John Lennon - the Skinny

Happy birthday, John Lennon. You would have been 74 years old today and that would have been a delight. At least I hope so. Little Paulie has had a couple of good moments since 1980,the year you died, though admittedly most of his greatest solo moments had come long before 1980, most notably "Band On the Run".  Ringo's last good album was 1973's "Ringo" (most imaginative album title ever), which contained some of the most impressive sales numbers of any of the post-Beatle Fabs and George only hit paydirt with The Traveling Wilburys in the mid-80's many years after his "All Things Must Pass" accolades the year after the Beatles called it quits.


This brings me to John Lennon's solo career. I was quite sad when Lennon died in December, 1980, along with a few billion other fans. We were indignant that our acerbic little Beatle had been taken from us in his prime, post-Beatles, eager to explore the musical harvest that was his to take.


That said, John Lennon's post-Beatle work had thus far proven inconsequential and of little excitement. "Imagine" had been a pretty song, relaying political catchphrases in a melodic manner that lulled us all into a giddy musical effervescence, thinking that perhaps the thoughts of peace might bring about a world of peace. A great 1971 hippie anthem. Nothing ever came of it, however, but John persevered with "Mind Games", shouting the "Mind Guerilla" from the mountaintops. Not a chart topper, but well-meaning, if lazy songwriting. Three chords, til death do us part... I personally enjoyed "#9 Dream" with its "ABOWAKOWA-POSE POSE" refrain but again, I could write a hit song if all that mattered was a melody and some mumbled Apache paraphrasing.


After a brief hiatus, John reemerged with "Walls and Bridges", which was also an exercise in medicocrity, save for "Whatever Gets You Through The Night", the sole chart breaking number, featuring the red-hot Elton John kicking the keys and providing the energy needed to propel this lively dirge to the top of the charts. At this point, we were so hungry for any new Lennon material, we would have sent "Oh, Yoko" to the top ten. (Just kidding!)


Lennon took a much-needed break after Walls and Bridges and spent the next five years raising his son Sean, baking bread and smoking French cigarettes. When he finally emerged from his seclusion in 1979 to record "Walls and Bridges", the world was once again eager and hungry for new Lennon material. He delivered a 50's retread in "(It's Just Like) Starting Over" and the ballad "Woman", a bit of treacle written for the shrew who had stolen been his muse since 1969.  We lapped it up greedily and all too soon thereafter, he was taken from us forever by a crazed douchebag who many wish would be set free on the streets for our own cathartic target practice.


I would like to think that Lennon's work would have matured and been an inspiration to us all and live up to the high praise that the artist, gunned down in prime has garnered. However, using a complicated math theorem and some calculus, paired with some kickass analog stereo gear and a set of vintage BOSS headphones, I have come to the conclusion that John, of all the Beatles, would have had the most disappointing solo career of all.


McCartney went on to produce "Band on the Run" and George became a spiritual icon, a humble rock and roll statesman admired by all, producing some great work as well as Monty Python's "Life of Brian", which gave him everlasting sainthood amongst those who cared. Ringo had his hits early and cashed out and at one point would be noted to being willing to "attend the opening of an envelope" for a free drink and a press clipping. Lennon, however burdened and martyred by the presence of Yoko Ono and four inopportune bullets, had never lived up to the potential of "I Am The Walrus", "Strawberry Fields Forever" or even "In My Life" and I see nothing in his solo work to indicate that he might have done so.


I am not saying that he was shot because of his lack of musical inspiration in his later days, but if I was the attorney for the dildo who shot him... Just sayin'. We'll never know. Happy birthday, John - I wish you'd been around for the ride.

I STILL Blame Yoko...

I read an article today saying that said that Paul McCartney doesn't blame Yoko Ono for the breakup of the Beatles and neither should I. Well, balderdash, I say. This is one of the basic tenets on which I have based my rather shaky belief system. Sure, my anger and heartbreak over the breakup and the seemingly innate instinct to foist all that anger and heartbreak on her slender Japanese shoulders was stronger when I was an impressionable lad than now that I have become a raging cynic. But the fact remains, if something (anything, really) goes wrong, I could always fall back on "I blame Yoko". It is a sad time indeed, friends, when a man can't simply blame Yoko Ono.

