It’s New Music Monday!  If you recall, the last Monday of the month was my review new music day.  It’s been almost a year since I dropped a little science on such a topic.  I like to share the music that moves me with my friends and family.  Especially, the real good stuff.  So this month, I’ve gone round and round with the music I was going to review.  And as I write this sentence, I still don’t know.  I’m opting for reviewing the dark yet introspective album rather than the uplifting and inspirational one.  The record is so vivid and so real, it can’t be avoided.

This album was a surprise.  In what would later be titled the ‘Best Sick Day Ever,’ I discovered this band.  And strangely enough, it was an incarnation of a band I all ready really loved.  Let’s start with a brief description of the best sick day ever.

I don’t normally get sick. More importantly, I don’t normally sit for hours and watch TV.  But on this day, I felt like shit, stayed home from work, and posted up on the couch all day.  I turned on the channel Palladia, which is a channel that only plays concerts and performances in HD and surround sound. I sat for about six hours and watch six different concerts and/or performances.  Let’s see there was Ray LaMontagne, the Dropkick Murphys, Later with Jools Holland, the Foo Fighter Back and Forth, and this band; The Horrible Crowes.

The Horrible Crowes is a side project of Brian Fallon.  He’s the lead singer of one of my favorite bands, the Gaslight Anthem.  I had no idea of this side project.  The first exposure was a one hour Palladia show of their first show EVER at the Troubador.  The background music at the start of the show was the Gaslight Anthem as the band milled about backstage.  Somehow I just knew this was going to be a new kind of awesome.  They take the stage and I realize it is Fallon and he introduces his band.  Instantly, I’m online looking up the band find more about them.

While the Gaslight Anthem is more alt, punk, Americana, blue collar rock, the Horrible Crowes is the dark and subdued social commentary on the misdirection of life.  Every song is minimal and the lyrics are at a depth that Fallon never thought would work on a Gaslight album.  Perfect music for sitting at your desk, staring out the window in the dark raining afternoon, feeling the misery and emptiness, while looking for your resilience...  Depressing and uplifting all at once.  As you listen, you are taken to rock bottom and then lifted back up through faith.

“Elsie,” the band’s only album came out in 2011. As I mentioned above, it’s very brooding and contemplative.  This is Tom Waits as inspiration.  “Elsie” could easily be classified night-time music due to its dark message, instrumentation, and slow tempos.  The music is soulful and intense and Fallon takes more liberty in the music, subject matter, the vocals, and the lyrics than he could in the Gaslight Anthem.  It’s cinematic and dark and the songs are about conviction, lost opportunities, and loneliness.  Things that we all relate to on a variety of levels.

The lyricism by Fallon does not disappoint.  He exhibits masterful storytelling abilities, where his gravelly, rugged voice operates with the heartfelt conviction, like a pulpit preacher that is vivid and colorful.  Musically, there is masterful work done on the guitar by Ian Perkins.  The keys and percussion help the elegant music rumble and sway through the emotions of the stories.  The summation of all of the pieces creates something creepily eerie and yet strangely familiar to the heart.

How do you pick a trio of songs that represent the album when ALL of them are amazing and representative of the epic nature of this album?  I can’t so I’m suggesting you take the time to listen to the album in its entirety here:

The Horrible Crowes - "Elsie" 

Described as ‘hymns for the lonely’ by Fallon himself, the Horrible Crowes is something that you must listen to.  “Elsie” is a lesson in how to capture what emotions precisely sound like.  Think of a time capsule filled with old photographs, torn love notes, and mementos of past mistakes. This is its soundtrack.  We’ve been these songs.  Some of us are still a part of them.

Play the video for 'Behold the Hurricane' here:

The topic of conversation around this town has nothing to do with the Seahawks for a change.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m a big fan and have had season tickets for eight years now.  And even though my parents back in the 80s, and me and the wife now are invested in the Hawks, this is much bigger.  This is something wrapped up in my history. Almost like a coming of age story; this is basketball.

The Seattle area has been without a professional basketball team since 2008.  We were robbed by an Oklahoman dirt bag. I won’t resurrect the horrible details here.  Let’s just say the Evil Empire’s founder, Howard Schulz, owned and destroyed the team like it was a Tully’s coffee shop.  The over-caffeinated douche bag tossed the team aside just looking for an outside bidder to take the financial burden and non-core business asset off his finely manicured hands. Jack wagon.

