Card Carrying Rocker

Bob Dylan and Elvis Costello, October 22, Fox Theatre

2007-10-24T08:28:00.000-07:00

[Update Oct. 24 1:15 p.m.] An mp3 of the Dylan/Costello "Tears of Rage" duet is available for download here.

Having a stellar double-play combination is overrated. The year I won my first division championship, 1983, the White Sox double-play tandem consisted of Julio Cruz at second base and Jerry Dybzinski at shortstop. My first World Series championship, with the A's in '89, we had Tony Phillips at second and Mike Gallego at short. Last year with the Cardinals we won it all with Aaron Miles and David Eckstein. Nothing against any of these fellows -- Phillips, in particular, had some decent years with the leather, and you'll never hear a discouraging word from me about Eck -- but it's more than possible to go all the way without a pair of sackmates on par with, oh, Jackie Robinson and Pee Wee Reese.

That said, you could have knocked me over with an empty bottle of Gaja's Langhe Costa Russi 2000 (quite possibly the best Costa Russi ever made -- and I know my red wine) when Elvis Costello joined Bob Dylan onstage for the first encore Monday night at the fabulous Fox Theatre, and the two delivered a magnificent rendition of the Dylan/Richard Manuel chestnut "Tears of Rage."

The artists have been performing in tandem for the past month or so, but until the St. Louis concert they hadn't shared the stage. How fortunate that I happened to be in town to catch it!

Costello's opening set was brief but powerful. (The man has stage presence like Chris Carpenter has a cut fastball.) But Dylan and his five-piece backing band -- Tony Garnier (bass), George Recile (drums), Stu Kimball (rhythm guitar), Denny Freeman (lead guitar) and Donnie Herron (pedal steel, lap steel, mandolin and strings) -- tore through a seventeen-song set that careened from Sixties gems ("Leopard-Skin Pill-Box Hat," "It Ain't Me, Babe," "Highway 61 Revisited," "Ballad of a Thin Man") to the cream of his more recent catalogue ("The Levee's Gonna Break," "Things Have Changed," "Ain't Talkin'").

The final encore paired the shambling blues masterwork "Thunder on the Mountain," from last year's Modern Times, with longtime concert staple "All Along the Watchtower."

Now that is what I call a double-play combination.

Dylan completists can look here for the setlist in its entirety. Costello setlist can be found here.

Baseball completists can look below for the double-play combos I've managed, year by year:

1979 CHW
Alan Bannister
Greg Pryor

1980 CHW
Jim Morrison
Todd Cruz

1981 CHW
Tony Bernazard
Bill Almon

1982 CHW
Tony Bernazard
Bill Almon

1983 CHW -- 99 wins; first division championship
Julio Cruz
Jerry Dybzinski

1984 CHW
Julio Cruz
Scott Fletcher

1985 CHW
Julio Cruz
Ozzie Guillen

1986 CHW
Julio Cruz
Ozzie Guillen

1986 OAK
Tony Phillips
Alfredo Griffin

1987 OAK
Tony Phillips
Alfredo Griffin

1988 OAK -- won ALCS
Glenn Hubbard
Walt Weiss

1989 OAK -- won WS
Tony Phillips
Mike Gallego

1990 OAK -- won ALCS
Willie Randolph
Walt Weiss

1991 OAK
Mike Gallego
Mike Bordick

1992 OAK -- won division
Mike Bordick
Walt Weiss

1993 OAK
Brent Gates
Mike Bordick

1994 OAK
Brent Gates
Mike Bordick

1995 OAK
Brent Gates
Mike Bordick

1996 STL -- won division
Luis Alicea
Royce Clayton

1997 STL
Delino DeShields
Royce Clayton

1998 STL
Delino DeShields
Royce Clayton

1999 STL
Joe McEwing
Edgar Renteria

2000 STL -- won division
Fernando Viña
Edgar Renteria

2001 STL
Fernando Viña
Edgar Renteria

2002 STL
Fernando Viña
Edgar Renteria

2003 STL
Bo Hart
Edgar Renteria

2004 STL -- won NLCS
Tony Womack
Edgar Renteria

2005 STL -- won division
Mark Grudzielanek
David Eckstein

2006 STL -- won WS
Aaron Miles
David Eckstein

2007 STL
Adam Kennedy/Aaron Miles
David Eckstein

2007-03-30T17:08:00.000-07:00

He's Back!!

