Gratitude and Concerts (Pela and Michael Bublé)

I recently saw my first truly great show at a small venue (huzzah for Schuba’s!). This isn’t meant to denigrate Okkerville River, Blue Merle, Phospherescent, LP, Pernice Brothers, Magnolia Electric Co., Destroyer, Sunset Rubdown, or any of the other bands I’ve seen over the past few years, but they just could not compare to Pela. Many thanks to the Johnson brothers for finding them, and to last.fm for keeping track of how many times Dane & Ryan listened to Pela. Pela is a lot of what is great about rock and roll. They remind me a bit of The National, but with a little more “pop” polish a la Bloc Party or U2. I think this must be one of the first tours they are headlining. They have all of the talent of a major band, and are still struggling to make it. This makes them hungry. And, because they are relatively obscure, it seems that they don’t often have good crowds to perform for. Not so in Chicago. Schuba’s was alive. After Pela’s first song, the energy was unbelievable. And, how could it not be? Billy McCarthy pours himself into his songs. You can feel it on the CD. You can see it in the sweat dripping off of him. After hearing that they are small town kids trying to make it big, you can’t help rooting for the band and enjoying the show even more. An introspective slow slong gives a pause, allowing us (and the band) to recharge before the next explosion of passion – leaping on speakers, breaking guitar strings, sweat spraying the stage. All this is going on four feet away. A somewhat intoxicated first cousin who can’t help beaming with pride shakes my hand. Pela’s energy infuses the crowd, the crowd energizes the band, and nobody wants it to stop. They don’t take our adulation lightly. They play every song on their lone full length album, plus nearly dozen more. After his guitar string breaks, Billy unplugs the guitar, and for whatever reason, hands it to me to hold as he goes to get another one. I hold on to it throughout the finale, impressed that the strap is drenched. I’m officially a fan for life.

In stark contrast to my $10 Pela show is Mr. Michael Bublé. Talk a bout a classy operation. He puts on a slick show. He’s the modern incarnation of Frank Sinatra. Seeing old footage of the “rat pack”, I never understood the screaming girls. I lumped it into the naiveté of a “simpler” time. I put it in the same category as getting married to your high school sweetheart, single income families, and belief that the government has your best interests at heart, and other rosy ideas that went out of fashion sometime during my grandparent’s youth. Well, ladies and gentleman, Michael Buble makes me understand – or rather, I’ve seen something similar in the 21^st century. He’s every bit as passionate as Pela’s McCarthy, but comes a much more sophisticated package. Black suit and tie, slick dance moves, a 15 piece jazz band, pure, pure, pure singing voice, keen sense of humor, unbelievable charm, and boyish good looks. All in all, your typical Canadian dream boat. I’m sure by now, you’re wondering what in God’s name I was doing at the show. I mean, it’s not like a have a girlfriend to impress these days. So, why would a straight, indie-rock loving male attend? Honestly, he’s good enough that seeing the performance would be reason enough. But in this case it was another reason. Gratitude, and the desire to bring joy to loved ones. A few years ago, I stumbled upon the following quotation by Cicero: “Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all others.” As with so many other things that I have learned from, I initially disagreed with the statement. I had never considered gratitude a “capital v” Virtue. But the more I thought about it, the more it seemed true. While there are sure to be some virtues that are possible without gratitude (courage, perhaps), gratitude, to me, implies self-awareness, appreciating the good things in life, and a generally positive attitude. Life without gratitude seems bitter indeed, and it is hard to imagine virtue and arrogance/bitterness cohabitating with each other. I try to keep gratitude in my heart.

For many years, throughout my childhood, my grandparents served as an auxiliary set of parents. I spent a month living with them most summers. They would invariably schedule a vacation during that time and drag me all across the country with them. Many of my fondest childhood memories revolve around time spent with my grandparents. Playing cards, watching the cubs, playing miniature golf, swimming in lake Michigan, all surrounded by love. I am sure I would not be the person I am today without their steadying, loving, compassionate influence.

So, when an event comes up that allows me to share my gratitude, to share a perfect experience with the people that have given me so much, and that I treasure and adore, I do my best to take advantage of it. And what better to share with my grandparent’s a concert given by a man who reminds me of the seemingly romantic ideas of my grandparent’s youth? That night was one of those all too rare moments in life. It was brilliant music heightened by the sweet satisfaction arising from expressing gratitude and love. In short, it was perfect.

At last.

