Soreness is the Natural State

Thanks to a rough pair of Boot Camps, I can barely straighten my arms. Only when bent at 90 degrees or less does the pain diminish. But I won't be held back.

Nashville's weather has hit an all-time low for me. We just broke a streak of 12 90-degree degrees, the longest for June in 21 years. With humidity in the oppressive range, an hour or two in the elements was enough to drain away my energy most days.

Here's a glimpse of how that's impacted me - our first day of "dry" heat was yesterday, which also marked the first time in 2009 I rode my bicycle anywhere. Last summer, I frequently felt as if I were just dragging the bicycle beneath me - this is partly my fault for going with a mountain bike instead of a road bike, but coordination like mine requires wide tires.

A couple of miles at sunset was just the tonic I needed to endure this bike-unfriendly burg (in West Nashville, bicycle lanes are generally treated as on-street parking). If you're not out by 6 a.m., the heat and traffic make the ride untenable. That just won't fly in Melville country.

Your Friendly Neighborhood Beer Guru (Finally,I'm Getting Paid For This)

Well, friends and foes, I finally made it to the job high-class alcoholism and voluminous beer knowledge destined for me.

I started selling booze part-time at the first wine & spirits store I visited in Nashville. At its beer corner, I made friends with the owner, also an Ohioan. A beer tasting and dozens of nights jawing about alcohol followed.
When Job #1's pay stayed flat for 2009, I made some overtures about picking up some hours. The manager seemed pleasantly shocked. When my friend Josh departed from the store, I inquired again, and now I've switched sides of the counter.

Thanks to Nashville’s arcane liquor laws (I’ll explain in a moment), the wine & spirits stores led to my new second job. I haven’t worked two jobs at once since my days covering Hilliard then running to the Easton Barnes & Noble, but I’m looking forward to this one. Two weeks into this job, I already feel I can bluff my way through a wine conversation.

However, ask me about food pairings, then the facade quickly cracks and crumbles.

About this liquor laws: Tennessee, in its infinite wisdom, classifies any beverage above 6.1 percent alcohol by volume as spirituous in nature. Any beer 0.1% above that threshold falls under the jurisdiction of the wine & spirits. So there is some need for a beer guy in a Tennessee liquor store. Otherwise, I probably wouldn't have cut it - I haven't drank more than a glass of hard liquor in years, and my wine knowledge is almost totally restricted to reds.

These stores are devoted to high alcohol and nothing else – no corkscrews, no logo glasses, no mixers, no drink stirs, no beer cozies and don’t even think about a gift bag for a wine bottle.Grand Cru carries booze and nothing else. No exceptions.

The advantage is I never have to see someone walk past a shelf of high caliber beers to pick up a cube of Gennesee Cream Ale or a 12-pack of Budweiser Select in the course of my shifts.

The disadvantage is the discount I now receive –after telling almost anyone about the new position, the amount of discount is the first question. No, I won’t give that out.

But it will sort itself out in short order. I theorize that the second job will sap my energy, leaving me without the need for a nightcap to lull me to sleep. So by working among all that alcohol, I will actually drink less.

Marvel’s Cap Announcement Much Ado About Nothing

So Marvel Comics, what was the point of the Monday release for Captain America 600 again?

Despite holding a media event to announce the return of Steve Rogers in Captain America: Reborn, Marvel didn’t bother to mention the actual issue its break with new comics’ Wednesday tradition in the press release. It sold enough copies for a second print, according to an overcooked press release with comments from gushing retailers.

The two retailers I frequent in Nashville both get their shipments once a week, and didn't alter their routine for a one-off publicity stunt. I bought two, but one went to a comic buddy who was away on business (I don't have the money to speculate on comics).

How much does Reborn have to do with issue 600? Very little. It’s just a jumping-off point. For a nice story about the anniversary of the original Captain America’s death, 600 is worth it. But it isn’t what Marvel billed.

In case you missed it, just two years after killing Captain America (Steve Rogers), Marvel is poised to trot the original article back out. I have to take issue with the press release stating, “At long last, the legend, the hero, is back.” How does two years turn into “at long last”?

Granted, “at long last” is a pretty nebulous statement of time, but dragging him from the grave so soon takes away from the shocking, visceral issue in which assassins’ bullets drop Cap on his way to trial following Marvel’s Civil War (superheroes drew up sides, Cap lost to Iron Man, plus many out-of-character moments). After cleverly rebuilt Captain America into a can’t-miss potboiler, writer Ed Brubaker delivered a gut-punch with the death issue.

Comic book deaths are always temporary. The death of James “Bucky” Barnes was considered an untouchable comic death until Brubaker came along and showed it could be done in a way that respected reader intelligence. Steve Rogers was always coming back –that I know.Editor Tom Brevoort said the method of return was established well before the death issue. I don't mind that they intended this, just what it might preempt.