2006-06-29T14:17:00.000-07:00

This much is true: A new Bob Schneider CD called The Californian will be released on August 8. And if you've been to one of the Austinite's shows, yes, you've heard him play the album's title track before ("Superman can go kiss my ass/I'm half nitroglyc, half fiberglass..."). But halfway through Schneider's last St. Louis show, a fellow we know made a bet with one of his buddies: that a third fellow -- who was drunk and had taken off his shirt and was attempting (unsuccessfully) to dance without falling down -- would, in the next five minutes, remove his shorts as well. Didn't happen. The two-and-a-half-hour set of Schneider standards and unreleased material was punctuated by two song requests from audience members, each of whom inscribed said request upon the accepted medium, a crisp new $20 bill. Afterward, the stage long since darkened and the crowd long since sent home, there occurred an otherwise inexplicable upsurge in couplings. Men and women, women and women, men and men. (Perhaps even women and men and women.) Strangers and friends. Touchings were gentled, gasps emitted, pleasures loosed, babies conceived. Yes, it¹s all true -- except that last part, which is a guess not based on the solid bedrock of statistical analysis but on the ineluctable logic of the heart, which, though faint and fleeting, is more reliable than any compass ever designed by man's hand.

9 p.m. Saturday, July 8. Blueberry Hill's Duck Room, 6504 Delmar Boulevard, University City. $15. 314-727-4444.

Bob Schneider: Blueberry Hill's Duck Room, April 5, 2006

2006-04-07T14:28:00.000-07:00

Bob Schneider has turned over 50 percent of his roster this past year. Lead guitarist Billy Harvey? Gone, replaced by Jeff Plankenhorn. Drummer Rafael Gayol? Gone, replaced by Brannon Temple. (Holdovers: Derek Morris on keyboards and Bruce Hughes on bass.)

Some would point to personnel changes and suspect disarray. Nothing could be further from the truth. Turnover is part of running a business, and business is business, whether you're leading a major-league baseball franchise or leading a kickass rock & roll band.

Turnover, of course, requires a period of adjustment. But it's not necessarily a bad thing that Schneider's well-oiled quintet of twelve months back has given way to a more spontaneous sound. Besides, these guys are consummate pros. In fact, they're no doubt taking the "Bob Schneider discount" to play for his team. We're not talking Einar Diaz here.

I'm not the sort of guy who dances much. But on the way up in my private elevator after the show, I was still singing along.

All I wanna do is rock this motherfucker all night long, y'all
Nonstop till the crack of dawn, y'all
Ass-knocking till you can't go on
Stop over with the goodies and get it on!

(Come on. Everybody's got their thing. Jose Oquendo's is the cleats. And I don't mean his cleats; I mean ALL the cleats. They have to be lined up just-so, outside every consarned locker. Home or road clubhouse, doesn't matter. They have to line up just so. Woody Williams, it was his CDs. Jimmy Edmonds, hair products. Remember George Clooney in that Cohen Bros. movie with his pomade? That's Jimmy.

And don't even get me started about So T.)

Lucinda Williams and Doug Pettibone: The Pageant, March 15, 2006

2006-03-17T13:34:00.000-08:00

Have you ever looked at, I mean really looked at the way So Taguchi fills out a uniform? The media guide's got him at 163 but tie me up with duct tape and tickle me silly if he's an ounce over 157.

Can a man be wiry and pumped at the same time? Can a person be in two places at once? If a song is played in Lafayette, can you hear it in Lake Charles?

You could bounce a quarter off his ass.

If I were a meat eater, I'd spread Lucinda Williams on a cracker.

But I'm not, so I don't.

Ghostface Killah @ Pop's, March 8, Year of the Wu

2006-03-09T11:48:00.000-08:00

Last night I studied tape from the Dominican/Venezuela WBC game. Not! Rather, I hung on the east side with Pretty Toney, aka Toney Starks, aka Ghostface Killah. After six openers – one of which lip-synched their way out of any credibility they may have started with – Ghost emerged. He once performed behind a ski mask, but last night he had a hat which appeared to be made of bunny fur. (Not something I condone.)

