I finally had a chance to watch all of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame 25th Anniversary Concert, a title that's almost as long as the show itself. It's been a busy fall, so I had to watch it several weeks after the show first aired in order to have a chance to sit through it all at once. It's mostly a tribute to artists who have been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and it was a treat to see some of the "older" rockers still performing.
For example, Jerry Lee Lewis started the concert by playing a version of "Great Balls of Fire." Lewis is quite old now, one of the very few survivors from the early years of rock and roll, but he still knows how to play the piano just as nimbly as he did back in the 1950s. What impressed me more, though, was how he ended his performance. Like the true badass that he is and always was, Lewis kicked over the piano bench and knocked it out of his way so that he could exit the stage. Had he been a guitar player instead of a piano player, I suspect he would have smashed a guitar.
The concert had several emotional moments as artists paid tribute to singers and plays who had passed away. There was a lovely version of "Here Comes the Sun" by Paul Simon, Graham Nash, and David Crosby in honor of George Harrison. And I was particularly touched by Stevie Wonder's tribute to Michael Jackson. Wonder sang a version of "The Way You Make Me Feel," and it was all he could do to get through the song. He teared up in the middle and couldn't make the words come to him. He eventually recovered, but it was a powerful reminder of the friendship the two men had had all those years ago at Motown Records and to how much we lost musically with Jackson's passing this year.
If you wanted to see the pure joy of performing with one of your idols, all you needed to do was watch the lead singer of Metallica, James Hetfield, singing along with Ozzy Osbourne. He wasn't singing into the microphone; he was just "mouthing" the words that Ozzy was singing, and he was having a blast doing it. Speaking of Metallica, who knew that they could be such a great back-up band to Ray Davies of the Kinks? Davies, who has long been estranged from his brother and the other members of his original band, should go on tour with Metallica. They could bring a heavy metal edge to some of the Kinks' great songs.
Most of the concert was taken up with intriguing pairings of artists, but none was better than when U2 brought out Bruce Springsteen and Patti Smith to sing "Because the Night." Springsteen and Smith co-wrote the song, and Smith popularized it, and it was an inspiring touch to have Bono and U2 join them in singing it. It was almost perfect harmony.
Speaking of harmony and estrangement, one of my favorite segments was the one "hosted" by Simon. He brought out Art Garfunkel, and the two of them sang several of their hits with the beautiful combination of voices they always had. It's a shame that artists like Simon & Garfunkel couldn't seem to get along well enough to maintain their careers together. Hell, even the members of the Eagles have managed to overcome their creative differences and tour together. I'd love to see another concert of Simon & Garfunkel singing "The Sounds of Silence" and "The Boxer" and "Bridge Over Troubled Water" like they did for this concert.
The most powerful political moment--and a welcome one it was--was the arrival of Annie Lennox of the Eurythmics to duet with Aretha Franklin. Franklin was adorned in one of her usual showstopping dresses, but Lennox was wearing a simple outfit that included a t-shirt that said "HIV Positive." Now, Lennox isn't HIV positive; she's wearing the shirt to call attention to the devastation that AIDS has brought to Africa and to remind us that we don't always know the status of our partners unless they choose to be honest with us. Rock and roll is political, and Lennox reminded us of that even at this august occasion. And she and Franklin totally brought down the house with their rendition of "Chain of Fools." So when does Lennox get inducted into the Hall of Fame?
There were lots of other favorite moments: the appearance of Little Anthony and the Imperials, still in fine voice after all these years; the segment hosted by Jeff Beck that was primarily devoted to himself and other guitar gods; and Springsteen, Tom Morello of Rage Against the Machine, and John Fogerty of Creedence Clearwater Revival playing with the E Street Band--magical stuff. Sam of Sam & Dave sang with Springsteen's band, as did Darlene Love. And then Billy Joel sang "New York State of Mind," one of his best songs. It was a powerhouse way to end the evening.
Watching all of these performers brought back a lot of memories of my high school and college years. Many of them have seen their heyday as top-selling artists come and go, but the drive to perform is still there. If Jerry Lee Lewis, who's 74, by the way, can still rock, so can the rest of us.
