A Note About May Entries

I forgot I had this site until earlier today. There are a couple old (2006) entries when I first started J-School.

The first three or four posts are actually from May. The others are from the last year or so.

Unless otherwise noted, all future entries are comin'atcha LIVE AND UNCENSORED

Wilco al Fresco (5.14.08 - Downtown Lawrence)

(For more photos, see the original Jambase article)
Words & Images by: Nathan Rodriguez
Wilco :: 05.14.08 :: Downtown :: Lawrence, KS

The last time beer flowed on the streets of downtown Lawrence, Jayhawk fans were celebrating Mario's Miracle as Kansas went on to win the national championship. A little more than five weeks later, there was still cause for celebration: Wilco playing an outdoor show in the middle of downtown at 10th & New Hampshire.

There was no traditional "venue" but rather an open space that was converted into a scaled down Wakarusa - a Wilco-rusa, if you will. A local vendor set up shop slinging pizza slices, while a beer booth remained bustling throughout the evening.

The Retribution Gospel Choir opened. While not knowing anything about them, I quickly formed a general impression. A rock trio from Duluth, Minnesota wasn't exactly what I had in mind. The band played generally inoffensive, dirt-under-the-nails rock against a simple backbeat, sounding like a poor man's Crazy Horse. The crowd seemed ambivalent, with those close to the stage paying attention while others further away negotiated conversations over the music.

After about 45 minutes, Retribution Gospel Choir left the stage. Concertgoers streamed in from down the block, quickly adding to the few hundred people inside. The weather was ideal, in the upper 60s with clear skies and a subsiding breeze.

Shortly after 8 p.m., Wilco assembled, selecting the buoyant, ambling rhythm of Sky Blue Sky's "Walken" to open the show. The band was on-point, drifting next into "Hummingbird" before skidding into the synth-heavy preamble of "Shot In The Arm." The techno intro was pierced by the clarity of Mikael Jorgensen's piano work, while drummer Glenn Kotche bid his time to enter the fray. A propulsive beat anchored the song, which ended with an impressive sonic convergence checkered with electronic scratching effects.

By now, most of the crowd had started to gather around the stage. It wound up being a comfortable mixture of Boomers, Gen-Xers with toddlers and college students entering summer vacation. But, in addition to the 2,000 or so paying concertgoers (read: suckers), there were at least another 500 or so onlookers on neighboring balconies and rooftops, lined up along the fence and scattered throughout a three-story parking garage that happened to offer a direct, elevated view of the stage from about 100 yards away.

The crystal-clear acoustics lent a warm, intimate feel to the show, and may have contributed to a more talkative Jeff Tweedy. A melancholy beginning to "At Least That's What You Said" met a stomping clash of percussion. Kotche was stellar, establishing a comfortable pace and chasing the guitar, accenting riffs with a clash of the cymbals. "You Are My Face" followed, with beautiful harmonies that vaguely recalled CSNY. The band let the song breathe, and the beginning was spacious enough to double-check that all six members were still onstage. As it progressed, a yin-yang was established with the spacious cohesion of the beginning spliced and alternated with slices of filthy rock. A plaintive piano solo was later joined by ethereal guitar work, signaling the close to the song, which finished with a smattering of cymbals.

Daylight began to fade, and Tweedy took notice of the hundreds of onlookers in the parking garage: "I see a lot of people illegally downloading this concert. Yeah, I'm talkin' about you guys! We're gonna pass around a hat. Yeah, we see you! You too, old timers!" He shifted his gaze and tone to the people directly in front of him, saying, "Actually, don't YOU all feel ripped off for paying?"

"Pot Kettle Black" brought a few cheers with the line "Every song is a comeback / Every moment is a little bit better," but proved to be a better set-up for "Impossible Germany." A highlight of the show, Kotche's no-frills drum work provided an accommodating platform for guitarist Nels Cline to venture off a bit. One by one, the rhythm guitars kicked in and all three locked in around a single theme. Cline then broke things apart with some ridiculous fretwork before building the song to a crescendo.

"Couldn't be a more perfect night," said Tweedy, "I think we got lucky!" He noted all the songs in the set were online requests, but said before "Say You Miss Me" that "only one person requested this next song, so now is your time to hit the Port-a-Pottys." He laughed it off, adding, "It's actually a great song" before he led them into the pleading rocker from Being There. After noting that Cline recently acquired a new guitar in Des Moines, "Handshake Drugs" allowed him to justify the purchase with some impressive work creating frayed edges around the beat for an apropos frazzled effect.


Tweedy commented that he "got run over by a mountain bike" while hiking along the Kansas River earlier in the day before the band eased into "Jesus, Etc." The tender, dimly textured tune featured the haunting chorus, "Tall buildings shake / Voices escape / Singing sad, sad songs." Cline took "Too Far Apart" to the next level with a frenzied solo. The song ended with Tweedy's distant vocals repeating, "Couldn't be any closer to you," several times. Nearing the end, he paused to cough, deliver the line and finished by adding a falsetto tongue-in-cheek assessment: "Nailed it."

