(With the end of the year closing on us, I've decided to bang out some quick reviews in order to get through everything I enjoyed this year, with the hope of having enough time to reveal my album of the year choice sometime in the next couple of days.)
El Camino - The Black Keys
After the exposure they gained from Brothers (their best charting album and single at the time, 5 Grammy nominations, 3 wins, and being the soundtrack for just about every commercial in 2010), The Black Keys were probably under more pressure to produce than they have been in their decade-long career. They came through with El Camino, 11 tracks of exactly the kind of blues-inspired rock fans of the band have come to expect.
The easiest comparison for The Black Keys is The White Stripes, and while the analogy is favorable, it's also lazy. Yes, they are both two-piece outfits playing 12-bar-burners, but to call The Black Keys a Stripes knock-off doesn't give them enough credit. Over their career, Dan Auerbach and Patrick Carney have pulled from the full history of rock to find inspiration. My two favorite albums from them, Brothers and Rubber Factory, appeal to me for their reach towards Led Zeppelin and Jimi Hendrix, respectively. On El Camino, with the help of producer/co-writer Danger Mouse, they continue their exploration of the blues, while moving even further back at times.
Lonely Boy, the first single from the album, is one of the ballsiest songs to be released in the past 10 years. Any bar fight scene should have this playing over it, including movies already made. (The idea of watching Road House with this album constantly in the background would make the experience 100 percent better, which would be about the same as not watching Road House.) Gold On the Ceiling is the best ZZ Top track since that song from Back to the Future 3, and has an intro riff that sounds like it was written by a drugged-up Joe Perry. Run Right Back and Stop Stop would fit right in on a 50's-rock satellite station, assuming anyone with satellite radio listens to 50's-rock.
Time will tell if I turn back to this album ages as well as Brothers has over the short-term, but the early returns have been enough to keep me looking like a fool to anyone who has seen me driving around listening to this album.
Helplessness Blues - Fleet Foxes
I do not care about production values. Not only do I not like them, it could be argued that I actively dislike them. A great example of this is the Foo Fighters, a band that has written some of my favorite songs of the 90's, as well as being fronted by the drummer for one of my favorite bands ever. Despite these factors working in their favor, I find much of their post-millennial output to be unlistenable, and it's due to the fact that they have polished themselves down to something that is no longer interesting. I like rawness and unpredictability in the things I listen to, even in the more precise artists I listen to. (Andrew Bird comes to mind here, someone who is a bit notorious for the work he puts into making an album, but still manages to sound like he is writing the songs in studio as he plays them.)
This outlook on music would hold up almost flawlessly for me, if not for the Fleet Foxes.
On both of their full length albums, they have achieved a sound bordering on seamless. The instrumentation, the melodies, the vocal harmonies (MY GOD!!), it all sounds like they spent weeks perfecting every detail. Maybe, because it feels like they never rely on that production to be the focus of their songs, and instead use the arrangements to let their songs shine at their brightest, that it never seems to bother me. Or maybe it's because it's winter, and the sound like falling snow, if falling snow would get it's act together and make the kind of sounds we all know it can make.
I'm not sure anything on Helplessness Blues hits me quite as hard as the best moments on their self-titles debut, but the album feels a bit more complete overall. The title track is most-likely the strongest track on the album, and it's hard not to have an easy smile on your face while listening to Bedouin Dress, and it's hard to pinpoint much that disappoints. (An Argument being an exception. I fail to see how the album, or the track, is any worse without a minute and a half of horn noise. Wilco has that covered.)
Either way, throw on the album, sit by a fire, and make the best out of grey skies.
The King Is Dead - The Decemberists
Listening to music is a little different for anyone who has ever played music. It's not that we enjoy it any more than someone else, or that it makes us any better than someone who hasn't, it's just different. It can bring an automatic response of comparison. One of my favorite feelings while listening to something new is of being blown away by the talent and ability of whoever it is I'm listening to (see the above review). Wishing I had the ability to write and/or perform a song makes me even more appreciative of what I'm hearing. This is a fairly common occurrence, seeing as how I'm sitting her writing about music instead of writing music. What's less common, but possibly more impressive, is hearing something so simple and seemingly easy that you feel like you could have written it, and you're mad at yourself for not coming up with it first.
Don't Carry It All is not an overtly impressive song. It's structure is fairly straightforward. The inclusion of violin and mandolin certainly add to the song, but they don't make it overly grandiose. And while Colin Meloy certainly has a rather unique voice, it's not like many people would be mad to hear someone else sing his songs. (To be clear, I like his voice, my only point is that I don't think anyone would call him the male Adele.) All of this, and it's still the best Tom Petty song since, well, Tom Petty.
Music in the internet/iTunes/Spotify era is a pretty fantastic thing. It gives almost any access to things that wouldn't have been available not that long ago. (I'm pretty sure I've made this point before, but let's just pretend this is for all the new readers, okay?) This has made for a landscape where there is a sound for just about everyone, which is a great. I like having access to music whose influences could come from, conceivably, anywhere (or even nowhere, I suppose). But there is something to be said for a band that writes fairly basic, Americana-folk-rock, that still manages to sound inspired, and The Decemberists manage to do it better than anyone (sorry, My Morning Jacket).
Don't get me wrong, The Decemberists are a very talented group of musicians, it's just that their talent as players takes a backseat to their ability as songwriters. The King Is Dead is 10-straight tracks of song-crafting expertise. It would make a strong case for the best album I heard this year if not for one other album this year.
But that is a review for another time, and that time will hopefully be tomorrow or the next day.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Friday, December 16, 2011
Record Review: Showroom of Compassion
Cake is not my favorite band. I don't consider them to be the most talented group of musicians I enjoy (though, they are very talented), they don't always write the best songs, and while their live show is good-to-great, they are not transcendent. Despite all of this, Cake might be the greatest band currently making music. You probably disagree with this statement, but let me try and explain.
When you, as a random individual, think about what band you consider to be the greatest, you apply your own, personal set of standards and see how everything stacks up. These guidelines probably include some combination of the previously mentioned aspects of a band, and maybe a few others. And while I stand by my assessment of how Cake fits into those criteria, there is another way to look at it.
When a band achieves some level of fame, expectations are put on them. Some groups handle it and go on doing what they were doing, some crack under those expectations, and others deal with it by going in a completely different direction. Whatever they do, and no matter how good it is and how many new fans it gets them, these bands will lose some of the older fans, and those fans will say one of two things; "They sound exactly the same", which is another way of saying that they are now bored by this band, or "They changed their sound", which is another way of saying that they themselves are boring.
Cake has somehow avoided this almost entirely.