Everyone formed 'W's with their hands, in honor of the Wu-Tang Clan, Ghost's crew. Another Wu-Tanger, Old Dirty Bastard, is dead, and a touching, if predictable cover of "I Like It Raw" followed. Then "Back Like That," off Fishscale, Ghost’s new album, due in stores March 28, a song about love and payback that just may get Ghost the mainstream attention he deserves.

Then, women from the crowd came onstage to shake their cans. Some were African-American, others were Caucasian, and there may have been a Latina. (Sadly, no Japanese.) Ghost did not dance with them, but instead left that task to his posse, or, as Byron Crawford would call them, his weed carriers.

All in all, a very tasteful show. Little, to no shoving. Averaged price beer. Short line for the can.

The Rolling Stones: Savvis Center, January 27, 2006

2006-01-31T15:54:00.000-08:00

Many a knee-jerk criticism of the Rolling Stones vintage 2006 begins and ends with the canard that their shows are too tightly choreographed and as such do not allow for improvisation.

The setlist is to live rock as the lineup card is to baseball. You lead off with "Jumping Jack Flash," no ifs, ands, or buts. You close with unmitigated power: "Brown Sugar," "Can't Always Get What You Want," "Satisfaction."

And earlier on, having settled on "Rough Justice" in the cleanup spot followed by the solid "Tumblin' Dice" and then an out-of-left-field move like Tattoo You's often-overlooked masterpiece "Worried About You," Mick Jagger isn't going to pull the concert equivalent of the double switch. He's going to sit down at that keyboard and tell 15,000 screaming fans how he "Just can't seem to find [his] way," is what he's going to do.

For this attendee, the evening's sole weak spot came in the form of a segue midway through the set -- from a Keith Richards solo ("This Place Is Empty") to "Happy," that Exile on Main St. anthem which also features a Richards vocal. But seen in a slightly different light, even that sequence showed impeccable timing: You should have seen the lines form in the men's room as soon as "Keef" opened his mouth.

Here's a stunning statistic for you: Michael Philip Jagger is 440 days older than I am.

Trans Siberian Orchestra at the Savvis Center, December 23, 2005

2005-12-25T08:02:00.000-08:00

We're not talking jingle-bell rock here, I'll tell you what. We're talking dangling-balls rock wrapped up in holly and tied with a bow (ouch!). The TSO was TWO DAYS AGO and still I can not grasp hold of that freight-train of an experience.

Dangling balls. The wet dream of any big league hitter. A curve that's supposed to drop but doesn't. It sits up there like an ample bosom in a push-up bra, just waiting for some action. Catch a buxom pitch and BOOM, score. If the Trans Siberian Orchestra were a baseball player, they'd be someone like Reggie Sanders (I'll miss him in our line-up for sure), who is able to spot a dangler from the spin on the seams and then capitalize on it. The dangler in question last Friday? Christmas rock.

You can talk all you want about Mannheim Steamroller. They were the Jackie Robinson of the big touring Christmas Rock Extravaganza. But what I saw on Friday wasn’t as sissified as the Steamroller. Unlike them, who sound like the Moody Blues on Ex-Lax, the Trans-Siberian Orchestra were raised on Led Zep, Metallica, Heart and Sheryl Crow. They had fifteen people working for them full time, including, in no particular order, a hot British lady on electric violin, a handsome lead guitarist who played a Jackson Flying V, three sexy backup singers, a kick-ass drummer, a bassist who kept to the back – where bassists are supposed to be – but provided enough bottom end to tow the whole boat.

On this night, TSO were in top form. They’ve been doing this for years now, and by the time December 23 rolled around in St. Louis, they had mastered the set. Catching them at this point is akin to seeing a great baseball team in the first game of a world series: they’ve had the entire season to prepare themselves, to learn each others’ strengths and weaknesses, to devise a strategy. They were firing on all cylinders, hitting choruses like Clemens hits the outside corner of the plate. They quoted Yes’s “Roundabout,” moved from Tchaikovsky’s “Nutcracker” – OH MY GOD if you haven’t heard classical music on wailing electric guitar, you have’t heard classical music!!! – to Led Zeppelin’s “Rock ‘n Roll. They were so tight you could bounce a penny on them.