"Theologians" offered an off-kilter romp, ending in a sea of reverb and transitioning to the gritty swagger of "I'm the Man Who Loves You." After another pick from the archives with "Kingpin," Wilco launched into the aptly-titled "Kicking Television," which inhabits Television's sonic realm with staccato guitars.

After taking a bow, the band reappeared for an encore that was nearly half as long as the set. "Misunderstood" found some soft vocals murmured from the crowd, after which Tweedy advised, "If we play 'Heavy Metal Drummer,' well, we played it last summer in Columbia, Missouri and a girl actually took her shirt off. I'm just sayin'..." He was greeted with a burst of booing for making a comparison to the University of Missouri, and responded with a knowing grin, "I don't know if you guys are like, rivals or anything."

While the main set was very good, the encore was flat-out great. "Passenger Side" was a welcome treat, but "California Stars" was a perfect fit for the evening, with relaxed pipe organ and light, honky-tonk flourishes adding texture to the gorgeous pop ballad. A short but stellar four minutes, it wound up being another highlight of the evening.

Tweedy then toyed with the crowd, "You have time for some more? We have nowhere to be 'til tomorrow night." An impassioned "Hate it Here" followed the "What am I gonna do" refrain, echoing John Lennon's pleading, stretched-thin vocals on "God."

Tweedy addressed the crowd again, saying, "We've got a curfew tonight, so no more talking!" They leapt into "Heavy Metal Drummer," which brought a frenzied response. It seemed a bit bass-heavy in the first half, but wound up being a solid rendition. After the song, Tweedy broke his promise, saying, "I'm really proud of you, Lawrence. No one took their shirt off. Don't resort to that sort of objectification. I'm proud of you. I mean, it would have been NICE, but I guess Columbia loves us more." The crowd booed heavily, as Tweedy dryly acknowledged, "I always say the wrong things." Within seconds he glanced up after apparently being flashed, announcing, "You really do love us! Oh my God! It's a 12-year old? Gonna get arrested for that, but thank you so much!"

The start-stop rocker "The Late Greats" was then paired with a tasty "Red-Eyed and Blue," but it was the final two songs of the night that were particularly noteworthy. "I Got You" was a slam-fest, with raucous power chords matched by the racket coming from the drum kit. Cline had a hot solo before breaking down to the drum roll from "Heavy Metal Drummer" and then hopping back to polish off "I Got You." They had a seamless transition to the show closer, "Hoodoo Voodoo." The lyrics seem a byproduct of free association but the groove is infectious enough to make it a moot point. The song gained intensity with inspired, fiery guitar bursts that led to a minute-long duel before converging and leading back to the chorus. The song and the show ended with a bang at the stroke of 10:30.

Wilco al fresco wound up being one of the more enjoyable outdoor concert experiences in recent memory. Their playing at times flirts with effortlessness but it is that relaxed and crisp sound that defines their talent. They are, to paraphrase Mike Greenberg of Mike & Mike in the Morning, "sneaky hot, like Tina Fey." Their greatness may not necessarily knock you out on impact but after awhile it becomes difficult to ignore and eventually becomes pretty damn impressive.

Finding God at Gunpoint

Early in the morning, you gather the family to attend worship services. You put on your best attire, hop in the car and head down the road.

Approaching an intersection, a pair of fatigue-clad individuals armed with automatic rifles signal you to stop. They size you up, ask a few questions with a foreign accent, and finally wave you past. But not before handing you a coin.

Unfortunately, this coin has no monetary value.

One side reads “Where Will You Spend Eternity?” The other side quotes John 3:16.

No, this isn’t a case of overly aggressive Jehovah’s Witnesses terrorizing the townies. It happened in Iraq.

As the McClatchy papers reported, “The U.S. military has confirmed that a Marine in Fallujah passed out coins with a Gospel verse on them to Sunni Muslims.” The Marine was removed from duty and reassigned, and the incident is currently being investigated.

Naturally, McClatchy continued, the act angered many residents who were already displeased with the US “occupiers,” who felt that the troops were now becoming “Christian missionaries.”

This isn’t good.

In no way should this be construed as a commentary on the armed forces, or even the Iraq war itself. Candidly, a college buddy was a Marine involved in the fierce early battles in Fallujah.

No, what matters here is that this Marine was an ambassador of the United States who interacted with everyday civilians.

That this happened at a military checkpoint and not a street corner is disturbing because it is the apotheosis of a “captive audience.” If someone proselytizes in an open street, you generally have the option of “tuning him out” and ambling past. You don’t have that luxury at a mandatory stop.

For now, we’ll assume it was one individual behind the engraved religious coin operation. (I may revisit the issue with a “conshpeeerashy” angle after fashioning my tin foil hat). The point is this:

Dispensing oppositional religious coins at military checkpoints was at best a misguided altruistic act, and hopefully a limited one as well. But the damage to the image and credibility of the U.S. as a “hands-off” peacekeeping force is disconcerting to any reasonable observer.

Yet here the McClatchey story is, on page A16.

