She & Him Cruise Through Nashville Debut

Ordinarily, the "actress teams up with indie rocker to pursue music career" might elicit two disparate reactions - yawns or laughs.

Just ask Scarlet Johansson.

But anyone who sweltered through Wednesday's sold-out She & Him show at the Mercy Lounge knows that actress Zooey Deschanel's foray into songwriting territory is no Lohan-esque joke.

Just ask Jack White and his entourage.

With M. Ward ("Him") in tow, Deschanel evoked the best of late 60's/early 70's singer-songwriters, and her country-tinged songs felt at home on the Nashville stage.

Taken out of the sometimes sparse production of their album, Volume One, songs like "This is Not a Test" and "Sentimental Heart" suited the live setting better.

"Sweet Darlin," however, would flat out rock wherever it is performed .

Minus a new song and a strong take on the Carter Family's "Hello Stranger" in the encore, the set came straight from Volume One (backup vocalist Becky Stark took the spotlight for one song).

Having just seen an amazing performance from Ward at Chicago's Pitchfork Festival, I was surprised how easily he slid into the sideman's niche to let Deschanel channel her muse and lead the band. Without that previous fix, I might have griped about the lack of Ward solo material in the set.

But aside from the shortness of the set, gripes are few for She & Him's first stop in Nashville. Should She & Him's partners find time for a Volume 2, don't expect a return visit to the Mercy Lounge; before they even arrived, they were too big for those confines.

Deschanel aptly demonstrated that if she drops her day job, she won't lack for work in music.

****

Maybe this should become a Nashville tradition - any show with a hipster-drawing headliner should have a country legend as an opener. She & Him landed Country Music Hall of Famer Charlie Louvin, still spry in his eighties and eager to talk about the ladies attractive or otherwise.

While admitting his voice was not at its best, Louvin and company ran through a handful of his songs and some country standards in a 45-minute blast that balanced out the newness of She & Him.

"Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May"

Enjoy this glimpse, because the 'do you see has been dispatched to the Isle of Misfit Hairstyles.

The Nashville summer is too humid to keep hair this long anymore. It's more hair-bomb than hairdo, expanding outward for every minutes I spend outdoors.

Lest any doth protest my decision to chop it down,
it's already gone. I'm no Bond villain, revealing my scheme before hatching it. I wouldn't go to the stylist if I thought there was any chance if disruption.

However, this does not mean a return to the prep school cut of 29-plus years. The infamous headshot and I shall never cross paths.

Once my hair outgrew that awkward "bushy" stage where no slick of hair gel could hold it in place, I could not turn around. Because I still have nightmares about that headshot.

Christmas Season for Political Reporters

All America, the rumors drive the news. Any politician appear with Obama or McCain instantly garners vice presidential speculation.

Obama could appear with some disgraced pol like Robert Torricelli or Larry Craig (although that might help him carry Idaho - and potentially Minnesota) and the press would still bombard him with VP questions. He dodged everything vice presidential that Tom Brokaw threw at him on Sunday. McCain does the same.

Nominees are never more guarded. Everyone has their own blueprints for constructing the perfect running mate, but two people earn that decision every four years. Does McCain have to chose someone much younger? Not really. Nominating a woman makes more sense - Alaska's Sarah Palin or Connecticut's Jodi Rell, for example - than a Romney, the ideal Republican pick for Democrats nationwide.

Should Obama pick someone to soothe the Clintonistas thinking about throwing the election to give their pick a shot at the 2012 nomination? No, he might gain Pennsylvania by choosing Ed Rendell -the Republicans aren't running Lynn Swann this time. Clinton friend Wesley Clark has never been more than the great white-haired hype. He needs gravitas on the ticket to even out his ever-expanding cult of personality before the campaign's hubris starts turning off voters.

My two cents (3.5 Euro cents): Obama won't get Chuck Hagel, but he only hurts himself by picking someone other than former Georgia Senator Sam Nunn. By betting on Nunn, I'm just setting myself up for disappointment with the actual choice.

