Russell Crowe, Up Close and Personal

Sheila O'Malley's contribution to the Close-Up-Blog-A-Thon does a wonderful job of putting to words how exciting and thrilling the first few moments of L.A. Confidential are, culminating in the moment when most of America got its first look at Russell Crowe.

It's hard to believe that ten years have passed since the release of that movie. At the time, few people had any idea who Russell Crowe and Guy Pearce were; since it's my favorite book, I was nervous when I read that two unknowns were playing the two key characters. Needless to say, there was nothing to worry about. It's as close to a perfect movie as will ever be made, and will only grow in stature as the years go by.

"Magic:" American Ideals, American Reality

After a little over a week of living with Bruce Springsteen’s Magic, it’s time to finally put some thoughts to paper – so to speak.

With a few exceptions, the sole focus of the media and the blogosphere has been on the album’s politics, which is disappointing to me because the politics should not have come as a surprise, and to focus on the lyrics alone ignores what I see as one of the album’s greatest triumphs – Bruce’s success (and much of that success should probably be credited to producer Brendan O’Brien) in creating a sound that is instantly familiar to anyone who has ever listened to Springsteen, but at the same time sounds different than anything he’s recorded before. The River didn’t sound like Darkness on the Edge of Town which didn’t sound like Born to Run, but that was more than 25 years ago. That Springsteen is able to pull that off at a time when he is approaching 60 is reason to rejoice.

Musically, this is Springsteen’s strongest album since Tunnel of Love, twenty years ago. It’s also his hardest rocking – we haven’t heard Springsteen songs with the frontal guitar assault of “Radio Nowhere,” “Gypsy Biker,” and “Last to Die” since the days of “Roulette.” But whether it’s that approach, or something like “Girls in Their Summer Clothes,” which sounds like it could have been recorded by the Righteous Brothers in 1965, or songs in the classic Springsteen mold like “Livin’ in the Future,” “I’ll Work For Your Love,” and “Long Walk Home” - from a musical standpoint, there simply isn’t a weak song on the album.

As for the politics: in his 60 Minutes interview last weekend, Springsteen made the following comment, one which provides the key to unlocking the theme of the album.

“I would say that what I do is try to chart the distance between American ideals and American reality. That’s how my music is laid out. It’s like we’ve reached a point where it seems we’re so intent on protecting ourselves that we’re willing to destroy the best parts of ourselves to do so.”

The songs that most clearly define this theme – the distance between American ideals and American reality – are “Radio Nowhere,” “Your Own Worst Enemy,” “Gypsy Biker,” “Magic,” “Last to Die,” “Long Walk Home,” and “Devil’s Arcade.” Anyone looking to paint Springsteen as “anti-American” will be disappointed to find that there’s nothing simple here – these are complex songs, obviously the work of a thoughtful, mature person – one who clearly loves the country in which he lives, but just wishes it were better. One can debate whether Bruce’s vision of the country is naïve, or even entirely correct – very little is black and white in this day and age. And based on other comments Springsteen has made in interviews and during concerts, you can certainly accuse him of being anti-Bush – a distinction that hardly makes him unique in this day and age. But one thing you simply cannot accuse him of, without making yourself look extremely foolish, is being anti-American.

There are three of those songs that I’d single out as instant classics – songs that, right here and now, I’d be willing to say will stand in the Springsteen pantheon alongside such classics as “Born to Run,” “Badlands,” “The Promised Land,” and “Born in the U.S.A.”: “Radio Nowhere,” “Gypsy Biker,” and “Long Walk Home.”

More than any other song on the album, “Radio Nowhere” proves that Springsteen can create music in 2007 that sounds as vital as the music he recorded in 1975. You can take the song as a spirited blast against the current state of corporate radio (I was spinnin’ round a dead dial/Just another lost number in a file/Dancin’ down a dark hole/Just searchin’ for a world with some soul), or interpret the “radio” as a metaphor for the current black hole of American political discourse (Is there anybody alive out there?) – the song works equally well in either interpretation, which adds to its strength.