With Showroom of Compassion, Cake has made yet another album (this is their sixth full-album of new material) that is clearly the alt-country, funk, spoken-word form that only they can achieve, while still managing to sound like it's own unique album. It's not my favorite Cake album (I still have to give the nod Motorcade of Generosity), and I worry that some of the more "occupy"-themed songs will age in a less than flattering way. That being said, even without the time-stamp of the topic, Showroom, like all of Cake's albums, is full of songs that wouldn't fit on another Cake album.
Federal Funding and Easy to Crash are two of the more aggressively-sleazy toned songs I've ever heard from the McCrea and Co. (and are also the songs I'm worried about becoming dated, which would be a shame). The circular riff and vocal melody on Got to Move are enjoyable enough that they could go on for hours. I don't listen to much straight-forward country, but I would if more bands wrote songs like Bound Away. The album is filled with solid songs and few weak spots, but The Winter might be the best track on the whole album. An electronic-filled cold walk through the memory of a lost relationship, the song would be just as good stripped down to a simple acoustic-driven ballad.
I'm sure there are Cake fans who are disappointed with the album (and some who think it is their best), and time will tell how much I'll listen to it compared to their other albums. Regardless, it's a great record on it's own, and it comes after two decades of never letting us down. What's greater than that?
When you, as a random individual, think about what band you consider to be the greatest, you apply your own, personal set of standards and see how everything stacks up. These guidelines probably include some combination of the previously mentioned aspects of a band, and maybe a few others. And while I stand by my assessment of how Cake fits into those criteria, there is another way to look at it.
When a band achieves some level of fame, expectations are put on them. Some groups handle it and go on doing what they were doing, some crack under those expectations, and others deal with it by going in a completely different direction. Whatever they do, and no matter how good it is and how many new fans it gets them, these bands will lose some of the older fans, and those fans will say one of two things; "They sound exactly the same", which is another way of saying that they are now bored by this band, or "They changed their sound", which is another way of saying that they themselves are boring.
Cake has somehow avoided this almost entirely.
With Showroom of Compassion, Cake has made yet another album (this is their sixth full-album of new material) that is clearly the alt-country, funk, spoken-word form that only they can achieve, while still managing to sound like it's own unique album. It's not my favorite Cake album (I still have to give the nod Motorcade of Generosity), and I worry that some of the more "occupy"-themed songs will age in a less than flattering way. That being said, even without the time-stamp of the topic, Showroom, like all of Cake's albums, is full of songs that wouldn't fit on another Cake album.
Federal Funding and Easy to Crash are two of the more aggressively-sleazy toned songs I've ever heard from the McCrea and Co. (and are also the songs I'm worried about becoming dated, which would be a shame). The circular riff and vocal melody on Got to Move are enjoyable enough that they could go on for hours. I don't listen to much straight-forward country, but I would if more bands wrote songs like Bound Away. The album is filled with solid songs and few weak spots, but The Winter might be the best track on the whole album. An electronic-filled cold walk through the memory of a lost relationship, the song would be just as good stripped down to a simple acoustic-driven ballad.
I'm sure there are Cake fans who are disappointed with the album (and some who think it is their best), and time will tell how much I'll listen to it compared to their other albums. Regardless, it's a great record on it's own, and it comes after two decades of never letting us down. What's greater than that?
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Record Review
Over the next few weeks, I will be trying something a little new. I'm going to be reviewing some of my favorite albums of 2011, with the hope of record reviews becoming a regular feature here. They won't be in any particular order, just what I happened to find enjoyable over the past 11+ months.
Kiss Each Other Clean - Iron & Wine
Iron & Wine is a band that has become some kind of bizarro guilty pleasure for me. Not an actual guilty pleasure, as I make no apologies for liking them (and by "them" I really mean singer-songwriter Samuel Beam). What I mean is that they are a band that consistently makes music I enjoy and sometimes love, and yet seems to always be less than loved by critics, and the most positive reaction I get from people (assuming they've heard the music) is "eh", or something similar. It's hard to imagine Kiss Each Other Clean changing that too much (the album did peak at no.2 on the Billboard Chart, yet I don't know anyone who has listened to it, unless through myself), but I suppose that's the way it goes.
Over their first three albums, Iron & Wine have grown from simple, quiet beginnings of The Creek Drank the Cradle and developed into the more elaborate and nuanced, but still delicate sound of their most recent, The Shepherd's Dog. On Kiss Each Other Clean, Beam trades some of the backwoods charm of The Shepherd's Dog for a horn section, a few synthesizers, and what are possibly some of the most accessible songs he's written yet. Album opener Walking Far From Home sounds like it was written for the next album from The Postal Service, while Tree By The River is the kind of song young girls would listen to if they weren't listening to Jason Mraz or Boz Scaggs or whatever it is the kids listen to these days.
While it's a bit up and down through the first few tracks, it really takes off on the back half. Rabbit Will Run is one of the best songs of the year. A bass-and-drum run through the Everglades of Beam's Florida home and a lyrical story loaded with metaphors that cover almost every aspect of human existence, without feeling heavy-handed or forced. Big Burned Hand is a fuzzed-out trip into the back of a '72 Vista Cruiser, complete with hanging dice and the smell of cheap weed.
Kiss Each Other Clean has a way of guiding you into the most comfortable chair you can find, ready to just let the music pour over you. Your Fake Name Is Good Enough For Me does just that. The final 4 of its 7 minutes are spent in repetitive waves, Beam imploring us to experience everything life has to offer, good and bad.
While at times it seems as if he is still getting comfortable with his new instrumentation and arrangements, the final product is worth the effort. Four albums in to his career as Iron & Wine, it will be interesting to see if he tries to find a happy medium between his quiet beginnings and where he stands now, or if he will continue to expand his sound. With Kiss Each Other Clean, Iron & Wine have made sure that I'll be listening to find out.
Grade: 87
Key Tracks: Rabbit Will Run, Big Burned Hand
Kiss Each Other Clean - Iron & Wine
Iron & Wine is a band that has become some kind of bizarro guilty pleasure for me. Not an actual guilty pleasure, as I make no apologies for liking them (and by "them" I really mean singer-songwriter Samuel Beam). What I mean is that they are a band that consistently makes music I enjoy and sometimes love, and yet seems to always be less than loved by critics, and the most positive reaction I get from people (assuming they've heard the music) is "eh", or something similar. It's hard to imagine Kiss Each Other Clean changing that too much (the album did peak at no.2 on the Billboard Chart, yet I don't know anyone who has listened to it, unless through myself), but I suppose that's the way it goes.