We have a pulse (again)

Noise emanates from the mystery closet again. With the blowoff tube steadily pushing CO2 out and the cat unable to avert his aloof gaze from the door, the sophomore batch from Bad Town Brew Works is rolling toward consumption.

I went with an oatmeal stout this time. Reports that I will infuse it with three pounds of fresh blueberries during the secondary fermentation could not be confirmed at press time.

Working with actual grains for the first time change the complexion of the process. For all the different malts at work, four ounces of toasted flaked oats changes everything. This stout takes 8 pounds of dried malt extract, a huge proportion. These gallons could have been a strong export stout, but one small addition amplifies the flavor.

The recipe says to wait at least three months before drinking this one. With my fervor for fermented beverages somewhat diminished and the expected 8 percent alcohol by volume we expected for this oatmeal stout, it holds a decent chance of appearing around the holidays.

But for now, I only have bubbles in a glass jar from five gallons of undrinkable, night-black sludge.

So I can only turn out the lights, and let the hungry yeast have its way with the stout.

Blowing up your electoral map

Obama spends Independence Day in Montana. McCain opens offices in California.

In the last two, maybe four, presidential cycles, the electoral map has gone this way - a patch of automatic Democratic pickups on the east and west coasts with some penetration around the Great Lakes, Republication domination in the Deep South, Great Plains and Mountain states, then a handful of Midwestern contests to determine who hits the magic figure of 270.

Not this time. Obama beat Clinton by targeting the caucus states and places like Idaho, Maine and Montana with minimal electoral votes. But he made the math - win big in the small states and keep it close in the big ones. McCain performed better outside his party's bastions, picking up California and states which don't usually go Republican in November.

I don't expect Obama to overcome the 20-margin of Bush victory and take Montana's 3 electoral votes, nor will McCain take home the biggest prize of all in California.

But the demographics have change, putting Colorado and New Mexico in the toss-up column,
the Rust Belt states and my Ohio home teetering in the balance more than ever, your map will be a little more colorful. We can discount their home states, which might fall into play under different opponents. With Bob Barr as the Libertarian nominee, an Obama pick of former Sen. Sam Nunn, a foreign policy whiz, for VP would put the conservative Peach State in play.

So blow up the map. The "what ifs" make politics fun, not the mindless attack ads and wedge issues upon which no candidate ever really acts. We care more about vice president when we cannot see who might get the nod. Everyone thought George W. might pick a dynamic young Republican; the air left his sails when he went with a dictatorial retread. Edwards was the easy pick for Kerry, but it came from a mile away. There's genuine surprise this time - unless McCain goes with the mean-spirited charlatan who dogged him during the primaries.

I want to see a new balance of power on the electoral map, and with these two leading their parties, I might get more than the usual coastal blues and the red blob at the heart of the continent.

Never Fear, America - the Belgians Won't Make Anheuser-Busch Beers Taste Good

With Anheuser-Busch's sale to Belgian-Brazilian conglomerate InBev, panic has set in.

How could foreigners dare buy that symbol of American brewing might?

Given my beer snobbishness, I'd show greater concern if InBev launched a buying spree of American microbreweries. Given the brands in their portfolio, A-B's 12 giant American breweries fit like a glove - albeit, a water-down one with little respect for malt or hop character.

Considering the company stole its Budweiser name from a flavor Bohemian pilsner sold here as Czechvar - which is too much symbol of Czech pride to be sold - I like the irony of a country known for great beer buying a brewer that's been dumbing down American taste buds more than 150 years.

Does the purchase represent the end of an era? Of course. All eras end. But don't hold up Bud Light as the shining beacon of American brewing. Barring bottle conditioning - causing the cloudiness that A-B and SABMiller have derided in commercials - local beer is always better and fresher.

A-B's beers are the result of mass production. Drink them if you like them, but until Jim Koch or Fritz Maytag sell out to InBev, I'm not worrying about American brewing.

Just Look Them Straight in the Eye - The Best Box in Years

Finally, it has been delivered - the box set I awaited for 15 years, a five-disc celebration of everything Pogues.

After all the hunting for import singles and rare compilations, I expected a single disc, not 100-plus tracks, of which I barely owned a handful.