Ultimately, where Magic fits into the Springsteen pantheon is a question best left to history; the kind of thing that is sure to spark friendly arguments over beers for years to come. At this moment, I feel comfortable saying that it’s his strongest album since 1984's Born in the U.S.A. I hope, 23 years from now, that I’ll be able to say Magic defined an era as well as that earlier album did. You never know about these things, but I’ve got a good feeling about it.

The Marketing of Chewing Gum

Wrigley has a new brand of chewing gum called "5." Why it's called "5" is a mystery to me. Nowhere on the packaging does the Wrigley name appear.

But it gets better than that. The gum comes in three flavors, with three different names: "Cobalt" for peppermint, "Rain" for spearmint, and "Flare" for cinnamon.

Admittedly I'm no marketing expert, but I have to admit that none of this makes any sense to me at all. Why did someone feel the need to do this? What was the point? Am I falling for Wrigley's cosmic joke by even writing this?

In any event...I will admit; the gum is good.

Joe Torre

Though I would like nothing more than to be wrong about this, it seems inevitable that Joe Torre’s tenure as manager of the New York Yankees is about to end. I’m going to add a few more words to the thousands that have already been written in recent days, because if it happens, it signifies the end of an extraordinary era in baseball.

Whether or not one is a fan of the Yankees, their owner, or their payroll, the fact is that since 1996 the team, like no other in baseball, has come to represent sustained excellence. I’m not a Yankees fan, but I fully appreciate what they have accomplished over the past 12 years. In a year like 1998, when they fielded one of the greatest teams in the history of the sport, rooting against them seemed pointless. That team deserved to be savored, whether you liked them or not. In 2001 and 2003 it was easy to root for them in the World Series, against upstarts like the Florida Marlins and the Arizona Diamondbacks. In 2004, it was fun to rejoice in their epic collapse against Boston, if for no other reason that it had never happened before. But win or lose in the end, baseball is better, more meaningful, when the Yankees are successful – in much the same way that football is enriched when teams like the Packers and Bears succeed, and how college football is more fun when Notre Dame is actually good.

Now that the Torre era seems over, his years with the Yankees are being scrutinized; his weaknesses magnified. It’s only natural; when things like this happen in sports, people want to hear explanations. But to say that Torre’s reign in New York was anything less than spectacularly successful would be just plain wrong. With dignity and class, Torre succeeded in the most difficult of circumstances – the least forgiving fans, the most aggressive media, the most demanding owner. He won the loyalty of his players, and guided them to great heights. Sure, he made tactical mistakes. All baseball managers do; there is no such thing as the perfect baseball manager. It’s instructive to recall that when Torre was hired in 1996, the initial reaction was derision – even bonafide baseball experts like Bill James had a hard time figuring it out.

But that’s one of the great things about baseball. Had Torre’s managerial career ended in 1995 when he was let go by the St. Louis Cardinals, it would have been considered a failure. But as it turned out, he was the perfect choice for New York, and exceeded everyone’s expectations in spectacular fashion. He will be missed, and I’ll miss seeing him, whether it be sitting in the dugout, slowly walking to the pitcher’s mound, quietly celebrating the success of his players. A class act, from start to finish.

Worth 1000 Words, New York Yankees Edition

Properly Disclosed...But Not Necessarily Proper

Observing them in recent weeks, one could be excused for coming to the conclusion that Los Angeles Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa and Assembly Speaker Fabian Núñez are in a contest to see which of their political stars will fall the fastest and furthest.

With the recent publication of Núñez’ expenditure records, I’d have to say that the Speaker has taken a commanding lead. A partial list of the expenditures, outlined in Friday’s edition of the Los Angeles Times, includes the following:

The spending, listed in mandatory filings with the state, includes $47,412 on United, Lufthansa and Air France airlines this year; $8,745 at the exclusive Hotel Arts in Barcelona, Spain; $5,149 for a "meeting" at Cave L'Avant Garde, a wine seller in the Bordeaux region of France; a total of $2,562 for two "office expenses" at Vuitton, two years apart; and $1,795 for a "meeting" at Le Grand Colbert, a venerable Parisian restaurant. Nuñez also spent $2,934 at Colosseum Travel in Rome, and paid $505 to the European airline Spanair. Other expenses are closer to home: a $1,715 meeting at Asia de Cuba restaurant in West Hollywood; a $317 purchase at upscale Pavilion Salon Shoes in Sacramento; a $2,428 meeting at 58 Degrees and Holding, a Sacramento wine bar and bistro; and $800 spent at Dollar Rent a Car in Kihei, Hawaii.

