(*Obviously this is impossible, as the too-cold winters and too-hot summers are part of what makes Bostonians so delightfully full of attitude.)

The thing about Boston is that it’s different from everyplace else. Really different. In an age of homogenization, where cities are barely distinguishable from one another, Boston is Boston. Everything about the city is unique. That’s why every other current movie is set in Boston – because it’s a magical place, beloved by all.

As an emigre I know that I’ll never be considered a native New Englander, but at least that is a gift I have bestowed upon my children. Having learned how to drive here, that is a gift I bestow upon all of the people unfortunate enough to be stuck on the road with me.

Over the years I’ve tried to capture my love and affection for the hub in a series of humorous essays. Now feels likes an appropriate time to reflect upon the things that make Boston so special, so unique and my hometown.

“How to Drive Like You’re From Boston” explains how to survive behind the wheel in Boston.

“In Defense of Jaywalking in Boston” is my idiotic argument in favor of our most dangerous habit.

“Riding the Rails, Boston Style” is a public transportation primer.

“The Boston Cab Driver’s Quick Starter Guide” was not intended to get people mad.

“Hubway Bicycles: Urban Transportation Miracle or Devil’s Plaything?” rounds out my series on transportation.

“Strangers I Love: Jesus is Lord Guy” is a love letter to that guy, you know who I mean.

“9 Great Ideas for Filling the Filene’s Hole” was written after I got really mad looking at the hole.

“Fight Club Discovered North of Boston” is one of my favorites because a Globe reporter called me thinking I was serious!

“The Boston Sports Fan’s Guide to Choosing a Jersey” will probably earn me a beating one day.

“In Defense of Casual Fandom” is my spirited defense of “pink hats”.

And, finally, The Evolution of the Masshole.

Boston, you’re my home. Stay strong.

###

The Black Crowes
April 11, 2013
House of Blues
Boston, MA

The first time I saw The Black Crowes was in the fall of 1990 at a small barn in upstate New York called Saratoga Winners. Back then we didn’t know much about our favorite bands. You’d read the liner notes, catch a blurb in Circus magazine and maybe hear some dubious gossip from other fans.

Before that first show I only knew three things about the Crowes: the singer and guitar player were brothers; they covered a song by my favorite soul singer (Otis Redding); and they rocked. When I say “they rocked” I mean that they kicked my ass in a way wholly unlike any of the other musical options available at the time. On the airwaves we had terrible hair metal (pop/rock gussied up with self-indulgent guitar solos), the first strains of the grunge sound (a sludgy morass of punk/rock for depressives) and not much else.

Seemingly out of nowhere (or Atlanta, same difference to a northerner) came this band playing new music that sounded like the old music I loved. Some called it derivative. I called it a godsend. There was no one else at the time – including the classic rockers – making music that delivered that heady mix of blues, country and soul that I wanted.

That young band was a little sloppy, a little drunk and a hell of a lot of fun. They brought the energy and the crowd loved it. It was blues-rock with a danceable groove.

Here’s the funny thing about concerts – they haven’t changed all that much from the sock hops of the 1950s. The kids are just looking to shake their hips and have a good time. Even back in the ‘60s David Crosby and the Byrds realized that if they added a Beatle beat to a Dylan tune they could offer the best of both worlds – danceable music with real substance and meaning. Positive energy.

###

Consciousness awareness of a crowd’s energy is not a new thing. Jerry Garcia used to describe the feedback loop where the Dead would give energy to the crowd, the crowd would amplify and reflect that energy back to the band who would then feed off of that energy, elevating their performance to another level.

This feedback loop is so powerful that it can actually change the relationship between the crowd and the performer; instead of being a witness to the show you become a participant in the show. The show becomes a spiritual event. You live in the moment, lose yourself in the power of the sound and become one with the energy. Positive energy.

###

This brings us to Thursday night’s show at the House of Blues. Back from a three-year hiatus, the new-look Crowes reminded me very much of the original Crowes from 1990. You know, the Crowes that rocked hard, kicked ass, and kept the classic rock flame burning bright.

Returning to the stage are Chris Robinson (vocals, harp), Rich Robinson (guitar, vocals), Steve Gorman (drums), Sven Pipien (bass, vocals) and Adam MacDougall (keys), joined by newcomer Jackie Greene (guitar, vocals). Missing from the stage are former guitar player Luther Dickinson, percussionist Joe Magistro and the soul sisters. This is a leaner, meaner incarnation of the Crowes, in many ways reminding me of the late 1973 incarnation of the Dead sans Donna and Mickey.

