40 years late, jerk face.

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Have you heard?

It wasn’t Yoko’s fault after all.

From The Daily Beast: 

Paul McCartney absolves John Lennon’s widow of any blame in the break up of the Beatles in a new interview with David Frost. “She certainly didn’t break the group up. The group was breaking up,” the famed singer and songwriter says in the hour long special to debut next month.

Why the hell did it take Paul McCartney 42 years to let Yoko Ono off the hook? He sat by for more than four decades, listening to Beatles fans blame Yoko Ono for the breakup of the band, and only now does he decide to come forward and absolve her of blame?

What a jerk.

This may not make her the coolest kid in high school

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My three year old daughter specifically requested the song Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini while in the car yesterday.

Earlier in the week, when the song Dancing in the Moonlight came on the radio, she raised her fist into the air and shouted, “King Harvest!” followed by “Is he really a king, Mom?”

This kid is developing a seriously eclectic taste in music.

I am not a member of Crystal Method.

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I was standing in line at the rental counter in San Jose this weekend, waiting to pick up my car and begin my trip to Santa Cruz. Standing directly behind me were fans of my work, a husband and wife, who later explained that they didn’t say hello because they were in a debate over whether I was Matthew Dicks, the writer, or a member of Crystal Method, the electronic duo whose music has appeared in numerous TV shows, films, video games, and advertisements.

The wife argued that I was Matthew Dicks. The husband argued that I was a member of Crystal Method.

Naturally, as soon as I returned to my hotel, I searched for images of Crystal Method to see if I should be offended.

image

I’m not sure if I actually look like either of these guys, but at least they both look fairly ordinary and are slightly younger than me. Not a definitive victory, but at least they weren’t debating if I was Weird Al or a member of Flock of Seagulls. 

I think it’s more tragic that my first chance to get recognized in public as an author didn’t happen because someone confused me for a pair of musicians who I had never heard of until this weekend.

My wife recently had a much better experience in terms of being recognized. As she was chatting with strangers in a coffee shop, she happened to mention that she was a teacher at our school. One of the women said, “Oh, you work at the school where that famous author teaches.”

“I’m married to that famous author,” Elysha said.

Elysha later told me that this was her favorite part of her day, despite the stranger’s inaccurate estimation of my level of fame (or lack thereof).

Much better than being mistaken for someone else.

Unnecessary repetition. Wasted opportunity.

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I will never understand why songwriters repeat the first verse of a song as their third verse. Thankfully, it doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it can completely ruin a song.

Lee Ann Womack’s chart topping song I Hope You Dance is a perfect example of this. It’s a beautiful song and ideal for father/daughter and mother/son dances at weddings, but for reasons I will never understand, the first and third verses of the song are identical.

It’s still a lovely song, but I’m convinced that the unnecessary repetition prevents it from becoming an all time classic.

King Harvest’s Dancing in the Moonlight suffers this same problem. Though I still like a song a lot (and my wife loves it), the first and third verses are identical. The song has managed to remain in the public conscious for almost forty years, perhaps because the repetition is a little less noticeable in this song. While the lyrics play an enormous role in Womack’s song (and are probably the song’s most defining feature), Dancing in the Moonlight is more about the song’s overall musicality. You don’t need to know the lyrics of the song in order to enjoy it. 

Also, every single rhyme in the song is an –ight rhyme. There are only so many of those words in the world.

Not only does the decision to repeat verses strike me as unnecessarily repetitive, but it also represents a lost opportunity. The songwriter and musician had a chance to say more without appearing to say too much, but when given the chance, they opted not to.

I don’t understand it.

Six questions about music that define you

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The Guardian has launched "Six Songs of Me," a project to map as many personal playlists as possible in an effort to understand the intersection of music and culture better.

They've set up a special site where you can pick your most meaningful songs in six categories. They're hoping to gather enough data, Clarke says, to "help us think more fruitfully about the 'big questions' that lie behind the sounds of our lives."

The categories, in the form of questions, are listed below, along with my answers to each.

I would love to hear your answers, too.

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1.  What was the first song you ever bought?

I purchased the vinyl recording of Brice Springsteen’s “Welcome to Asbury Park” (the only vinyl I ever owned) specifically for the song Blinded by the Light, though I soon fell in love with the entire album.