Now there are reports indicating that a deal has been struck between a Seattle investment group and the Sacramento ownership family.  Whether real or not and whether it happens or not, there are many more hurdles to go and one has to keep realistic set of expectations.  But if it all works out, there could be pro basketball in Seattle again.

The real deal is this, skateboarding and biking have always satisfied a piece of my life that scratched the creative, inspirational, and adrenaline-fused itches of my life.  But truth be told, and my mother will attest to this, basketball was the one activity in and out of school that was able to unwind my nerves and settle my soul like nothing else.  I don’t get to play much anymore.  Part of that’s due to being a dad and having an unrelenting job of importance that places me under constant demands.  Or it’s because I get a lot of email and have to do too many chores.  Whatever the reasons, I miss the sport..

I spent many days during my junior high and high school years just shooting hoops when things were tight.  When I went away to college, we had an intramural team each season.  We attended every collegiate game, researched the other players, and vehemently heckled the competition like no one else could.  Once, the Arizona Wildcats were in town. The team’s starting forward bio said his favorite book was “Of Mice and Men.”  We created a huge cardboard cover of the book mocked up with his face on it to mess with him during the game.

In between classes, I’d play pickup games in the gym or just shoot hoops by myself or with the latest.  It was safer than alcohol or streaking.  And it was more fun than studying for differential equations or failing Control Systems.  Over summer breaks, I’d pick up my brother and his friends from school and we’d organize pickup games at the local elementary school.  Each team typically involved one young adult and three or four teenagers.  I loved destroying the other young adult.  Those were some great summers.  My brother hated being on the team opposite of me.  He’d always lose and get pissed off.

When I got out of college, the first few years were marked with relationship oppression.  It wasn’t conducive to playing.  I did play in a work league for two seasons.  But that obligation came with much dismay from my hag of a girlfriend and as a team, we weren’t very good.  Although, the day she kicked me out I was watching a Sonics game on a little 13” Sony Trinitron TV.  The constant through all of this was my love for the game and the Sonics.

About two years out of college, I moved to L.A. for employment.  The great thing about that company was a ton of the people who worked there were into the game.  Eventually, we orchestrated a tournament bracket and fielded some teams for competition.  If I recall correctly, our team of design engineers wasn’t all that competitive.

Ultimately, I ‘signed’ with a team of manufacturing dudes called the Outlaws.  We used to play twice a week at local Compton and Long Beach playgrounds.  I was always told not to be at these places after dark.  We became local legends because our chemistry.  I earned the nickname Slim, as in Slim Shady, due to my coiffed peroxide blonde hair and ‘dominating’ physique.  We moved on to playing in a city league in Bellflower.  I think in three seasons, we won two games.  Ouch. We just could never get our playground style to gel on the indoor court.  Not to mention we all were ball hogs.

Since I’ve moved back to Washington, I’ve had the opportunity to take Son #1 to the Hardwood Classic at Key Arena with the Cougs. The Sonics moved in 2008 and we moved back in 2004 but we just never made time to see them again before they left.  That’s what I miss.  Not just the game, but what it represented, and how it filled a very intimate piece of my life.  Basketball was my connection across cultures, across emotions, across girlfriends, across miles, across loss, across success, and was a perfect metaphor for life.

It’s something I hope I can share with my two boys soon.  I don’t care if they ever play.  But I want to share with them something that became fabric of my existence.  They can learn about teamwork, precision, competition, rules and order, fitness, and mascots that use trampolines to bounce 50 feet in the air, do a triple flip and dunk a basketball during a timeout.  But seriously, sharing an event with your children such as this is empowering and moment in time with your children that can’t be faked.

If we do get a team back in Seattle, it’ll be a level of giddiness that I won’t be able to contain.  I can’t wait to take Son #1 and Son #2 to a game and heckle the shit out of the Lakers.

I’ve noticed a pretty significant change in Son #2.  It’s not his height. It’s not his weight.  Hell, it’s not even his social aptitude, or lack thereof.  It’s how much he talks. It. Never. Stops.