From the opening strains of “Jealous Again” it was clear that we were going to get a high-energy, hits-laden set list. And while some long-time fans will complain, I say bring on, bring on. After 20+ years of refusing to play many of the songs that casual fans want to hear, it’s great that they’re finally delivering the hits.

Refusing to play your hits is not, in my mind, a sign of nobility or authenticity. I actually believe quite the opposite: it’s selfish to deny your fans the songs they love. Those songs are the precise reason why they love you. Every major act plays their hits. That’s part of the unspoken agreement between bands and fans – the fans listen to the stuff the bands want to play in exchange for getting the songs they want to hear.

And the thing about the Crowes is that they have a ton of great songs that people know and love.  In my group at the show we had the full spectrum of fans represented: from the diehards who have seen every tour, to the most casual of fans. Everyone loved the show and everyone knew just about every song played.

The effect this hit-heavy set list had on the crowd was obvious: they loved every minute of the performance. The energy was up all night – peak after peak. The room was on fire. The vibe was great. Everyone was singing, dancing and happy. What more could you ask for?

###

Chris Robinson sounds better than he has in years. No longer a rock and roll screamer, Chris has matured into a bona-fide soul singer. Contrary to popular belief he is not from the Otis school. Otis was more of a shouter. Chris’s phrasing is smooth – how he comes in and out of lines – and he reminds me of no less than O.V. Wright. It’s great to see Chris back in the front man role, smiling, dancing and blowing some mean harp.

Rich Robinson is beyond underrated as a guitar player. Whether laying down a heavy riff or delivering a stinging solo, Rich’s playing is fantastic. He’s the bedrock of the band. He has a gift for getting exactly the right sound for each song out of his instrument.

Steve Gorman is a monster behind the kit, as always. The ass kicking starts with his performance, drums you can feel as well as hear. Coupled with his partner-in-rhythm Sven Pipien, the bottom is heavy but it swings, the way it ought to be.

Adam MacDougall is one of the best – and most flexible – keyboards players around. While not featured quite as prominently as he is in the Chris Robinson Brotherhood, Adam can do it all. His solo on “Wiser Time” is a demonstration of his chops in action, as he goes from atonal jazz to slinky funk to space-like psychedelia in the span of five minutes.

Last but not least is the new guy, Jackie Greene. While still feeling out his new bandmates, especially in the transitions, his tone and feel are right on for the blues-rock Crowes. His tone is thick and substantial and his solos are full without crossing the line into the dreaded “shredder” territory. I can’t wait to hear where he’s at when he has 50 shows under his belt.

The nice thing about this slimmed-down version of the Crowes is their ability to pull-off multi-part harmonies between Chris, Rich, Sven and Jackie, negating the need for back-up singers (although creating the need for them to work up “And We Bid You Goodnight”).

###

Of the 19 songs played, 10 were from their first two albums – the ones that made them stars and established their image in the popular culture. They sprinkled all of their big hits throughout the show and filled out the set with lesser-known songs from the catalog and some covers.

As always, they managed to pick the right covers and elevate them to new heights. Their take on Traffic’s “Medicated Goo” was amazing, and somehow they pulled off the alchemic trick of weaving cheese into gold by inserting Deep Purple’s “Hush” into “Hard to Handle”. The closer “Oh Well” was great, very reminiscent of the 1999 version from the Jimmy Page era.

If I had to pick any nits, I’d recommend that they go back to the old arrangement of “My Morning Song”. The gospel thing is fun but this line-up would do justice to the classic version of the song. They also repeat the gospel breakdown in “Thorn in My Pride” so I’d keep those tunes separated.

I also love the idea of treating the encore as a mini-set for the diehards. Hopefully they’ll keep adding more deep cuts and obscure covers to close out the show.

###

I’ve seen a lot of Crowes shows over the years. I’ve certainly seen tighter performances. I’ve heard deeper cuts. I’ve dug into trippier jams. But I’m not sure that I’ve ever seen a crowd more engaged and energetic, at least not since the very early days.