As Etta James would sing:

At last

I found a dream
that I could speak to
a dream that I could call my own
I found a thrill
to press my cheek to
a thrill that I have never known

I sincerely doubt she was singing about the “About” page of my blog. But it’s true. At long last, I have an intro. Check it out, if you want.

“You get what you tolerate.”

Last week at work was crazy busy; this week is not looking much better. However, last week was busy for a good reason. Management training. As you may or may not know, I’m now a de facto “manager”. De facto manager = all the responsibility, none of the perks. In fact, I think my cube shrank when I was “promoted”. Schweet! Er… yeah.

 

 Back to management training. A day and a half of listening and discussing. Things learned:

“You get what you tolerate” – if you figure out shortcuts and ways to manage around problems/people, you’ll have to continue to do it forever. I think this fits into my goal of “becoming more of an asshole”, or letting fewer things slide, both personally and professionally.

Being a good manager means your values and the way you look at time and productivity has to change. I’m good at efficiently getting things done. I’m not very good at delegating, or including others in discussions. I have to learn to include my managees in daily tasks (conference calls, email responses, etc.). I need to schedule more meetings to discuss our goals and spend time communicating rather than doing. They kept emphasizing that accomplishing things is a function of your technical aptitude and time spend providing direction. It was discussed as a multiplicative relationship (productivity = technical skills X personal communication). In my company, we are all technical experts, so that is (by in large) not the issue. It is the other part that is lacking. So, I have to focus on it. It’s quite challenging. But challenging is better than stagnating. Given the choice I’ll take difficult any day of the week. (Remind me of that when I complain about my job.)

Another interesting statistic mentioned is that 70% of the way your view your job/company is due to your relationship with your direct manager. They said people don’t quit companies, they quit managers. Initially, I didn’t agree that the percentage should be that high, but the more I look at it, it may well be.

We left the session being asked two questions: If not now, then when? If not you, then who?

Reminds me of one of my favorite recent quotes: “Delay is the enemy of success” – Lester Thurow

The Avett Brothers’ Emotionalism and other musical genius.

I’ve had the immense pleasure of finding (and repeatedly listening to) The Avett Brother’s Emotionalism. Good stuff. Really good stuff. At least for those of you that have a bit of a soft spot for bluegrass tinged rock. This album has a bit of everything. A banjo, a guitar (no drums!) plenty of harmonization, sweet-sad love songs, brilliantly introspective lyrics, the occasional punk feel, alternating rusty and pure singing styles, all wrapped in a tasty American package. (They have a song about Salina, KS for Pete’s sake!)
The first three songs on the album are all brilliant. (“Die, die, die” “Shame” “Paranoia in BB Major”) But, I absolutely adore “I would be sad.” There is something about the way they sing of lost love that is true to life. Genuine sadness – mostly because of what you are missing out of. Not depressing sadness, but the memories of good things lost. I’m particularly fond of these lyrics:

I meant what I said when I said I would rearrange my plans and change for you
You know me – I’ve always been the kind with easy confidence
Confident enough to honestly believe that nothing out there
Is stopping me – especially not someone who’s not loving me
Now listen here, I told you I could live on without loving you
I was bluffing then but it seems that just might have been the truth
Well my dad told me one day: “son this girl will think of what she’s done
And hurting you will be the first of many more regrets to come”
And he said if she doesn’t call than it’s her fault and it’s her loss
I say it’s not that simple see but then again it just may be…

I would be sad because I got left by a girl that I adore
I would be sad for all the love I had before

I think back on several conversations I’ve had through the years and smile. I mean, who hasn’t had that experience? So, check them out. If you like “alt-rock” (early Wilco, The Jayhawks, Folk music, etc.) you’ll probably enjoy the album.

Similarly, I finally followed in Ryan & Alexa’s footsteps and checked out Ms. Patty Griffin. Sheesh. I should have done that a while ago. She has a fantastic voice and can write a mean tune. Western music also has a strong influence upon her, but is softened by the record’s production (piano, backup singers, brass instruments). I have Impossible Dream and her other albums are anything like it, you can’t go wrong. I’m particularly fond of “Top of the World” and “When It Don’t Come Easy”.