Steve Rogers' death cleared the way for the Bucky Barnes to take up the shield, and Brubaker has told some amazing tales with the new Captain America (media coverage of Bucky’s ascent to the role was limited to his decision to carry a knife and pistol now).

What gets my bile boiling is Bucky Barnes got about 16 months as Cap. Because of his brainwashed past as the The Winter Soldier (it’s a long but compelling story), Brubaker opened up all manner of new stories that could only be told with this Captain America. His early missions revealed him as a different brand of Cap, always fighting with his own brand of patriotism. Anyone who read the new Cap wouldn't be waiting with baited breath for the old to return.

Media coverage of Captain America’s death in April 2007 caught the company off-guard. Issues flew off shelves as the mainstream media outlets picked up the news. The “Captain America returns” announcement got a few minutes of front-page attention at cnn.com, but little else.

Ultimately, issue 600 is subordinate to Captain America: Reborn. While Brubaker will writer Reborn, the choice of Bryan Hitch, an artist not known meeting deadlines, is a red flag for this series. Luckily, Cap won't cease production in the meantime; since there are many tales to tell with the new Cap, I'm glad to see his run will continue.

Apparently, it was always part of the story. With a Captain America film up in 2011, Marvel needs Steve Rogers back in the costume.

But the lead-handed way which Marvel chose to present “the big return” seemed to fly back in its face, no matter what the press releases claim.

No Longer Built for the Late-Night, Adrenaline-Fueled Drive

When the Wilco show let out, I had all the energy I needed for the 260-mile return voyage.

If I weren’t seeing double 150 miles later, I might have laughed at that earlier estimation. Granted, I wasn't quite seeing double, but some brand of trickery infected my eyes, and I couldn't have approached a rest area at a more opportune time.

Ten minutes into my attempted escape from downtown Cincinnati, it felt like a bad idea. The tangle of one-way streets sent me on multiple goose chases before I found a sign pointing to 71 South.

Long late-night drives are young man's game. 20-somethings can leave Richmond at 11 p.m. Saturday and push onward to Erie with little more than momentum. But 250 miles was just too much, and I too stubborn to admit it.

Wilco chose Cincinnati, so I was at their mercy. I could have gone to Bonnaroo; my argument for skipping is well-documented.

Light, sporadic fog sent in across the Ohio River Valley, covering the first 90 miles. It was a mild nuisance. Trying to pick out the unmarked Kentucky state troopers was a bit rougher, but at 72 mph, they easily outed themselves thanks to aggressive driving in pursuit of drunks – this stretch of road does include the Kentucky Speedway, after all.

But drifting through a dead Louisville around 1 a.m.began the drag on my driving skills. A curvy drive will keep someone in the game longer than they should, but between Louisville and Nashville, the hills roll gently. They sooth the solo driver in a way this solo driver did not need. Someone in the passenger seat makes all the difference.

I began to feel it at Elizabethtown and by the time the orange Tyrannosaurus Rex broke the monotony, my vision threatened to double every image. I stopped to guzzle a bottle of water, counting on the cold to shock my system.

I can’t remember falling asleep so fast in years.

Then again, it had been years since I’d undertaken such a late-night drive – the Neko Case concert in Cleveland was the last such trip, back when I could journey north any night of the week and coast into Columbus at 2 or 3 a.m. without fearing a late start at work.

But the difference between 120 miles and 250 miles is much more than driving distance. Plus, I didn't feel back to normal until Sunday morning, a little too long when life has grown so busy.

Wilco (The Concert) Well-Oiled For Tour Opener in Cinci

Down to the song, it wasn't hard to guess how Wilco  would open the U.S. leg of it summer tour. 

I doubt Wilco (The Song) will be the opener for the rest of the band's career, Jeff Tweedy's fan-saluting anthem has the chops to get the crowd worked up before the set enters more difficult territory. 

Now, a word about that crowd ... Bonnaroo probably changed the demographics a bit, since it appear much douchier than a typical Wilco show. Those who weren't pumping fists or flashing the horns were dancing out of sync while furiously texting. One row in front of us, some guy was actually rocking the high 1980s collar (Have I lived long enough for that fashion atrocity to come back into style? No, I haven't). 

But at a theater show, the crowd is of little consequence - I had my space and didn't have to fend off swaying general admission drunks. 

Wilco's sound works in theaters and festivals, so the Aranoff Center fit them Chicago rockers well.  Wilco (The Song) shifted to the fractured pop of I Am Trying to Break Your Heart seamlessly,  the Yankee Hotel Foxtrot track shedding none of its potency after seven years as a setlist mainstay. 

The selections came almost entirely from Yankee Hotel and beyond, with a trio of old staples making the cut - Misunderstood was the only sound of Being There, California Stars' Woody Guthrie lyrics and Shot in the Arm. 