That’s the beauty and the magic of this iteration of the Crowes – they’re selflessly delivering a performance that is exactly what the audience needs and wants from them.  I think my brother said it best after the show, “if they played a set like that every night they’d be selling out across the street at Fenway”.

Positive energy.

###

JEALOUS AGAIN
THICK N THIN
HOTEL ILLNESS
GOOD MORNING CAPTAIN
MEDICATED GOO
SISTER LUCK
WISER TIME
SHE TALKS TO ANGELS
MY MORNING SONG
HIGH HEAD BLUES
SOUL SINGING
THORN IN MY PRIDE
REMEDY
SOMETIMES SALVATION
HARD TO HANDLE -> HUSH
- encore -
HOW MUCH FOR YOUR WINGS
BRING ON BRING ON
OH WELL

###

I’ve written a lot about The Black Crowes over the years. Click here to read more.

After last week’s episode, I read an article about Boardwalk Empire by some hipster douchebag who claimed that he was finally being rewarded for sticking with BE through two “confusing” seasons. The hipster douchebag went on to say that Season 3 finally helped him process the things that happened previously. He decided, in typical hipster douchebag fashion, to go back and watch Seasons 1 and 2 now that he “understood” how to watch the show.

This told me two things:

1. They’re called “hipster douchebags” for a reason.

2. The ratings for BE are lower than they should because this generation of spoon-fed, soccer trophy-getting, chest-shaving, Dave Matthews-listening dimwits are too ADD to follow anything that doesn’t resolve itself completely within 60 minutes.

“It’s too hard to follow all these characters.” Wah-wah.

“I don’t know who is real and who is made up.” Boo-hoo.

“I can’t remember more than one plot line.” Sniffle.

The writers, directors and producers of BE are classic storytellers who aren’t afraid to let one plot line dangle for a couple of weeks only weave it back into the fabric of the main story when the time is right. Why is this so challenging for people? Are you so over-stimulated that you can’t bear to have something that engages you for longer than the average status update? Time to put down the tablet and pick up a book, people. Maybe the next generation will be a little more thoughtful.

And thus concludes today’s Old Guy Rant. Now back to the show.

There is always some measure of satisfaction in season finales. You can argue that it’s not enough from time to time, but you must admit that there’s always some.

As Mitch and I have been saying throughout the season, Gillian had to die. Her death, like her life, was just another in a series of unfortunate events. Yes, she had to be killed to free Tommy. Yes, it was fitting that she got a taste of her own needle at the end. Yes, it made sense that a pair of self-destructive people like Gillian and Gyp had to enter the Thunderdome as two and leave as one. But, was it satisfying? Ultimately, yes. Although in that satisfaction there was also a little bit of sadness. As a heroin-addled Gillian admits to Nucky in her dying breath, “Those men did some very bad things to me.” And, implicitly, “It was all your fault, Nucky.”

Both are sad and both are true. As a result, Gillian fought for something she never had even up until her death. Control of her own life.

As Gyp said, “Somebody’s always gotta lose.” And that somebody was always Gillian.

The season finale also gave us the long-awaited meeting between two of the show’s most dynamic and ruthless characters. Al Capone and Chalky White are constantly eclipsing everyone else who appears on the screen with them. So, it was only fitting that every interaction between the two of them became a pissing match.

Side Note: Speaking of pissing matches, there was a preponderance of people whipping out their dicks to pee all over something in this episode. Were these symbolic gestures as in “It’s time to lay our cards and our junk on the table?” Or was it more of a “I’ll show you whose boss in a canine, alpha male sort of way?” Either way, I think I’ll be careful where I step the next time I’m in Atlantic City.

Chalky and Capone and their respective armies are at constantly each other’s throats throughout the siege. And they were supposed to be on the same side. There’s so much tension that Nucky releases them against Masseria’s retreating motorcade. There didn’t seem to be much rhyme or reason to this as Masseria’s men were no longer a threat and were merely on their way back to New York. It may have been a show of strength, but I think it was Nucky’s way of giving Chalky and Al somebody to kill besides each other. In fact, they part ways in grudging admiration of each other. Yeah, a little too pat for me.

