OK Rock and Roll

Here is just another reason Oklahoma is so cool: We are going to have an official state rock and roll song.

How cool is that? There is only one other state with an official rock song--my birth state, Ohio. The McCoys' Hang On Sloopy is heard at every Ohio State football game, played loud and proud--especially when we are kicking Michigan's butt up between their ear holes. Of course, Ohio also has the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, the place where Alan Freed coined the phrase "rock and roll" in the 50s. So Ohio is definitely a rockin' state.

And soon, my adopted home state of Oklahoma will join Ohio when we name our official state rock song after voting ends on November 15. Oklahoma already has an official state song ("Oklahoma"), folk song ("Oklahoma Hills"), country and western song ("Faded Love"), and waltz ("Oklahoma Wind"). But we NEED a rock and roll number to make us complete! And you can help.

I need some ideas of what song to nominate. At first I thought it would be very hard to beat JJ Cale's Tulsa Time--and still do. But then I started thinking of all the other possibilities. How about Eric Clapton doing Take Me Back To Tulsa (I'm Too Young To Marry)? Or The Gap Band's You Dropped A Bomb On Me? (GAP comes from three street names in the Greenwood section of downtown Tulsa: Greenwood, Archer, Pine.) There is my favorite country song of all time, David Frizzel and Dottie West singing You're The Reason God Made Oklahoma. But it ain't really rock and roll now, is it?

What about Russell Bridges--better known as Leon Russell, the Master of Space and Time. You could create a whole catalog of his songs to nominate, but it would have to be topped with his version of Jumpin' Jack Flash/Youngblood from his Leon Live triple album set. Or why not just make that whole set our state's official album?

I am leaving off some of the newer bands, like Flaming Lips, Admiral Twin, Hanson, and the All American Rejects. Earn your way, fellas, then come see me.

There is Merle Haggard's Okie From Muskogee. That could certainly qualify. You can view the songs that have been nominated thus far and choose from those or come up with one of your own. Then go here and nominate it yourself, or share your song idea with me, and I will nominate it. Only restrictions are the artist must be from Oklahoma or the song be about Oklahoma.

You would think other states would also want their own rock song. Colorado has Rocky Mountain High, but you are on some kind of high if you think John Denver was a rock singer. North Carolina--those cretins who think the airplane was invented in their backward state--have unofficially adopted In My Mind I'm Going To Carolina, but not officially. And you would think that Nebraska would make The Boss's Nebraska their state song. It's a lovely little ditty about how 19 year old Charles Starkweather and 14 year old Caril Fugate went on a killing spree and knocked off 11 people. Who wouldn't want to sing that song at graduations and state fair openings?

So fire off those comments. Tell me what great rock song really says OKLAHOMA IS OK!

Hey--we have an official state everything else. Our state vegetable is the watermelon. Go figure...

Springtime for ... Tulsa

It has been a rough stretch of road weather-wise in Paradise for the past few months. An ice storm in December shut the city down for a week, destroyed trees throughout the northeast part of the state, and caused an estimated $150 million in damage. We still have broken limbs hanging from our four Ponderosa pines that I can't get to, and don't have the $800+ to hire someone to come clean them up.

We had a day in February when it hit 81 degrees, and a stretch in late March where it didn't get out of the 20s. In the past couple of weeks we had a hail of a storm, with flying chunks of ice larger than golf balls pounding away up and down our street. Both of our cars are more than likely totaled, and I am sure I will need a new roof. And with the hail came inches of rain that have left parts of Green Country underwater.

So with temps in the low 80s both days this weekend, and no rain, snow, ice or hail, Tulsa got out of the house and headed to ... LaFortune Park. At least it seemed that most everyone in Tulsa was there tonight.

I am making it a habit to go walk on the three mile trail around LaFortune on Sunday afternoons, followed by an hour or so in the prayer room at Believers Church. It's a great way to conclude the week and get the next started right. Normally I don't have to search for a parking spot late on Sunday. Today, however, was the most crowded I have ever seen the park.