Last, and certainly not least, Spoon’s new album Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga. Spoon is my favorite band for bike riding. It’s probably due to the driving rhythm guitar and drums. Perfect for pedaling. This album continues where they left off in Gimme Fiction. The pulsing, controlled drum/piano/guitars are juxtaposed by Britt’s rough voice and some noisy flourishes. As songs progress, layers of sound are usually added and build upon each other. I know they’re not for everyone, but Spoon continues to be a big fat fave of mine. Check out “Finer Feelings”. “The Underdog” is the single on the album, and is also quite good. However, my favorite Spoon songs are “The Way We Get By” and “Anything You Want” from their earlier albums. “I Summon You” is also right up there.

Reminiscing about June-July 2007

Whew. It’s been a busy month plus. To those of you who still check from time to time – I’m impressed. This post will probably be a bit incoherent. Here come some remembrances of the past six weeks-ish.

Memorial Day weekend in Colorado:

My first camping trip in nearly a year, and the first time away from the city in months. Getting away from the incessant busyness, poor sleep habits, and crowded (at least by typical American standards) mass of humanity is a relief. Quiet solitude is delightful. A fallen wildflower upon a dry bed of sand reminds me of the ephemeral quality of life.

 

 

 

The arid, cactus-filled, flower stippled grassland is completed by open blue sky and mountain-crowned horizon. It refreshes the soul. The silent, unfamiliar, and ironically frightening darkness makes dear friends that much dearer.

Rachel and Wayne’s wedding:

I meet my cousins (step-cousins?) for the first time in 15+ years. I look at pictures of my family, and marvel that the elegant, well-dressed people smiling up from the manicured country club are the same people whose flaws I know and love so well.

Marriage. There is a lot of that going on.

The Medenwald men reunite in North Dakota:

I’d forgotten how excellent (and tiring) long road trips are. The terror of speeding through 75 miles of blinding rain is replaced by two rainbows. This particular road trip helped me understand why Being There is Ryan’s favorite Wilco album.

Well I can’t tell you anything
You don’t already know
I keep on trying
I should just let it go

I keep on singing
Your eyes, they just roll
It sounds like someone else’s song
From a long time ago

You already know the story
And the chords are just the same
You already know I love you
And I sound like what’s his name

But you can’t stop me
I want you to know
I know it sounds like someone else’s song
From a long time ago

Wisconsin is beautiful country. Culver’s “butterburger” with bacon, swiss and mushrooms is as delicious as it is unhealthy. I also discovered that I’d forgotten the feel of the Midwest. Sure – Chicago has some of it – but it is muted by the competition and variety that millions of people engender. Catching a catfish from the muddy, swollen Red River. Watching my dad stun it with a blow to the head, then nail it to a board and peel its skin with a pair of pliers. Strawberries and lettuce fresh from the garden. Digging up worms and applying bug spray. Trash talking while playing cribbage. Nightcrawlers – 12 for $0.99. 18 wheelers on the interstate. Pumping gas and having to go inside to pay. Fields of wheat and corn stretching into the flat, flat, distance. Discussing wrestling – the collegiate sport, not the WWE – these are the things that remind me of the Midwest.

Summer in the city:

After all of the above and the unfortunate coincidence of the post office eating my cell phone at the same time it took a while to get back into the social swing of Chicago.

1. Biking to work is awesome. I bought a “new” (to me) road bike. I feel like a Mazda commercial when riding it. “Zoom zoom” indeed. I think I can understand the appeal of motorcyles. Zipping through traffic on a motorcycle can’t be any less safe than biking through the loop. Really.

2. Flirting. Sheesh. It had been a long, long time. Beer + girls + good conversation = great time. It’s an old equation, true. But it felt so very new. Ah, good times.

3. Independence Day barbecue. Nothing says America like a Chicago microbrew (Goose Island’s 312 “urban wheat ale”), grilled beef, Doritos, ice cream, and red vines. Throw in a Nintendo Wii, good friends, and two dogs and you have yourself a grand old time. Even locking my keys in a friend’s car turned out well. I ended up riding my bike back to her place just as the neighborhood fireworks went off. I’d forgotten why the comparison between love and fireworks has become hackneyed. But, there is no escaping the comparison. Fireworks are magical. Or maybe the stinging smell of gunpowder just makes me nostalgic for my childhood (and not in a violent “I love the smell of napalm in the morning” kind of way).

4. The Police at Wrigley Field. No, not a rehash of Northerly Island bike cop incident. The band. “Roxanne” “Message in a Bottle” “Every Breath You Take”. Just me and 50,000 of my closest friends rocking the joint.

On deck: The Transformers, Pela, and Michael Buble. Oh yeah.