Rock of ages

Watching legends get old, plus my weekly shareables: an iconic dog movie, a book of delights, and a power-pop classic

Before we get into the meat of the newsletter, some event reminders:

• I’m doing another SouthBound Live event March 28 at WFAE’s beautiful building in uptown Charlotte. We’ll be talking about the future of the city with planning director Alyson Craig, Charis Blackmon of the West Side Community Land Trust, and Monique Douglas of the Brooklyn Collective. Our first event was well-attended and enlightening. I know this one will be as well. Mash the button for tickets and info!

• I’m one of the featured authors at Zibby Owens’ retreat for book lovers in Asheville the weekend of April 12-14. It’s an awesome lineup. There are a handful of tickets left for the full experience (including hotel and meals) and also a few day passes (everything but the hotel). Mash the button to register!
  

• And don’t forget my book launch event April 23 at the McColl Family Theater at the ImaginOn library in Charlotte. It’s a beautiful venue and I can’t wait to celebrate with everyone. The event is free, but tickets are required. Mash the button for tickets!
  

Much more to come … but let’s get to this week’s essay.

---

---

The YouTube algorithm threw me this one—Bruce Springsteen showed up at John Mellencamp’s show in Newark the other night to sing “Pink Houses.” It’s a beautiful and bittersweet few minutes.

Two thoughts at the same time: Wow, those guys have brought me such joy over the years; man, they’re getting old.

I’ve seen so many Bruce shows where he sprinted around the stage, sweating like a horse, doing that James Brown bit where he collapses onstage and the band resurrects him for one more song. Not to mention his crotch slide into the camera at the Super Bowl.

I remember Mellencamp playing a fantastic live set at Farm Aid back in 1996 at Williams-Brice Stadium in Columbia. I was down on the field, and at the end of his set, he ripped apart his drummer’s kit and passed the drums out into the crowd. Later that night I saw a beaming kid toting the bass drum over his head. As rock show souvenirs go, that’s an all-timer.

Bruce is 74 now. John is 72. They’ve both been stars for close to half a century. This video was the first time I could really see the years.

John’s face is drawn and pinched. Bruce’s moves are awkward and stiff. They’re looking into the prompter for the lyrics, even though Bruce has heard “Pink Houses” a thousand times and John has sung it at least ten thousand. There will be no crotch slides on this night.

Rock and roll has been around for three or four generations now, but it’s still a little weird to see rock stars blow past their Medicare years. It started out as music for the young, and the newest sounds still are, but to me it’s now just as interesting to see how singers and bands adapt as their voices and bodies change. And as they write about different things than they did in their 20s.

I’m not saying it’s better. I’d still prefer to see these guys in their prime, and they’d probably prefer that, too. But now they provide a different kind of thrill … the thrill of a pitcher still trying to get batters out when his fastball is gone, or a beaten-up quarterback leading one last two-minute drill.

“Pink Houses” is similar to Bruce’s “Born in the U.S.A.” in that some fans sing the big chorus and don’t understand what the song is saying. “Pink Houses” is about the struggle to find happiness when your dreams die on the vine, and about how America is set up as a place where that kind of dying happens every day. John was young when he sang it but it’s really an old man’s song. There’s an extra layer of depth and richness to hear these two old men sing it, even though their lives have probably surpassed any dreams they ever had. That’s the miracle of art: No matter who makes it, the point is what it means to you.

My favorite part of the video is at the end. As the band goes into the breakdown, John grabs Bruce’s hand and they raise them together, like prizefighters who just went 15 rounds. Which I guess is sort of true. And I guess was the joy of seeing them out there in the first place.

---

---

10 things I wanted to share this week:

1. My earlier newsletter this week was about paying attention to the in-betweens.

2. This week’s guest on SOUTHBOUND was the delightful Alice Randall, the first black woman with a writing credit on a #1 country hit (Trisha Yearwood’s “XXXs and OOOs” from 1994). She’s got a new memoir coming out next month called MY BLACK COUNTRY, plus a companion album of her songs performed by black female artists with country roots.

3. My weekly for WFAE was about how maybe the public’s money should go toward supporting public schools.

4. Some more thoughts on aging from Anne Lamott, who does this sort of thing better than anyone. (Washington Post)

5. DOG NEWS: From now until DOGLAND comes out, I’m devoting this slot to dog stories. This week: RIP Joe Camp, who turned the BENJI movies into massive indie hits in the ‘70s and beyond. (NYT)

6. Two beautiful pieces from Charlotte magazine’s issue on the pandemic in retrospective: Michael Graff on finding space, and Jen McGivney on becoming comfortable with uncertainty.

7. Enid, Oklahoma, elected a white nationalist to its city commission. Now some folks are having second thoughts. (NBC News)

8. Finished two short books this week and they were both lovely. I bought Ross Gay’s THE BOOK OF DELIGHTS five years ago when he came to Charlotte for the library’s Verse & Vino fundraiser. I set it aside, like I do a lot of books, and didn’t find it again until just recently. It was just what I needed: a series of short essays on the small joys of life. Made me smile every day I read it.

9. Jeff Tweedy’s WORLD WITHIN A SONG is similar to Ross Gay’s book—mostly short essays, although not quite as many. They’re centered around the songs that have stuck with him through a lifetime of loving music, from “Smoke on the Water” to “Dancing Queen.” And yep, there’s a Spotify playlist.

10. One more musical note: RIP Eric Carmen. His solo hits (led by “All By Myself”) were not for me. But before that, as lead singer for the Raspberries, he made one of the great power-pop singles of all time with “Go All the Way.” I can hear the amino acids of Nirvana, the Pixies and Radiohead in here.
    

    
    

    
    
    

    Have a great week, everybody.