Over their first three albums, Iron & Wine have grown from simple, quiet beginnings of The Creek Drank the Cradle and developed into the more elaborate and nuanced, but still delicate sound of their most recent, The Shepherd's Dog. On Kiss Each Other Clean, Beam trades some of the backwoods charm of The Shepherd's Dog for a horn section, a few synthesizers, and what are possibly some of the most accessible songs he's written yet. Album opener Walking Far From Home sounds like it was written for the next album from The Postal Service, while Tree By The River is the kind of song young girls would listen to if they weren't listening to Jason Mraz or Boz Scaggs or whatever it is the kids listen to these days.
While it's a bit up and down through the first few tracks, it really takes off on the back half. Rabbit Will Run is one of the best songs of the year. A bass-and-drum run through the Everglades of Beam's Florida home and a lyrical story loaded with metaphors that cover almost every aspect of human existence, without feeling heavy-handed or forced. Big Burned Hand is a fuzzed-out trip into the back of a '72 Vista Cruiser, complete with hanging dice and the smell of cheap weed.
Kiss Each Other Clean has a way of guiding you into the most comfortable chair you can find, ready to just let the music pour over you. Your Fake Name Is Good Enough For Me does just that. The final 4 of its 7 minutes are spent in repetitive waves, Beam imploring us to experience everything life has to offer, good and bad.
While at times it seems as if he is still getting comfortable with his new instrumentation and arrangements, the final product is worth the effort. Four albums in to his career as Iron & Wine, it will be interesting to see if he tries to find a happy medium between his quiet beginnings and where he stands now, or if he will continue to expand his sound. With Kiss Each Other Clean, Iron & Wine have made sure that I'll be listening to find out.
Grade: 87
Key Tracks: Rabbit Will Run, Big Burned Hand
Thursday, November 10, 2011
End is the Beginning is the End
This post contains spoilers for Groundhog Day, Memento, Inception, Fight Club, The Dark Knight, and No Country for Old Men. You've been warned.
I'm holding out hope to one day see a sequel to Groundhog Day. I don't want to watch a movie that is essentially a cheap knockoff with B-list actors and a reworked plot. I also don't want to see a cash-grab by the original actors with a reworked plot. And I definitely don't want to see this.
If you will, for a moment, imagine this. 4 years have passed since the events of the film. Phil Connors (Bill Murray) is alone and jobless. After trying to tell Rita (Andie MacDowell) what really happened to him on that fateful Groundhog Day, she thinks he's crazy (or a liar, or both) and leaves. Phil starts to tell others about his ordeal, hoping for some kind of validation, but slowly just pushes his friends away and loses his job. Now, unemployed and alone, Phil is left to piece together the shattered remains of his life.
This is the movie I want to see.
Now, I know that film is probably too dark to ever get made, and would need some tweaking to ever see theaters. Maybe he goes to Japan and meets Black Widow. I'm not opposed to this sequel having a happy ending, provided it felt believable (at least in the universe the original movie created, where someone can live the same day over while learning life lessons), and it's the believability that matters to me.
I find that many of my favorite movies are ones that, even if they are successful or well-received (not always the same thing), tend to leave a lot of people lost or upset. In my mind, one of the best movies to come out in the past ten years is No Country for Old Men, a film that most people I talk to claim to either hate or not understand (It is worth noting that it won Best Picture, which would indicate some level of success and critical reception, but I remember it being very hard to find overly supportive reviews when it came out). Almost all of the problems people had with it stemmed from the ending. Lewellyn Moss, the man you spend most of the movie following, dies in a gunfight the audience never sees, and Anton Chigurh (an all-time great villain, with even greater hair) escapes into the sunset, albeit with the Joe Theismann of arm injuries. The movie ends with professional crotchety-old-man Tommy Lee Jones telling his wife about the dreams he had. It's not exactly dripping with closure, but that's what I love about it. It's closer to real life than any movie with a clear-cut ending.
(For anyone reading this who didn't like the movie, try watching it while thinking of it as a story about Tommy Lee Jones dealing with a changing world and his coming retirement.)
Not always, but more often than not, I don't want movies to be an exercise in escapism. This isn't a knock on people who seek that, or the films that they find it in, and there are times when that's exactly what I want. But, in addition to the Coen brothers, many of my favorite directors are ones who make films that depict a less polished view of life, and often have endings that can be taken more than one way, not all of them happy. Christopher Nolan has come close to perfecting the dichotomic ending. Inception either has a perfectly happy conclusion, or Leonardo DiCaprio has trapped himself in his own delusional dream world. Guy Pierce has exacted revenge for the murder of his wife, or needlessly killed multiple innocent men while tricking himself into believing he isn't the one who took her life, depending on how you want to view Memento. Even his characters aren't safe from this split-view of the world. By the end of The Dark Knight, Batman is more heroic than Gotham City can know, accepting the weight of a crime he didn't commit.
I realize that talking about the importance of believability, and then following that with a discussion of those particular movies seems a little contradictory, but not as much as you might think. If a director builds his universe well enough, the actions are never questioned. This is why jumping into dreams to plant ideas seems like a completely reasonable idea. What needs to be believable, for me, is how the characters act in that universe. If you told your friend that you aren't able to stop yourself from thinking about your wife committing suicide because of an idea you planted in her mind while in a decades long dream, causing her to to appear in dreams you enter while trying to destroy your plans, that friend would stop talking to you immediately. But in the world of Inception, this feels exactly like something that would happen in that particular situation.
If someone asks me my favorite movie, I give them a list of all possible candidates, and Fight Club is always near the top of that list. Fight Club was a box-office failure and critically panned, but has grown into a rather well respected film. Part of it's initial failure was the marketing for the film, in that no one knew what they were going to see. It was a movie about fighting, or perhaps soap. It might have been a film to see how much blood, dirt, and weird clothing it would take to make women turn on Brad Pitt. Now, it's seen as a film about rejecting consumer culture in a society that has no place in history (this message could have been lost post-9/11, and I imagine it changes how people react to the line about being a generation with no great war, but I wonder how many people feel their lives have been defined by the war on terrorism). It's a film (and a wonderful novel before that) about the emptiness modern life can have, and the dangers of letting that push us too far, and of unchecked rebellion against that life. Creating a completely new person that you slowly become friends with before trying to bring down contemporary society is probably not something any of us would ever do. But what if it did? What if life pushed you to the point that your mind created another person that allowed you to fight back against that push? How different would you be than Jack (Ed Norton)? Wouldn't you embrace this new friend who helped you let go of the possessions you lost, then start to retreat from when you realized he was the one who destroyed and stole those possesions? Would you be any less maniacal when you discovered that this person was actually you when you thought you were sleeping?