I have a few quibbles with the choices the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame has made over the years. How exactly are the Staples Singers rock and roll? Or Madonna? Or ABBA, one of the inductees for 2010? How much of an influence, truly, were the Dave Clark Five? Or Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers? Or the Hollies, again one of the inductees for 2010? The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame bypassed KISS, the great Laura Nyro, and the Red Hot Chili Peppers in order to add ABBA and the Hollies next year. At least, the new inductees include the Stooges (with wild man Iggy Pop) and Jimmy Cliff, both deserving and long overdue. There was a call a few years ago by a rock journalist to start taking people out of the Hall of Fame because there were too many people he considered to be second-caliber talent being inducted. I wouldn't go that far, but I do wish the keepers of the hall would pay attention to their own concert. The stars performing that night are still shining, still performing, still worthy of our adulation. And they're still rock and roll to the core.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Nutty Neighbors: The Saga Continues
At 3 a.m., most of the building was awakened by the sound of a hammer pounding. Several of us yelled loudly, and the hammering stopped. Temporarily. After about ten minutes, it started up again. Then it would stop for a little while, only to start up again. Several of us called the security office to complain, but frankly, none of us were certain from where the sound was coming.
Well, that's not entirely true. I immediately suspected Godzilla. I checked to see if there were any lights on in her apartment, and there were, all in the back bedroom whose wall I share. I think she might have been putting together some presents or furniture or something, but why at 3 o'clock in the morning?
I'm not fond of confrontation, but I'm also not above it. When I knocked on her door, she opened only the peephole, so I still haven't seen what she looks like. I asked if she were the one hammering, and she replied that she wasn't. She said she thought I was the one making the noise. She then vowed to call security herself. I would like to note here that there was no more hammering after I confronted her about it.
By this point, it was almost 4 a.m., and I couldn't get back to sleep. I tossed and turned, but I just couldn't doze off again. Around 5:30 a.m., drawers in her walk-in closet were opened and shut (yes, you can hear them when they are slammed back into the wall), and a few minutes later, the charming sounds of her heels on the hardwood floor made their way to the front door.
I'm not trying to be accusatory, but Godzilla never gets up that early for work. That is more likely to be the time she goes to bed. Perhaps she was trying to get all of her stuff together so that she could go somewhere for Christmas? I hope so. It would be good to have her out of the apartment building for a few days. Maybe then we can all get some well-deserved sleep again.
Well, that's not entirely true. I immediately suspected Godzilla. I checked to see if there were any lights on in her apartment, and there were, all in the back bedroom whose wall I share. I think she might have been putting together some presents or furniture or something, but why at 3 o'clock in the morning?
I'm not fond of confrontation, but I'm also not above it. When I knocked on her door, she opened only the peephole, so I still haven't seen what she looks like. I asked if she were the one hammering, and she replied that she wasn't. She said she thought I was the one making the noise. She then vowed to call security herself. I would like to note here that there was no more hammering after I confronted her about it.
By this point, it was almost 4 a.m., and I couldn't get back to sleep. I tossed and turned, but I just couldn't doze off again. Around 5:30 a.m., drawers in her walk-in closet were opened and shut (yes, you can hear them when they are slammed back into the wall), and a few minutes later, the charming sounds of her heels on the hardwood floor made their way to the front door.
I'm not trying to be accusatory, but Godzilla never gets up that early for work. That is more likely to be the time she goes to bed. Perhaps she was trying to get all of her stuff together so that she could go somewhere for Christmas? I hope so. It would be good to have her out of the apartment building for a few days. Maybe then we can all get some well-deserved sleep again.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Nutty Neighbors: Godzilla's Slippers
I apologize for how blurry the picture is, but I was trying to keep from getting caught. The shoes above belong to Godzilla, one of the losers, uh, neighbors next door. You may recall that we had a lot of rain in Los Angeles a couple of weekends ago. Well, sometimes when one is destroying Tokyo in a rainstorm, one gets mud on one's shoes. I opened the door to my apartment on Sunday morning to get the paper and saw a pair of slippers in the tiny, tiny space between our front doors, and that's when I grabbed the cell phone. Luckily, Godzilla doesn't tend to wake up early.
