Finding a Rabbit Hole in a Dune

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

The music journalist Chuck Klosterman once made an interesting analogy about beer, comparing it to drinking coffee. The point Klosterman made is that you can’t stand it the first few times you try the beverage; then you eventually realize how enjoyable it is. I have had the same experience reading Science Fiction.

For a big part of my life I pretended to like Science Fiction. Sure, we all get that Star Wars has been part of our zeitgeist for quite some time. But George Lucas’ original 1977 film ushered in a wave of Science Fiction that continued through the 1980’s that included the original Battlestar Galactica television series, Star Trek film adaptation, The Black Hole, Flash Gordon, Tron and David Lynch’s 1984 adaptation of the 1965 Frank Herbert novel Dune. I vividly recall my brother Jonathan, father and I seeing Dune in a movie theater in early 1985. As a 14-year-old, I found the movie long, boring and insanely confusing. But I wanted so badly to like it.

Basically, my attitude toward the movie Dune was emblematic of my attitude toward Science Fiction in general. I always viewed it as an outsider’s genre, in the best sense of the word, that had a huge influence on popular culture, and featured an impressive visual element and eerily prescient plotlines. I just didn’t get it.

And then something strange happened about six or seven years ago. After all the years of pretending to like Science Fiction and its often-paired genre, Fantasy, I started actually liking it. Now it’s pretty much all I read, focusing on authors like Michael Moorcock, Orson Scott Card, Stephen R. Donaldson and Kim Stanley Robinson, to name a few.

Dune, however, remained my white whale. I actually had forced my way through the book about 11 years ago and always felt like I was reading one book while Frank Herbert likely had envisioned another. But that was before I really “got” Science Fiction.

I had a birthday coming up so I asked my brother Jonathan to gift me the first three books in the series. Jonathan, you, see is a long-time Science Fiction fan and has traveled the Dune universe, which includes an almost dizzying array of prequels, spinoffs and the like, for several years. But I’m something of a rabbit hole traveler. Whether it’s an author, band or musician, I like completely immerse myself for a short, intense period of time. I knew my brother would be the ideal guide.

So I started Dune and finished after about six weeks. It is a slow book, no doubt about it, with multiple characters and a confusing plotline I won’t even begin to describe. But, if you find palace intrigue, environmentalism and politics interesting, I don’t believe you can find a better book that combines all these elements.

I currently am on the second book in the series, Dune Messiah, and have every intention of reading the remaining four, and perhaps the prequels. It’s a perfect summer reading journey, traveling down a rabbit hole that is intense, escapist and ripe for discovering. If you have a sense of adventure and are seeking a literary challenge, I highly recommend it.

Image credit: kidadl.com

Connect For

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

Then I change my direction
One foot follows the other
One foot follows something new
‘Cause I need some protection
And I’m scared I could lose it
If I stare, you’ll be gone
-“The Connection,” Phish

I recently changed my mind about the word “connect.” For so long I’d heard people, usually in my professional sphere say, either verbally or in written form that “we really should connect.” For starters, I can’t stand the word “should” – I find it unbearably passive. But “connect” annoyed me, too. I believed it delved too much into that realm of corporate-speak – “leverage,” “align,” “deliverable.” You get the picture.

But then then the past several weeks changed my mind. Truthfully I don’t know how much of it is the old “If I can’t beat them, join them” attitude. All I know is I have started using the word “connect” quite a bit. And I kind of like it.

I’ve been a networker most of my professional life and always describe myself as an oddball who enjoys it. During the past year or so, these network meetings, not surprisingly, have been virtual. Yet I’ve also finally started incorporating in-person meetings – usually involving coffee or beer, depending on the time of day. And wow, what a difference it has made.

I get that this theme has been somewhat overdone but there truly is no substitute for an in-person meeting. Sure, it feels great to re-connect (see, I just did it) with old friends who you’d been seeing on a screen for from a distance for the past year-plus. But what really drove it home is when I had a beer a few weeks back with someone I hadn’t met previously.

