Van Morrison, The Band & Pink Floyd et. al.

Posted on August 7, 2006 by Jim

Maybe it’s the string of super hot days. Or maybe it was because I was wearing my Grumpy shirt feeling very much the curmudgeon (“short fused since 1937… the dude with the mood“). But I was knee deep in email exchanges with Zack and his chums… chums who love music, too… and I got to thinking that there were a number of artists, and musical groups from my era, whose popularity continue to this newer generation.

Now, this is a good thing; but before I get to the curmudgeon part, there is this…

Zack and Beth had just seen two Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young concerts back to back. If memory serves, this is a duplication of the same feat done while they were undergraduates.

Real good band… one of the “super groups”… an International super group. Each member of the band had come from an existing group of star quality status… Steve Stills and Neil Young from the Canadian band — Buffalo Springfield; David Crosby from the American band — the Byrds; Graham Nash from the English band — the Hollies.

Sandy and I caught them, too… last summer (minus Neil Young). Terrific concert; but we were disappointed in the acoustics of Mohegan Sun.

It made me feel pretty good to read Zack’s observations of the LA/Irvine concerts. To share in a common interest, and in this case, to actually enjoy the same flavour of music.

For the record… we also have both seen The Who.

Anyway… the other day cyberspace quickly filled with words about the concert and about other music related topics… The Band & the Last Waltz came up… as did Van Morrison. It was clear from the comments that the Band was a big favorite… and I returned that I thought their second album was very good. But in truth I am not a big fan of theirs.

And this is where the curmudgeon part comes in. I can think of half a dozen artists/groups whose critical acclaim and renown are beyond debate… whose skill and body of work is to be admired… and yet they don’t make it past second base for me.

It’s time for me to come out of the closet… to share my dark secret. I don’t like the Beatles. I don’t like Bob Dylan. Although there is music in their respective books that I do enjoy… and in Dylan’s case, there is music of his that I love when covered by other artists. But with artists the stature of Dylan and the Beatles to merely like a few of the tunes is hardly a ringing endorsement. To some, like Philip (Master of the Tonsorial Arts) and his brother Frank, this is musical heresy. But I am tired of pretending… of leading a double life.

I think it’s time to further clear the air. I don’t like Pink Floyd. Sorry Zack (give me points for honesty). I don’t like David Bowie.

It is clear from the email traffic on this and other occasions, that these artists are held in high regard by Zack’s crowd… and I realize that I risk their censure. So be it.

While we’re here… I think that The Band and Van Morrison are just OK… not great. Just OK.

Artists and groups that I have never (ever) liked, nor care who knows it… the Beach Boys, Elvis Presley, Boy George, the Village People, Archie Bell and the Drells (from Houston, Texas) and Wayne Newton. These latter artists are the eggplant of music. And if you don’t know how I feel about eggplant… guess, or ask your neighbor.

Perhaps this will weaken the impression that I love music… at least as much as I say I do… or maybe give someone reason to doubt the sincerity of my claim to love a wide variety of musical genres.

To which I say “pish tosh”. I can do what I want. I am wearing my Grumpy shirt again, and I feel empowered.

And besides, I don’t have time for you anymore, I want to listen to Here Comes the Sun, it always puts a smile on my face and makes me feel good about the world.

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Pleased to Report…

Posted on August 3, 2006 by Jim

One of the Senior Agents of the Humor Patrol has just captured a beauty. His (or her) identity must remain hidden since he (or she) might be at risk if his (or her) cover was compromised. Collecting, or stealing, jokes is a dangerous enterprise.

For those of you who have not sent in your $100 amusement fee (and you know who you are), do so forthwith (or is it fors wis)… otherwise we may have to terminate your subscription and/or flood the internet with embarrassing information about your past.

Now that we have taken care of business, we can proceed to this week’s installment.