The night before this picture was taken had been a rough one, actually. Godzilla had spent most of the weekend hanging out with a group of friends led by a 25-year-old who thought he was quite the success story already. I know this because he proclaimed it loudly both inside Godzilla's apartment and then again in the hallway before they left for the evening on Friday. I'm not sure who it was that he was trying to convince.
They returned home at 2 a.m. or so on Saturday. I know this because they woke everyone in the apartment building up. Including her roommate, Warren (whose name I learned because they kept yelling it repeatedly). Warren was apparently distressed over something that had happened to Godzilla. Well, he said her face was "fucked up." I have no idea how. After some loud discussions back and forth--and repeated calls from other neighbors to shut up--and a few phone calls to the security guards--Godzilla and her Wunderkind took their argument outside. As in the front of the building. As in loud enough to be heard by everyone in the building. Thankfully, the security officers showed up quickly and quietened them down and sent Wunderkind on his way.
Wunderkind hasn't returned, to the best of my knowledge. Warren's presence hasn't been apparent in the past week either; I suspect that the early morning wake-up might have been the last straw in their friendship. And Godzilla has been chastised at least once more, this time for playing her music too loudly. I know this because I heard the knock on the door from the security guard. I hadn't fallen asleep yet because, well, the music from next door was too loud. Good thing someone in the building had the foresight to call and report it, huh?
Since the photo above was taken, she has purchased a doormat. It's actually quite a pitiful one. No, I don't have a picture, at least not yet. It's small and obviously cheap, like one you'd pick up at the 99 Cents Store. I purchased a rather nice one a few years ago, but I keep mine just inside the front door. I figured the people streaming in and out of the apartment next door would wipe their dirty shoes on my mat, and I'd be left cleaning up after them. From the looks of the shoes above, my fears weren't unfounded. Oddly enough, it has stayed relatively clean inside my apartment.
I have to admit that I'm a bit worried about this doormat purchase. That might indicate a desire to stay here longer than the six months or so that the last two sets of tenants have managed. Then again, given how cheap it was, she might consider it to be disposable. Time will tell.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Nutty Neighbors: Godzilla and the Giggle Sisters
I still have no idea how many people are living in the apartment next to me. Whenever a new batch arrives, it's always a fun guessing game as to the number of folks who will wind up being "permanent" residents. I thought for a while it was a young couple, a woman and a man, but now I'm beginning to suspect that it might be two women who have male visitors occasionally. But there's no way to tell. Well, other than getting to know them personally, and I have no particular interest in doing that. Given the trend for that short bus of an apartment, they won't be here for very long anyway.
I have to say that, so far, they have been "better" than some of the previous residents, "better" being a somewhat relative term. Perhaps that's because they seem hardly ever to be home. And, shockingly, I'm okay with that. Now and then, though, they do have some odd habits which seem designed to annoy all of the other people on this floor, or maybe they have a grander scheme in mind: annoying everyone in the building. They have the capacity to do so. I just hope they never use it.
I've only had to call the security patrol once since the new neighbors moved in. It was one of the weekends when they were moving stuff into the apartment and unpacking. They had two--yes, two--stereos blasting music. Most of the other residents of the hallway stuck their heads around the corner to confirm the apartment number, a sure sign that I wasn't the only one who called. The response to the patrol officer's telling them that their music was too loud? "Seriously?" That's the best they could muster, and it was in that Paris Hilton/Valley Girl tone of voice that too many young women mimic nowadays, so you know what it sounded like. But they turned the music down, and peace was temporarily restored. Since I've only had to call the patrol once in the month or so since they moved in, I'm already happier with them as neighbors than the previous two sets. Of course, the holidays are looming, and you can never tell what parties might be on the horizon.
No, when it comes to noise, they only have a couple of annoying habits. One of them likes to play music while taking a shower. I guess she/he wants to be able to enjoy a few tunes while soaping up. I don't know; it makes no sense to me. I just want to get in the shower, get it over with, and get on with my day. They, however, must think of it as some sort of retreat. The music only lasts as long as the shower is running, so at least, I know it's only temporary. Of course, the showers go on for at least half an hour, so there may be no water left in the city of Los Angeles if this keeps up.