Margaret’s denouement this season is almost as sad as Gillian’s. Her lover dead (and boxed), she heads to one of those secret doctors in New York a la Dr. Larch in The Cider House Rules to terminate her illegitimate pregnancy. Well-done by the writers to make it seem as though she were inquiring about a room to rent. That piece of misdirection made the scene far less maudlin than it could have been. I have been the most critical of Margaret’s character throughout the season, but it was moving to see her stand in the middle of the abortion clinic and admit “I’m lost.”

The internal struggle between her faith, her relationship with Nucky, her love affair with Owen and the well-being of her children as well as her position as the show’s moral compass have torn poor Margaret apart this season. So, I’ll admit to cheering a little when she turned down Nucky’s money at the end. It didn’t forgive everything she’s done, but it did make her a stronger player going forward.

Richard’s mission to spring Tommy was something that everyone saw coming. Yet, the actual act was so breathtaking that it still felt surprising. We know Richard is an expert marksman and we’ve seen him kill before, but he went full Rambo on the occupants of The Artemis Club. He killed them from near and far, from sneak attack to hand-to-hand combat. He plowed through that house like a howitzer. His coup-de-grace, the killing of the guy who had taken Tommy hostage, reminded me of that great scene in The Untouchables when Andy Garcia’s character catches the baby carriage at the bottom of the stairs and then kills the guy at the top of the stairs with one bullet. The shot of Richard and Tommy embracing through the splash of blood on the windowpane will, no doubt be studied by film students for years to come.

After handing Tommy off to Julia, Richard’s conversation with her father is touching. Mr. Sigorsky wants to help Richard work it out with Julia, but Richard knows that it’s over.

“He’s safe,” he says of Tommy. “That’s all that matters.”

As he walks down the Sigorsky’s front walk, Richard is exactly where he was when he met Jimmy two years ago.

Alone.

Damn.

Back in New York, Masseria and Rothstein’s little double cross on Lucky and Meyer leads to a circumstance where AR can bail out Nucky. I’m not sure what to think about AR playing Charlie like that. On the one hand, it shows Charlie that he can’t get around Rothstein. Ever. “He sees you when you’re sleeping. He knows when you’re awake…” and all that. But, taking the heroin out of Lucky’s hands and putting it in Masseria’s seems like a zero sum game.

I’m pretty sure Masseria was already pulling away from Gyp after their little tete-a-tete at The Artemis. Joe “The Boss” knows that Gyp is does not have the control he believes he has. When Gyp can’t articulate his plans despite the loss of twelve of Masseria’s men, Joe checks his pocket watch and then adjusts the hands on the clock in Gyp’s office.

“Now you know what time it is,” smiles Joe.

And with that, Rosetti is effectively on his own. The fact that Nucky cuts a deal with AR to get Masseria’s men out of Atlantic City seems superfluous. In my opinion, they were already gone. What it does do is give Nucky the opportunity to stick Rothstein with the Overholt Distillery, which is about to come crashing down courtesy of Andrew Mellon, Gaston Means and the lovely Esther Randolph. For a guy who plays “a shot to nothing” in billiards and admonishes against rushing into any deal, Rothstein sure jumped all over the information that “Giggles” Doyle gave him. I find it a tad hard to believe that AR didn’t see some sort of trap there. But, it was a convenient way to close the loop on the Mellon-Jess Smith-George Remus-Harry Dougherty circle. Though I have a hunch that if Rothstein can beat the rap on fixing the World Series, he can squirm out of a connection to a distillery in the sticks of Pennsylvania.

And so we come to Gyp and Nucky. One of them has to die and we’re all pretty sure it won’t be Nucky. But, again, Nucky gets lucky. Just as Richard took out all of Nucky’s would-be assassins at The Artemis, he manages to leave one would-be hit man alive in the basement. Magically, this man appears as Gyp is about to deliver his soliloquy on the beach. Just as he gets to the second verse of “Barney Google,” the happy hit man turns him into shish kabob.

As far as mafia deaths go, it ain’t no assassination at the toll both and it sure ain’t no guns blazing, nose full of coke last stand at the top of a double staircase. As charismatic as Gyp was, that was a real punk ass way to go…with your dick in your hand pissing onto the Margate sands.

But, it does answer one question for us. Is Nucky still half a gangster? My answer is yes. If you want to run the show, you have to do more than give tourists withering looks on the boardwalk. You have to get your hands dirty. Nucky did that when he killed Jimmy. Using a surrogate to kill Rosetti was a pencil pusher’s way out.

