RUSH/Neil Peart and Nerd Fandom at Its Finest, Including a Homemade "Outdoor Drama" - by Kevin Montavon

Music fans worldwide were devastated this week to learn of the passing of a man who many consider not only the greatest rock drummer of all time, but also a lyricist par excellence as well; Neil Peart of Rush. For me, as I am sure it was for thousands, if not millions of Rush fans, it felt like I lost a dear friend.

Rush was the first band that I became a fan of after a stretch of 5 or 6 years of listening to nothing but Kiss. I still remember the day at Boy Scout summer camp when I heard the crazy long-haired older kid from down the street playing this amazing band on his jambox. There was this long thundering intro that built up to a driving metal soundscape before crashing out into a soft voice that was singing...a Bible quote? What was this? Some Christian band? But wait, then this thunderous roar began again and the most high-pitched voice I had ever heard started singing a song about priests (I was a Catholic, so these words intrigued me) of some Temple named Syrinx. Then there was this song about a guitar, and how these priests flipped out over the discovery of said guitar, and how it was going to ruin the world like it did the world of “ancient man,” then there was a song with this guy dying by a waterfall, and finally a song about an alien force conquering the planet. I was HOOKED. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. From that moment I became a fan.

Rush fans are notorious for being nerds and geeks, whatever those words actually mean in the year 2020. It seems they are a badge of honor today, but trust me, not so in the 1980's. Rush fans were the original fanboys. Hell, go watch the movie that is called Fanboys where Rush fandom is portrayed as nerd-culture chic alongside the main storyline of the movie, which deals with Star Wars worship. As I was reminiscing about my early love for Rush, I realized that I may indeed be a candidate for the ultimate Rush geek. Because let me tell you, at that young impressionable age, this whole storyline concept thing that I was hearing on 2112 really fascinated me. And the wheels in my head started to turn.

Here's where the story takes a side turn for a brief moment. Gotta set the stage here...pun intended. Growing up in Ohio, we have this thing here called an “outdoor drama” in Chillicothe, Ohio. It's called Tecumseh, and it's a play that is presented in an outdoor amphitheater in a gorgeous natural setting, that depicts the life of the legendary Shawnee leader. Around the time I first heard 2112, my older sister had taken me to see Tecumseh. Also around this same time, I had been on vacation with my Dad and brother in Cherokee, North Carolina, where the three of us had watched another outdoor drama called Unto These Hills. This one depicted the history of the Cherokee Indian Tribe. I was very much a fan of both of these presentations, and I had a great idea to do something similar in my own back yard…..literally.

I rounded up the neighborhood gang, consisting of my younger brother, and the three kids who lived across the street. All five of us were within just a few years of each other in age. At this time, I was the only real rock music fan in the group, but I was quite the ambassador already. Through my skills of persuasion I managed to talk the other kids into the acting out of 2112 as our own outdoor drama, in front of our parents. It was on. This was no small presentation either. We had stage sets – a stone barbecue with a Rubik's cube placed on top of it served as the “Great Computer” of our Temple Of Syrinx, and after a quick set change the same stone structure served as the cave where the protagonist dies.

We had choreographed battle scenes when the aliens attacked, complete with live ammunition in the form of firecrackers and smoke bombs (this was the early 80's...safety concerns not quite being what they are today). My brother and the neighbor boy were in charge of the effects. They went a little overboard, placing a couple of smoke bombs right under the chairs of a few parents. I even wrote a libretto (which I wish I still had today), explaining the storyline of the album. It was neighborhood Broadway theater at its...finest? Unfortunately, or fortunately as the case may be, no photos or any kind of permanent record exists of this performance. I don't think any of the parents snapped any Polaroids (and if they did, I've never seen any), and there was definitely no social media then. So you're just going to have to take my word for it that this display of nerdiness actually happened.