Real life doesn't happen in acts. Relationships end, loved ones die, friends move away, but none of that happens in a vacuum. These events impact each other, and the effects last long after the actual moments in which they occurred. Movies end and leave you with a feeling that all is right in the world, or at least the world you've been watching for the last two hours. This is my problem with most films, and with one like Groundhog Day (I do like Groundhog Day, a lot, but I can't help but think about these things when I watch most movies, and this is no exception).
I know people get different things from art, and movies are no different. So maybe it's just me, but I want to be able to find myself somewhere in the characters of the film. I have a hard time letting things go, major events last longer in my mind, drifting into one another, and the past ends up feeling like a bigger part of the present than it actually is. I might be in the minority, but I don't think I am. Even if some may not think about it as much as others, or to the borderline obsessive levels that I think about it, we are all shaped by our past.
I know a film can't go on forever. At some point, all movies have to end, I just want more that acknowledge that the story doesn't.
I'm holding out hope to one day see a sequel to Groundhog Day. I don't want to watch a movie that is essentially a cheap knockoff with B-list actors and a reworked plot. I also don't want to see a cash-grab by the original actors with a reworked plot. And I definitely don't want to see this.
If you will, for a moment, imagine this. 4 years have passed since the events of the film. Phil Connors (Bill Murray) is alone and jobless. After trying to tell Rita (Andie MacDowell) what really happened to him on that fateful Groundhog Day, she thinks he's crazy (or a liar, or both) and leaves. Phil starts to tell others about his ordeal, hoping for some kind of validation, but slowly just pushes his friends away and loses his job. Now, unemployed and alone, Phil is left to piece together the shattered remains of his life.
This is the movie I want to see.
Now, I know that film is probably too dark to ever get made, and would need some tweaking to ever see theaters. Maybe he goes to Japan and meets Black Widow. I'm not opposed to this sequel having a happy ending, provided it felt believable (at least in the universe the original movie created, where someone can live the same day over while learning life lessons), and it's the believability that matters to me.
I find that many of my favorite movies are ones that, even if they are successful or well-received (not always the same thing), tend to leave a lot of people lost or upset. In my mind, one of the best movies to come out in the past ten years is No Country for Old Men, a film that most people I talk to claim to either hate or not understand (It is worth noting that it won Best Picture, which would indicate some level of success and critical reception, but I remember it being very hard to find overly supportive reviews when it came out). Almost all of the problems people had with it stemmed from the ending. Lewellyn Moss, the man you spend most of the movie following, dies in a gunfight the audience never sees, and Anton Chigurh (an all-time great villain, with even greater hair) escapes into the sunset, albeit with the Joe Theismann of arm injuries. The movie ends with professional crotchety-old-man Tommy Lee Jones telling his wife about the dreams he had. It's not exactly dripping with closure, but that's what I love about it. It's closer to real life than any movie with a clear-cut ending.
(For anyone reading this who didn't like the movie, try watching it while thinking of it as a story about Tommy Lee Jones dealing with a changing world and his coming retirement.)
Not always, but more often than not, I don't want movies to be an exercise in escapism. This isn't a knock on people who seek that, or the films that they find it in, and there are times when that's exactly what I want. But, in addition to the Coen brothers, many of my favorite directors are ones who make films that depict a less polished view of life, and often have endings that can be taken more than one way, not all of them happy. Christopher Nolan has come close to perfecting the dichotomic ending. Inception either has a perfectly happy conclusion, or Leonardo DiCaprio has trapped himself in his own delusional dream world. Guy Pierce has exacted revenge for the murder of his wife, or needlessly killed multiple innocent men while tricking himself into believing he isn't the one who took her life, depending on how you want to view Memento. Even his characters aren't safe from this split-view of the world. By the end of The Dark Knight, Batman is more heroic than Gotham City can know, accepting the weight of a crime he didn't commit.
I realize that talking about the importance of believability, and then following that with a discussion of those particular movies seems a little contradictory, but not as much as you might think. If a director builds his universe well enough, the actions are never questioned. This is why jumping into dreams to plant ideas seems like a completely reasonable idea. What needs to be believable, for me, is how the characters act in that universe. If you told your friend that you aren't able to stop yourself from thinking about your wife committing suicide because of an idea you planted in her mind while in a decades long dream, causing her to to appear in dreams you enter while trying to destroy your plans, that friend would stop talking to you immediately. But in the world of Inception, this feels exactly like something that would happen in that particular situation.
If someone asks me my favorite movie, I give them a list of all possible candidates, and Fight Club is always near the top of that list. Fight Club was a box-office failure and critically panned, but has grown into a rather well respected film. Part of it's initial failure was the marketing for the film, in that no one knew what they were going to see. It was a movie about fighting, or perhaps soap. It might have been a film to see how much blood, dirt, and weird clothing it would take to make women turn on Brad Pitt. Now, it's seen as a film about rejecting consumer culture in a society that has no place in history (this message could have been lost post-9/11, and I imagine it changes how people react to the line about being a generation with no great war, but I wonder how many people feel their lives have been defined by the war on terrorism). It's a film (and a wonderful novel before that) about the emptiness modern life can have, and the dangers of letting that push us too far, and of unchecked rebellion against that life. Creating a completely new person that you slowly become friends with before trying to bring down contemporary society is probably not something any of us would ever do. But what if it did? What if life pushed you to the point that your mind created another person that allowed you to fight back against that push? How different would you be than Jack (Ed Norton)? Wouldn't you embrace this new friend who helped you let go of the possessions you lost, then start to retreat from when you realized he was the one who destroyed and stole those possesions? Would you be any less maniacal when you discovered that this person was actually you when you thought you were sleeping?
Real life doesn't happen in acts. Relationships end, loved ones die, friends move away, but none of that happens in a vacuum. These events impact each other, and the effects last long after the actual moments in which they occurred. Movies end and leave you with a feeling that all is right in the world, or at least the world you've been watching for the last two hours. This is my problem with most films, and with one like Groundhog Day (I do like Groundhog Day, a lot, but I can't help but think about these things when I watch most movies, and this is no exception).
I know people get different things from art, and movies are no different. So maybe it's just me, but I want to be able to find myself somewhere in the characters of the film. I have a hard time letting things go, major events last longer in my mind, drifting into one another, and the past ends up feeling like a bigger part of the present than it actually is. I might be in the minority, but I don't think I am. Even if some may not think about it as much as others, or to the borderline obsessive levels that I think about it, we are all shaped by our past.