So, what kind of power will Nucky have when we next meet him? And what of Van Alden and Capone and Chalky and Margaret and all the others who have passed through our lives for the past twelve weeks?

I am content to let their fates simmer until next season.

I just hope the hipster douchebags can stand the wait.

- C.J. Kaplan

###

Once again, Boardwalk Empire concludes a season by weaving a masterful tapestry out of seemingly unrelated threads. In many ways this is the show’s core strength: juggling multiple characters, locations and plot lines and somehow getting them to intersect in an organic way for the conclusion.

This season we watched as Nucky’s ennui resulted in the loss of both his relationship to Margaret and the success of his business. Like CJ, I think it’s incredibly significant that the season concluded with Nucky ordering someone else to make the hit on Gyp Rosetti, as opposed to his decision to kill Jimmy with his own hands at the end of season 2. With Jimmy, it was personal and he needed to pull the trigger to prove that he was capable of being a killer. Of being a gangster. This season he learned the lesson that AR has been trying to teach all along – that it’s never personal, it’s always business.

Of course, it wasn’t hard to convince Tonino to stab Gyp in the back – he did have a strong personal motivation – revenge for his cousin’s death on the beach. Tim Van Patten did a wonderful job directing that scene, having Gyp gasping for breath, deliberately evoking his erotic asphyxiation scenes. Gyp died like he lived – greedily grasping and gasping.

On the other hand, I don’t think that Gillian is dead quite yet. Sure, she succumbed to quite a lot of lovely heroin, but the drug was meant to disable, not kill. Her scene in the hallway with Nucky was genius. Just like they successfully humanized that dummy Jimmy before his death, they reminded us that the evil black widow is just an abused little girl at heart. In one short scene we felt sympathy for a monster and were reminded of Nucky’s culpability in her sad state.

I suspect that Gillian will be back next season to look for her beloved Tommy. The tragic arc of Richard Harrow continues as once again he chooses virtue over personal happiness, rescuing the boy but sacrificing his last chance for humanity. How perfect was it that Mr. Sagorsky instantly recognized that Richard the soldier saved the boy, accomplishing what he couldn’t do for his own son. He invited Richard to come home, but understand why he couldn’t. Beautiful.

Richard’s massacre was perfectly shot – the best of the three violent set pieces (the war montage during the open and the Masseria massacre at the end were also well played) – and showed the interplay between violence (gangsterism) and persuasion (politicism). Nucky thought that he had to choose between being a politician or a gangster, but that was always a false dichotomy. Some of the big bosses win by the sword (Capone) and others will win by the pen (Rothstein). In the future Nucky will pave a third way – wielding both influence and violence, but exposing his hand in neither. That is the meaning of the final boardwalk scene and the abandonment of the carnation. Nucky the glad handler is dead, but so is Nucky the trigger-man.

But there’s still plenty of questions for next season: Gillian’s fate, Richard’s next move, Van Alden’s role in Capone’s organization, Daugherty’s political life, Margaret’s probable return, and the eventual show-down between Rothstein and Nucky.

Thus concludes another excellent season of a truly great show. And while I might not fully qualify as a hipster douchebag, I might re-watch these three seasons not because I have to, but because I want to.

Thanks for reading.

- Mitch Blum

###

It’s funny that they decided to call this episode “Two Imposters” when there were two characters that proved themselves to be true to the man who counts on them both. Eddie and Chalky have, in sunshine and rain, cast their lots with Nucky. And never was that loyalty tested more than it was this week when Nucky’s entire world came crashing down.

As Chalky says, “Sometimes you have to lose everything to find out what you really need.”

This may have been my favorite episode to date. It was lean, tightly written and unsentimental. Margaret and her bullshit soap opera storyline were sent packing along with the children and other non-essential personnel. What remained were two generals (one with an actual general’s hat), one battlefield and no middle ground. If someone had just put a bullet in the back of Gillian’s head, I would have felt complete. But, we’ll get to that.

Gyp, at the apex of his power, goes on a full offensive—attacking a trapped and friendless Nucky from all sides. Why he didn’t just lay siege to the Ritz-Carlton and eliminate any chance of Nucky escaping, I’m not sure. Instead, Rosetti sent three nobodies to take out Thompson while Gyp introduced himself to the locals. What kind of general does that? In a war like this, you need to take out the other leader yourself and then stick his head on a pike and march it around town. Show the world who’s in charge now.