Oh Christmas! Oh Trans-Siberian Orchestra.

And we were in the FRONT ROW. We could see the twinkle in the back-up singers’ eyes. We laughed with them. We cried with them. We didn’t dance. We don’t dance. But we understood the feeling. We understood Christmas. We felt the rock. The Christmas Rock.

TRANS-SIBERIAN ORCHESTRA tomorrow night!

2005-12-22T12:33:00.000-08:00

OMG I'm about to jump out of my cleats. Tomorrow night is Trans-Siberian Orchestra at the Savvis Center in St. Louis. I can not wait. What is xmas w/o TSO? Not much. Look at the numbers: $16 million in ticket sales in 2004. That same year they sold more than a million copies of their latest recording, "Christmas Eve and Other Stories." Last year's tour was, according to Rolling Stone magazine, one of the Top 20 money-making tours. That's a lot of money. Toss in the merchandising and I'd say TSO founder Paul O'Neill (not to be mistaken with the former treasury secretary who once traveled to Africa with the amazing Bono of U2) has got a pretty good gig here. Let's just hope he doesn't fudge it up tomorrow night.

We diehards call ourselves Siberians. Kind of like Buffett fans call themselves Parrotheads. Some Siberians structure their whole xmases around these shows. Last year's show kicks some high holy ass.

One good thing is that the concert's on home turf. I'll be able the weasel my way anywhere in the place. Fewer people know Tony La Russa in Seattle, so sometimes it's tough. But I know a few ushers at the Savvis. Ushers are not like umpires. Ushers can be bought and sold. Grease a few palms, next thing you know you're standing at the side of the stage watching Whitesnake kick out the fucking jams. The whitesnake is a beautiful snake. And David Coverdale straddlnig a mic stand is like watching Bob Gibson's stroke when he throws a slider. It's this thing to behold, a perfect melding of graceful physicality, ritual and consistency. Sorry for the diversion. I just think Whitesnake rocks. So does Bob Gibson. So does TSO!

I CAN NOT WAIT FOR TSO TOMORROW NIGHT! THIS IS GOING TO BE AN EXCELLENT XMAS!

tony

Tony LaRussa does not pick fights

2005-12-16T06:42:00.000-08:00

People ask me about religion all the time. I'm not much of a church goer. I'm more into Buddhism. Because of this, I'm more of a lamb than a lion. But I have to draw the line somewhere, and that line is right on the opposite side of Ted Nugent. Now, when I was younger and the Nuge was more about rocking than he was about killing harmless little creatures, I rocked "Wango Tango" and "Wang Dang Sweet Poontang" just like any other woman loving man. But when he started putting bullets through squirrels' heads, I got fed up. Pick on someone your own size, Nuge-nuts. Sign this petition. Get the bastard off the air.

http://www.petitiononline.com/noabuse4/petition.html

Private to Ted Nugent: I challenge you to a fight anywhere, anytime, any place. I'll even come to Detroit if it means wiping that kitten-eating grin off your face.

Tuesday, December 13: Iron & Wine and Calexico.

2005-12-14T09:07:00.000-08:00

People ask me a lot about the fans, and how they affect the players on the field. Most people say that a home crowd is a blessing, and usually it is. We got great fans in St. Louis, I'll tell you what. But take for example the participatory crowd "wave," where people stand and sit in unison.

When the crowd gets a good "wave" going around the stands, it's distracting. We get excited by the beauty of collective thinking. We're human. So when Mulder's on the mound, the pitch count's at 2-2 and all the sudden 50,000 people are participating in a wave, it's distracting for him. His heart starts pumping a little harder, and he tends to over-throw the ball. If you pay attention to successful waves and their affect on pitchers, you'll see a connection. More batters are walked during waves than during stillness. It is a fact.

Why am I talking about waves on Card Carrying Rocker, a rock blog?