I know a film can't go on forever. At some point, all movies have to end, I just want more that acknowledge that the story doesn't.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Remembering What You Didn't Forget
I have watched very little footage of Joe Frazier. I know that he was one of the greatest boxers of all time, but only because it's something I generally know as sports fan, not because of any exhaustive research or personal opinions. He was the first man to defeat Ali, but I remember them more in their later years, taking jabs at each other through the press. My most vivid memory of him in the ring is when he was introduced at the start of the first Rocky-Creed fight. This is why it might seem weird when I tell you that Joe Frazier is my favorite boxer of all time, and that his passing left me saddened and feeling somehow different.
The thing that I will remember most about him was his nickname, Smokin' Joe Frazier. When I was about 5 years old, I heard his introduction to the ring, and I honestly don't remember anything else about that moment. Logically, I'm assuming my father was watching some sort of boxing match that was showing highlights of general boxing history or specifically from Joe Frazier's career. It didn't matter. "Smokin' Joe Frazier" latched itself into my still developing mind, and just like that I was shouting it in every room of my house daily. When I saw pictures or him wearing green (my favorite color) trunks in The Fight of the Century, it was settled then and there. No boxer would ever dethrone Joe as the greatest in my mind.
I've followed boxing somewhat half-heartedly since I was a kid, watching Tyson demolish opponents who were never actually that good, before ruining his own career and eventually revealing that he was never that good of a boxer in the first place. The most exciting fight in my lifetime was seeing George Foreman, a man I knew for being a goofy, friendly guy with his own grill and starring in muffler commercials, suddenly remind everyone that he was once a brutal and punishing man while becoming the oldest champion the sport has ever seen. Since then, (and possibly before), the sport has been in decline, particularly in the heavyweight division. There has been a lack of true superstars, and the titleholders have mostly been whoever happened to be there at the time. (The exception right now, of course, is the ongoing non-fight between Mayweather and Pacquiao, a fight that would most likely shatter ratings records. You know, if it ever happened.) This, combined with the rise of UFC and mixed martial arts, has pushed boxing to the back of the national sports consciousness.
Even in my own quasi-disinterested sort of way, I've always preferred boxing to MMA. I know I'm wrong about this, and that any fan of MMA would shout at me for hours with the reasons I am wrong, but MMA fights lack any real excitement and technique to me. Sure, this guy trained with this master of whatever, and that guy lived with a guru in the art of that other thing, and one punches a bit more while the other kicks a bit more, but 9 times out of 10, they just end up rolling around on the mat trying to bend their opponent's limbs in ways they aren't supposed to until the other taps out. Boxing can be equally mindless, but there is something about it that can (but doesn't always) transcend that savage brutality. Sometimes, it's not about the training or the skill of the two boxers, but it's about their will, something that made the Ali-Frazier fights so incredible. It's about two men who want to destroy each other, knowing that they have to give everything they have to bring his opponent down, while dealing with the same coming back. It's the ultimate test of perseverance and strength, both mentally and physically.
I wish there were more boxers that could push the sport to those levels, but not just for that reason. I miss sitting with my father and grandfather, watching two men trying to punch there way through one another, and then talking about the grace and intricacy of such an act. I want to see two men bring the absolute best out of one another, which is really one of the greatest things sports can allow us to witness. I suspect over the next couple of days, I'll watch clips of Joe Frazier's fights, and I'll sit through the entire third battle with Ali, and even though I'll know it's coming, I'll be crushed when Frazier's corner throws in the towel before the final round, his trainer realizing that Frazier couldn't see out of his eyes because his face was too swollen. And then I'll think about his green trunks, and his cool nickname, and I'll feel like I'm 5 years old again. And that will make me happy. And then I'll remember that he's gone.
The thing that I will remember most about him was his nickname, Smokin' Joe Frazier. When I was about 5 years old, I heard his introduction to the ring, and I honestly don't remember anything else about that moment. Logically, I'm assuming my father was watching some sort of boxing match that was showing highlights of general boxing history or specifically from Joe Frazier's career. It didn't matter. "Smokin' Joe Frazier" latched itself into my still developing mind, and just like that I was shouting it in every room of my house daily. When I saw pictures or him wearing green (my favorite color) trunks in The Fight of the Century, it was settled then and there. No boxer would ever dethrone Joe as the greatest in my mind.
I've followed boxing somewhat half-heartedly since I was a kid, watching Tyson demolish opponents who were never actually that good, before ruining his own career and eventually revealing that he was never that good of a boxer in the first place. The most exciting fight in my lifetime was seeing George Foreman, a man I knew for being a goofy, friendly guy with his own grill and starring in muffler commercials, suddenly remind everyone that he was once a brutal and punishing man while becoming the oldest champion the sport has ever seen. Since then, (and possibly before), the sport has been in decline, particularly in the heavyweight division. There has been a lack of true superstars, and the titleholders have mostly been whoever happened to be there at the time. (The exception right now, of course, is the ongoing non-fight between Mayweather and Pacquiao, a fight that would most likely shatter ratings records. You know, if it ever happened.) This, combined with the rise of UFC and mixed martial arts, has pushed boxing to the back of the national sports consciousness.
Even in my own quasi-disinterested sort of way, I've always preferred boxing to MMA. I know I'm wrong about this, and that any fan of MMA would shout at me for hours with the reasons I am wrong, but MMA fights lack any real excitement and technique to me. Sure, this guy trained with this master of whatever, and that guy lived with a guru in the art of that other thing, and one punches a bit more while the other kicks a bit more, but 9 times out of 10, they just end up rolling around on the mat trying to bend their opponent's limbs in ways they aren't supposed to until the other taps out. Boxing can be equally mindless, but there is something about it that can (but doesn't always) transcend that savage brutality. Sometimes, it's not about the training or the skill of the two boxers, but it's about their will, something that made the Ali-Frazier fights so incredible. It's about two men who want to destroy each other, knowing that they have to give everything they have to bring his opponent down, while dealing with the same coming back. It's the ultimate test of perseverance and strength, both mentally and physically.
I wish there were more boxers that could push the sport to those levels, but not just for that reason. I miss sitting with my father and grandfather, watching two men trying to punch there way through one another, and then talking about the grace and intricacy of such an act. I want to see two men bring the absolute best out of one another, which is really one of the greatest things sports can allow us to witness. I suspect over the next couple of days, I'll watch clips of Joe Frazier's fights, and I'll sit through the entire third battle with Ali, and even though I'll know it's coming, I'll be crushed when Frazier's corner throws in the towel before the final round, his trainer realizing that Frazier couldn't see out of his eyes because his face was too swollen. And then I'll think about his green trunks, and his cool nickname, and I'll feel like I'm 5 years old again. And that will make me happy. And then I'll remember that he's gone.