Walking through the playground and picnic part of the park was like walking through the Woodland Hills Mall the day after Thanksgiving. There were birthday parties and picnics going on in every square inch of space. White, black, Hispanic, Asian all mingled under the budding trees. Kids waiting in line for slides. Small-scale soccer games were going on. (I made a nifty save on a ball kicked into my path. Nice return kick, if I say so myself...)

After I waded through this throng and was past the play area, the crowd thinned out a bit. But it was still crowded around the track. Runners, walkers, people walking their dogs, dogs walking their people. Many--like me--had white earbuds trailing from their ears. (I was listening to a mix that included Neil Young, Eric Clapton, Johnny Cash and the Doobies among others.) Usually when I pass another runner/walker on the trail I will nod a greeting. After all, this is Tulsa. It is almost a crime not to greet someone with a friendly Howdy or head nod. But to do this today would have made me look like a bobblehead doll.

Anyway, it was great to experience a great spring day with others, even if the only things we share in common are gladness that this winter is finally over, and a sore neck from all that nodding.

New Favorite Columnist

It is now official. Paul Greenberg has been dethroned as my favorite columnist. (Non-sports columnist, that is. Steve Rushin, late of Sports Illustrated, will reign for a long time as my favorite sports columnist. I would wade through a river of tuna casserole to read a Steve Rushin column--and I hate tuna.) Greenberg is still wonderful, and I read almost everything he writes. But I have a new favorite.

Lenore Skenazy aka The World's Worst Mom.

I have enjoyed Skenazy in the Tulsa World over the past year or so since I noticed her columns. The picture the World posts with her contributions shows a woman with a smile that says, "Hey, ya got a minute? I have something to share with you that you might find interesting." Pictures of other columnists give me the impression that they know way more than I do about anything (which may be true) and they KNOW THAT THEY KNOW much more than I do (which is just annoying arrogance). But her friendly smile alone was not enough to vault Skenazy over Greenberg.

She made a strong run at number one a few weeks ago when she wrote a piece titled Victoria's Secret Isn't Sexy It's Raunchy But her leap into the esteemed number one slot came with an essay released on April 1. Some may have thought it was an April Fool's Joke, but if so, the joke is on them.

Why I Let My 9-Year-Old Ride the Subway Alone tells how Skenazy took her son to Bloomingdales in the heart of Manhattan armed only with a subway map, a MetroCard, a $20 bill and some change in case he needed to make a call. No cell phone. No GPS homing device. No private eye to tail her son. Oh, she did leave him with one more thing: one of the greatest gifts a parent can give a child: a vote of confidence.

Skenazy's son wanted to be trusted to find his way home. So she let him. And he did it. No one kidnapped the boy. No one mugged him. We are not told whether or not he was accosted by those who sell fake Rolex watches, but we can assume if he was, he kept his wits and his twenty bucks about him.

Once this column was released, Skenazy become a hot celeb. She was the catch of the day on numerous news shows, talk shows, and news and talk shows. On many of these news ambushes she was assailed for--get this--allowing her son some independence. How dare she! Why, if everyone did that, then our kids might grow up to think for themselves, rather than have to be spoonfed by cable news on how to think about anything and everything. Shame on Skenazy. Doesn't she know that without Madison Avenue to tell us what is right for us to buy, wear, and eat we probably would cease to exist before the next ratings book came out?

Anyway, Lenore Skenazy took all of the guff she received in stride. As a matter of fact, it gave her the idea for Free Range Kids She tells us why it is not only ok but almost necessary to allow our kids to eat snow. And how that coat hangers are making us stupid. I highly recommend you check her out.

Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to take our 14 year old to Bloomingdales and see if, armed only with a subway map and a MetroCard, can find his way home to Tulsa.

The Light Shines--review of new Stones movie

Wow.

For those who need a further explanation, read on.