Columnist Steve Lopez of the Times sharpens his rhetorical knives on Núñez today, which is never a good thing if you’re a politician. The money quote:

I suppose it's possible that a Bordeaux wine shop hosted a symposium on California infrastructure bonds, but when I called Nuñez's office for more information I got a stock answer from a spokeswoman:

"The expenditures were properly disclosed and described as required by law."

It's the democracy we've all been waiting for in Sacramento. Gulfstreams, Louis Vuitton office supplies and nose-thumbing responses to inquiring constituents.

The boilerplate response to Lopez’ inquiry is about as bad as it gets, and since it’s the same response given to the L.A. Times reporter who wrote the original article on Friday, it seems clear that Núñez’ staff just doesn’t get it. There is no connection – none – between the proper disclosure of expenditures and their propriety. Until his staff comes up with a better answer than that, expect this controversy to expand, and perhaps cost Núñez his post as Assembly Speaker.

And that term limits initiative on the February ballot? You can kiss that one goodbye.

Worth 1000 Words, Stanford-USC Edition

Let Us All Rejoice In the Shame of USC

When something like this happens, you just have to throw sportsmanship out the window, and talk some sh*t.

Stanford 24, USC 23.

Stanford entered the game 1-3.

With their starting quarterback injured, the Cardinal were led by Tavita Pritchard, starting his first game.

The Cardinal were 41 point underdogs.

The Cardinal lost their first three Pac-10 games, all at home, by a total of 90 points.

Sports Illustrated’s Stewart Mandel:

Stanford just knocked off USC. I'm speechless. I know you've heard this twice already this season, but that is the biggest upset in college football history. The stunner of all stunners. The Cardinal was a 41-point underdog. They were playing with their backup quarterback, on the road, against a team that hadn't lost at home in six years. I need to turn my attention back to the game I'm at ... but wow.

So how should fans of the Trojans react to this game? With deep, deep shame. They should probably stay indoors tomorrow, to save themselves from the fully justified taunts that they will receive. It’s sad, but losing to Stanford at home when you’re favored by 41 points has been proven to take an average of 18 months off of the average human life span.

Hmm…let’s see; what’s left?

Oh yeah. The Booty call? Shut it down. He ain’t that good, folks.

But all that really needs to be said, in the end, is…

Stanford 24, USC 23.

Al Oerter, 1936-2007

As I was growing up, nothing in our household was bigger, when it came to sports, than the Olympics - especially the Summer Olympics. One of my very first memories watching sports was the 1968 Summer Olympics, held in Mexico City. Eight years old at the time, to this day I remember the great American athletes who made a name for themselves at that Olympiad: Bob Seagren on the pole vault, Tommy Smith and John Carlos in the 200 meter dash (who also made a name for themselves in an historic moment that transcended sports), Jim Hines and Wyomia Tyus in the 100 meter dash, Debbie Meyer in swimming, Lee Evans in the 400 meter dash, Dick Fosbury in the high jump (who revolutionized the sport with his at the time-unorthodox technique, called the "Fosbury Flop"), Bob Beamon's miracle in the long jump, heavyweight George Foreman's demolition of the competition in his weight class, and Bill Toomey's triumph in the decathlon.

And Al Oerter.

Al Oerter was one of the great Olympians of all time. From his biography, on his web site:

Al Oerter is one of only two track stars (Carl Lewis being the other) to win the same Olympic event four times in a row. He is the only athlete to set four consecutive Olympic records. Seen as a longshot for a medal in the 1956 Games, the 20-year-old youngster surprised the Melbourne crowd by winning the Gold Medal on his first throw and setting his first Olympic record. Four years later in Rome, he exceeded his winning distance in Melbourne by 10 feet to win his second consecutive Olympic Gold Medal. Oerter's third Olympic Games, 1964 Tokyo, brought another Gold Medal despite a severe rib cage injury. Then, in 1968 in Mexico City, Oerter made Olympic history by becoming the first Olympian to win the same event in four consecutive Games. Remarkably, Oerter achieved his best throw in 1980 while preparing for the boycotted Moscow Games.