Monday, September 26, 2011
The Hope for a Better Tomorrow
Some of you may have noticed (and some of you have even pointed it out) that when I write about something, I'm very often writing about something else as well. I tend to find a (somewhat) larger meaning behind whatever it is I happen to be writing about. This is not accidental. If I'm writing about something, I care about and feel it's interesting enough write about. If I care about, there is probably a deeper reasoning, even if I don't immediately understand what it is. Whether it's the state of television, John Lackey's histrionics (to be fair, I'm completely on his side about the recent events involving text messages and his personal life, but I wrote about him before all of that), or the coming technological revolution, writing helps (and forces) me to figure out those undiscovered connections. It's one of the reasons I enjoy writing as much as I do. I bring this up because this is not going to be one of those posts.
I love football. Sundays from September through early February are some of the best days of the year. I play in a flag football league that has given me the knees of someone significantly older, but I can't actually imagine the day when I'll decide I don't want to do it anymore. I'll watch almost any NFL game, and despite the fact that I will always talk about how inferior it is in any conversation, I tend to catch myself watching a handful of NCAA games each season as well.
As much as I love football, I love the Patriots more. I know there is a general criticism about people who love their team/s more than the given sport itself, and how that typically means those people don't really like whatever sport is in question, but I feel I've adequately explained myself here. It can ruin my whole day when they lose. I realize this is ridiculous. I understand that the outcome of one football game (or one football season, or all football seasons, etc...) has almost no actual impact on anything. That's fine. I'm still going to love football. And the Patriots.
Right now, the Patriots are making it difficult.
This past Sunday, Tom Brady completed 66.7 percent of his pass attempts, threw for 387 yards and 4 touchdowns. All fantastic numbers, except that with it he threw 4 interceptions. These were far from the only mistakes made by New England, and the defense has to take some of the blame for the 17 points they allowed after those interceptions. (Buffalo actually scored 24 points off the turnovers, but one of the interceptions was returned for a touchdown. Hard to pin that on the defense.) It was a bad day for the whole team, which happens from time to time. It was a bad day for Brady, which almost never happens.
Let's get one thing straight right now. Tom Brady is the best quarterback New England fans will ever see in their lifetime. There has been a seemingly endless debate about where Brady ranks among QBs all time, or even among his generation. (For the record, I still consider him to be the best of his generation. When given the weapons, he put up record-setting numbers that Manning only came close to, while also having the ability to come through when it mattered most. Say what you want about the Patriots recent playoff struggles, but Brady still has a 3-1 edge in Super Bowl rings. Brees is a great quarterback, but I don't think he's in the same class as Manning or Brady, and Aaron Rodgers needs to keep it up for a bit longer before I'm ready to really put him in this conversation. But that's just me.) Wherever you stand on Brady among the other greats, there has never been another New England quarterback who has been even close to this level, and the odds of seeing another player of his talent come along are astronomical. I've loved the Tom Brady era, knowing how special it is to watch one of the best ever lead your team.
Which is why Sunday's loss to the Bills is so upsetting. In terms of this season, it's not exactly the worst thing that could happen. It is a loss to a divisional opponent, and it puts New England a game behind Buffalo for first place in the division (and, technically, the conference and league). But it's only the third game of the season, and the teams play each other again. The discouraging thing is how they lost. They lost because Brady didn't have his best day, and this team wasn't good enough to pick him up. The offense still moved the ball well, when it was able to maintain possession, and scored points, but the defense couldn't come up with a stop when it needed one. If 31 points isn't enough to win a game, your defense isn't good enough. Again, it's one game, so maybe this is all a little bit of an over-reaction, but I'm afraid that it's not.
I was talking about this current Patriots team with a friend of mine before the game against Buffalo, and I told her that I felt like the offense looked to be good enough that it will cover for the defense most games, hopefully while the defense develops and comes together. Her response was, "sounds like a typical Patriots team to me." I was depressed by how accurate this statement was. When the Patriots were winning Super Bowls, they did it with a controlled offense and a defense that was always in the top-10 of points allowed. There are some who think the offense has become too much of the priority in recent seasons. That a high-octane offense can't win in the playoffs. Maybe, but I don't agree with that. Teams can win with that kind of offense, but they need the defense to go with it. Teams need to ability to stop their opponent, and at the very least, have the kind of second-gear or play-making ability to come up with a big stop when the game is on the line. The Patriots haven't had that for a while, with some pretty clear examples. (If you don't remember the '06 AFC Championship or the '07 Super Bowl, too bad, I'm not going to torture myself and anyone reading this more than I already have to.)
The NFL has become a passing league. This seems to be common knowledge. In 1991, teams threw for 199.1 yards per game (ypg). In 2010, that number has increased to 221.6 ypg. Through the first three weeks of this season, the league is on pace for an average of 245.5 ypg. In the past 4 full seasons, 2008 had the lowest average, with quarterbacks throwing for 211.3 ypg. In the 16 seasons prior to that stretch, only 3 of them had a higher average.
I love football. Sundays from September through early February are some of the best days of the year. I play in a flag football league that has given me the knees of someone significantly older, but I can't actually imagine the day when I'll decide I don't want to do it anymore. I'll watch almost any NFL game, and despite the fact that I will always talk about how inferior it is in any conversation, I tend to catch myself watching a handful of NCAA games each season as well.
As much as I love football, I love the Patriots more. I know there is a general criticism about people who love their team/s more than the given sport itself, and how that typically means those people don't really like whatever sport is in question, but I feel I've adequately explained myself here. It can ruin my whole day when they lose. I realize this is ridiculous. I understand that the outcome of one football game (or one football season, or all football seasons, etc...) has almost no actual impact on anything. That's fine. I'm still going to love football. And the Patriots.
Right now, the Patriots are making it difficult.
This past Sunday, Tom Brady completed 66.7 percent of his pass attempts, threw for 387 yards and 4 touchdowns. All fantastic numbers, except that with it he threw 4 interceptions. These were far from the only mistakes made by New England, and the defense has to take some of the blame for the 17 points they allowed after those interceptions. (Buffalo actually scored 24 points off the turnovers, but one of the interceptions was returned for a touchdown. Hard to pin that on the defense.) It was a bad day for the whole team, which happens from time to time. It was a bad day for Brady, which almost never happens.
Let's get one thing straight right now. Tom Brady is the best quarterback New England fans will ever see in their lifetime. There has been a seemingly endless debate about where Brady ranks among QBs all time, or even among his generation. (For the record, I still consider him to be the best of his generation. When given the weapons, he put up record-setting numbers that Manning only came close to, while also having the ability to come through when it mattered most. Say what you want about the Patriots recent playoff struggles, but Brady still has a 3-1 edge in Super Bowl rings. Brees is a great quarterback, but I don't think he's in the same class as Manning or Brady, and Aaron Rodgers needs to keep it up for a bit longer before I'm ready to really put him in this conversation. But that's just me.) Wherever you stand on Brady among the other greats, there has never been another New England quarterback who has been even close to this level, and the odds of seeing another player of his talent come along are astronomical. I've loved the Tom Brady era, knowing how special it is to watch one of the best ever lead your team.