The outdoor drama wasn't the only way I overindulged on Rush as a youth. The live album All The World's A Stage, coincidentally recorded on the 2112 tour, became the soundtrack whenever I wanted to play “rock band.” At one point I actually had my entire room converted into a “stage” where I “performed” that album, along with selections from Kiss Alive I & II “in concert” on a daily basis. I even recruited my Dad's assistance in this endeavor, making use of his carpentry skills to help me create air-guitars of the highest quality. I had Les Paul copies, Stratocaster copies, and of course I had a Rickenbacker Geddy Lee-style bass. None of these guitars had actual strings on them, or actually worked. If only I had put as much effort into learning to play a real instrument as I did in posing and rocking out with my models, I might have actually accomplished something as an adult musician.

I was fortunate enough when I got older to actually see the real Rush in concert. I eventually saw them 18 times over the years. I never missed a show in whatever locality I was living. And every time I saw them, I became that same little kid, acting out his fantasies in front of a large mirror and dreaming of the day I could set foot on that stage myself.

I am deeply saddened over the death of Neil Peart, but I will choose to reflect on all of the joy that he brought to my life, beginning in those storied days of youth, when anything seemed possible. - Kevin M.

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The Cars and a Partial List of Career Defining Debut Records - by Colin Gawel and Ricki C.

(Colin & Ricki collaborated cybernetically on this post: Colin is in plain text, Ricki’s in italics.)

Sadly, we recently lost the talented musician and producer Ric Ocasek. The Cars debut record could perhaps be the most fully realized debut record of all time. Think about that. Off the top of my head here is an incomplete list of the greatest debut records ever recorded. The criteria for this list follows one simple rule:

If you only had the debut record, you would fully understand the artist. That knocks out 99.9% of records. For example, you can’t only own Meet the Beatles and claim to appreciate The Beatles. A great debut record, no doubt, but it doesn’t tell the whole story. But if you heard The Cars, you would never need another Cars record to fully appreciate the band. Let’s go to my list. Please let me know who I am missing as I am sure there are plenty. 

The Cars - I used to play this record over the phone to girls I was too scared to talk to in 7th grade. Later when Watershed was working on The More It Hurts with Tim Patalan, we took a break from recording feeling pretty good about ourselves and ended up at a house party in Detroit. Someone put on The Cars and we all just kinda slumped at the same time. That record was flawless. We still had a wide river to cross. (I totally agree with Colin on this one. As he said, flawless record. For an in-depth account of my Troubled History with The Cars founder, check out Growing Old With Rock & Roll / Fighting With Ric Ocasek sometime.)

Van Halen - Boom. Have you seen the cover? Have you heard “Eruption”? What is this? 

Tracy Chapman - “Fast Car” only gets better and the rest of the record is just as good.

Guns N’ Roses / Appetite for Destruction - Though the video for “November Rain” is the only GNR you need to watch.

Weezer / The Blue Record - Produced by Ric Ocasek. Pinkerton is my personal favorite but all other 15 Weezer records are just them trying to rip off their debut. You hear this, you get the gist.

Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers - It’s got “American Girl.” Oh, and Jimmy Iovine can get bent  for bad-mouthing Stan Lynch on later records. Sounds like a fake-ass producer looking for a scapegoat. Jimmy couldn’t get the right drum sounds with Bruce Springsteen, either?  Stan seemed to play pretty well on this record. Once again see: “American Girl.” (Ricki: I’m gonna throw in my two cents on this one. Back in 1976 when I went HUGE for the Year Zero aspect of punk-rock and literally gave away all my old acoustic records from the 1960’s & 70’s, that first Heartbreakers record was mind-blowing. Yeah, The Clash were great and The Sex Pistols had a coupla cool singles, but Tom Petty and the guys were just so AMERICAN, ya know? I couldn’t really picture Sid Vicious sittin’ around a swimming pool quaffing beers & smoking joints, but I could CERTAINLY see Stan Lynch indulging in those activities whilst simultaneously trying to scam pert, pretty young American Girls. “The Wild One Forever,” “Anything That’s Rock & Roll,” “American Girl;” all classics. And “Mystery Man“ is definitely one of the Top Ten Rolling Stones Songs That The Rolling Stones Forgot To Write EVER.)