I used to work with this person’s wife and we had several people in common but beyond that, didn’t know much about him. And after an hour-plus, I did. Not just that; beyond the details of his work and life, seeing him in person, his body language, facial gestures, what he wore, all of that – gave me a certain depth and perspective that I could have never gained on Teams or Zoom call. I truly felt like I made a connection.

I get that we’re still in the early stages of our post COVID-19 existence and there remains a need for caution. In fact, part of me wonders if I ever will lose this sense of foreboding, fragility, like the other shoe is about to drop. All the more reason why we need to connect with people like we mean it. My sense, based on experience, is that we’ll be glad we did.

Image credit: Getty

Blowing the Sparks Cover

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

As I’ve alluded to in past blog posts, I take an “all in” approach when it comes to my entertainment choices. I’ll read a series of books by one author, really invest myself in a television series or listen to everything I can from one particular band or solo artist. My music listening of late has included three distinct stages. I began by listening to quite a bit of Progressive, or Prog rock – mostly Emerson, Lake and Palmer, early Genesis and Todd Rundgren. I then segued into metal – newer groups like Ghost (who I’d seen open for Iron Maiden a few years back and now include as one of my favorite bands) and Lamb of God, plus old-school favorites like Slayer and King Diamond. Then I moved on to early 1980’s British synth bands – Pet Shop Boys, New Order, Erasure, some Depeche Mode, plus the pioneering German band Kraftwerk. I was ready for something new.

I decided to revisit Sparks, a band now in their 50th year and subject of a recent documentary, The Sparks Brothers, which I had discovered back in 2017 when I was watching Gilmore Girls. Yes, you read that correctly. The show features multiple pop culture references, especially related to music. During an early episode, Lauren Graham’s character Lorelai Gilmore, an obvious Gen X’er, attends a Bangles concert and in another season receives a leather jacket as a gift that supposedly belonged to the late Joe Summer. Sebastian Bach, of Skid Row fame, regularly appears on the show as a member of a fledgling band.

One episode during the final season featured multiple real-life indie musicians playing cameos as town troubadours, including Sonic Youth and Yo La Tengo. One group notably stood out from the others; they looked so familiar but I couldn’t quite place them. Two middle-aged men, one playing keyboards, wearing a suit and sporting a pencil-thin mustache; almost looking like Fred Armisen in character. I learned that the band in question was called Sparks. And that they released their first album in1971. I couldn’t believe that, as familiar-looking as they seemed, that I’d never heard of them.

Fortunately, the entire Sparks catalog is available on Spotify. I randomly picked an offering and began listening. And I came away incredibly impressed.

You can look into them on your own but real quick, Sparks is composed of two brothers – Ron (keyboards) and Russell (vocals) Mael. Ron’s the one with the pencil-thin mustache who plays the buttoned-up straight-man; Russell plays the emotive front man.Their 25th album, A Steady Drip, Drip, Drip was released last May.

Unlike advising people who are curious about a band to start with a seminal record – an American Beauty, Physical Graffiti or Dark Side of the Moon, I’d be hard-pressed to tell you where to begin with Sparks. I’ve been randomly sampling during the past few years and all the Sparks music I’ve heard is marked by quirky lyrics, falsetto-style vocals and great hooks. Their earlier work reminds me of Roxy Music and much could be categorized as New Wave; I truly mean that as a compliment. Standout albums that I’ve heard include their self-titled debut, plus Whomp That Sucker, Angst in my Pants and Exotic Creatures of the Deep.

From what I gather, Sparks has never achieved mainstream success but are revered by fans. David Lynch has directed their videos; Franz Ferdinand collaborated with them on an album and Morrissey is a fan. That’s right; Morrissey openly admitted to liking something.

There’s sometimes a self-defeating aspect to “indie” music – this reverse snobbery. We want bands to make it but not become too popular or sell out when the masses discover them and want a piece. I’m confident Sparks is way past the point of selling out. So go ahead and give them a listen. And tell your friends.

