As always, the idea here is definitely not to come off as some kind of expert, but rather to stimulate discussion and sharing on some pretty-much (but not entirely) non-poilitical topics.
Wine: B.R. Cohn North Coast silver label Cabernet Sauvignon, 2005
Last Tuesday: Another splurge night. Increased the time and resistance level on my stationary bike workout. And the local Whole Foods Market was contributing 5% of total revenues for the day to Bridging the Gap, a local environmental organization I value and respect. So I bought some top sirloin, served it with some wheat-barley tagliatelle with garlic, olive oil and chives, and some steamed sugar snap peas. And the Cohn.
A bit of a step up from my usual weeknight fare, but worth it. What I like about this wine is that it isn’t an oak bomb. Even at a relatively young age (for a $20+, well-extracted California Cab), the oak influences are restrained, and the fruit shows through. Yes, they use French oak instead of American. And that helps. But they also use restraint. I’ve had French oak aged wines that taste less like grapes and more like a vanilla latte. Some people like that. I’m not one of them. A bigger, more classically California wine would have been more appropriate, had I made steak au poivre with a brandied cream sauce. But I didn’t. I broiled the sirloin and seasoned it with salt and pepper. Period. And the Cohn was a delightful accompaniment.
Women: A pair of Grand Teutons
I have spent most of my adult life working – at two different companies – for a pair of blonde women with Germanic surnames as my immediate supervisors, who shared the same first name. What are the odds?
I learned quite a bit from both of these women, neither of whom is currently working with me.
Boss I essentially brought me to Kansas City. That was in 1986, and it has been my home ever since. I raised children here, put down deep roots, and will consider this my home for the rest of my days. For that alone, I owe Boss I big time.
Boss II played a major role in helping me escape from what newspaper journalism had become in the mid-1990s – a system in which heroic, overworked, underpaid people worked their butts off to serve the public interest in spite of – and not through the help of – the corporate suck-ups, careerists and self-promoters who infested the ranks of management. For that, I owe Boss II big time.
Both of these Bosses, being human beings, are flawed. As am I. I will not sugar coat those flaws today, because as I look back, though those flaws caused me some pain from time to time, ultimately they were part of my education. And the more you know . . . (cue rainbow graphic and NBC theme music).
Anyway, Boss I taught me not to expect loyalty to be repaid in kind. Repaid, certainly, but only up to a point; people focused on careers draw the lines differently than people focused on other people.
She rose rapidly and high in the corporate hierarchy by being a good solider. I protected her flanks more than once, and on one occasion, threw myself on (OK, it wasn’t a grenade, more of an M-80). But it hurt. And when the time came for her to reward me for that loyalty, she left me hanging so she could play a game of one-upsmanship with another department head. Today, I would see something like that coming a mile away. At the time, I was blindsided and devastated. But that's what made it a learning experience.
Boss II is one of the most complicated people I know. Her enduring gift to me is the revelation of just how complicated human beings can be. I have seen her be incredibly kind, and incredibly selfish. One of my enduring memories of her is riding with her in her company-leased Mercedes, she dressed in one of her designer outfits and tastefully decked out in jewels that cost more than my Hyundai; we were discussing career options, and she admonished me to "never work for money."
I was the one called on time and again to perform at high levels for the business; but when the time came to celebrate socially, I was often the odd man out. That wasn’t a one-sided thing, I realize looking back; I had a penchant for challenging her publicly when we disagreed, and I usually wasn’t all that diplomatic about it. Through it all, I still consider her a good friend and stay in touch regularly.
OK, now admit it: You saw that subhead about the "pair of grand teutons" and thought this was going in a totally different direction, didn’t you?
Song: "A Little is Enough," Pete Townsend
Of all the ‘60s-era rockers still making new music, I regard Townsend and Neil Young as the most vital and relevant today – for very different reasons. Yes, it was Townsend who wrote "Hope I die before I get old," but it is Neil Young who has maintained the revolutionary fire of youth, while Pete is aging far more gracefully within the rock genre than I ever would have thought possible in my own youth.
As a person whose political identity was forged in the cauldron of 1968; a person who saw hope all but die in the Reagan 80s, but couldn’t bring myself to join the parade of selfishness and greed; a person who has grown cynical and tired, but still clings to ideals; a person who looks back at his youth often – at times fondly, at times bitterly, at times with poignant regret and at times with genuine warmth – the songs of Pete Townsend’s solo career speak eloquently, and directly, to me.
I literally turned my back on new music during the disco era. I was so disgusted that I buried myself in my art-rock and jam-band collection and decided that nothing good was ever going to be produced ever again.
I got better. Townsend’s solo music played a big part in persuading me to start listening to new music again. (And I don’t care what the marketplace or the critics think; "Psychoderelict" is compelling, artful and worthy.) My first exposure was finding a 30-minute excerpt of a live performance by Pete and his Deep End band on a VHS tape in a cutout bin at an electronics store. Pink Floyd’s David Gilmore played lead guitar while Pete was on acoustic – due, no doubt, to his hearing-loss issues. Anyway, the show opens with Pete alone on stage, on solo acoustic playing "Won’t Get Fooled Again" – not like the Who’s original power anthem, but as an older man’s lament for what might have been. It is simple, powerful, emotionally charged and riveting.
That tape also included a performance of "Little is Enough," originally recorded – I found out later – on Pete’s "Empty Glass" album. The studio recording I like better than the live version. There are several reasons. One is the way Pete uses his voice like an instrument – the opening bars sounding uncannily like a brass fanfare. He also indulges his taste for studio synthesizers to just a hair short of too much. There are even high-end horn solos that make me wonder if Pete picked up on and employed the piccolo trumpet used so effectively by George Martin on the Beatles’ "Penny Lane."
But most of all, I love the lyrics. The song is about a man leaving behind the excesses of rock-star youth and coming to terms with his own maturity. He neither celebrates it, nor rues it, nor accepts it grudgingly; rather he embraces it, essentially saying, "This is who I am now, and I’m OK with that."
I'm like a connoisseur of champagne cognac
The perfume nearly beats the taste
I eat an oyster and I feel the contact
But more than one would be a waste
Some people want an endless line that's true
But all I have is a little time with you
A smile sets me reeling
A kiss feels like stealing
Your love is like heroin
This addict is mellowing
I can't pretend that I'm tough
Just a little is enough
-- Pete Townsend
Link to a live video of the Deep End concert performance of "Little is Enough":
http://video.aol.com/...