For his birthday, little Patrick asked for a 10-speed bicycle. His father said, “Son, we’d give you one, but the mortgage on this house is $280,000 and your mother just lost her job. There’s no way we can afford it.”

The next day the father saw little Patrick heading out the front door with a suitcase. So he asked, “Son, where are you going?”

Little Patrick told him, “I was walking past your room last night and heard you telling Mom you were pulling out. Then I heard her tell you to wait because she was coming too. And I’ll be damned if I’m staying here by myself with a $280,000 mortgage & no bike!”

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A Sip From Heaven

Posted on August 1, 2006 by Jim

William Styron wrote in Sophie’s Choice, “But she only knew that the savor of it gave her an unparalleled sense of delight, a luscious and reckless and great-hearted warmth that spread to her toes, validating all quaint and ancient maxims as to the healing properties of wine. Light headed, woozy, she heard herself say to her provider toward the end of the meal, ‘you know, when you live a good life like a saint and die, that must be what they make you to drink in paradise.‘”

The wine that Nathan had treated Sophie to was Ch. Margaux 1937, one of the best of the pre-war vintages in Bordeaux. As Styron noted, it cost $14., which represented half of Sophie’s weekly salary in 1947.

As I have noted previously in these pages, great wine knows no colour, it is neither red nor white… it’s simply great wine. Neither do regions or National Borders exist. Truly great wine is an art form that provides a purity of joy that washes over the senses.

A week ago Thursday I had the opportunity to taste the five Grand Cru White Burgundies. It was an extraordinary evening.

Perhaps it is easier to think of the truly great reds of the world… wines from Bordeaux, Brunello, Barolo, Barbaresco, Burgundy, Cote Rotie, Cali Cab… the list is longer. For whites, however, Burgundy is without peer.

Yes, we know that 30 years ago Chateau Montalena and Mike Grgich of Napa served notice on the world by taking a blind competition away from Grand Cru Burgundy (French judged, by the by). But make no mistake, in terms of history and consistency of excellence, White Burgundy is perched on the pinnacle of the wine world.

And there is so little of it… Burgundy’s production is a small fraction of what is produced in Bordeaux, and the famed region noted for its highest quality wines, the Cote d’Or, covers less ground than the Napa Valley. And within that region, less than 1% of the vineyards are classified as Grand Cru…

And Grand Cru white vineyards are a greatly outnumbered by red. Four of the Grand Cru white vineyards are nestled between the Villages of Chassagne and Puligny. Together the vineyards of Chevalier-Montrachet, Bienvenues-Batard-Montrachet, Batard-Montrachet and Montrachet comprise a block of land that would fit inside a small Texas ranch. The fifth Grand Cru, Corton-Charlemagne is adjacent to the Village of Corton, also is of meager size.

From these small vineyards, producers share ownership of the production (remember, already small to begin with)… and the wines enter the marketplace fragmented by several negociants in minute quantities.

Our tasting flight included a representative of each of the vineyards and we were able to compare two vintages of Corton-Charlemagne. Each wine was an ethereal experience… deeply fragrant, layers of flavour, well balanced between the essential tropical fruit taste of the Chardonnay grape, oak aging, subtle nuttiness & smokiness… soft on the palate and a lingering finish that continued to a distant shore.

Perhaps it was unfair and greedy to try so many great wines together. Each one would have been more than a treat.

I knew that the Montrachet would be exceptional… a wine that combined elegance and finesse, with strength and richness. You could not ask for more… other than another taste… and another.

But the wine that surprised me was the Batard-Montrachet. The silkiness of the palate feel, the hint of mineral tones and the grace of almond and vanilla. Surprised? No, not really. It was the wine that just preceded the Montrachet… and I had made a mistake in initially overlooking it in anticipation of experiencing the Montrachet. But once tried, the Batard asserted itself as a wine of its own reward.

I have been very fortunate. I have enjoyed many great wines. But Thursday last, was evening for memory. There is already talk of putting together another one. And as great as it maybe, it will not replace the unique quality of what took place on a single July evening in 2006.