That said, I have to wonder what kind of shrewd political maneuvering Sir Paul is plotting by lobbing such a "Give Peace A Chance"-style poli-grenade out there for all to read. In the panic and confusion of the patchouli smoke and flower petal fallout, I would almost expect that McCartney will make some sort of drastic Beatle power-move that will blindside not only the music followers, Beatlemaniacs and critics alike, but also the vicious shrew and obvious breaker-upper of the Beatles, Yoko Ono. That's right, so smitten will the widow of the late John Lennon be over these comments (made about 40 years too late, I might point out), that she will be completely unprepared and totally defenseless when Sir Macca makes his move.

 

"I'd like to retire soon, and the way things are going I might be able to." McCartney stated in the same interview. Perhaps not quite yet, he might have added. Perhaps just not quite yet... Is this a hint that there is something up his Edwardian-throwback jacketed sleeve? You be the judge.

 

All the political posturing and "All You Need Is Love" camouflage aside, let's take a look at the facts.

"Reasons why Yoko didn't break up the Beatles", by Paul McCartney:

 

 "She certainly didn't break the group up; the group was breaking up." Ah, well stated, Paul. It is true that George and Ringo had already left the group by the time Yoko had had finagled her way into the ultimate backstage pass. They subsequently figured out that nobody cared and came back to the band shortly thereafter. The fact is, lots of bands break up, have members leave, or have their manager die and ultimately get back together. I believe that The Beatles would have been no different, had Yoko not been around to plant the seeds of subversion on everything her dainty little fingers touched.

 

Yoko Ono and her Electric Subversion Hammer

 

"Part of her attraction was her avant-garde side, her view of things, so she showed him (Lennon) another way to be, which was very attractive to him."  But perhaps not so attractive to the other 3/4 of the world's most famous music group. Like posing naked for an album cover. On a shitty album of gibberish, no less. Or bringing a bed into a Beatles recording session when she was under the weather - AND, requesting a microphone, should she have any input to the recording process... Excellent ideas, all - anyone for a break-up???

 

Still, I suppose you can't blame Paul McCartney for mending whatever imaginary fences there are left to mend on this front, given that he and Yoko are both well into their seventh decade and Lennon has been dead for over thirty years. After all, one would like a clean Beatle slate when one shuffles off to Beatle Heaven. But I can't help but think...

 

Maybe he is going to make the ultimate power move to secure the Beatles' songwriting catalog, which has been in the hands of either Michael Jackson or SONY Music Entertainment/Michael Jackson since the 80's when Jackson swooped in and bought the rights out from under McCartney and Ono's noses while the two hemmed and hawed, waiting for a better deal. This has always been a sore spot for Macca, who wrote many of the songs that are still paying for Jackson's legal expenses.

 

Or, perhaps he will play the more subtle move, now that Yoko is softened up, pliable and old enough to get medication delivered to her penthouse for free through any number of infomercials on the Hallmark Channel. My prediction is that he will go into enemy territory and successfully negotiate the songwriting credits on all the Beatles songs that currently bear the "Lennon-McCartney" standard. From this day forward and forever more, the songs shall  read "Written by McCartney-Lennon".

 

That's just my hunch, but I think that's how rich Beatles with nothing else to worry about clean their basement. I could be wrong, time will tell. Either way, I blame Yoko.

 

 

Jumping the Shark - An Investigation

I can remember being a young lad and watching "Happy Days" on television and thinking, "I hope this show never ends..." It made for wonderful viewing for a twelve year-old boy, and its storylines hearkened back to a simpler time (in 1972, we considered the fifties and early sixties as a "simpler, much cooler" time, what with Elvis Presley and The Beatles and all). We were familiar with Ron Howard from his days as Opie on "The Andy Griffith Show" and the character of Richie Cunningham gave us an idea what Opie would have been like had we seen him continue to age. I always thought that he had traded down when he gave up Andy Griffith as a father and picked up Tom Bosley, but I blame that on his agent. We got to know Richie's goofy, hormonal friends Potsie and Ralph Malph, whose only thoughts were of making out and hanging out with buds, much like the twelve year-old boy sitting Indian-legged on the living room floor in front of the television.