Last night on a whim I decided to forego Krieger and Manzarek in SF and hit STL for some soft rock: Iron & Wine and Calexico at Mississippi Nights. The crowd had a detrimental effect on the concert. They kept shhhing and shushing every time a rumble of human voices arose. The shushes far outweighed the noise, and was more distracting to the bands than the noise itself.

Soft rock. What do we do about soft rock? Where do we put it? In a place like Mississippi Nights, crowds are have been Pavlov-ed into whooping it up. Whooping it up and Iron & Wine do not mix. Iron & Wine, despite having a full band, play quiet rock. They have nuance. Beer and nuance do not mix. Statistics have shown that the more beer a bar sells during a concert, the higher the decibal output. The higher the decibal output, the louder people have to talk, which raises the decibals, and so on and so forth. Then the band starts playing louder, and then what? Louder still.

I say we separate soft rock, which isn't really rock & roll, but simply gently ampified folk music. Put it in theaters or concert halls. Then the white-collars can enjoy their lite rock away from us, the real rockers.

Bob Dylan pulled a clever trick at his 1965 Manchester Hall concert -- the infamous "Judas!" show. As the rumbling and catcalling gave way to foot stomping and rabble-rousing, Dylan decided on a clever strategy. Between songs, he started mumbling really low. Quiet, almost a whisper. No one could hear what he was saying. He kept going, whisper whisper whisper. The crowd, confused, wanted to hear what he was saying. So they got quiet, and then quieter, until the room was a hush. Genius move on Dylan's part because it's counter-intuitive.

Now that's rock & roll.

Monday, December 12: A Day That Will Live in Infamy

2005-12-13T11:25:00.000-08:00

I'm going to depart from routine here for a moment, so please bear with me. Departing from routine does not come easy for me. Routine stands as the bedrock that makes Tony Tony. Tony departing from routine constitutes an oxymoron akin to a "retarded poodle" or a "worthless single-malt scotch".

Finally, a caveat to anyone who reads this: It's not going to be pretty. (Note to parents of small children: Swearing alert!)

I hadn't intended to post today -- never any decent rock shows on Mondays, anyway. And besides, I was feeling low. Figured I'd spend a quiet evening with the dogs and Michael McDonald's The Ultimate Collection, a topnotch CD from the folks at Rhino (who, I might add, are among the top 3% of record companies -- which is to say they're the solid, reliable Mike Matheny of record companies, as opposed to, say, the nonpareil Carlton Fisk of record companies).

I could listen to "I Keep Forgettin' (Every Time You're Near)" every single day for the rest of my life and never tire of it. The man's a genius. But by Track 12 ("It Keeps You Runnin'"), I just couldn't take it anymore.

Matt Morris -- my Matt Morris -- a San Francisco Giant? Fuckety fuck fuck fuck fuck!

Alright. That's over and done with. Time to "turn the page". Tomorrow night: Ray Manzarek and Robbie Krieger's Riders on the Storm rock the Fillmore. You know where I'll be.

Neil Diamond, Sunday, December 11, St. Louis, MO, Savvis Center

2005-12-13T09:06:00.000-08:00

One out of four attendees had a Christmas sweater on. That's 5,000 Christmas sweaters in one building. I wonder what the world record is. Christmas sweaters are like alternate road uniforms. The only black guy in the arena was Neil's conga man. But Bob Costas was there in a black leather jacket, which atoned for that deficiency. Sort of. There's only one word to describe Neil's performance: professional. I suspect he didn't sing "Solitary Man" because he's more of a team player in his advanced age. But he sang just about everything else, including my personal favorite, "Love on the Rocks." Women still swoon at the sight of Sir Neil, who's got to be in his sixties. Granted, he's a good-looking man, but he gives off a sexual energy I haven't really witnessed since I managed Edgar Renteria. Few people know that I attended this concert with an endangered baby mountain lion on leash. When Neil did his "Johnathan Seagull Suite," there were pictures of birds on jumbo screens on either side of the stage. There were also bird emblems on Neil's acoustic guitar. Cherry, cherry. My mountain lion went berserk at the sight of the birds, so we had to put him down. Lesson learned: Never take a baby mountain lion to a Neil Diamond show. Which begs the question: What about an adult mountain lion? Could he look at the bird pictures without wanting to attack Neil's guitar? I'm not sure I'm going to give myself -- or the lion -- a chance to find out.