Image credit: Allsparks.com

The Son Also Rises

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

In some ways I feel like I’ve known Wolfgang Van Halen my entire life. Having been a longtime Van Halen fan, I remember hearing about his birth back in 1991, long before social media. And to no one’s surprise he quickly joined the family business, first taking up drums and then joining various Van Halen reunion tours as a bassist, beginning in 2007 as a featured player and then in 2015 as a full-time member. I unfortunately never had a chance to see Van Halen in concert but recall a clear consensus about the supposedly uneven reunion shows. When it came to Wolfgang Van Halen, everyone agreed: the kid sure could play.

And then, unfortunately, we all heard from Wolfgang (known as Wolf) on Oct. 6 when he announced the death of his father, Eddie Van Halen, on Twitter. ” He was the best father I could ever ask for. Every moment I’ve shared with him on and off stage was a gift,” he Tweeted.

A month later, Wolf released his solo song “Distance” under the moniker of his band Mammoth WVH, accompanied by an incredibly moving video featuring home movies of Wolf and his parents – Eddie and actress Valerie Bertinelli. The song sounded absolutely nothing like Van Halen, in the best possible way. It was clear Wolf Van Halen was intent on forming his own identity.

In the months that followed, Wolf Van Halen steadily released more Mammoth WVH singles and just last Friday issued their self-titled album. I’ve listened to it quite a bit sense then and rather enjoy it. Wolf, not surprisingly, plays all the instruments himself and was recorded at his family’s home studio, 5150, where Van Halen has vowed “This is where I’m be recording all my music for the rest of my life.” Van Halen’s chops are evident in all the songs, but not in a shred-like, over-the-top sort of way. Overall, I would describe the sound as having very much a grunge-era, Seattle vibe.

Mammoth WVH has earned an opening spot on the Guns N’ Roses tour, which kicks off July 31 at Hersheypark Stadium, in Hershey Pennsylvania. Wolfgang has been the subject of several national media profiles of late and I’ve heard him interviewed twice on music-themed podcasts I listen to. While I’m biased, I find Wolfgang Van Halen very likeable and endearing. While respecting his family’s legacy, you won’t find him playing “Panama” in concert anytime soon. He’s active on social media and known for bravely taking on any and all trolls, often to humous effect. And although he clearly idolizes his father and his legacy, he doesn’t shy away from discussing Eddie Van Halen’s well-documented demons and himself doesn’t drink or smoke.

As a lifelong Van Halen fan, I couldn’t be happier for him. But as a father, I couldn’t be prouder as Wolfgang Van Halen represents to me the best any of us parents can hope for. A child who acknowledges his parents as people, not figures. And, who, while grateful for any gifts and talents bestowed upon him, charts his own path in life.

Image credit: Travis Shinn

Then you showed up, and I can’t get enough of it

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

Given we have teenage kids, I try hard not to be “that Dad.” You know; the one who’s trying to be a buddy more than a parent. Who will go to any length to prove he’s down with the kids. And for the most part I succeeded. Except when it came to pop music.

Now, if you’ve read this blog before you know I’m something of a music geek. For a large chunk of our kids’ lives, I controlled the music. Throughout the years it gave me great pleasure to see our daughter Sasha stomping her sippy cup on the table to “New York Groove” off Ace Frehley’s 1978 solo album and hear our son Ethan’s rendition of the Stray Cats live version of “Double Talkin’ Baby.” But then our kids discovered their own listening tastes, which now consists primarily of pop music. And everything changed.

At first, I tried either ignoring the music our kids selected. Or I played the wise sage card, noting which songs had a Quincy Jones production style, for example. But then something random happened. I truly started enjoying the music, adding it to my Spotify running playlists. Listening to it in the car by myself.

And then Machine Gun Kelly took it to a whole new level with his song “My Ex’s Best Friend.”