Then there was Fonzie. Uber-cool, Arthur Fonzarelli was the good-hearted, motorcycle-riding hoodlum who watched over the Land of Happy Days, dispensing advise on love, life and the art of cool. Fonzie was viewed by the kids at Arnold's Drive-In hamburger shop as a rebel - although he began the series wearing a white windbreaker, as per ABC's strict control over chicanery. Soon enough, his trademark leather jacket and feathered ducktail were in full rebellious display. Fonzie could turn on the jukebox with a well-placed cuff to the side of the machine. Fonzie never sweated the ladies - he snapped his fingers and they came a-running. Yep, Fonzie was cool - Richie, Potsie and Ralph knew it and so did we. So did the Cunninghams and there was always an undercurrent of sexual tension between the Fonz and Richie's mom, Marion. Kind of twisted if you think about it, but if you were married to Tom Bosley instead of Andy Griffith and had to listen to that little freckled harpy Joannie, you'd jump at the chance to jump on the Fonz-Arelli, too.

Yep, I never wanted the show to end.

Somewhere along the line, something changed. Perhaps the change was so subtle that we viewers could not register it. Suddenly, several seasons into the show's run, I found that I cared little whether I was home to watch or not. Maybe girls and music and life and shenanigans got in the way - I was simply getting older. Or perhaps it was something more base than my gentle slide into adolescence - it was possible that the show began to suck.

Fonzie and boys began to wear hairstyles more appropriate for the mid-seventies than the early sixties. Potsie began to sing on the show. Richie left. The show was taped before an audience rather than filmed by a single camera. The studio audience began to shriek every time the now nearly-superhuman Fonzie entered the scene. Fonzie's cousin Chachi, with his full head of seventies-feathered-blown-dry hair came aboard. Everyone knows what happens when TV shows introduce new characters - see the obnoxious little cousins brought aboard "The Brady Bunch", "The Cosby Show" and "The Partridge Family" - and apparently Chachi was created to romance little Joanie Cunningham, which was disgusting enough. What made matters worse is that they were bequeathed a spin off of the show called "Joannie Loves Chachi". Ugggghhhhh...

At the beginning of season five, in some ridiculous storyline that would strain even the most hearty of the "Suspension of Disbelief-ers", it was finagled that Fonzie would water-ski jump (wearing his leather jacket) over a contained man-eating shark. What??? Decades later, this was pinpointed as the moment when the show had nothing compelling left to offer. Henceforth, the term "jumping the shark" has been used to convey the episode that a television show went into its death-march to cancellation.

Hearken the Death-Knell

 

Some tell-tale signs that a show has jumped the shark:

• "A Very Special..." - just turn the set off. When Blossom, the Keatons or Ingalls find the opportunity to have a very special anything, it is time to pull the plug. Seriously, if I want to have a family moment examining teen-pregnancy, drug-abuse or the menses, I will watch the Kardashians.
• The re-casting of a main character. The only reason that the Partridge Family survived the replacement of the bug-eyed, dark haired drumming munchkin Chris Partridge with the tow-headed, squinty, Michael J. Pollard-looking drumming munchkin Chris Partridge is that everyone had their head up their ass in David Cassidy-envy and didn't notice - otherwise the show wouldn't have lasted the season. Check Becky Connor on "Rosanne" or Darren Stevens on "Bewitched"... Jump the Shark moment - you make the call.
• Adding Ted McGinley to your cast. Know as the Patron Saint of Shark-Jumping, McGinley take the demise of the already-jumped "Happy Days", "Married With Children" and "The Love Boat" to his shark-jumping grave with him. He is a bane and when he shows up on the set for his first day of shooting, young cast members have been known to burst into tears.

 

"Good luck" is right... Sayonara.

 

 

I suppose strong cases could be made for "Replacing Characters" ("M*A*S*H", "Two And A Half Men", "Cheers", etc.), "Special Guest Star Episodes" and "Introducing a young munchkin cousin who looks like John Denver" (See Cousin Oliver on "The Brady Bunch") as being strong indicators as well. All I know is that television producers, much like aging athletes, often do not know when to call it quits. I say there should be a committee (I would be delighted and honored to be a member) that keeps an eye on this. When I am King, this committee shall be formed and maintained rigorously. It will be well-paid and beyond reproach and their say will be final. No more Ted McGinley Mishaps and no more icons water skiing in leather jackets. And any scripts submitted introducing a new, precocious mop-topped cousin (with round, wire-framed glasses or not), will be incinerated, along with its writer. We need to get back to a purer, entertaining television and this would be a good start.

