letter arrived asking me to take part in CONduit 12.
I explained to the event organizers that I wasn’t working for the Tribune anymore, but they would have none of it. They asked me to come anyway, providing me with free admission to all three days of the convention and asking me to serve on four – that’s four – panels over the three days.
My first panel was pretty basic: I was one of three "experts" tapped to speak about "Special Effects vs. Effective Storytelling," essentially a panel discussion about the value of big-budget special effects in a blockbuster motion picture. The hour quickly turned into an analysis of the new "Star Wars" film, "Attack of the Clones."
Our group – and there were about 30 or so science fiction fanatics in the room besides our semi-distinguished panel – was pretty rabid in their feeling that the new "Star Wars" movie is a great example of how a shitty story and poor acting can’t be saved by whiz-bang special effects.
I agreed, not wanting to be lynched by the two teenagers in the back of the room dressed like some kind of war lords. In fact, my posture pretty much became: "Story wins over special effects every time. If you don’t have a good story, no amount of special effects razzle-dazzle is going to save it."
That got a lot of nods, so I kept riding variations of the theme until the one-hour discussion was over. At one point, feeling strong, I referenced a 1966 "Star Trek" episode called "The Devil in the Dark," in which special effects were either very limited or cheesy – but still called the episode a classic because "Trek" producer Gene Coon had written a wonderful tale of conflict and drama.
Scary thing is, most of the folks in the room – especially the war lords – followed all the references. "These are my people," I thought.
Later in the day, I was featured on a panel entitled, "Modern Monsters: TV’s New Creations." Though the topic-matter seemed a bit vague to me, the discussion quickly evolved into a debate over the merits of good and evil in "Buffy the Vampire Slayer," so it played into my wheelhouse. A lady dressed as a nun – some kind of variation on a costume in Tim Burton’s "Nightmare On Elm Street," I think – was the moderator, who postulated that the real-life tragedies of Sept. 11 might be what drives the evil characters in some of these shows.
When it came my turn, I took a moment to remind the group that most of what we were talking about was fictional escapism – and that fantasy villains created for television programs aren’t the same as real-life terrorists who kill thousands of people. "This all comes from someone’s imagination," I said.
Some of the people in the room seemed to get that.
A woman with some kind of Christmas tree on her head then wanted to talk about why "people have to die so stupid" [sic] on TV, which led to a lengthy debate about the handling of characters’ departures from long-running TV shows. One well-meaning lad – dressed as himself, I’m truly afraid – took that opportunity to lament the last year or two of any long-running TV show, in which the series seems to go to hell because "they want to experiment."
I agreed with that, but took it a step further. "Often, when a show is in its last year or two, you’ll see a key actor or two leave, or maybe they try to juice the ratings by introducing a new character or situation," I said. "But the most damaging thing to a show is when its creator departs. A show can’t exist without its visionary."
I referenced a few modern TV producer/writer types who have successful shows. Then I mentioned "The X-Files," which was a good example of a show that went to hell in the past couple of years because a key actor left and they took things in crazy, stupid directions.
That started a young woman in our group – dressed like a geisha, from what I could tell, though I’m not sure if that had anything to do with science fiction – crying. Seriously.
"I loved the ‘X-Files’," she said, through her sobs. "I’m so sad it’s gone."
A fellow dressed from head-to-toe as Anakin Skywalker – right down to the light saber hanging from his belt – gave me a dirty look as I tried to assess the geisha’s tears.
I asked her if she thought the last two years of the show were as good as the first seven. If she didn’t, she demonstrated my point.
"Well, I really haven’t watched it in the past 3-4 years," she finally said, tears drying a bit. "But I have the tapes of the first seasons, and I always thought it was so good. But now I work on Sunday nights, so I haven’t been able to watch it as much."
Oh.
That answered that question, I thought, glancing off Anakin with a come-and-get-me stare.
The rest of the panels were equally as interesting. On Saturday, I sat on a panel called, "The Chick is in the Mail: The Rise of the Kick-Butt Heroine in Television & Movies." A woman with purple bunny ears on her head and a really heavy Klingon woman both boasted of their love for "Buffy." Christmas Tree head lady started talking about "Quantum Leap." A fellow said I was "dating myself" when I referenced yet another original "Star Trek" episode. Given this crowd, I didn’t like the phrase, "dating myself."