In the review below, I basically pan the soundtrack to Shine A Light by the Rolling Stones. But, as I expected, you really have to see the boys to appreciate their songs. All I can say is seeing is believing.

For all who are saying "I'm not really a Rolling Stones fan," can I ask, Do you like rock and roll? If so, then please understand that these boys perfected the art. Period. It would be like saying, "I love baseball, but I would never want to see Babe Ruth." Or, "I'm a big fan of opera, but I don't like Pavaratti." The Stones are the core of rock and roll. They have been for 45 years, and they don't look like they are ready to step aside any time soon.

Martin Scorsese assembled an incredible cast of cinematographers for this film. The visuals are stunning, especially seen on an IMAX screen. Seeing the sweat dripping down Mick's neck, or Keef blowing a cig butt out of his mouth with ash flying adds flavor to the song you will not get just listening to it on your iPod. The concert was in New York's Beacon Theatre, a rather small venue that also lends a special atmosphere to the sound. There are no huge props on an even huger stage. There is no B stage for three songs. It all happens in a rather subdued set, which makes it all feel very personal. No elaborate costumes, even for Mick. (I do hope there was not a draft in that theatre, or Lisa Fisher would have caught a nasty chest cold.) Keef, as always, dressed as if he just had an accident in a thrift store. Actually, he looked like Jack Sparrow's father. He even wore a skull and crossbones pin on his jacket.

You can read the review of the individual songs in my previous post. I will just add a few comments here.

Of the three guests, Jack White was the best. He and Mick teamed up for a fun and memorable version of Loving Cup. Jack traded verses with Mick and guitar licks with Keef and Ronnie. It worked perfectly. Near the end of the show, Christina Aguilara came on stage to sing Live With Me with Mick. Now, I am not a fan of pop music any more than I am a fan of having my hand put through a meat grinder. I wouldn't know any of Aguilara's "hits," nor would I care. But--wow--she rocked in this song. Maybe the best version of the Let It Bleed selection I have heard.

The middle guest, blues guitarist Buddy Guy, was another story. In the review of the album, I say that the song he contributes, Muddy Waters' Champagne and Reefer, is just horrible. Having seen it, I understand a bit better why it is so bad. I don't think the boys and Guy ever rehearsed the song before. It is like they are seeing each other for the first time. Mick saves it by yanking some great blues out of his harmonica, but Buddy Guy is playing with a band only he can hear. At the end of the song, however, Keef takes off the Guild hollow body guitar he has just played and gives it to Guy. Nice gesture. Maybe next time they will practice together before taking the stage.

Keef is in great form the whole show. He is having a ball, whether ripping riffs while chatting with Charlie, tossing picks to the audience, or leaning on Ronnie's shoulder. For his first beer song he leaves his guitar behind and sings You've Got The Silver, but looks a bit lost without his constant prop. He even breaks off an air-guitar riff. His second beer song, Connections, is the weakest song of the set, but Scorsese interjects some interview snippets in it, so it goes quickly.

There is old footage of the Stones scattered between songs adding a bit of humor to the show.

French journalist to Keef: "What question are you asked most often?"
Keef: "The one you just asked me now."

Ronnie is also at the top of his game, whether ripping chords on a Les Paul or gliding on the pedal steel. Charlie is, well, Charlie. He never misses a beat, but you have to wonder what he is thinking. "Let's see. Tomorrow I will start by shopping for shirts at Marc Jacobs, then jackets at Dior Homme. If I have time, I'll pop into Christian Louboutin and try on some new loafers." In the introductions, he actually addressess the audience. Get this. He says, "Hello." The drummer speaks.

Mick is vintage Mick. His dance moves would be great for a 24 year old. But someone who is 64? The only way I could move like that is if someone poured a bottle of Dave's Insanity Hot Sauce down my pants. His energy is frantic, which again adds to the sound in a unique way. You do not see Mick dancing when playing the CD in the car.