2.  What song always gets you dancing?

As wrong as this may be, it is currently Madonna’s Like a Prayer. 

3. What song takes you back to your childhood?

Childhood is a slippery term, but assuming that my teenage years qualify as a part of my childhood, it’s Guns n’ Roses Sweet Child O’ Mine. For two full summers, that song was blasted from the windows of moving cars more than any other song I can remember.

4. What is your perfect love song?

When You Say Nothing At All by Alison Krause. My wedding song. I picked it even before I began dating my wife.

5. What song would you want at your funeral?

These Are the Days by Van Morrison. I love the way the song intertwines  the past, the present and the future, and the harpsichord is simply divine.

6. Time for an encore. One last song that makes you, you.

Cat Steven’s If You Want to Sing Out, Sing Out. For a long time this was my theme song (recently replace by Bon Jovi’s We Weren’t Born to Follow), but I have always thought that this song expresses my personal philosophy best.

Cat Stevens taught me that authors should not act like jerks.

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I have a more-than-slight tendency to act like a jerk. I can be biting, sarcastic, oppositional, confrontational, aggravating, nonconforming, and disagreeable. My mother referred to me as The Instigator.

I like to think that over the years, this tendency has become less pronounced, This is because I have learned to restrain myself. I have chosen to become more civil. I try desperately to be more polite. I have made the conscious decision to not express every thought and idea that comes to mind.

This is not to say that I am the model of civility. I am probably still more outspoken, opinionated and potentially offensive than most people would prefer. I still consistently express controversial and nonconformist ideas. In many ways, these ideas are the fuel that fire many  of the things that I write.

But I am a much more civil and reasoned person than I was ten years ago. I measure my words much more carefully today.

Part of this has been a natural, albeit exceedingly slow, maturing process.

Part of this has been a conscious decision on my part to choose my battles more wisely.

Part of it has been the positive influence of my wife, who is universally acknowledged to be the kindest, sweetest person on the planet (unless you cut her in line or attempt to cheat at Scrabble).

But part of it has also been my recognition that a reader’s perception of me as a person will likely impact his or her opinion of my books.

If a reader does not like the author as a person, the likelihood that he or she will not like the author’s books increases considerably, regardless of the quality of the story or the writing itself.

While this may not seem fair, it is undeniably true.

Cat Stevens taught me this.

I discovered Cat Stevens’ music more than a decade after he had recorded his final song, and I fell in love with it immediately. The folksy guitar sound and award-winning lyrics hooked me at once.

I think Oh Very Young and Peace Train are utterly perfect songs in a small, under-populated pantheon of perfect songs.

For a time, my personal theme song was Stevens’ Cant Keep It In (an homage to my inability to refrain from speaking my mind). Later, I changed my theme song to Stevens’ slightly less aggressive If You Want To Sing Out, Sing Out.

In the height of this personal adoration of his music, I learned about Stevens’ remarks supporting the fatwa against Salman Rushdie following Stevens' conversion to Islam.

These remarks, which Stevens later denied and then retracted, cast his music in a new and unfortunate light for me. A pall descended over something that I had once seen as beautiful and perfect, and though the actual songs had not changed, it seemed as if they had.

It makes no sense. If I love the music, why should the opinions of the artist make a difference to me? Great music is great music. I loved it without reservation yesterday. Why should today be any different?

But it was.

For many, and perhaps most people, their opinion of the artist will unavoidably impact their opinion of the work.

As an author, this is an important lesson to remember. We are in the business of expressing our opinions and ideas. Opinions and ideas are the capital by which we earn our living.

In my short time working in the publishing industry, I have met many authors.  The great majority have been incredibly kind, surprisingly humble, and endlessly generous people.

A few have not.

And whether I intended it to happen or not, my opinion of their work changed upon learning that they were not as nice as I had once hoped.

This is not to say that authors and other public figures should be disingenuous. I believe that honesty is the most important quality in any public figure, and authors, when expressing themselves, should keep this in the forefront of their minds.

Sometimes my absolute adherence to honesty still gets me in trouble.