Which is why Sunday's loss to the Bills is so upsetting. In terms of this season, it's not exactly the worst thing that could happen. It is a loss to a divisional opponent, and it puts New England a game behind Buffalo for first place in the division (and, technically, the conference and league). But it's only the third game of the season, and the teams play each other again. The discouraging thing is how they lost. They lost because Brady didn't have his best day, and this team wasn't good enough to pick him up. The offense still moved the ball well, when it was able to maintain possession, and scored points, but the defense couldn't come up with a stop when it needed one. If 31 points isn't enough to win a game, your defense isn't good enough. Again, it's one game, so maybe this is all a little bit of an over-reaction, but I'm afraid that it's not.
I was talking about this current Patriots team with a friend of mine before the game against Buffalo, and I told her that I felt like the offense looked to be good enough that it will cover for the defense most games, hopefully while the defense develops and comes together. Her response was, "sounds like a typical Patriots team to me." I was depressed by how accurate this statement was. When the Patriots were winning Super Bowls, they did it with a controlled offense and a defense that was always in the top-10 of points allowed. There are some who think the offense has become too much of the priority in recent seasons. That a high-octane offense can't win in the playoffs. Maybe, but I don't agree with that. Teams can win with that kind of offense, but they need the defense to go with it. Teams need to ability to stop their opponent, and at the very least, have the kind of second-gear or play-making ability to come up with a big stop when the game is on the line. The Patriots haven't had that for a while, with some pretty clear examples. (If you don't remember the '06 AFC Championship or the '07 Super Bowl, too bad, I'm not going to torture myself and anyone reading this more than I already have to.)
The NFL has become a passing league. This seems to be common knowledge. In 1991, teams threw for 199.1 yards per game (ypg). In 2010, that number has increased to 221.6 ypg. Through the first three weeks of this season, the league is on pace for an average of 245.5 ypg. In the past 4 full seasons, 2008 had the lowest average, with quarterbacks throwing for 211.3 ypg. In the 16 seasons prior to that stretch, only 3 of them had a higher average.
Going back a few years ago, many teams would try to establish a running game to open up their passing game. In response to this, a defense would try to stop the run, forcing a team to throw out of necessity, not by choice. With many teams choosing to pass regardless of their ability to run the ball (Indianapolis, New England, teams that want to be Indianapolis and New England), defenses now have to focus on stopping the pass first, and most defensive coaches (and analysts, talking-heads, and casual sports fans) seem to agree that the best way to slow down a passing offense is to pressure the quarterback. The numbers back it up. Going back to 2003, only 2 teams have ranked lower than 11th in the NFL in sack percentage (how often a defense sacks the opposing QB on a passing play): Indianapolis in 2006 (22nd) and New Orleans in 2009 (27th). In '06, Indianapolis had been questioned all season long about their defense, and whether it was good enough to win a Super Bowl. They made a few moves, tightened things up, and were a different team by the time the playoffs rolled around. The new defense shut teams down and they were unstoppable (well, the new defense along with pumped in crowd noise and the hottest stadium in the NFL, but whatever). New Orleans was a little different. They didn’t get much pressure the quarterback during their Super Bowl season, but they had a secondary that was effective (ranked 3rd in opposing QB rating) and pulled off big plays when they needed them (Tracy Porter had late interceptions in the NFC Championship game and the Super Bowl, both of which effectively sealed wins for New Orleans).
New England right now rates 28th in sack percentage and 22nd in opposing passer rating. Yes, we’re only three games in. Yes, there is plenty of time for them to change it. I’m just worried (and somewhat certain) that they won’t. And I feel that way because Belichick hasn’t called an aggressive blitz in what feels like years. This team doesn’t attack the quarterback. It chooses to instead drop men into coverage in the hopes of confusing opposing quarterbacks. I’m not trying to question Belichick. He is, without argument, the greatest coach in my lifetime. I trust that he has a better reason for crafting the defense that he does than I would have for questioning it. Maybe it’s as simple as he doesn’t feel he has the players for it (a criticism which would seem valid, but would also point out his recent track record with draft choices and free agent signings, at least among certain positions). It’s entirely possible that the sack rate stays the same, but McCourty and Bodden recover from their early season struggles, the younger guys/first-year starters develop, and the pass defense gets better that way.
But it might not. And if it doesn’t, the likely outcome is that another year of Tom Brady’s career will be lost. And that would be a shame. Because as rare as it is to see Brady have a game like he did against the Bills, it’s nothing compared to how rare it is to see Tom Brady.
(Forgot to include this. All stats in this post came from teamrankings.com and pro-football-reference.com)
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Untitled
Depending on who you ask, autumn has already started in New England. Officially, seasons are based on the length of the day, which means it won't really be fall until September 23 and the autumnal equinox, but for many people, summer ended with their Labor Day cookouts and beach trips, filled with grilled meats and beer, that suntan lotion smell of coconut and medicine left to be washed off in their morning shower.
By it's nature, autumn is somewhat of a second-class season. Summer and winter get top billing. People wait all year so they can do things that can only be done in those seasons (This isn't entirely accurate, as things like skiing/snowboarding and going to the beach start and end outside of their respective seasons, but people associate these activities with these seasons, and that's sort of all that matters.). By human nature, we tend to focus on the extremes of any particular group (see also: celebrity train wrecks, reality television {some overlap between these two}, weather patterns, the tea party). Spring and fall are basically just there to get us from one to the other.
Between the two backup seasons, fall gets the bum deal. Despite being little more than constant rain and pollen, spring gets everyone thinking about summer and how exciting that will be. By the time fall rolls around, summer is over, the beaches are closing, before you know it winter will be here, and no one likes winter (This is also an inaccurate statement, except no one is excited about winter until it's right on top of us. Ask someone in August how they feel about winter and they hate it, because at that moment, all winter means is that we will be cold and covered in snow.). Autumn has long been used as a metaphor for aging and sadness. The prime of the year is behind us, and all we have to do is look around to see reminders that we are all withering towards a barren and cold conclusion, an inevitable end on the horizon. All the new life and rebirth of spring has run it's course, and fall is just our small chance to brace for the coming winter.
