Heavenly Day and the New Year

Oh heavenly day
All the clouds blew away
Got no trouble today
With anyone

I've been thinking lately—I could stop that sentence right there just to see the shock on the faces of people who know me and former employers. But I'll keep going.

I've been thinking lately about the last time I was genuinely happy and carefree. Now don't get me wrong, I'm a generally happy person most of the time. Cynical, but happy. But sometimes I can't stop myself from wondering exactly how long ago it was that I wasn't worried about bills, kids, dogs, money, safety for my loved ones, the car breaking down, the state of the world, the state of the union, if the alarm was turned on, if the stove was turned off, my weight, my job, my wardrobe, my health, my sleep patterns, did I mention money? And on and on.

While there may be a supply shortage of children's cold medicine, baby formula, airline pilots, Sriracha, semiconductor chips and tampons, it seems there's always a never ending glut of things to worry about, even if they're things we don't need to worry about (Full disclosure: not actually that concerned about the tampons).

So how do I find some peace with my worries running through my brain like a runaway train? One way is by listening to Patti Griffin's Heavenly Day.

It gives me, how the kids say, "all the feels."

Her beautiful voice, the gentle, unhurried arrangement and the nuanced accompanyment of Buddy Miller takes me back to a worry free time, when simple things were enough. And it gives me an unncharacteristically optimistic hope they can be again.

But maybe more importantly, it reminds me to be present in the moment, which in advertising isn't always something you want to do—especially in status meetings, creative reviews, pep talks or town halls.

The song also subtly drives home the point that although there are admittedly times when it doesn't feel like it—like during political discussions, hard joking or deciding which black shirt I should wear—the people I love and who love me are in reality all I need.

The smile on your face
I live only to see
It's enough for me baby
It's enough for me

Now before you start flaming the complaint box, I know this post isn't the well written, laugh riot, quippy, quotable read you've become accustomed to from me. But seriously, how much did you pay for it? I rest my case.

Besides if you want funny and well written, there's always Round Seventeen.

So since we're just hours away from the new year, I want to suggest you try on my new found attitude of cautious optimism things will be getting better and brighter in the next 365 days. I also recommend turning off the news, stopping the doom scrolling and reorganizing your priorities. The earth is four and a half billion years old, and we're just here for a second. Shouldn't we be taking the time to focus our attention, energy and passion on the things and people that really matter? Yes. Yes we should.

So my New Year's wish for you is that all your burdens will be lifted, and just enjoying each other will be enough.

From the sides, top and bottom of my cynical, happy heart, may your 2023 be filled with nothing but heavenly days.

No one at my shoulder bringing me fears
Got no clouds up above me bringing me tears
Got nothing to tell you, I've got nothing much to say
Only I'm glad to be here with you
On this heavenly, heavenly, heavenly, heavenly
Heavenly day

More John Moreland please

Here’s how it happened.

My son and his girlfriend thought it was time the wife and I met her parents and they met us. Nothing loaded about that invitation.

So instead of meeting anywhere near where either set of parents live—because that would've been too easy on the old folks—they decided to have us schlepp out to Gladstone’s on PCH on a hot sunny Saturday morning for brunch.

By the way, note to self: the best thing about Gladstone’s must be the view because it sure isn't the clam chowder. How does a seafood restaurant screw up clam chowder? Maybe next time try to keep it down to one brick of butter. Don't get me started.

Anyway, I spent a lot of the meal braced for some kind of big announcement to be sprung on us by the cute couple but, to my relief, they decided to save that card to play at a later date.

Prior to the meeting, my son sat me down for a son-father talk, and let me know his girlfriend’s father was on the more conservative side of the political spectrum than I am, and I was advised, as was her dad, that in order to keep this first introductory meeting civil we should probably avoid discussing politics. Hard as it is for me to bite my tongue, and resist the pure joy that is embarassing my kids, I said I'd try.

Come to find out there was no need for them to worry. Everyone was on good behavior and getting along great. In fact, come to find out her dad was a very funny, interesting guy who I hit it off with from the get go. I really enjoyed talking to him and am very much looking forward to our next meal together.