More importantly, Just Look Them Straight in the Eye and Say ... Pogue Mahone contains every Pogue rarity I ever wanted, live tracks galore, compilation/soundtrack contributions and quietly exposes the best songs of Shane MacGowan's solo years as second-rate rewrites of unreleased Pogues songs.

Finally, the best Irish-rock band of all time gets the set it deserves. (Sorry U2, you four lads are a rock band from Ireland, not an Irish-rock band. Big difference. You make more money by putting the "rock" first.)

Easily the best box set since Tom Waits three-disc Orphans, Just Look Them Straight in the Eye ... illuminates a band many wrote off as an Eighties novelty consumed by the alcohol that fueled them.

Three live tracks from their 1991 tour with Joe Strummer as their temporary lead singer include takes on "London Calling" and "I Fought the Law," the former of which I craved ever since viewing Live at the Town and Country VHS back in college.

The band was never shy about filling out its records with punked-up takes on Irish traditional songs, but they often shied away from overexposed tunes. They given hearty renditions of "The Rocky Road to Dublin" and Danny Boy" here, Pogue-ifying them exceptionally.

With a snippet tacked into "South Australia, "The Kerry Polka" will be familiar to If I Should Fall From Grace With God fans. Hearing the accordion-heavy instrumental flesh out demonstrates the band's musical prowess at its late 1980's peak.

The demo of "Thousands are Sailing" with Philip Chevron's clean Irish vocals replacing MacGowans' barroom slurs reveals an unknown beauty to the song; it was bewildering they didn't let their guitarist take the mic more often.

The later live tracks from a 2001 reunion tour might be the weakest point due solely to MacGowan's rotten gums - odds are even that he's soused when singing, and what should be a great medley of "The Parting Glass" and "Lord Santry's Fairest Daughter" falls prey to marble-mouthed verses.

The set graces us with three demos of their best known track in America, "Fairytale of New York;" while hardly essential they trace the song's evolution into a Christmas breakup song for the ages. For those of us burned out on those verses, Disc 5 includes a strong batch of collaborations with the late Kirsty MacColl.

The last disc closes with a final surprise, an unlisted version of "Goodnight Irene." Before that, almost every classic Pogues tune turns up in alternate form, whether B-Side, Peel Session, live cut or demo. These unreleased versions serve as solid surrogates, so even the casual fan could pick up this set without needing the album versions (not that casual fans of any artist drop $60 on a box set).

Philip Chevron's fun liner notes indicate the archives are filled with many more tracks that suitable for public consumption. This is the cream of the crop, and this cream tops off one luxurious pint of pure Pogues.

For as much as they encourage me, I can't shout "Pogue Mahone" at anyone involved in this collection. But I'll happily shout it toward anyone who listens to this chronicle and still tries to write the Pogues off as a rock novelty.

This Just In ... Phil Gramm is Correct (Sort of)

See how quickly John McCain distanced himself from economic adviser/former Texas Senator Phil Gramm and those comments he made the other day?

It was a dead sprint, even by political standards.

Now, doctorate in economics or not, I disagree with almost everything this slow-talking Texan says. By the technical definition, we might not be in a recession. But between gas, food - and for house-flippers and adjustable rate mortgage crowd, lodging - people are facing tougher odds out there. Even for those used to living on tiny paychecks - ahem, reporters - it's a struggle.

Gramm also referred to Americans "whiners." I have no problem with that. Hell, it's about time someone let it out.

He left out soft, hypocritical, impatient and unable to take criticism. They buy a gas-guzzler, and when gas prices skyrocket, complain about complain about the burden it places on their 80-mile one-way commute. They want the price of everything to stay permanently fixed. They can't handle bad news. They can't understand why a developer doesn't want to leave an empty field the way it is, or why a facility to help the underprivileged would dare to move into their neighborhood, and not into the ghetto.

I'm glad someone wasn't afraid to use "whiners" and "American" in the same sentence.

Hence, the Straight Talk Express gunning its motor the hell away from Gramm.

Sports, sports, sports, sports

First, the business about C.C. - he was going anyway, so the Indians were better off to get a haul of prospects from a playoff contender and reorient themselves toward 2009.