The Moody Blues, Sunday, November 13, Oakland, California, Paramount Theatre.

2005-12-08T09:19:00.000-08:00

Concert number five. I'm as nauseated as I've ever been. I have a terrible headache. My head is pounding. I feel like throwing up, and I'm having trouble swallowing. And the beauty of it is, you want to feel like this every day. After doing this for three decades, I'm starting to understand aspects of the music that once baffled me — like how many minutes to take between second and third encores for maximum Bic lighter-age, or where to position the keyboardist onstage in relation to the bassist and drummer. Tonight, I took some excellent LSD during "Nights in White Satin" because I wanted to peak during "Ride My See-Saw," and they always play that six songs — fifty-four minutes — later. I know these things. I predict outcomes based on past performance. Still, the magic remains at the center of it all. Four guys rocking. Each working in relation to the others. A machine. A unit. Beautiful. Just beautiful rock & roll.

Jethro Tull, Friday, November 11, Oakland, California, Paramount Theatre.

2005-12-08T09:18:00.001-08:00

Is there a more beautiful picture in all of rock & roll than flutist Ian Anderson, posing in a one-legged, foot-on-calf stand while tearing it up on the flute? The flute: In most hands, it's a utility instrument. In Anderson's hands, it's a mighty piece of steel. Know what it is? Foot position. Without a sturdy center, he's falling straight over. Fingers can't fly if he's unbalanced. Before Jimmy Page takes the violin bow to the Les Paul, he better have a consistent stance.

Def Leppard and Bryan Adams, Thursday, November 10, Sacramento, California, Arco Arena.

2005-12-08T09:18:00.000-08:00

Song position. People ignore it, but I say you can't. Def Leppard played "Bringin' on the Heartbreak" in the eighth position tonight. That was odd. What's Joe Elliott up to? 78 percent of the time, Leppard follows "Heartbreak" with "Pour Some Sugar on Me." Pay attention to those numbers. You have to know, for example, that 97 percent of the time Journey follows "Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin'" with "City of the Angels." The numbers are higher for Queen and "We Will Rock You" and "We Are the Champions." I don't want to miss "Pour Some Sugar on Me."

The problem? I shotgunned three beers in the parking lot, and that was an hour and 23 minutes ago. I have no idea when that song's going to come now. I will need to piss in eight minutes, potentially during my favorite Leppard song. Based on percentages — and experience — I'm better able to predict outcome, and thus better able to know the best time to urinate. Unless it's a Springsteen concert. Then all bets are off.

U2, Wednesday, November 9, Oakland, California, Oakland Arena.

2005-12-08T09:17:00.000-08:00

I'm a little worried about tonight. Larry Mullen looks to have a bad ankle. Without a steady ankle, rocking the kick-drum over the course of a 22-song set can wear Mullen down. A bum ankle on the drummer means more work for bassist Adam Clayton, who has to pick up the slack. On a song like "(Pride) In the Name of Love," bass drives Bono to take it higher. You need bass. The kicker? Clayton cut his thumb yesterday — drunken car-door slam — so he's going to have a hard time pounding the B-note. What's "Pride" without a heavy B? How does this affect Bono? What about the Edge?

Paul McCartney, Monday, November 7, San Jose, California, HP Pavilion

2005-12-08T09:15:00.000-08:00

Unlike those surrounding me at concerts who lose themselves completely, I remain Tony LaRussa during a kickass concert. I may nod my head or tap my foot, but I don't dance. I can't afford to. Sure, I've studied McCartney. I've got his Portland setlist memorized. I know that he jammed "Blackbird," and that he's done that song nine times in the past twelve shows. But he didn't play it at Anaheim earlier in the week. What does this mean? If I start dancing, I might miss some subtle cue that will hint at the future direction of the concert. Plus, it's not just about tonight. It's the whole week of rock. If I blow my wad tonight, what shape am I going to be in for Tull?