But tied for a close second behind honesty should be qualities like thoughtfulness, nuance, politeness, civility, and respect.

These are qualities that I was lacking a decade ago.

Though I may sometimes come close to line in terms of being potentially rude and offensive in the ideas I express, I rarely step over the line today. I may operate close to or even on the line, but there there was a time in my life when I only existed on the other side of the line.

I have since learned that Cat Stevens has been recognized by organizations around the world as a philanthropist and humanitarian. His departure from music industry led him to a lifetime of good work on behalf of children and the poor around the world. This has pleased me immensely.

Recently Stevens returned to making music under his Muslim name, Yusuf Islam. His first album was released in 2009. I purchased it immediately.

It’s okay, but not close to the greatness of his earlier work.

Is this because I cannot help but allow his comments about Salman Rushdie to taint my opinion, even after Stevens retracted them?

I’m not sure.

And therein lies the problem of acting like a jerk. It’s impossible to know if your artistry is being harmed by your jerkiness.

So don’t be a jerk.

Be honest. Be forthright. Be opinionated. Be controversial.

But be respectful and polite, too. At least a little.

A potentially great day ruined by you-know-what

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Today was a potentially great day for me. To start, Cosmopolitan UK named my next book, Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend, #1 on their Best Books for February 2012 list  and offered a glowing review.

The cover of the book also appeared publicly for the first time, and it’s one that I love. In fact, I have seen a sneak peek of the US cover as well and am blessed with a bounty of great art for both sides of the pond.

image

The actual UK cover will feature a quote from the very generous, internationally bestselling author Jodi Picoult.  Ms. Picoult offered me the best blurb of my life in regards to the book.  It reads:

A novel as creative, brave, and pitch-perfectas its narrator, an imaginary friend named Budo, who reminds us that bravery comes in the most unlikely forms. It has been a long time since I read a book that has captured me so completely, and has wowed me with its unique vision. You've never read a book like this before. As Budo himself might say: Believe me.

A pretty good start to the day. Right?

During the school day, I managed to earn my students’ respect in a realm rarely achieved by an elementary school teacher:

Music

A truly outstanding a cappella group performed at our school this afternoon, singing a number of Motown hits by Michael Jackson, KC and the Sunshine Band and others. The kids loved this music, which I thought was odd since they normally make fun of me for liking “old music” like The Beatles, Van Morrison and Springsteen.

When I questioned them about this after the performance, they explained that Michael Jackson, The Who, Neil Diamond and others are not considered old in their minds (a few admitted that The Beatles were probably acceptable as well). When I showed them that I have 38 Michael Jackson songs on my phone, they gained an immediate, albeit grudging, respect for my taste in music.

I went on to show them the 67 Neil Diamond songs, the three full albums by The Who, and the handful of songs by new artists like Katy Perry, Maroon 5 and Lady Gaga that currently reside on my phone.

They left school feeling like I possessed a modicum of coolness, which in the land of ten-year olds is quite an achievement for any adult.

At dinner, I told my daughter that I loved her, and with a piece of bread still stuffed in her mouth, she said, “I love you so much, too, Daddy.”

Clara has said that she loves me many times before, but something about her earnestness and sincerity nearly brought me to tears.

It was as if she really understood what the words meant for the first time.

Later, I felt our baby kick inside my wife’s belly for the first time.  Actually, I felt it kick several times. It was jumping around so much that it nearly made Elysha sick.

I still remember the first time I felt Clara kick, and this was just as exciting.

An unforgettable moment, both then and now.

But the Patriots lost the Super Bowl on Sunday night, and in horrific fashion, so all this good news was wasted on me. There was no way in hell that I was going to feel at all good just 24 hours after a loss like that, regardless of what happened during the day.

Nice try, universe, but I don’t think so.

Tilly and the Wall: Who needs a drummer when you have tap shoes?

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I often claim (with excessive pride) that I have introduced my wife to more positive things in her life than she has introduced to me. Television shows, friends, activities, locales.

I argue that she is and will forever be deeply indebted to me in this regard, even though she thinks the whole argument is stupid and petty.

She’s probably right, but I’m working on a post of our competing lists anyway.