Al-Qaeda’s PR wing could not have fabricated a better anecdote. This is precisely the type of catalyzing event that generates interest in the Insurgency.

Many Americans are proud of their religious tradition, and hold it dearly. But even the math (five times a day versus once a week) lends credence to the suggestion that religion plays just as large a role, if not more so, in the daily lives of many Iraqis.

My hunch is many Americans would not view Jehovah’s Witnesses in the same light if they were suddenly armed while making their conversion pitch. If, after more than five years of daily interaction, they leaned into car windows with a finger on a trigger while making a religious pitch, some people might become resentful. On the other side of the coin and on the other side of the globe, we have a lone U.S. soldier clouding his assigned mission with actions more fit for a Christian soldier during the Crusades. Let’s just hope that the residents of Fallujah are not as predisposed to violence as a solution as we seem to be.

Stories like these on page A16 go a long way in explaining why the stories on page A1 read the way they do.

A few photos from Colorado

Photo taken from the Buena Vista campsite





Growing among the rocks on Ruby Mtn. outside of Buena Vista
(at our campsite)

Between Avon and Leadville

Notes on a Scandal

Everything is bigger in Texas, including the non-stories.

Naturally, the headline “Report: Arthur’s Grades Altered” on KUSports.com gave many Jayhawk fans mild arrhythmia.

The story is this: a Dallas TV station, in performing its solemn duty as a watchdog, talked to a local algebra teacher, Winford Ashmore, who claimed Darrell Arthur had his grades altered by the principal and basketball coach to ensure his eligibility. This is nothing new for Oak Cliff high school, as it has forfeited games in the past few years due to academic irregularities.





The Dallas station, WFAA, clearly had a well-documented, polished news package. But it lacked a news peg.




So it got a little creative, played loose with the facts and raised all-in. The video montage evolves from shots of Arthur playing at Oak Cliff to Arthur soaring for alley-oops in a Jayhawk uniform and hoisting the national championship trophy. WFAA closed the broadcast with a statement dripping with suggestion: “the NCAA rules state that if a player is ineligible, a penalty can be forfeiture of any and all games.”




Bravo. I nearly had to change my pants.




Until, that is, I regained my senses. The one answer that seemingly devastates the story is that the NCAA declared Arthur eligible to play for KU. It is not the responsibility of any collegiate coach to perform his own investigation to double-check the NCAA. As long as there are no fingerprints on this story from the KU athletic department, it will eventually waft into the ether.




But it does bring up an interesting topic: Is it really that bad that Arthur had a little help on the way to achieving his dream?




Now before you saddle up the high horse, I’m not advocating special treatment for anyone. I certainly don’t feel that all athletes should be given a free ride due to their ability outside of the classroom.




But we’re talking about a one-in-a-million type of talent in this situation. Would you have denied Mozart a spot in music class because he was borderline in home ec? Face it, you don’t want Mozart serving you crème brulee any more than you want Darrell Arthur working a shuttle launch at Cape Canaveral.




So what would have happened if Arthur’s principal and coach had not intervened? Winford Ashmore would have gotten his jollies by making Arthur hate algebra more than anything on earth. Arthur would have lost the one thing that mattered, the one thing at which he was unparalleled. He may have persevered and developed into a well rounded student athlete. Or he may have become frustrated, withdrawn, and yet another depressing story about wasted talent.




But we’re starting to get off-track.




What’s surprising about this grade-changing scandal is that it’s actually called a scandal in Dallas. Dallas, Texas. Home of 40,000 seat stadiums that are virtual shrines to pubescent athletics.

There is something fundamentally troubling about sports culture today. 8th graders are now declaring their allegiances to colleges. O.J. Mayo appears to have more or less struck an agreement with an agent before half-heartedly skipping off to USC for a year. The game has gotten so big, the paychecks so large, that “the next best thing” seems to be getting younger and younger each year. There’s too much money involved for there not to be corruption.




Arthur’s story isn’t nearly as dispiriting as Mayo’s. With Mayo, it was about money, and it was about 40-year old men stalking teenage boys in gymnasiums for 15% of their future income.




It looks now like Arthur had some people in his corner, in that his coach and his principal—either for him or for the school—wanted to see him succeed in that at which he excelled. They got two state championships in the process, but part of me is naïve enough to believe that they also wanted to see doors remain open for him at the next level.




Whatever the case may be it is unfortunate that the story comes out now. Winford Ashmore should have said something about Arthur’s eligibility issues before he left Oak Cliff. Instead, he decides to wait until Arthur declares for the NBA? Very odd.




Until you consider that it’s Sweeps Week.




Then it begins to make a little more sense. WFAA was hurting for a story, and finally had some semblance of a news peg with KU winning the championship. Ashmore (putting on my psychologist cap here) may have been bitter about devoting his life to the quadratic equation, as Arthur, who can put a ball in a basket, will become a multi-millionaire in a couple weeks. Who knows?




Everything is bigger in Texas, especially the non-stories. This non-story came during baseball season, which was enough to make me lose half a morning tilting at windmills.