One of them is also rather heavy-footed. It's a woman because sometimes she likes to wear heels when stomping around the apartment. Well, I suppose it could be a man in heels, but I've heard the voice and I'm sticking with it being a woman. The worst is when the doorbell rings and she has to stomp from her bedroom to the front door. It sounds like Godzilla destroying Tokyo. And it happens a couple of times a week now. I can't imagine what the people living downstairs must think. It must sound like they are under attack. Did I mention that we have hardwood floors in most of the apartments in this building? Yes, that only adds another dimension to the horror.
There is a dog next door. His name is Oliver, and I know this because one of them--obviously, Oliver's owner--yells out his name every night when she comes home. So far, Oliver hasn't been prone to barking, but dogs are illegal in the tower apartments like mine, so I'm holding on to that little tidbit of information in case I need it later on. He's a small dog, and she apparently hides him in a big purse to take him for his nightly walk. Or so one of the other neighbors told me. She, too, has chosen not to turn in the errant dog owner. Yet.
I first nicknamed the new tenants the Giggle Sisters because, when they were moving stuff into the apartment, they always seemed to be giggling about something and doing so quite loudly. One of them, in particular, seems especially mirthful. I was dreading the inevitable late night jags of talking and laughing that seem endemic to the younger generation, but apparently, they are not fond of hanging out in the living room. After two sets of tenants with no living room furniture who loved to hear the sounds of their own voices echo, I fully support them staying in their own bedrooms. There are still giggles at times when they are walking from the elevator to the apartment and vice versa, and everyone on the floor can hear them, especially when the one in the movie business (yeah, exactly how I felt) is also talking on her cell phone. And she's always talking on her cell phone as she walks to and from the elevator. What is it about that generation's obsession with talking so loudly that everyone can hear? Does no one value a sense of privacy any longer?
I had a blissful couple of months when the property owners were going through the eviction process for the last tenants, the Bros. It was so peaceful and quiet. I could get my grading done with ease, and I could watch television without interruptions. I could even sleep without having to hear some racket from next door. And there was no constant slamming of the front door like I had with Mr. Echo and the Woo Girls, who never seemed to be able to stay in or out for more than half an hour at a time. That brief amount of solitude without neighbors was among the best few months I've had in the building in almost fourteen years of living here.
I am grateful that these new neighbors are relatively quiet. I understand that you do have to put up with some distractions when you live in a building with 156 apartments. And that's just my building. There are several thousand units in this complex and the neighboring ones, so the possibilities for noise are infinite. You might enjoy, for example, the rock band upstairs who like to play very synth-heavy, gloomy music all afternoon. Over and over and over and over. It's very depressing stuff. Or maybe the trumpet player who likes to practice with all of his windows open is more to your liking? I know he needs the practice. God knows he needs the practice. And don't get me started on the neighbors who like to sing. Well, "sing" is a generous description of what they're doing. I first thought someone was either drowning or gargling. Maybe it's just modern music, and I'm not up on the latest styles.
Yes, I have thought about moving. I've thought about it more than once, actually. However, my rent is under the city's stabilization plan, and comparatively speaking, I don't pay all that much for my two bedroom apartment. A friend and I checked out a one bedroom apartment last weekend that goes for almost as much as I pay, and that one doesn't even have a parking space for the tenant. I doubt I'd be able to find any place that is both cheap and quiet, so for now, I just keep hoping that the giggling is kept to a minimum and that Godzilla will someday have to give those tired feet a long, long rest.
I have to say that, so far, they have been "better" than some of the previous residents, "better" being a somewhat relative term. Perhaps that's because they seem hardly ever to be home. And, shockingly, I'm okay with that. Now and then, though, they do have some odd habits which seem designed to annoy all of the other people on this floor, or maybe they have a grander scheme in mind: annoying everyone in the building. They have the capacity to do so. I just hope they never use it.
I've only had to call the security patrol once since the new neighbors moved in. It was one of the weekends when they were moving stuff into the apartment and unpacking. They had two--yes, two--stereos blasting music. Most of the other residents of the hallway stuck their heads around the corner to confirm the apartment number, a sure sign that I wasn't the only one who called. The response to the patrol officer's telling them that their music was too loud? "Seriously?" That's the best they could muster, and it was in that Paris Hilton/Valley Girl tone of voice that too many young women mimic nowadays, so you know what it sounded like. But they turned the music down, and peace was temporarily restored. Since I've only had to call the patrol once in the month or so since they moved in, I'm already happier with them as neighbors than the previous two sets. Of course, the holidays are looming, and you can never tell what parties might be on the horizon.