But credit Elysha for introducing me to Tilly and the Wall, an amazing indie band that uses a tap dancer in lieu of a drummer.

tillies

Their music is great, the use of the tap dancer is innovative as hell, and in watching their YouTube videos, it’s clear that they are charismatic performers.

Elysha admits to having a girl crush on the tap dancer, and I don’t blame her.

She’s known about this band for a while, leaving me to wonder if there is more that she should be introducing me to and if she is simply holding back on me.

I’ve listened to about a dozen of Tilly and the Wall’s songs so far, and this one is my favorite.

Feeling uncertain about my chest

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I like the song “Hey, Soul Sister” by Train a lot. train hey soul sister

I’ve been listening to it this week as part of my evening run playlist, so I’ve had an opportunity to pay closer attention to the lyrics.

The second verse has left me feeling somewhat disconcerted.

Just in time, I'm so glad you have a one track mind like me You gave my life direction A game show love connection, we can't deny I'm so obsessed My heart is bound to beat right out my untrimmed chest I believe in you, like a virgin, you're Madonna And I'm always gonna wanna blow your mind

Untrimmed chest?

What the hell does that mean?

As a guy with a lot of hair on his chest, I can’t help but wonder if there is something I’m supposed to be doing with my chest hair that I’m not.

Have I failed in the personal grooming department for all my life when it comes to chest hair?

A little help, please?

Anne Hathaway rapping as Lil’ Wayne

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One of the ways that I can tell that something is great is if I think my wife will love it. With the exception of Oprah, her taste in all things is impeccable.

As soon as I saw this video, I knew that she would love it. Therefore it must be great.

It’s a perfect example of how successful a person can be when she chooses to exit her comfort zone and attempt something unexpected and counter to everything she has done previously.

You have to ask yourself:

Would Lil’ Wayne have the same courage to perform in the style of Anne Hathaway?

In need of a new theme song

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I need a new theme song. My first, from several years back, was Simon and Garfunkel's I Am a Rock.  It was a time in my life when I was dating a fictional character on a now-defunct television program and feeling rather alone, and so the song fit my mood well.

I was alone, damn it, but I was fine. Great, even.

Plus it has the line “I have my books and my poetry to protect me.” Any song with a literary reference has an inside track.

Then I met my wife and she insisted that I change my song, which was good considering most women would probably have insisted that I ditch the stupid idea of a theme song altogether. So after careful deliberation, I chose If You Want to Sing Out, Sing Out by Cat Stevens. I love the freedom of choice that the song insists upon, the unabashed acknowledgement that you can do whatever the hell you want, regardless of what anyone says.

That theme song lasted for about a year, and then a small group of despicable, cowardly and vicious cretins attempted to ruin my life. In the aftermath, I heard Cat Steven’s lesser-known song Can’t Keep It In and instantly fell in love with it.

Another switch was in order.

Once again Stevens sings about choice, but this time, it’s the choice to say what you want and feel what you want, as well as the inability to do otherwise.

The title alone suit me perfectly.

But there is also a section in the first part of the song that really speak to me:

You've got so much to say, say what you mean, mean what you're thinking, and think anything. Oh why, why must you waste you're life away, you've got to live for today

If I could teach my daughter anything, these would be the words I would want her to learn and embody someday.

For a long time, it was the perfect theme song.

But today I find myself in search of a new theme song. While I still think Can’t Keep It In applies well to my life, the song is simply too subdued for my tastes. I would love for Joey Ramone or the late Joe Strummer or The Violent Femmes to record their own version of Can’t Keep It In, but absent that miracle, I am looking for a theme song that has a heavier sound and a more driving beat.

Something I can workout to and blast out of the windows of my car.

Bon Jovi’s 2009 release We Weren’t Born to Follow has potential, but it doesn’t feel quite right. It possesses many of the same themes that the pervious two songs had, including the belief that a person must be himself regardless of the opinions of others, and it also demands optimism from the listener, which I like a lot, but still, I’m not sure if it’s the right song.

It’s a pretty good video, though. So there’s that.

It might be, but I’m not ready to settle yet.

So my search continues.

Two questions for you, dear reader:

1.  Do you have a personal theme song, and if so, what is it?

2.  Do you have any suggestions for my personal theme song?