Oerter was an athlete of immense determination and amazing presence of mind. From David Wallechinsky's The Complete Book of the Olympics, the tale of his 1964 gold medal:

In 1964, Oerter knew that he would be in for a real struggle if he wanted to win a third gold medal. Not only did have have to face world record holder Ludvik Danek, who had won 45 straight competitions, but he had also been suffering for quite some time from a chronic cervical disc injury, which caused him to wear a neck harness. As if that wasn't trouble enough, Oerter tore the cartilage in his lower ribs while practicing in Tokyo less than a week before the competition. Doctors advised him to rest for six weeks, but the day of the preliminary round, he showed up anyway, shot up with novocaine and wrapped with ice packs and tape to prevent internal bleeding. With his first throw Oerter set an Olympic record of 198 feet 8 inches.

In 1968, Oerter again was a heavy underdog. Wallechinsky tells the tale:

The third round began with Oerter in fourth place, behind Lothar Milde, Ludvik Danek, and Jay Silvester. But, as if out of a fairy tale, the incomparable Oerter uncorked a throw of 212 feet six inches - five feet farther than he had ever thrown before. Al Oerter had become the first athlete to win four gold medals in the same event.

Al Oerter was more than just an athlete. He was an artist who went on to a successful career in abstract art, creating a gallery where the art of fellow former Olympians could be featured.

Having suffered from high blood pressure for most of his life, Oerter suffered in recent years from various cardiovascular problems. Advised that he would need a heart transplant to survive much longer, he declined, stating:

“I've had an interesting life, and I'm going out with what I have.”

They truly don't make them like Al Oerter any more. R.I.P.

The California Golden Bears, The #3 Ranked Team In The Nation

I haven't written about the Golden Bears since the big win over Oregon, and with a bye on Saturday, now seems like a good time to bask in the glow of a #3 ranking in the national polls.

It’s hard to put into words how amazing this seems to me. For years, the measure of a successful Cal football season was whether the Bears defeated the Stanford Cardinal. First year I was at Cal, in 1980, our record was 3-8. But with an upset victory over Stanford that kept them out a bowl game (and handed John Elway another defeat, something he suffered three times in four outings against Cal), we considered that season a great success.

Sure, there have been some ups – the Bruce Snyder years were very good, with consecutive bowl games, a Top 10 finish, even a New Year’s Day bowl game. But Snyder’s teams never managed to beat Stanford, and it was only after he moved over to Arizona State that he was able to steer a team (the one led by Jake Plummer) to the Rose Bowl. Other than that, it was one disaster after another: Joe Kapp, great guy, great Bear, great fan…but lousy, lousy coach. Keith Gilbertson, also a good guy, but one of those coaches whose destiny is to be a coordinator – not a head coach. One promising year of Steve Mariucci before the 49ers snapped him up, followed by five disastrous years of Tom Holmoe, again a good guy but one who consistently led his teams to underachieving seasons. It got so bad in 2001 that Cal managed to squeak out its one win only by virtue of the fact that they decided to play a make-up game (one that had been postponed after 9/11) against equally awful Rutgers, a game that most fans just wished would be cancelled.

And then came the messiah, in the form of Jeff Tedford. It’s been all good since then, and it started with the very first play of scrimmage – a trick-play 75 yard touchdown against Baylor. Since then: bowl games every season except the first (when the Bears were on probation), Top Ten rankings, national television, Heisman contenders. And most importantly, five consecutive wins over Stanford, the first time in the history of the rivalry that the Bears have been able to pull that off.

And now, #3. If the Bears win out, they will be in the BCS Championship Game, a feat that would have seemed literally impossible just a few short years ago. The road won’t be easy – this year, every team in the Pac-10 (even Stanford) looks competitive, and some of them are better than that – the two-game road stretch against UCLA and Arizona State will be tough; the Washington game on the road looks like a classic trap game; and of course there’s the matter of the nation’s #2 team, the USC Trojans. But, one can dream.