The Indians are dead in the water. Don't be surprised if the team weathers 100 losses this year.

Some days I just wish I could turn off my Cleveland fandom. I don't trust the skinflint owners, the management team which did nothing in the offseason, and the manager's lack of fire. But I can't escape my love for the Tribe.

Now, back to the sports moment I wanted to write about.

If you missed all of it, call it your unlucky day. Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer gave tennis fans yet another epic finals battle at Wimbledon. Clay court master Nadal finally chased the grass bogeyman by winning a five-set beauty over five-time returning champion Federer.

I watched the first sets before rain sent the players scurrying for cover. After returning from my Sunday bike ride, I caught the final set as night fell on London.

I felt immensely sorry for Rainer Schuettler, ranked 94th in the world, for reaching the Wimbledon semifinals and having to face Nadal, the eventual champion. He really had no chance. When Federer and Nadal are still playing, it's almost an inevitability that they will collide in the finals. There's no room for Cinderella stories.

The pre-match interviews should be shelved if NBC announcers continue to cough up awful questions like the ones they dropped on Nadal before his match with Schuettler.

Then he closed it with "Enjoy your afternoon." W.T.F.

Nadal is headed off to a tennis grudge match, and this clod gives him a valediction fitting a lazy afternoon in the park. Even the booth announcers ripped on that spurt of idiocy.

Nadal and Federer have a tough time topping Sunday's marathon effort, but they'll meet again under similar conditions.

Next time they clash, take my advice - watch. This could be one of the great rivalries in all of sports.

Rustic radio (Sounds Like 1926...)

CD 101 and its trend-ridden playlist long ago winked into the static - even the Louisville stations had submerged into gibberish. The iPod battery cells were spent, and truckers angered by my refusal to budget from 70 mph whistled by.

Clearly, I needed a new soundtrack.

Elizabethtown delivered.

The town, not the Cameron Crowe movie.

From my pre-sets I stumbled upon 90.0 FM and a pile of old 78s courtesy of "Old Scratchy Records." Pre-Depression tunes. They piled on the fun tunes from another era, performed by anonymous musicians more relevant than the detritus pouring from the Ohio River signals I just endured. (How many times can a different station play "Waiting for the World to Change"? Enough to challenge the sturdiest gag reflex.)

This music came from Greil Marcus' Strange Old America and the Alan Lomax's heyday, a time when genres played less importance - the walls between blues, country and folk host had been built yet. They all mixed together in the early days of radio, Nolen Porterfield pointed out.

I listened till the signal gave out somewhere near Central Time Zone's border. It was a refreshing change from the fire sermons and pop-country rooted in America's rural radio garden.
So should you ever find yourself drifting through Kentucky on a Sunday afternoon, put the mp3s out to pasture, and fire up the old antenna for a dose of the old vinyl.

We can all stand a dose of the 1920's on occasion - not to mention a break from the segregation of genres.

First it Boils, Then It Ages

Here's a flimsy secret that needed to be busted open - my first batch of beer has aged to drinkability.

The Bad Town Brewery's Bavarian Beginner is filling the bottom level of my pantry, while its savory summer wheat flavor fill my gut on these hot evenings.

Due to shortages of the necessary Hallertau hops for the true Bavarian hefeweizen you know, the one with the banana-orange-clove flavor - a better name might be Bastard Bavarian Beginner, since it tastes substantially different.

The flavor veers northward to Belgium, coming closer to a lighter red ale than I expected. The wheat malt is strongly present, and the Cascade hops shove it further away from the expected style.

But it passed the biggest test - I didn't have to pour it out. Fitting a style bears less importance than its drinkability, and it goes down smoothly.

Now I have begun plotting the next batch, likely to boil within two weeks. I have a glass carboy to accompany my primary fermentation bucket, so I can go for a trickier recipe that involves a secondary fermentation.

I already nabbed my first ingredient - several pounds of blueberries.

Puttin' on the Dog at the Ohio Theatre: Finally, Tom Waits Plays Columbus

The giddiness and borderline euphoria of the announcement had only grown since May.