This seems like a good time to mention that autumn is, without question, my favorite season. And not because I get some perverse kick out of all the crap I just mentioned. There are reasons on top of reasons that I love fall. As soon as the heat and humidity of summer breaks, I feel like a different person. It's almost as if I spend most of the summer thinking only of ways to keep myself from turning into a puddle, and fall allows me to start thinking about everything else again. Last night was the best night of sleep I've had in months, and that is due almost entirely to the cool breeze coming through my window. It was flat-out cold in my bedroom this morning, and I loved it.
Fall also brings with it the start of football. I love football, love my New England Patriots, and love watching Belichick and Brady be the best at what they do. More than that, though, I love the Sundays I spend at my grandfather's house watching the games with him and his son, three generations of Belair men together, watching their team, eating and drinking and bs'ing about whatever it is we decide to bs about. If you've kept up with these posts at all, you'll know that I have a certain relationship with sports and my father. Adding my grandfather to the mix is about the only thing that could make it better.
In the autumn of 2003, I was going through basic training for the U.S. Air Force, which takes place in San Antonio, Texas. Autumn in San Antonio is a lot like summer in New England, only hotter. I tried to explain what I was missing out on back home, and most of my fellow trainees had no idea what I was talking about. There were a few guys from New England, though, and they all knew what I knew: there is nothing like fall in New England. Forget what you've heard about the leaves and any sort of festival based around candy apples or pumpkins. All fun things in their own right, but their is a smell to autumn here that cannot be described. It's crisp and refreshing and cool. I know that all sounds like a terrible add for a Sprite knockoff, but I don't know how else to describe it, and I know that those words don't do it justice.
While I was in basic, my significant other at the time wrote to me regularly. Mail is absolutely the best part of basic training. The days when the mail gets backed up (you are the lowest priority mail recipients on base) are awful, but are made up for on the days when you go back to your bunk with a stack of letters. One of the letters she sent me was about how the leaves were changing and how nice everything looked. She knew how much I loved autumn, and sent a second envelope along containing a few leaves she had found and thought I would like. A small piece of home while I was away. It was sweet and touching and I loved it and loved her for doing it. The rest of our flight (the name for a group of trainees when you're in basic) finally began to understand how much we loved fall in New England when my "letter" became the most popular thing in the room, at least among the guys from the area. Everyone took their time with it, each of them examining the leaves and breathing in the scent inside the envelope. If you know the scent I've been talking about, this won't seem weird to you at all.
I'm sure there will be moments this autumn when the cool air turns to cold and I'll miss the summer sun. Or a night that seems to come too early, and the realization that it will only continue to get earlier for the coming months. It's then that I'll try to think about Sunday afternoons, and of the changing leaves, and of New England air floating through Texas. Autumn is my season. An in-between season defined by what it isn't, but knows what it has to offer.
By it's nature, autumn is somewhat of a second-class season. Summer and winter get top billing. People wait all year so they can do things that can only be done in those seasons (This isn't entirely accurate, as things like skiing/snowboarding and going to the beach start and end outside of their respective seasons, but people associate these activities with these seasons, and that's sort of all that matters.). By human nature, we tend to focus on the extremes of any particular group (see also: celebrity train wrecks, reality television {some overlap between these two}, weather patterns, the tea party). Spring and fall are basically just there to get us from one to the other.
Between the two backup seasons, fall gets the bum deal. Despite being little more than constant rain and pollen, spring gets everyone thinking about summer and how exciting that will be. By the time fall rolls around, summer is over, the beaches are closing, before you know it winter will be here, and no one likes winter (This is also an inaccurate statement, except no one is excited about winter until it's right on top of us. Ask someone in August how they feel about winter and they hate it, because at that moment, all winter means is that we will be cold and covered in snow.). Autumn has long been used as a metaphor for aging and sadness. The prime of the year is behind us, and all we have to do is look around to see reminders that we are all withering towards a barren and cold conclusion, an inevitable end on the horizon. All the new life and rebirth of spring has run it's course, and fall is just our small chance to brace for the coming winter.
This seems like a good time to mention that autumn is, without question, my favorite season. And not because I get some perverse kick out of all the crap I just mentioned. There are reasons on top of reasons that I love fall. As soon as the heat and humidity of summer breaks, I feel like a different person. It's almost as if I spend most of the summer thinking only of ways to keep myself from turning into a puddle, and fall allows me to start thinking about everything else again. Last night was the best night of sleep I've had in months, and that is due almost entirely to the cool breeze coming through my window. It was flat-out cold in my bedroom this morning, and I loved it.
Fall also brings with it the start of football. I love football, love my New England Patriots, and love watching Belichick and Brady be the best at what they do. More than that, though, I love the Sundays I spend at my grandfather's house watching the games with him and his son, three generations of Belair men together, watching their team, eating and drinking and bs'ing about whatever it is we decide to bs about. If you've kept up with these posts at all, you'll know that I have a certain relationship with sports and my father. Adding my grandfather to the mix is about the only thing that could make it better.
In the autumn of 2003, I was going through basic training for the U.S. Air Force, which takes place in San Antonio, Texas. Autumn in San Antonio is a lot like summer in New England, only hotter. I tried to explain what I was missing out on back home, and most of my fellow trainees had no idea what I was talking about. There were a few guys from New England, though, and they all knew what I knew: there is nothing like fall in New England. Forget what you've heard about the leaves and any sort of festival based around candy apples or pumpkins. All fun things in their own right, but their is a smell to autumn here that cannot be described. It's crisp and refreshing and cool. I know that all sounds like a terrible add for a Sprite knockoff, but I don't know how else to describe it, and I know that those words don't do it justice.
While I was in basic, my significant other at the time wrote to me regularly. Mail is absolutely the best part of basic training. The days when the mail gets backed up (you are the lowest priority mail recipients on base) are awful, but are made up for on the days when you go back to your bunk with a stack of letters. One of the letters she sent me was about how the leaves were changing and how nice everything looked. She knew how much I loved autumn, and sent a second envelope along containing a few leaves she had found and thought I would like. A small piece of home while I was away. It was sweet and touching and I loved it and loved her for doing it. The rest of our flight (the name for a group of trainees when you're in basic) finally began to understand how much we loved fall in New England when my "letter" became the most popular thing in the room, at least among the guys from the area. Everyone took their time with it, each of them examining the leaves and breathing in the scent inside the envelope. If you know the scent I've been talking about, this won't seem weird to you at all.
I'm sure there will be moments this autumn when the cool air turns to cold and I'll miss the summer sun. Or a night that seems to come too early, and the realization that it will only continue to get earlier for the coming months. It's then that I'll try to think about Sunday afternoons, and of the changing leaves, and of New England air floating through Texas. Autumn is my season. An in-between season defined by what it isn't, but knows what it has to offer.
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