This week, receiver DeSean Jackson is featured in Sports Illustrated, where he is called “the most feared gamebreaker in the nation.” After a couple of mediocre outings, Jackson played a key role in Cal’s critical win over Oregon, and if he can make the most of his upcoming national TV spotlights, may play himself back into the Heisman picture. Best of all, the article comes on the Bears’ bye week, meaning the dreaded SI curse can’t have an impact.

During the game on Saturday, I was at the meeting of the Board of Directors for the association where I work, and it was just as well – I might have had a stroke otherwise. We were monitoring the game via wireless Internet, but just as things got really interesting in the 4th quarter, there was a presentation for me to give – which allowed me to kick off with a good laugh line, saying that I was less nervous about the item I was about to deliver than I was about the outcome of the Cal-Oregon game.

So far, 2007 has been so good. Roll on, you Bears!

To Heck With Those Wins - I Want To Play!

I’m a little late to the party with this one, but it’s too good to pass up. Peter King does a great job of skewering Matt Leinart for his idiotic comments following Arizona’s victory over the Steelers, but given that Leinart came from USC, I’m declaring him ripe for another skewer.

Here’s the money quote: Leinart expressing frustration with the admittedly unusual but thus far highly effective one-two quarterback punch (Leinart as starter, Kurt Warner as reliever):

"If I'm the franchise quarterback, play me and let me stumble, because I'll fight through it, and that will help me and our team in the long run. I know coaches want to win now, and they have their reasons. But I don't understand, and this switching back and forth is almost worse than getting benched.''

Yeah, funny thing about those coaches, wanting to win games all the time. I’d be willing to be that there’s a few thousand football fans in Arizona – long suffering, no doubt – who’d be willing to put up with a few wins if the only cost is Matt Leinart’s pride.

Don’t get me wrong – I think that Leinart is going to become a top-rate NFL quarterback, but for right now he deserves the lambasting he’s receiving for his comments - which sound exactly like a guy who has never had to face adversity in his life, on or off the football field. Get used to it, dude. This isn’t USC, where a “me first” attitude can work because the Trojans are just so much better than most of the competition. This is the NFL, where they eat quarterbacks like Matt Leinart for breakfast.

"Try to remember that the Yankees are blessed by God Himself"

The Onion weighs in on the baseball postseason, in its inimitable fashion.

Postseason Baseball! On...TBS?

I’m not even going to pretend to understand what led Major League Baseball to sign an agreement with TBS to provide coverage of baseball’s postseason. But that’s the hand that we’ve been dealt, so let’s play it with a few comments about the announcing teams we’ve seen so far:

Orsillo/Simpson: Man, these guys are a major buzzkill. Through a quirk of fate on Monday night, I happened to catch only the 13th inning of the Colorado-San Diego game, and I couldn’t believe how dull these guys made it sound. This is POSTSEASON BASEBALL, guys! Not to mention that, but an amazing finish! Let’s show a little enthusiasm! Same thing today – duller than molasses. I read tonight that Orsillo covers Red Sox games. All I can say to Sox fans is, I’m really sorry.

Robinson/Stone: Better. Ted Robinson isn’t a bad guy; covered the Giants for several years, but I doubt he’ll ever graduate to the top tier of announcers (OK, tennis, but he’s not even the best at that). But overall, not bad. At least they showed a discernible pulse.

Stockton/Darling: Dave Stockton! Yahoo! I really like Stockton, and although he’s better known for covering NBA basketball and the NFL, he has a background in baseball – actually was doing the play-by-play on NBC during the most famous game in baseball history (well, one of them), Game 6 of the 1975 World Series, when Carlton Fisk hit his home run in the bottom of the 12th. Ron Darling, just OK.

Overall, for Jon Miller alone, I wish the games had stayed on ESPN.

Jim DeRogatis, Hack

I’ve long thought that Chicago Sun-Times rock critic Jim DeRogatis was a hack, but with his review of Magic, his hackdom reaches new heights.