MeatLoaf / Bat Out of Hell - The first and only Meat record you need to own. Jim Steinman is from another planet. 

Ramones - Made some better records but if you hear this, you pretty much know Ramones.

Here Is Little Richard - Same as Ramones.

The Killers / Hot Fuss.

Anyway, I’m at work serving coffee so chime in with who is missing. 

R.I.P. Ric Ocasek and  Ben Orr. 

Ricki’s addendum to Great Debut Records List:

The New York Dolls. Possibly - In My Humble Opinion - THE GREATEST DEBUT ALBUM in the history of rock & roll, but I’m not going through my entire record collection to verify that. If I think of any better, I’ll get back to you.

The Whiles / Colors Of The Year. Joe Peppercorn has certainly had great moments on later records (who else in Columbus could have written “Interregnum Thrones/Sink Beneath Your Smile”?) but never as consistently genius a record as this debut.

The MC5 / Kick Out The Jams. What more needs to be said? “Kick out the jams, motherfucker!”

Ian Hunter / self-titled 1976 release. I’m not really sure this one should count, since Hunter already had 6 or 7 Mott The Hoople records behind him when he released this solo debut, but GODDAMN, what a great Declaration of Independence.

The Modern Lovers / self-titled (I HATE the term “eponymous,” and it’s hard to spell.) Recorded as demos in 1972 or so, not released until 1976. Classic. (For more check out Growing Old With Rock & Roll / The Modern Lovers.)


In Memoriam: John Ballor, 1956-2019 - by Ricki C.

I have a heroically garbled cassette tape from 1978 of Romantic Noise, Willie Phoenix's best band EVER, playing a song called "I Feel New."  John Ballor, the lead guitarist of Romantic Noise, sings lead on the tune and it is, quite simply, one of the most gorgeous, heartfelt tunes I have ever heard in my rock & roll life.

The quote above was the first paragraph of The Ballad of Willie Phoenix part one / Romantic Noise and The Buttons, 1978-1980 in 2013, from my old blog, Growing Old With Rock & Roll. John only sang lead on about three tunes in Romantic Noise: the aforementioned “I Feel New,” another great power-pop tune called “Holly” and a raver called (I think) “Politician, Politician” that only got played once when I saw the band. (Songs came & went pretty quickly in those days, Willie was CRANKIN’ out the tunes, most of them good, many of them great.)

Colin wrote me yesterday and said that he read John had passed away. From what I can piece together with my rudimentary computer skills, John died peacefully in hospice care in Ann Arbor, MI, from complications of MS and cancer.

I’m not really gonna get into all that, though. I’m gonna remember John to the stage right of Willie, spinnin’ out great concise lead guitar lines & solos (Willie didn’t start playin’ lead guitar until The Shadowlords in 1982) and adding backing vocals along with bass player extraordinaire Greg Glasgow in Romantic Noise and The Buttons. You can check out all the stuff I said about those bands by following that link above if you like, but let me just say this: Willie Phoenix has been a genius musician since the first week we met in 1978, but those two bands – Romantic Noise and The Buttons – with John & Greg and successive drummers Dee Hunt and Jerry Hanahan were Willie’s best bands EVER, largely on the strength of the musicians involved in those bands. (On the other hand, Willie was writing SUCH great songs in that halcyon late-70’s era it’s possible that the quality of the tunes improved the musicianship of the band.)