I had Mr. Mom time over the last few days.  Not only did that amount to ‘boy time’ as Son #1 categorizes it, but it also warranted me a careful evaluation of the behavior of these children.  The bar was set low; my wife had one request of me.  That’s one ‘formal’ request.  There are always the silent unspoken understandings of not burning the house down, not shooting the neighbor’s chickens with a pellet gun, no statues of the Lady of Guadalupe in the front yard, and no cookies for dinner (is breakfast OK?).  But the ‘formal’ request was to fill out some sort of form with questions about Son #1.

In any event, the form is only context here.  The real story is the questions on the form; Questions on vocabulary, imagination, comprehension and the like. While I struggled answering the questions in this context, I concluded how easy it would be to answer these for Son #2.  The reason for this deductive conclusion was two things.  The first is obvious; Son #2 is pretty imaginative and creative (more on this below).  And second, he wouldn’t shut up so there was absolutely no way I could ignore him while I attempted to answer the form’s questions.

What became painfully clear were his machine gun-like conversation abilities and I wasn’t going to be able to ignore him. He never stopped talking.  While that was a challenge in and of itself, the real hurdle was his use of the word ‘Dad.’  It was all of the time.  At the start of every sentence.  At the end of every sentence.  In the middle of every sentence.  Sometimes two times in a row to get attention.  Sometimes in an elevated tone to make a point.  Sometimes…well, it was a lot.  My ears still hurt while I’m writing this.

I was trying to work from the home office but it was pointless given the verbal assault I was taking.  So I thought to myself, “Self, you should count how many times he says ‘Dad’ in an hour.”  I’m not going to get any work done so let’s have a little mundane fun.  Because his mind and tongue were in perfect harmony with thoughts being directly spat out by his mouth, there was no time to waste.  I jumped up and grabbed a notebook and a pencil to scratch down the collection of raw data.  This was market research at its best. For this to have truly been accurate, I would’ve needed a hand-held clicker to keep up with the frequency of his ‘Dads.’ 

From my crude data collection techniques, I recorded 82 ‘Dads’ in the course of 60 minutes and I think this was a down day. Those of you who are professional statisticians may find my sample size too small.  However, let me challenge you to sit in the same room with Son #2 when he’s telling his stories. It’s like a 50-cailber peppering of words, sounds, hand gestures, and arm waving.  He’s hugely imaginative in his story telling.  I learned everything there is to know about Skylander Giants, being Player 1 in a video game, being Player 2 in a video game, being player 5 in a video game, Bouncer is his favorite Skylander Giant and he’s SOOOOOO happy to have him, Hot Dog the fire Skylander is coming to Earth next week, Bouncer has upgrades that make him shoot lasers out of his eyes and missiles out of his fingers (insert childish laser and missile sound effects here), the Skylander Giant named Swarm is his brother’s, he really wants Lightcore Prism Break because he shoots blue crystals out of his arms, there are two maps for Skylanders and Skylanders Giants, and many more things that I’ll spare you from listing here.

And now, back to the data. I recorded 82 ‘Dads’ in 60 minutes.  Let’s break this down:

Number of ‘Dads’: 82

Time elapsed: 60 minutes

‘Dads’ per minute = 82 / 60 = 1.367 per minute

‘Dads’ per second = 1.367 / 60 = 0.023 per second

Time between ‘Dads’ = 1 / 0.023 = 43.9 seconds

That means every 44 seconds in the course of an hour, Son #2 said the word ‘Dad.’

People like to count ‘Ums’ and ‘Uhs’ during speeches and interviews on TV.  I just chose to collect a little data from a more relative source.  Son #2.  And let me tell you from personal experience, the challenge of recording the word ‘Dad’ was a big one.  Even the sharpest of minds and fleetest of data recording would’ve been challenged to hold serve in verbal court with Son #2.  Maybe it wasn’t the most productive thing to do for an hour but it did stop me from agonizing over some ridiculous work emails request marked ‘Urgent’ that I needed to respond to or the world might end.  Instead, it became a sport of adventure and a distraction from the monotony of professional life.  If nothing else, it was entertaining and laughable.

And most importantly, in the essence of saving our livers, I won’t be making a drinking game out of this.  We won’t swill a beer or take a shot after each ‘Dad.’  That would not be wise. But it would make the conversations more challenging to follow.