The irony is that I originally learned about Machine Gun Kelly (real name: Colson Baker) prior to my kids when I saw him portray drummer Tommy Lee in Netflix’s Mötley Crüe biopic The Dirt. The movie fell into the so-bad-it’s awesome category and recall thinking that his acting stood out as more or less convincing in a completely ridiculous movie. I knew that Machine Gun Kelly was a rapper and asked my kids if they knew who he was. They didn’t.

Then, several weeks back I heard “My Ex’s Best Friend” on the radio and it was the proverbial ear worm that crawled inside my head and made itself comfortable. “My Ex’s Best Friend” as all the elements to make it an ideal “Song of the Summer.” For starters, it’s unbelievably catchy, full of hooks. It sounds completely artificial and manufactured, in the best possible way. And the hokey lyrics (I read those texts that you sent to yours
But I’ll never say it, yeah) already seem dated.

And that’s really at the heart at what draws me to “My Ex’s Best Friend.” Not so much to relive my youth but get a sense, even if via osmosis, of what it’s like to view summer through the eyes of privileged teenager freshly out of school. That sense of freedom, fun. Like everything is right in front of you.

Speaking of right in front of you, to “My Ex’s Best Friend” is blissfully short. So give it a listen and see what I’m getting at. I promise not to tell anyone.

Image credit: YouTube

Under (Barometric) Pressure

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

My wife Wendy upends the cliche associated with talking about the weather. She finds the weather fascinating; could talk about it all day and probably, in another life, would have become a meteorologist. I couldn’t be more different. The weather doesn’t interest me in the slightest. I’ll either open a door or look out the window and figure the weather out for myself. The weather feature on my phone is seldom used.

So with that as background, it’s really random that I have “barometric pressure” – a meteorological term, on my brain. I’m truthfully not entirely sure what the term means. I just have a hunch we’re all experiencing it.

I don’t know about all of you but I’ve found that talking about re-entering or re-engaging, as the case may be, is one thing; doing it as another. As a natural extrovert, I am thrilled to be back meeting people face-to-face again. But it’s like I’ve forgotten some of the basics. During the last couple of weeks I’ve met people in my sphere for Happy Hour. In one instance I reflexively shook their hand and realized it might have been the first time I touched someone who wasn’t a family member in over a year. I swear I almost reflexively pulled my hand away; I felt like I’d done something wrong. At another Happy Hour I brought my mask but ended up not wearing it. I started walking to my car until I realized I left my mask on the table. So I returned to get the unused mask, which, instead of a necessary appendage-like object, now seemed like a burden I would soon discard.

It’s clear my challenges adjusting pale in comparison other actions I’ve witnessed, fortunately from a distance. High-profile fights in bars, sporting events and airplanes. It’s almost like we’ve been waiting for this sense of freedom for so long, now that we have it, we don’t know what to do with it. Like we’ve forgotten how to behave.

Which brings me to barometric pressure. Earlier today the term popped into my head as a way to explain this strange state of adjustment many of us are experiencing. It’s like this concurrent liberation and hindrance, a push and pull. So when I sat down to write this post, I Googled “barometric pressure,” and dug around a bit until it made sense. For those of you curious, barometric pressure is the pressure caused by the weight of the air above us.

The definition helps me process what I’m feeling. The air is the freedom we have been craving for so long. Extending the analogy, we sense that it’s light, ours for the taking, and want to suck in as much of it as we can. But we find, often to our peril, that maybe the air is heavier than it looks.

So I suppose we just have to be patient, remember to ensure there’s enough air for everyone. And stop to breathe, really savor it. Instead of trying to make up for lost time.

Image credit: Sciencestruck

The Arkin Method

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

When I was quite young I received a book for a gift titled The Lemming Condition by Alan Arkin. I don’t entirely remember the story but even then had the sense that it was one of those grown-up, or artier books for kids. And I’m sure I assumed that Alan Arkin was just some faceless author.