John went on to play with a lot of other bands after The Buttons broke up in 1980: The Amenders, Civil Waif, The Waifs, etc. I think one of them even got signed to Arista in the 1990’s, but I’m not sure which one. I am sure of this, though, my favorite post-Buttons story about John involved that band. In the early ‘90’s Willie was playing with The True Soul Rockers; Kozmos on bass, Mike Parks on lead guitar and the rock-solid Jim Johnson on drums. One weekend the TSR was playing at Chollie’s, a little dive bar in the Graceland shopping center that was formerly a Long John Silvers. (You could still smell the fried fish in that place.)

It was summertime & hot and Mike Parks & I were hangin’ around outside during one of the set-breaks when a big-ass white limousine pulled into the parking lot and stopped in front of Chollie’s. Mike & I just looked at each other and Mike said, “Well, this guy’s gotta be lost.” The back door of the limo opened and out stepped John and his wife & Civil Waif band-mate Laura. (John just MIGHT have been wearing a white suit to match the limo, but my memory’s a little hazy on that.)

“Hey guys,” John smiled brightly, shaking Mike’s & my hands, “how’ve you been?” I laughed, fixed John with a stare and said, “John, you hired a fucking LIMO to make an entrance at CHOLLIE’S? Arista must be paying you a LOT of money.”

John just switched on that little-boy grin of his at my calling him out, and we went in and caught the last set. I think that might have been the last time I ever saw John, and I treasure that memory to this day.

Check out the picture below, and make no mistake: John Ballor was the PRETTIEST lead guitarist I ever changed a string for. – Ricki C. / May 1st, 2019.

ROMANTIC NOISE / 1978

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What I Learned at Chris Collaros' Funeral - by Scott Goldberg

I know for many, attending a funeral is difficult—knowing what to say to family or being around grief can be uncomfortable. For me, there is a closure that occurs at funerals that I find helpful. What I have invariably learned at funerals is the things we often view as frivolous are actually the things that resonate with people. They are things that connect us to each other and specifically to the person we have lost and come together to honor.

This past week I attended the funeral of Chris Collaros. Chris was the principal at Wickliffe, the elementary school my kids attended. My youngest is now a freshman in high school, so it’s been awhile since we have been active members of the Wickliffe community.

Nevertheless, the evening before the funeral my daughter (now a junior in high school) and I paid our respects at the funeral home. We weren’t alone. We arrived around 6 pm and wound our way through a line that took about an hour and a half to reach the family. Apparently, it had been this way the entire calling hours which began at 3 pm. Throughout the funeral home were mementos of Chris’ life. Most poignant were the notes, cards and pictures from Wickliffe students some with encouraging messages, and others just reporting on the current happenings at school and letting him know he was missed. One wall was decorated with some of the colorful ties Chris wore including his beloved Pittsburgh Steelers—as a Browns fan it reminded me even Chris Collaros had his flaws. We saw alumni families like ours, younger families with kids still attending Wickliffe, and we hugged past teachers that nurtured my kids and taught them about things like compassion and empathy that come in so handy at moments like these.

When we reached the family, I recounted to one of Chris’ daughters how our family was nervous when Chris became principal at Wickliffe. We had gotten to know the previous principal, Dr. Fred Burton and loved the community he had created at Wickliffe. But it didn’t take long for us to realize what Dr. Burton already knew--that Wickliffe was in good hands.

The next day at the funeral, I learned a lot I didn’t know about my kids’ principal. Back in the day, Chris Collaros was a football star in blue collar Steubenville. Mellancamp’s Jack and Diane running through my head—for Chris was Jackie—he was “a football star”. Good enough (and smart enough) to earn a scholarship to Princeton.

I learned Chris took the work he did quite serious, but I never felt like Chris took himself too seriously. Promoting progressive education in Upper Arlington is probably not as easy as Chris made it look. It wasn’t always clear to me what progressive education meant. But I knew it involved experiential learning, celebrating all kids, and respecting and tolerating all their differences. The result of which created a special community that our family is proud and grateful to be a part of.