That sound you hear is the kids finally letting their breath out.

At one point during the meal, he looked over at me and said, “So, I hear there’s a particular singer you’re pretty fond of.” To which I said, “Why as a matter of fact there just might be.” He then proceeded to tell me if I liked Springsteen—which he did also, so big points for that—I had to hear John Moreland. So on the drive home I fired up Spotify, and it was love at first listen.

First, as you may know I have a thing for singers with a little grit and gravel in their voice. Moreland's voice is uncannily close to Bruce’s, with just a hint of early Tom Waits and a faint bouquet of Warren Zevon.

Then, the songs. Beautiful, heartbreaking, truth-wringing, emotion-filled poetry. Deceptively simple lyrics that are pointed like a knife, and as moving as they are poignant.

Acoustic folk is not where Moreland started. He was a well-known figure on the Oklahoma punk scene—yes there is one—for a very long time. But he’s found his true sound, and it’s wonderful.

The first video here is the happiest melody I’ve heard from him, but don’t be fooled: listen to the lyrics. It's also the only performance with a band, the rest are him and his guitar.

If you’re ready for a good cry, take a look at the other videos and be prepared for a case of the feels.

And not that I needed more to seal the deal, but watch and listen to the last video, and you'll hear why John Moreland feels like home to me.

Not quite all over now

I'm not gonna lie. Once I've spent all my money—and I have again and again (in case you didn't know) on Springsteen tickets—my concert budget is pretty much shot. And there are very few bands I'm willing to pony up a few day rates to see.

But the one band I'd be willing to do it for is The Rolling Stones.

I've always liked the Stones. Never been hardcore about them, but even though it's only rock and roll, I increasingly appreciate their stature, influence and longevity. I feel like they're a band I should see.

The original punk band, the Stones were always the bad boys in contrast to the squeaky clean (at least in the beginning) Beatles. And though they've achieved monumental success, and I expect have gotten plenty of satisfaction in every way possible at this point, they're still out there doing what they do, despite being decades past having to do anything they don't want to.

Jagger still parades around stage with his arms and legs jerking around wildly, like he's a marionette being worked by a drunk puppeteer or a 75-year old British grandmother on a bender. Keith Richards still has a sly, knowing smile at the fact he's alive, along with the most distinctive guitar in rock and roll. I don't know what the hell Ron Wood is doing, but he was the first kiss for this account executive I used to work with, so there's that. And Charlie Watts just makes all the jazz intricacies and nuances he hides in the beat seem so effortless.

I can't explain why I feel this sudden urgency to see them. Maybe it's because it doesn't take Jedi instincts to know at some point they're going to decide they've had enough and call it quits. And while I'd like to think time is on my side, deep down I know it's not.

From all accounts, at this point their show is more greatest hits than not. I'm okay with that. In the same way I saw Sinatra, Sammy Davis Jr. and Elvis, I'd just like to be able to say I saw The Stones live once.

What I'd really like is to score tickets to the small venue show they do before every arena show. Last time they were at the 20,000-seat Staples Center in Los Angeles, the night before they did an impromptu performance at the 350-seat Echoplex Club in Silverlake. Guess how fast they sold out?

Oh well. You can't always get what you want.

Simon says

The list of songs that've managed the virtually impossible task of rhyming the words yacht, apricot and gavot is a very short one. In fact, there's only one.

The song is You're So Vain. And the songwriter is Carly Simon.

You'll be hearing a lot about both of them in the coming weeks, because Simon has a new memoir coming out. (Ironically, it's being published by Flatiron Books, and not Simon and Schuster, the publishing powerhouse Carly's father, Richard L. Simon, co-founded).

To be sure, Simon has led a colorful life that's included lovers from Mick Jagger to Warren Beatty. When she was married to James Taylor, they were at one point the richest entertainment power-couple with a heroin-addicted guitar-playing husband in all of Martha's Vineyard.