 

I submit that television itself jumped the shark the day a camera was allowed in the back seat of a police car for the pilot episode of "COPS". When the lid came off the reality TV bottle, there was simply no turning back. Cheaper to film and extremely popular with the ridiculously huge audience of  retarded lemmings who watch, reality television has beckoned the medium itself to begin its walk down the green-screen mile.  Television will survive without a doubt, but it will never be the same. Some are of the mind that this is okay. A plague on their houses, I say.

 

Vote Jerry Ford for King in the upcoming election. Take two pencils.









"And here they are - The WEETLES!"

I read in the news last night that Paul McCartney's son James - a 34-year old fledgling musician (albeit, probably one of the richest fledgling musicians ever) - would be hip to the idea of getting together with other Beatle Kids to form "The Beatles - The Next Generation". A fun idea, I thought, but a lousy moniker. And this is where I come in.

The WEETLES! - a colorful portmanteau of "wee" and "Beatles" - just imagine Ed Sullivan announcing, with the big Ed Sullivanian sweep of the Sullivanian arm: "And here they are... THE WEETLES!" It works. The kids could even edit old footage of Ed introducing their dads from the 1964 appearance into own their cute, high-energy debut music video, and just have me dub in "WEETLES" for "BEATLES" in Ed Sullivan-voice, which is an impeccable facsimile of the original.

Anyhow, the ginger-haired James, who resembles a light, pasty, soft version of the elder Macca, has hinted that he has spoken with the other Beatle offspring and that, surprisingly, they are open to the idea as well. Mostly. Apparently, they have not seen James perform. Nothing against the lad, but I saw him perform on the David Letterman Show and he had nowhere near the charisma, charm or buoyancy of his Beatle-Dad. I imagine that there might have been some nerves involved and what with being McCartney's kid and having to live up to all that buoyancy might be a bit unnerving, but I don't believe I ever saw him crack a devilish McCartney grin the entire time. He didn't even tap his foot and nod his head like his papa while he sang, which led me to believe he must have gotten his stage charisma from his mom's side of the family, which consisted of mostly a long line of lawyers. Enough said. His voice is very high and lovely.

McCartney Father and Son, both reacting to excellent news.

“I’d be up for it,” the 34-year-old McCartney told the BBC. “Sean seemed to be into it, Dhani seemed to be into it.” Sean being Sean Lennon, the surly, pampered son of John Lennon and Dhani the diminutive offspring of George Harrison. Apparently the only holdout in this Plan Of Plans is Zak Starkey (you guessed it - Ringo's kid) - a renowned drummer in his own right, having beat the tubs for The Who and Oasis, among others. He could probably tell, with that uncanny sixth sense that really good drummers seem to possess, that this could be an embarrassing cluster-fuck and he wanted no part of it. McCartney then added that perhaps Jason Starkey (Ringo's other kid - presumably not as astute as his older brother) might be able to fill in. To hell with that, I say - just ask Ringo to do it. Ringo will play with anyone - I heard back in the 80's that Ringo was such a publicity-hungry media whore that he would attend the opening of an envelope. This is probably an exaggeration. Of course, I may be biased since the day Ringo announced haughtily that he would no longer be giving out autographs, thank you. In my opinion, it is safer to simply stop giving them out altogether, without the announcement. That way, you only seem to be an asshole to one person at a time, or perhaps a small group of people clamoring for your autograph, Beatlemania style, rather than appearing to be an asshole to everyone on the planet with one click of the "send" button.

But I digress - I'm certain Ringo is actually a swell chap. And he is  oneheckofa drummer.

Ringo addressing an autograph seeker and Zak showing his excitement over the Weetles.