Downsides to the show, other than the Buddy Guy song? None, really. Well, other than I thought I would be out of place by jumping up in the IMAX and dancing to the songs. I wanted to sing along, I wanted to applaud at the end of each song. I felt like I was at the concert (but only paid $10.50 rather than $150).

OK--go see this. It is just outstanding fun. You might just find yourself actually liking the Rolling Stones after all.

Pre-review of Shine A Light

Friday is the opening of the latest Martin Scorsese concert flick, Shine A Light, with the self-proclaimed "World's Greatest Rock and Roll Band," the Rolling Stones.

OK, so the movie is not out yet, and I am just a putz writing on a laptop in Tulsa. I have no connections to get to see previews of movies. I will see it when other normal schleps can lay down a sawbuck at the IMAX. But I do have a slight head start in that I picked up the soundtrack for the film--also called Shine A Light--yesterday when it became available at the local Large Blue And Yellow Box electronic retail store. So I have an idea what to expect from the film. And, to be honest, after two times through the album, I am not as excited as I once was about the film.

First of all, we are talking about a band who has released more live than studio albums since 1990. Have any of them, other than the classic Get Yer Ya-Ya's Out, been that great?

Correct answer is "not really."

But this time around I thought, "It was recorded in a smaller venue (The Beacon Theatre in NYC), they have included some songs rarely heard in concert, and Martin Scorsese is involved. I"ll bet it is better than average."

Conclusion: I guess it is, but not by much.

The boys start off with a good version of Jumpin' Jack Flash, and it's a gas gas gas. Shattered is fine, but this is where we start to notice that the audio mix is just off enough to sound weird. Like they have the wrong instruments up at the wrong time. But then we go into a, well, hot version of She Was Hot from their Undercover album. Then two from their best record--and perhaps the last true rock album ever recorded: Exile On Main Street. (The two songs are All Down The Line and Loving Cup.)

These two songs lead into four concert rarities: As Tears Go By, Some Girls, Just My Imagination and Faraway Eyes. Again, the sound mix is off just slightly, but enough to take a bit of the fun of these songs away.

Next is a Muddy Waters song, Champagne & Reefer, with guest Buddy Guy. Ok--this is just horrible. Buddy Guy is playing one tempo, Keef another, and Charlie seems completely lost trying to make sense of either. Mick sounds as if he is totally embarrassed by it all and just wants to get the song over with. He ends it by dropping an MF-bomb in reference to Buddy Guy, I suppose in a positive sense. I suppose. I have not even imported that cut onto my iTunes and hit Skip when it comes on. It's that bad.

The boys have not recovered when they take off on the third Exile song, Tumbling Dice. They give it a halfhearted effort, with it ending better than it started. They sound, to be honest, bored.

Then come the beer songs. (So called because when Keef sings his two solos, many people in the audience get up and go for beer.) Keef does a great job with both You Got The Silver and Connections. A good end to the first disc.

(Oh--you can get a single disc "basic" version of Shine A Light for 10 bucks, but why not spend two dollars more and get the "deluxe" two-disc version? C'mon.)

The second disc starts off with a cut from Scorsese talking about not wanting Mick to burst into flames from the lights he has at the front of the stage. I have a feeling this is the funniest line in the movie, and now that I have heard it, I don't have to take my laughing face to the show. Anyway, we go into the meat of the Stones' set list: Sympathy For The Devil, Live With Me, Start Me Up, Brown Sugar and Satisfaction. All mediocre at best. All played with very little passion or soul. On Brown Sugar, for instance, Keef sets such a fast pace I was left wondering if he looked at his watch and thought, "Damn, it's 10 o'clock. I'm going to miss the rerun of the Golden Girls if I don't get going." Do not buy this album for these songs. I mean, it's better than listening to most any rock that has come out in the past twenty-five years, but it is not vintage Stones.