One thing Simon promises to address, sort of, in the book that has the entertainment press chomping at the bit (if you've seen Simon's smile you know why that last line is so funny) is one of the timeless mysteries of the music world: who exactly is You're So Vain about.

She's already said in past interviews one of the verses is about Warren Beatty. Beatty himself has said the whole song is about him. He's so vain. Which brings up a contradiction inherent in the song that's bothered me each and every time I've heard it.

The main lyric is "you're so vain, you probably think this song is about you...." Here's the thing: the song is about him. So is he so vain, or just right in what he's thinking? Discuss.

Admittedly it's not a mystery on the scale of say who shot JFK, or did we know about Pearl Harbor ahead of time. But I have to say I'm kind of curious. Maybe we'll find out, time will tell.

The one thing I know for sure is it's not about me.

As an only child, I have to say that hurts.

His aim is true

There's a special running on cable right now called Elvis Costello: Mystery Dance. As you might expect, it deals with the life and career of the other Elvis.

Like most people, the first time I heard Elvis was on his album, My Aim Is True. Alison was the number one hit, and I loved it. So when Elvis came to the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium, along with Nick Lowe and Link Wray, I was in.

I don't remember much about how the music sounded. What I remember most is that after about a twenty-five minute set, Elvis kicked over one of the giant speakers and stormed offstage. Punk movement. Angry young man. You get the picture.

I've seen Elvis many, many times since. And I'm always in awe of two things: how prolific a songwriter he is, and his endless versatility. From rock, to jazz, to country to classical, Elvis attacks every genre and infuses it with originality and the uniqueness of his sound.

One of the great concerts the wife and I went to was Elvis with the Brodsky Quartet at Royce Hall. We sat sixth row center, right in front of Jackson Browne (maybe if he had some connections he could've gotten better seats). My wife used to play classical violin, and she loves Elvis. So this was the perfect concert for her.

It was perfect for everyone. It was exceptional.

A few years ago, Elvis opened for Sting at the Hollywood Bowl. During that performance, he invited the fifteen-thousand people there to a free midnight show he was doing at the El Rey Theater later that night.

I don't have many regrets, but not showing up at the El Rey at midnight that night is definitely one of them.

Anyway, just a quick post to say I love his music.

And I'm pretty confident he won't be leaving the building anytime soon.

Close to home

I'd much prefer this were one of my usual sarcastic, snarky posts with a snappy end line. We'd all have a good laugh, then get on with our day.

Sadly, not this time out.

Last week, a school friend of my son's committed suicide. He was only four months older. They were in a rock band together for awhile.

This young man had been somewhat of an outsider. He wound up leaving my son's school and going to a performing arts school three and a half years ago for various reasons, one of which is he was an extremely talented musician. Everyone at school, his bandmates as well as several professional musicians respected and envied what he could do on the guitar. His guitar teacher called him the next Jimmi Page or Joe Satriani.

It was a road filled with promise and wide open to him.

When we got the call and told our kids, they were both understandably in shock, as were we. My son said it's the first person he's known who's ever killed himself. I hope he never knows any others. He asked me if I've ever known anyone who's taken their own life. I've known two - a creative director and an actress. But I only knew them in passing, and would never say I was close to them (which of course doesn't make it any less tragic).

My wife and son went to the funeral last week. And while this is the part where normally I'd crack wise about putting the fun back in funeral, there's nothing funny about it. According to my boy, it was extraordinarily sad. Both the funeral and the reception were uncomfortably silent. You couldn't mention what had happened, and you couldn't not, so no one said anything. It was a silence you could feel.

I can only imagine that in the aftermath his parents pain is more than anyone should have to bear. The details don't matter. What's important is a talented young man, who's life had barely gotten started, was in so much pain he thought taking his own life was the only way to make it stop.

I don't have any wisdom or insight here. All I have are the truisms we all recite by rote and take for granted, until something like this happens.

Pay attention. Watch for signs. Love and hug your kids. Let them know the lines of communication are open whenever they want to talk. Make sure they understand no subject is off the table.

And let them know as unfair as it is, they'll have to live with the fact that sometimes there's no answer for why.