First things first – as should be clear to anyone who reads this blog on a regular basis, I’m a huge Bruce Springsteen fan. But I’m not blind, and I don’t expect that every review of a Bruce album is going to be a good one. But I do expect an honest effort from the critics that I read, at the very least an attempt to make a rational case why an album works, why it doesn’t, and where it fits in the history and pantheon of rock ‘n roll.

But DeRogatis isn’t built that way – he always goes for the easy insult, delights in confronting fans, trying to come on like what I’m sure he imagines is a latter-day Lester Bangs (one of his idols). But ultimately it’s an insult to the memory of Bangs – sloppy criticism, and the easy way out. But apparently, DeRogatis is neither talented nor intelligent enough to do anything else. Don’t take my word for it, read his stuff. If you think I’m wrong, let me know. God knows I’ve been wrong before.

Why should I let the fact that DeRogatis panned Magic bother me? Well, for one thing, it was absolutely predictable, based on his history, that he would do so. I would have been willing to bet the house that DeRogatis would pan this album. And sure enough, one need read no further than the first line of the review:

“I got a coin in your palm / I can make it disappear,” the Boss croaks in the title track for his first album with the E Street Band since “The Rising” (2002), his folkie but bombastic musing on 9/11.”

In that first sentence, you have “the Boss croaks,” which isn’t criticism – just an insult. And then you have … "The Rising…his folkie but bombastic musing on 9/11." Bombastic? That may be fair, if you can back it up. “Musing?” Maybe, but in this case I doubt it. But “folkie?” If a critic can be said to be wrong only when he makes a factual error, then calling The Rising “folkie” qualifies as ignorance, plain and simple.

There’s more, but you can go read it yourself. It’s mostly juvenile stuff, designed less to comment on the album at hand than it is to raise the hackles of Springsteen fans. That doing so is more the goal than actually trying to criticize the album is painfully clear from the final sentence of the review:

Then again, as the e-mails sure to flood my inbox will stress in words that can’t be printed here, this New Jersey native -- my dad was born and raised in Asbury Park, for God’s sake! -- is the worst kind of heretic: A traitorous non-believer who’s never fallen under Springsteen's spell. As the Boss himself said, “This is what will be.” Deal with it.

It’s all about DeRogatis here. He’s not writing about the album, he’s just delighting in his own toughness.

Whatever. At least he likes PJ Harvey. But in the end, he’s worse than a hack. He’s a dishonest hack.

First Commentary on "Magic"

Son #2, arriving home from school: "Is that the new Springsteen?"

Dad: "Yep."

Son #2: "What's it called - It's Good to Be An Old Guy?"

"Revival"

While the brain batteries charge after a weekend of work followed by two days away from home at a conference, and while I organize my thoughts about Bruce Springsteen's remarkable Magic, I just want to quickly note another new album, one from one of the all-time greats: John Fogerty, the auteur behind the greatest American rock band of all time, has a new album, Revival, that I hope doesn't get lost in the shuffle and the hoopla over the new Bruce. Probably not the best marketing ploy to have it come out on the same day, but what's done is done.

This is just a quick hit, but to these ears, it easily sounds like the best thing Fogerty's done since Creedence. The voice sounds good and strong; Fogerty's lead guitar playing is as good as it's ever been; the band, led by the great drummer Kenny Aronoff, is tight and crisp; and best yet, John is rocking like he hasn't in years. A couple of songs, "It Ain't Right" and "I Can't Take It No More," sound like they could have been recorded for Green River or Willie and the Poor Boys, nearly forty years ago. And whether one agrees or not with the politics of the latter song, it sure sounds good to hear him getting political again.

But my favorite song so far is "Creedence Song," proof positive that after all these years, Fogerty is completely comfortable with all that went down after Creedence endured one of the most acrimonious band breakups in the history of rock 'n roll. On this one, he sounds positively giddy:

Well Daddy took a shine
To the lil' girl behind the counter
She was movin' her hips to the swamp beat
Right on time
Said could he play her somethin'
Over there on the jukebox
She said you can't go wrong
If you play a little bit of that
Creedence song

Indeed.