I am reminded of a line… “you don’t drink Burgundy — you visit Burgundy, you study it.”

Sophie may have felt she had a glimpse of “paradise” drinking Margaux ’37… and I can understand thinking that… but there is no doubt in my mind that my Montrachet ’04 is equal in its heavenly preview.

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Formula One

Posted on July 29, 2006 by Jim

I have never been one to enjoy driving fast cars. Speed for me is strictly utilitarian. I want to get from point “A” to point “B” as quickly as I can. But speed, in and of itself, is no interest, and fast performance cars give me no thrill.

My idea of fun driving would be tooling about in a T-34 Medium Tank loaded with a CD player and plenty of armour piercing shells.

I guess one of the supreme expressions of land speed, if we exclude those ridiculous rocket cars, is held in Formula One racing cars. I suppose it’s one thing to get behind the wheel of one of those things and take it for a spin…

But why folks are fascintated by watching cars racing around an oval circuit is a mystery to me. But then again I’m not one to watch horses running around an oval, or human beings either for that matter. To me it’s all a mere variation of a gerbil running in an exercise wheel.

Formula One is clearly a big deal… Formula One engines must be naturally aspirated, four-stroke internal combustion petrol engines with reciprocating circular pistons and a maximum of two intake and two exhaust valves per cylinder. They must be V8 engines and have 2.4 liters of displacement.

Very technical stuff that is truly lost on me.

And here is more technical stuff on a formula of a different kind…

Water, nofat milk, lactose, high oleic safflower oil, soy oil, coconut oil, whey protein concentrate, less than 0.5% of: c.cohnii oil, m. alpina oil, potassium citrate, calcium carbonate, asorbic acid, mono and diglycerides, soy lecithin, carrageenan, potassium chloride, ferrous sulfate, taurine, m-insoitol, d-alpha tocopheryl acetate, l-carnitine, zinc sulfate, vitamin a palmitate, thiamine chloride hydro-chloride, pyridoxine hydrochloride, chopped liver concentrate, beta-carotene, folic acid, maganese sulfate, phylloquinone, biotin, sodium selenate, vitamin d3, cyanoco-balamin, calcium phosphate, potassium phosphate and nucleotides (adenosine 5 monophosphate, lytidine 5, monophosphate, disodium guanosine 5 monophosphate, disodium uridine 5 monophosphate).

So go ahead… ask yourself. “Is this supposed to replace mothers’ milk?” I don’t know about your Mother; but I don’t think my Mother came equiped with monophosphates… of any type. And her only connection to coconut oil was in applying a layer of suntan lotion that makes you smell like a pina colada and nothing to do with the flavour of her breast milk, or in preserving it, or making it flow better, or whatever coconut oil is supposed to do, other than making you smell great on the beach.

Anyway, I understand this formula about as well as I understand the specifications for a racing engine.

No wonder little babies cry so much… who the hell wants to drink that stuff? Is that your idea of a pleasing beverage? You give me that and I would be cranky, too.

But clearly… considering its wide acceptance & how soon we get pumped with this stuff, perhaps this is the real Formula One.

I am not a big fan of this “Formula One” either. I probably wouldn’t care for the stuff that nature supplied our Mothers… either/or both baby formula and Mother’s milk, presumably leading to the next step: cow’s milk (and turning the human responsibility of feeding our children over to bovine surrogates). I happily gave up cow’s milk at 17 (except with Cheerios, or an occasional White Russian).

Now here is a worthy formula… 7 parts Tanqueray Gin, 1 part Noilly Pratt Dry Vermouth, stirred with plenty of ice ’til it’s cold, very cold... strained into proper stemware.

And finally there is this… refined disodium uridine 5 produces a soft metal & when enriched, isotope separation will provide a souce for power to keep a small city in electricity… or as a source for advanced weapons.

Now… finish your milk, or you get no story tonight.

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