By the time I was in college I’d discovered the 1992 move Glengarry Glen Ross, based on the David Mamet play. I’ve seen the movie countless times and like most people, can recite Alec Baldwin’s darkly motivational speech by heart. But it was Alan Arkin’s performance that stood out. Quietly intense but understated. Wry and observational. And put-upon like no other. Around the same time I watched a VHS tape of the 1979 film The In-Laws, which Arkin co-starred in with Peter Falk. I’ve been a fan of Arkin’s ever since.

Alan Arkin, who passed away yesterday at 89, was one of those unique actors in that he hasd an amazingly impressive body of work, was well-respected by his peers but remained somewhat under the radar. By my estimation he never appeared to experience the dramatic peaks and valleys so common with professional actors. Arkin seems to take a steady-as-she-goes approach to his career that I find quite admirable. Put it this way; if I was a professional actor, I’d want my career to be like Alan Arkin’s (or Alfred Molina’s or Forrest Whittaker’s, for that matter).

A couple of years ago my wife Wendy and I watched Arkin in Netflix’s The Kominsky Method, which he co-starred in alongside Michael Douglas. Douglas portrayed a somewhat past-his-prime acting coach and Arkin his loyal agent friend. The show is light fare and in others’ hands could be hokey. But the always-impressive Douglas and Arkin truly make the material shine.

Even though I’ve admired Arkin’s work for a large part of my life, I don’t believe it’s coincidence that his work resonated with me at this particular point in time. Because I feel more adult than ever. Teenage kids with one about to head off to college. At that age where I don’t feel like a targeted audience; like I can just slip through the cracks, largely unnoticed.

But then I think of Alan Arkin, who steadily built his career and honed his craft; not just as an actor but a director, screenwriter and author. Doing increasingly excellent work while sinking his teeth into each character in a way that you as an audience can’t imagine anyone else in the role. Like a consummate professional does.

Image credit: Eric Charbonneau/Invision/AP/REX

FOMO Freedom

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

Someone in my sphere was faced with a decision lately and explaining how they were approaching it. Key to their process was an open admission of FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out). Without getting into the details, they believed that if they went down one particular path it would leave them feeling the proverbial odd man out. That they would see all these people enjoying a different path, enjoying it way more than the one this person would end up choosing.

I told this person I empathized completely as I had been in their shoes many times myself. In fact, I had ironically been experiencing FOMO more during the past several weeks than any other time that I could recall. People getting vaccinated before me. People returning to offices before me. People seemingly getting back to what constituted “normal” while I continued down my same path. Now, logically, if pressed, I couldn’t really tell you what, specifically I was actually missing. Yet who said FOMO was logical.

But I also made sure to tell this person there was another side to FOMO – that, in fact, it could be quite liberating. And for some reason the two examples that came to mind were the HBO series Game of Thrones and professional sports.

While I’ve read the first two books in the series, I’ve never seen any of the Game of Thrones shows. Now, my sense is that the series is well-written, riveting and I’m sure I would enjoy it quite a bit. And when the show first became a “thing” and I started hearing all the water cooler chitchat, I did feel FOMO. But as time passed it felt strangely good to have one less random thing to invest time and energy in.

Professional sports is likely a bigger deal. While I’ve been a runner and gym rat for a big chunk of my life, I’ve never gotten into professional sports. And the entire time I was growing up, long before anyone used the expression “FOMO,” I felt like an oddball. I have vivid memories of sitting through televised games, all the way through college, that my friends and cronies were glued to, feeling bored out of my skull but not wanting to be excluded. Compounding this was a sense, I now view as completely immature and ridiculous, that I was somehow less masculine for not being into sports.

It admittedly took a while but I soon realized that it actually felt great not caring about sports. We still get a daily newspaper at home and I never even glance at the sports section. If a star member of the Minnesota Twins was standing next to me, I wouldn’t have a clue. It’s like I have this freed up emotional space that I can use any way I choose.

If you’ve read along this far, perhaps, you, like the person who came to me, are facing a choice where FOMO is a factor. Or maybe you’re experiencing FOMO in some other element of your life and it’s driving you batty. My counsel would be to embrace FOMO. You just might find it downright liberating.

Image credit: Optinmonster.com