The last four songs sound as if they were sorta stapled on by a producer who thought, Wow--we can't put out just one and a half discs. We had better add some songs. So they did: Paint It Black (good), Little T&A (a song I have never understood, appreciated or enjoyed--and still don't after hearing it here), I'm Free (makes me think I'm watching a commercial and I start reaching for the TV remote), and the title song, Shine A Light. This last song is well-done, but rather anti-climactic.

So, on the whole about a B- effort from the boys (who are in their mid-60s and should each send me a Christmas card just for calling them "boys"). Maybe after I see the movie I will appreciate the album more. After all, you have to see Sir Mick and Keef to really appreciate their music.

I am wondering, however, if I will be able to take an IMAX-sized Keith Richards. We will see this weekend...

Best Blueberry Muffin

In Will Ferrell's fun Christmas romp Elf, Buddy the Elf has ventured from the North Pole to New York City to find his father. In his first turn around the city, he comes upon a coffee shop that proclaims they serve the "best cup of coffee in the world."

"Congratulations!" shouts Buddy as he explodes into the shop. "You did it!"

Buddy has never heard of hyperbole or superlatives.

I, on the other hand, have been known to live by them. On my fortieth birthday, my friends and family gave me a surprise party where they each got up and shared something I had said was "the best." The best coffee (Boston Stoker). The best chili (Skyline). The best shampoo (Herbal Essence in the old bottle with the hippy girl on the front). You get the idea. It was the best 40th birthday party I had.

While I at times pitch bon mots freely hither and yon, I am suspicious when others call their product "the best." So when I read a large sign in front of my new favorite coffee shop--Cafe Fusion at Believers Church in Tulsa--saying that their blueberry muffins are the "world's best," I thought Jeremiah had run into a sale on hyperbole at Sam's Club and wanted to use it all. Besides, I am not a big muffin person. If I want calories, give me cinnamon rolls or shortbread cookies. Muffins are mostly dry and tasteless overpriced bread. It would be like saying, "We serve the world's best cardboard shaped like cupcakes." I had no interest in the advertised muffins whether they were world class or not. I'll stick to the coffee if you don't mind.

One day last week, however, I was a bit peckish while at the Cafe reading. I went up to the counter and looked over the offerings. Sausage rolls (an Oklahoma thing). Raisin Bran muffins (actually pretty good for something that has the word Bran in it). And those "world's best" blueberry muffins. I tried one.

And now I am hooked.

Holy cow. World's best does not even come close to describing these gastronomic works of art.

First of all, Lauren and Jeremiah make them up in small batches--batches of six or so muffins at a time--so when you get one you know it is fresh and hot. But in saying they make small batches, this is not to infer that the muffins are small. They are not. They are meal-sized, larger than your fist but not quite as big as your head fruit and grain delicacies. Lauren and Jeremiah fill the muffin tins with hearty scoops of blueberry-packed batter so that, when they are in the oven, the dough overflows the tin. What you end up with is really two muffins in one. The first is the crispy top, with just enough crunch to make it seem like a fresh-baked cookie. You break off pieces around the edge of the top, then pieces of the top itself. This is dessert ahead of the main course. Actually, if you stopped here, you would stand, applaud and be very satisfied.

But there is more.

Once the top has been dealt with--washed down with whatever beverage you are enjoying at the time--you have the main "muffin" part of the muffin. You could say this is the entree, and it is nearly that filling. There is just enough warm dough to hold together all of the blueberries they packed into the tin. I'm not talking about two or three small berries. You really could not take a bite above the molecular level without enjoying a large berry or two. This is the blueberriest blueberry muffin in the history of food.

It takes me at least an hour--usually two--to make it through one of these BBBs (blueberry bad boys). At two dollars per, it may be the best food bargain this side of eating tree bark. Mark this down and do not miss it: When in Tulsa, you must visit Cafe Fusion and imbibe. You can blame Jeremiah if you become a blueberry muffin addict.

Next time, we'll talk about how this coffee snob got hooked on Rishi teas.

Next time.