The nun lady carried a stuffed "Count Von Dracubear," a stuffed bear dressed like Dracula she set in front of her when she spoke.
I wandered around the dealer room, dodging Star Fleet officers and exchanging friendly nods with the convention’s big honored guest, actor Jack Donner – who played Romulan Commander Tal on an original "Trek" episode called "The Enterprise Incident" – as I passed by his table.
I considered whether to attend panels in which I wasn’t a panelist, including "The Progression to the Dark Side: The Fall of Anakin Skywalker," "Mythic Sex" (I’m sure there’s a lot of that going on), "It’s Dead Jim: Alien Contact for Those Who Want To Survive," "Buffy, The Musical Sing Along" and a discussion called, "The Geekest Link."
The paragraph in the program teasing that panel said, "Do you think you know your science fiction stuff? Are you The Geekest Link?"
I thought about my 1966 Gene Coon "Star Trek" reference.
Then I shuddered and left the building. I’m not sure I want to know the answer.
* * *
TOP 37 POST-SCRIPT: Predictably, I heard a few cat calls following publication of my "Top 37 TV Shows of All Time" on "Pop Stew" earlier in the week. Most missed was "The Andy Griffith Show." Most maligned (among my choices) was "Spenser: For Hire." And my own greatest mistake? Not including "The West Wing" (a personal favorite; one of the best-written and acted dramas of the past 20 years) on my list. That should have replaced something.
Top 38, anyone?
# # #
That’s it for this time. Tune in again soon for another exciting edition of the one and only, award-winning "Pop Stew!" Or, direct your comments to johnyoungren@earthlink.net
By JOHN YOUNGREN
SALT LAKE CITY – So, what did you do for Memorial Day Weekend?
Here is what I did: Served as a panelist at CONduit 12, a Salt Lake City science fiction convention that took place at the Wyndham Hotel downtown on Friday, Saturday and Sunday.
Yes. While you were in the sun, barbecuing or taking a little road trip somewhere with the kids, I was stuck in a cramped Salt Lake hotel with people dressed like Klingons, wizards and "Star Wars" characters.
While you were in the pool, I was on another planet.
How did this come about? Tricky question. Throughout the ‘90s, as many of you know, I wrote TV columns and entertainment articles for the Standard-Examiner in Ogden and, later, the Salt Lake Tribune. Somewhere along the way, I admitted in print that I had been influenced by and was a fan of the original "Star Trek" TV series. In another column or three, I admitted I’d become enthralled by "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" – and this was before that show caught on.
So the CONduit people graciously embraced me and asked me to serve as a moderator on a panel they put together a few years ago. That went well, I thought. In the years since – and though my professional TV writing career since went defunct (with the exception of the award-winning "Pop Stew," of course) -- I would still receive mail from them from time to time. And a few weeks ago, a letter arrived asking me to take part in CONduit 12.
I explained to the event organizers that I wasn’t working for the Tribune anymore, but they would have none of it. They asked me to come anyway, providing me with free admission to all three days of the convention and asking me to serve on four – that’s four – panels over the three days.
My first panel was pretty basic: I was one of three "experts" tapped to speak about "Special Effects vs. Effective Storytelling," essentially a panel discussion about the value of big-budget special effects in a blockbuster motion picture. The hour quickly turned into an analysis of the new "Star Wars" film, "Attack of the Clones."
Our group – and there were about 30 or so science fiction fanatics in the room besides our semi-distinguished panel – was pretty rabid in their feeling that the new "Star Wars" movie is a great example of how a shitty story and poor acting can’t be saved by whiz-bang special effects.
I agreed, not wanting to be lynched by the two teenagers in the back of the room dressed like some kind of war lords. In fact, my posture pretty much became: "Story wins over special effects every time. If you don’t have a good story, no amount of special effects razzle-dazzle is going to save it."
That got a lot of nods, so I kept riding variations of the theme until the one-hour discussion was over. At one point, feeling strong, I referenced a 1966 "Star Trek" episode called "The Devil in the Dark," in which special effects were either very limited or cheesy – but still called the episode a classic because "Trek" producer Gene Coon had written a wonderful tale of conflict and drama.
Scary thing is, most of the folks in the room – especially the war lords – followed all the references. "These are my people," I thought.