Tom Waits. First-ever Columbus show. Saturday of Comfest weekend. Tickets gone in 20 minutes. Two in my hands. Who cares if I saw him in Louisville in August 2006? The choices this time were my home of eight years, Knoxville or Alabama.

After an alcohol-fueled prologue and nine people piled into a mini-van, the ticket lines of 2006 were no more. From a side entrance to the Ohio Theatre, our wait to enter lasted all of 15 seconds. A merch table actually filled the lobby this time, albeit Waits' idea of tour T-shirts were lithographs of his photography of oil stains on concrete (yeah, I bought one - he did take it in Long Beach).

The concentrated Comfest crowd never materialized inside the Ohio - this was an older bunch, and one that traveled long ways to see Waits. He came no closer to the East Coast than Columbus, so Waits fans flocked our way. The guy who bought my extra ticket spotted Steve Buscemi while visiting some friends seat further down. Celebrity sightings can be easily mistaken, but Steve Buscemi at a Tom Waits concert? That couldn't sound more appropriate.

Of course, some later arrivals in our row definitely came from Comfest; the boyfriend couldn't placate his overly drunk girlfriend, and she couldn't control the loudness of her voice. They left after 30 minutes. Why someone goes overboard with the booze when they've spent $90-plus on a ticket escapes me. Aside from the drunken hipsters, I'd rendezvous with these strangers anytime.

As with other shows, Waits began by impeccably splicing together "Lucinda" and Leadbelly's "Ain't Going Down to the Well. " As is Wait's tradition, many songs sound nothing similar to their studio counterparts; played live, this smooth beast had lost its overly rough edges, becoming a better song in the process. He chased the medley down with "Way Down in the Hole" and "Falling Down," a powerhouse rarity driven by the depths of Waits' wounded bellow.

Waits' Summer '08 jaunt featured a different band set-up than in 2006. His son Casey assumed all the drumming duties this time Steady Larry Taylor thumped on the upright bass but new to the fold were keyboardist Patrick Warren, guitarist Omar Torrez and woodwind player Vincent Henry.

The woodwinds broadened the sound from the last tour, allowing some interesting diversions through songs forced into straighter rock arrangements in Louisville.

From his sandy riser amidst his band, Waits performed a magic act, effortlessly jumping through genres and moods, going silly, sublime, sweet, suffering and back without an awkward step. Case in point - how many artists can move through "All the World is Green," "Chocolate Jesus and "Cemetery Polka" then leap into the 10-minute "Sins of My Father?" This being Waits, you know he'll jump back to a fun romp like "Big in Japan" just as quickly.

Tracks from Real Gone, Waits' last proper studio album, an uneven effort at best, came out with new arrangements and a better coat of paint. "Hoist That Rag" and "Make it Rain" both thrived in a new sitting.

The ballads were easy choices, yet still inspired - "Innocent When You Dream," and "Lost in the Harbour" the lone offering from Alice.
He slightly slowed down the rollicking "Lie to Me," stripping away the song's frantic beat yet preserving its lyric power.

Waits made room for some dirges, too, with "Misery is the River of the World" and the most depressing number of all, "Dirt in the Ground" from Bone Machine.

Emerging for an encore, Waits toured through "Jesus Gonna Be Here," "Eyeball Kid" and finished with the sentimental "House Where Nobody Lives."

After seeing earlier setlists featuring "Rain Dogs," "Anywhere I Lay My Head" and the gospel ballad "Come On Up to the House," I had slightly different hopes. There wasn't a weak spot I could eyeball, but illogically hoped for more music from 20-year old albums. Ending there would have sealed the Columbus show as a solid #2 to the Louisville show.

But he hustled out again and armed with an acoustic guitar, I knew what was coming, the one song I wanted above all others ... "Time." Deeply emotional and sporting some of the richest lyrics in his oeuvre, he whispered and growled his way through.

After that, don't ask about Louisville vs. Columbus ... the closer turned it into a toss-up. The bands and circumstances were too different.

Besides, I'm ready to travel to any stage where Tom Waits rests his mirror-ball derby and police bullhorn.