No, when it comes to noise, they only have a couple of annoying habits. One of them likes to play music while taking a shower. I guess she/he wants to be able to enjoy a few tunes while soaping up. I don't know; it makes no sense to me. I just want to get in the shower, get it over with, and get on with my day. They, however, must think of it as some sort of retreat. The music only lasts as long as the shower is running, so at least, I know it's only temporary. Of course, the showers go on for at least half an hour, so there may be no water left in the city of Los Angeles if this keeps up.
One of them is also rather heavy-footed. It's a woman because sometimes she likes to wear heels when stomping around the apartment. Well, I suppose it could be a man in heels, but I've heard the voice and I'm sticking with it being a woman. The worst is when the doorbell rings and she has to stomp from her bedroom to the front door. It sounds like Godzilla destroying Tokyo. And it happens a couple of times a week now. I can't imagine what the people living downstairs must think. It must sound like they are under attack. Did I mention that we have hardwood floors in most of the apartments in this building? Yes, that only adds another dimension to the horror.
There is a dog next door. His name is Oliver, and I know this because one of them--obviously, Oliver's owner--yells out his name every night when she comes home. So far, Oliver hasn't been prone to barking, but dogs are illegal in the tower apartments like mine, so I'm holding on to that little tidbit of information in case I need it later on. He's a small dog, and she apparently hides him in a big purse to take him for his nightly walk. Or so one of the other neighbors told me. She, too, has chosen not to turn in the errant dog owner. Yet.
I first nicknamed the new tenants the Giggle Sisters because, when they were moving stuff into the apartment, they always seemed to be giggling about something and doing so quite loudly. One of them, in particular, seems especially mirthful. I was dreading the inevitable late night jags of talking and laughing that seem endemic to the younger generation, but apparently, they are not fond of hanging out in the living room. After two sets of tenants with no living room furniture who loved to hear the sounds of their own voices echo, I fully support them staying in their own bedrooms. There are still giggles at times when they are walking from the elevator to the apartment and vice versa, and everyone on the floor can hear them, especially when the one in the movie business (yeah, exactly how I felt) is also talking on her cell phone. And she's always talking on her cell phone as she walks to and from the elevator. What is it about that generation's obsession with talking so loudly that everyone can hear? Does no one value a sense of privacy any longer?
I had a blissful couple of months when the property owners were going through the eviction process for the last tenants, the Bros. It was so peaceful and quiet. I could get my grading done with ease, and I could watch television without interruptions. I could even sleep without having to hear some racket from next door. And there was no constant slamming of the front door like I had with Mr. Echo and the Woo Girls, who never seemed to be able to stay in or out for more than half an hour at a time. That brief amount of solitude without neighbors was among the best few months I've had in the building in almost fourteen years of living here.
I am grateful that these new neighbors are relatively quiet. I understand that you do have to put up with some distractions when you live in a building with 156 apartments. And that's just my building. There are several thousand units in this complex and the neighboring ones, so the possibilities for noise are infinite. You might enjoy, for example, the rock band upstairs who like to play very synth-heavy, gloomy music all afternoon. Over and over and over and over. It's very depressing stuff. Or maybe the trumpet player who likes to practice with all of his windows open is more to your liking? I know he needs the practice. God knows he needs the practice. And don't get me started on the neighbors who like to sing. Well, "sing" is a generous description of what they're doing. I first thought someone was either drowning or gargling. Maybe it's just modern music, and I'm not up on the latest styles.
Yes, I have thought about moving. I've thought about it more than once, actually. However, my rent is under the city's stabilization plan, and comparatively speaking, I don't pay all that much for my two bedroom apartment. A friend and I checked out a one bedroom apartment last weekend that goes for almost as much as I pay, and that one doesn't even have a parking space for the tenant. I doubt I'd be able to find any place that is both cheap and quiet, so for now, I just keep hoping that the giggling is kept to a minimum and that Godzilla will someday have to give those tired feet a long, long rest.
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