Later in the day, I was featured on a panel entitled, "Modern Monsters: TV’s New Creations." Though the topic-matter seemed a bit vague to me, the discussion quickly evolved into a debate over the merits of good and evil in "Buffy the Vampire Slayer," so it played into my wheelhouse. A lady dressed as a nun – some kind of variation on a costume in Tim Burton’s "Nightmare On Elm Street," I think – was the moderator, who postulated that the real-life tragedies of Sept. 11 might be what drives the evil characters in some of these shows.
When it came my turn, I took a moment to remind the group that most of what we were talking about was fictional escapism – and that fantasy villains created for television programs aren’t the same as real-life terrorists who kill thousands of people. "This all comes from someone’s imagination," I said.
Some of the people in the room seemed to get that.
A woman with some kind of Christmas tree on her head then wanted to talk about why "people have to die so stupid" [sic] on TV, which led to a lengthy debate about the handling of characters’ departures from long-running TV shows. One well-meaning lad – dressed as himself, I’m truly afraid – took that opportunity to lament the last year or two of any long-running TV show, in which the series seems to go to hell because "they want to experiment."
I agreed with that, but took it a step further. "Often, when a show is in its last year or two, you’ll see a key actor or two leave, or maybe they try to juice the ratings by introducing a new character or situation," I said. "But the most damaging thing to a show is when its creator departs. A show can’t exist without its visionary."
I referenced a few modern TV producer/writer types who have successful shows. Then I mentioned "The X-Files," which was a good example of a show that went to hell in the past couple of years because a key actor left and they took things in crazy, stupid directions.
That started a young woman in our group – dressed like a geisha, from what I could tell, though I’m not sure if that had anything to do with science fiction – crying. Seriously.
"I loved the ‘X-Files’," she said, through her sobs. "I’m so sad it’s gone."
A fellow dressed from head-to-toe as Anakin Skywalker – right down to the light saber hanging from his belt – gave me a dirty look as I tried to assess the geisha’s tears.
I asked her if she thought the last two years of the show were as good as the first seven. If she didn’t, she demonstrated my point.
"Well, I really haven’t watched it in the past 3-4 years," she finally said, tears drying a bit. "But I have the tapes of the first seasons, and I always thought it was so good. But now I work on Sunday nights, so I haven’t been able to watch it as much."
Oh.
That answered that question, I thought, glancing off Anakin with a come-and-get-me stare.
The rest of the panels were equally as interesting. On Saturday, I sat on a panel called, "The Chick is in the Mail: The Rise of the Kick-Butt Heroine in Television & Movies." A woman with purple bunny ears on her head and a really heavy Klingon woman both boasted of their love for "Buffy." Christmas Tree head lady started talking about "Quantum Leap." A fellow said I was "dating myself" when I referenced yet another original "Star Trek" episode. Given this crowd, I didn’t like the phrase, "dating myself."
The nun lady carried a stuffed "Count Von Dracubear," a stuffed bear dressed like Dracula she set in front of her when she spoke.
I wandered around the dealer room, dodging Star Fleet officers and exchanging friendly nods with the convention’s big honored guest, actor Jack Donner – who played Romulan Commander Tal on an original "Trek" episode called "The Enterprise Incident" – as I passed by his table.
I considered whether to attend panels in which I wasn’t a panelist, including "The Progression to the Dark Side: The Fall of Anakin Skywalker," "Mythic Sex" (I’m sure there’s a lot of that going on), "It’s Dead Jim: Alien Contact for Those Who Want To Survive," "Buffy, The Musical Sing Along" and a discussion called, "The Geekest Link."
The paragraph in the program teasing that panel said, "Do you think you know your science fiction stuff? Are you The Geekest Link?"
I thought about my 1966 Gene Coon "Star Trek" reference.
Then I shuddered and left the building. I’m not sure I want to know the answer.
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TOP 37 POST-SCRIPT: Predictably, I heard a few cat calls following publication of my "Top 37 TV Shows of All Time" on "Pop Stew" earlier in the week. Most missed was "The Andy Griffith Show." Most maligned (among my choices) was "Spenser: For Hire." And my own greatest mistake? Not including "The West Wing" (a personal favorite; one of the best-written and acted dramas of the past 20 years) on my list. That should have replaced something.
Top 38, anyone?
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That’s it for this time. Tune in again soon for another exciting edition of the one and only, award-winning "Pop Stew!" Or, direct your comments to johnyoungren@earthlink.net
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