I did know Chris played the guitar. Chris played in a band along with Fred Burton and a few other school administrators and they called themselves Principally Speaking. The band was a staple at the annual Wickliffe fundraising event. Chris brought his guitar to Wickliffe Town Meetings, Golden Star Choir performances, and occasionally on his visits to classrooms. The funeral was filled with music. Beautiful, uplifting music performed in part by the Upper Arlington High School choir.

The funeral was poignant and sad (I’ll admit I cried) for we had lost a great man who provided a wonderful learning environment for our kids, but I also left grateful to have known him. And even more grateful for the impact he has had on my children, my family, all the kids that graced the halls of Wickliffe, all the kids that then are affected by the spirit of Wickliffe when those kids move on to middle school and high school, well the impact is immeasurable.

Often what is written in pencilstorm can seem frivolous or beside the point. Somebody’s top five concerts, the Buckeyes prospects this season, or which Cleveland team is about to break my heart. But music and sports have a way of connecting and uniting people. It’s often how we explain our connections to our close friends and loved ones. That’s the exact opposite of frivolous—it’s vital and makes life worth living.

I wish Chris was still around to greet kids as they enter Wickliffe with that gapped-tooth infectious smile of his. Frankly, I wish he was around for next football season so he could witness the pounding the Browns are about to inflict on the Steelers and get a small taste of what it’s like to be a Browns fan for say the last 40 or so years. Thinking about Chris the song Forever Young keeps running through my head—not the Rod Stewart song, but the one by Alphaville (I had to look that up). I guess a job that requires you to be around kids all day can do that for you. He was a lucky man.

So next time someone who has touched your life passes, take the time to attend their funeral. You will be reminded of why they meant so much to you and you may learn something new about them. It will likely give you a chance to reflect on them, perhaps laugh about some anecdote, and cry a little too. I did all that at Chris’ funeral. And as the wise coach Jimmy Valvano said if you do all those things you’ve had a full day, you’ve had a heck of a day. - Scott Goldberg

Remembering Mark Hollis - by Jerome Dillon

"I like silence. If you're going to break into it, have a reason for doing it." Mark Hollis

The Talk Talk records changed my life: The Party's Over' rarely left my turntable in '82 and '83, 'It's My Life' was in my Walkman for '84 and '85, and 'The Colour of Spring' was the only cassette in my 1976 Chevy Impala for the better part of three years.

I was 19 when 'Spirit of Eden' was released. Looking back, that record was a benediction -- or rite of passage. I was in awe and realized what a callow musician I was. It convinced me that the most crucial component of the creative process is risk. It gave me direction.

'Spirit of Eden' is fearless and brutally honest. Everything is exposed for what it is, or more importantly, what it isn't. At points it's deceptively fragile and delicate, only to shift suddenly into midrange guitar feedback and a violent battery of drums and percussion.

When 'Laughing Stock' was released, I thought it was an amazing record, but it felt like the end. I didn't think that Mark Hollis and Tim Friese-Greene could go any further. Lee Harris and Paul Webb had become an astounding rhythm section: perfectly balanced in supporting, pushing or staying inside the music.

In 1998, Mark's solo record was released and at first listen, I was reminded of what a callow musician I was. At 3:00 into the fifth track, "A Life (1895-1915)", the instrumentation deconstructed -- leaving only an isolated shaker in the left channel. For the next 1:26, the arrangement swelled into one of the most hypnotic and solemn sections of music I'd ever heard: alternating bars of six and seven with a repeating piano motif and vesperal female vocals soaring above the mix. When the record finished, I sat dumbstruck. It was so smart, restrained and visceral -- it pissed me off.

My favorite singer, songwriter and band. The impact is immeasurable and the music's depth, emotional resonance and atmosphere are timeless. Thank you, Mark. Godspeed. Jerome Dillon

Further reading:

Say Goodbye to Musical Genius Mark Hollis With These Gems .

Mark Hollis And Talk Talk’s Brilliant, Nuanced, Stubborn Visions .