While Wilco (The Album) leans too much on mid-tempos and never really lets loose, the songs work better live, the usual case with Wilco. Bull Black Nova fit snugly against Company in My Back, just as One Wing stormed into Handshake Drugs. With its wry "Come on children, you're acting like children" opening, You Never Know emerged as an early front-runner for top track on the new record (out later this month, but streaming and leaked everywhere a month ago). 

Spiders (Kidsmoke) seems to run longer every time I hear it, but the noisy improvisation of Tweedy, Nels Cline and multi-instrumentalist Pat Sansome broke up the epic tune with blast of Neil Young-influenced bliss. 

Tweedy's banter was sharp as usual, asking the front row if there were attending as part of their community service, and invited the crowd to come down to Tennessee with them (they were on Bonnaroo's Saturday schedule).

I'm glad I didn't announce I'd driven from Nashville. Tweedy asked about someone holding a sign declaring they drove from Chicago.  "Who cares? We drive all over," he spat out. 

It had been a few songs since Tweedy declared "Wilco will love you baby," but there was no reason to worry. A five-song encore (just one, defying my prediction of at least two returns to the stage) running through The Late Greats, Hate it Here, Walken and I'm the Man Who Loves You. The last is one of my least favorite Wilco songs, but in the live setting, the band's mix of percussive music and improv can elevate an unfavored tune. 

Ending energetically, Tweedy gently strummed some chords before the tore into I'm a Wheel. 

With barely a bow they split, but Wilco never goes through the motions - they were effusive with praising the crowd (except the front row and the Chicago visitor) and never faltered in their marathon 2-hour set. 

They might not play everyone's favorites - my Web site request for Hotel Arizona went unheeded. Fortunately, they don't know how to disappoint an audience, and never came close to that in the Queen City. 

Downloads Killed The Record Club

The warning signs about the health of mail-order record clubs had long been obvious.

BMG absorbed Columbia House – the world no longer had the need for competing clubs. Then BMG halted new memberships, a clearer sign of the end’s approach.

But this spring, BMG pulled the plug. With all the digital services out there and deals at the fingertips of any computer owner, the need for a club peddling a date music format was nil.

Still, nostalgia rushed in the moment I heard of BMG's fate.

It had been years since I tore open that package in the often-futile hopes of stringing together enough albums to get three, four and later six or seven albums for the cost of one. But my mother maintained the subscription – at Christmas or birthday times, she would offer to cover a package from BMG for old time’s sake. Besides, it saved her from having to hunt down music at the store or learning to navigate iTunes.

When the announcement came, I said, “One more for the road?” She agreed, and along with my sister, we burned off the last bonus points.

So the last trip to the BMG catalog went like this:

David Bowie, Heroes – This replaced a burned copy and finally finished my 1970s Bowie collection. It owes its greatness to the opening trifecta of Beauty and the Beast, Joe the Lion and Heroes.

Spinal Tap – No explanation necessary. I should have owned it a decade ago. But now I’m in Stonehenge, living with the banshees and doing it well.

Willie Nelson/Wynton Marsalis, Two Men With the Blues - Most Nelson albums are like this shows these days – short, sweet and no attempt to hide he’s going through the motions. Not this collaboration, his best since getting together with Ray Price and Merle Haggard. A true collaboration thanks to Marsalis' trumpet and vocals, Willie rarely has this much swing in his step anymore.

Townes Van Zandt, High Low and Inbetween/The Late Great Townes Van Zandt -How overdue was my plunge into the discography of the Texas songwriter? I couldn’t ask for a better introduction than these two records on one disc. It’s nice for Steve Earle to cover many of these songs, but they can’t touch what Van Zandt strung together.

The Three Pickers: Earl Scruggs/Doc Watson/Ricky Skaggs - A little bluegrass bliss reveals how far I’ve come since my BMG orders hinged on Pantera, Megadeth and Alice in Chains.

No BMG order was perfect. That’s how I built up my discographies of the Doors, Elton John, Bowie, Son Volt, Johnny Cash, Ryan Adams, Elliot Smith and a dozen others. You couldn’t beat those deals.

After Metallica’s Garage Days Re-revisited went out of print, Columbia House still had copies, and soon I had mine.

Of course, I probably traded in as many CDs as I kept from the clubs over the years. Not every record turns into a classic, and I outgrew most of the metal.

When I belonged to both services, I remember the occasional oddity changing my musical perceptions. An order for Houses of the Holy came with a copy of Presence substituted, with Columbia House imploring me to try it instead. It arrived on the last day of school in 1993, and when Achilles Last Stand roared to life from the stereo in Mom’s Toyota Previa, I was sold.

At the torrent sites, any album on the planet might lie a click away.

But I doubt the first blast of music off those digital files - even if it is Zeppelin through a car stereo - carries the same resonance.