Dhani Harrison, from all I can gather, is a pretty cool kid. He has a fine mix of his father's acerbic wit, an intelligent outlook and a certain calm inner-peace that comes from the delightful combination of being raised by a man who was spiritually in tune and never having to have worked at a Burger King. Why he would want to subject himself to the scrutiny, judgement and inevitable comparison to the greatest band on earth, I have no idea. Even if the music was decent, it would be compared to "Hey Jude", "Penny Lane" and "Strawberry Fields Forever". And Paul McCartney in the audience will always get a bigger ovation than the sprats onstage. Just sayin'. They might be better served to hire a bunch of crackerjack musicians and an orchestra and put on costumes and be one of those Beatles tribute bands that play the casinos. Except the program would read: "James McCartney as Paul McCartney, Dhani Harrison as George Harrison, Sean (or Julian) Lennon as John Lennon and Zak (or Jason) as Ringo!" You just went from casinos to stadia - you're welcome.

The Harrisons and their glee at playing stadiums over casinos.

The Lennon situation is a quandary. Though Li'l Macca says Sean is willing, I have a difficult time believing his buy-in. He won't even play with his brother, right? He's a broody little fella, too, from what I can tell - he seems pretty self-important and I can't imagine him listening to Dhani's suggestion that his idea for a bassoon solo is absurd without serving up a shit-storm. Just my take on it - I imagine Sean Lennon is another swell cat. He was probably raised by a very nice nanny who taught him manners and respect.

The Lennons, each wondering how in the hell they put up with Yoko full-time.

That said, it might be easier to talk Julian into taking the gig - he seems easy going like the other guys and would probably appreciate the paycheck, since Sean's caterwauling harpy of a mother gypped him out of his share of Papa Lennon's estate. He could inject little, subtle Yoko jibes into the performances, like singing "Hey Shrew" in the background when J-Mac sings "Hey Jude" - that would show her.

Julian - "I'm in."

Speaking of Yoko - regardless of my personal feelings about her, I think she would probably be a great manager for the act. Let's face it, the manipulating harridan has always had her finger on the pulse of the entertainment world, certainly as no other since, say... Brian Epstein. Only Yoko had the foresight to suggest a popular musical icon and voice of a generation take a full-frontal, unflattering nude picture of himself and his full-frontal, unflattering mistress to use as an album cover (picture not shown here - keep moving). Genius - the man lost a legion of fans and the Beatles lost much of their credibility immediately. That's moving the needle kids - if that kind of power could be harnessed and used for good, who knows, The Weetles could bigger than, dare I say it? The Beatles.





The Lonesome Troubadour Photo - The Skinny

I was asked today about the history of this photograph and I am happy to oblige. When I first had the idea of "The Lonesome Troubadour", I rather fancied myself as a traveling minstrel, roaming the land and playing songs at ale-houses for a free meal and possibly a tumble with one of the local lasses. A grand idea - and in my opinion, along with the distilling of spirits, one of the few that has held water over the ages.

I had recently opened a website, on which I figured I could peddle my wares - sell some books (available at http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/jeraldford, or Amazon), put up my music (via http://www.reverbnation.com/jerryford) or post videos through http://www.youtube.com/user/TooFarJerry. A grand idea, it seemed. So, I needed a photo - one that could capture all my fancies and let folks know that I was no one-trick pony. And as a live performer, I would be The Lonesome Troubadour.

So, I coerced my daughter, Allie to take a few minutes out of her busy day and take some pictures of the old man, posing in front of a bookcase, showcasing his wares and an autographed photo of the Pistoleros from the 90's. And she was more than happy to do so, once I convinced her that if she did not help me out, she would have to do all the dishes for a month and watch me pout.

  This is the original photo - note The Beatles Anthology Box Set and autographed Pistoleros publicity shot.

Once the photo was complete, Allie cleaned up my red-eyes and began to work her Photoshop magic. In what might have once taken precious months to complete, Allie made the photo look pretty friggin' cool... I added some self-promoting text and we had ourselves a promo-shot worthy of Madison Avenue.

Of course the box set and autographed Pistoleros photo had to go into an appropriately fuzzy background, bringing my come-hither look to the forefront, but there was "Speaking of Michelangelo" (my second novel) and the guitar and my sassy face. All bases duly covered. I was giddy with delight. When she had a chance to design tee-shirts for a high-school class, I offered up the idea of Lonesome Troubadour shirts and Allie came up with the stark black and white design that is plastered all over everything I do, like Jerry Lewis's Hirschfeld caricature from the early 50's that the comedian still carries to this day, brandishing everything from mugs to bass drums. Maybe one day, Allison's work will become my own personal Hirschfeld -  if it hasn't already.