“The king is dead. Long live the king!”

But, Nucky has the wherewithal to take out two of the nameless assassins and then finally eliminate the third gunman after a game of Knock-Knock-Who’s-There? Of course, this small victory comes with a huge price. Eddie Kessler takes a bullet for Nucky, as we always knew he would.

As Nucky and Eddie limp toward Chalky’s place, Eddie begins to babble in German. What we learn later is that he is repeating the opening stanza of Rudyard Kipling’s “If,” a poem that along with Tennyson’s “Ulysses” makes every tweed-elbowed English professor weak in the knees.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:

Those are the lines Eddie keeps repeating, but it is the last stanza (which he never gets to) that shows how Kessler really feels about Nucky.

If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

We’ve seen Kessler dress Nucky, tie his shoes and even spoon-feed him. He has performed these functions not as a servant waits on an employer, but rather as a father dotes on a son. And, if we know one thing about Boardwalk Empire, it’s that when you strip away everything, this show is about one thing and one thing only:

The relationship between fathers and sons.

So, Eddie sees Nucky as a son. But, how does Nucky view Eddie? How telling is it that Nucky doesn’t even know where Eddie lives or if he has a family? Like a child who believes that his teacher lives in the classroom at school, Nucky seems to feel that Kessler exists only in Nucky’s limited world.

And, for me, that makes Nucky Imposter #1.

On to Chalky’s house where Mr. White has a decision to make. With Nucky and a wounded Eddie helpless in the back shed with Chalky’s would-be son-in-law and Gyp at the front door with 25K and an open hand, Chalky could easily have lifted the latch and stepped aside. With the way Nucky has treated him recently and in the past, nobody would have blamed him. But, Chalky stands his ground. He stiff arms Gyp and runs an end around with Nucky, sneaking him out the back door to the safety of young Will’s place of employment. Chalky is offered money at several points during the episode, by both Gyp and Nucky, but money is not the reason for his unwavering support. He’s pledged his loyalty to Nucky and his word is the sum of his net worth. Chalky is worth a million.

So, who is the other imposter? Is it Lucky? Maybe. As poorly as he played that drug deal, it may be. Seriously, haven’t gangsters learned by now that anytime somebody says they’re from Buffalo they’re either a cop or a government agent? I mean, how many times does this have to happen? Now, Charlie was an easy mark. Even as Meyer is realizing that Rothstein was right to wait on the drug trade, Charlie Looch is going off half-cocked to do a deal on a rooftop with two guys he’s never met. No wonder his nickname is Lucky. There’s no way he ever would have gotten as far as he did on the strength of his brains.

Is the other imposter Gillian? Hard to say. We’ve never really known who the real Gillian is. She’s so damaged and twisted that it’s impossible to know if the rational part of her mind even exists or if it checked out long ago. Her treatment of Richard is despicable, but not out of character. The one good part of Gyp occupying her bordello is that she’s forced to allow people to have sex in the parlor. This eliminates her fantasy that she’s running a health club and not a whorehouse. Now that Richard is effectively a soldier of fortune, we can expect some sort of resolution to the Richard-Julia-Gillian-Tommy imbroglio very soon.

No, I suspect that identity of Imposter #2 is revealed in the episode’s spectacular final scene. Nucky finally gets help thanks to a big assist from Eli (another guy who stepped up and showed his loyalty). Al Capone rides into town like a man on a white horse or, in his case, a black sedan.

“We’ve been on the road for 18 hours,” says Capone. “I need a bath, some grub and then we’ll talk about who dies.”

There, my friends, is the real deal. Not half a gangster. Not a sex-crazed megalomaniac. Just a straight-up, badass commander-in-chief.

Which means that Imposter #2 is Gyp Rosetti.

So, it turns out that the Two Imposters are the opposing generals. Seems fitting to me. After all, haven’t we learned time and time again that all generals are imposters in one way or another?

Until next week.

- CJ Kaplan

###

While I almost always agree with my esteemed colleague from Needham, this time I think he’s shooting too low. Yes, on the surface level Boardwalk Empire is about the relationships between fathers and sons. Whether we’re talking about Nucky & Eddie or Richard & Tommy or Al & Johnny almost all of the relationships between male characters have a paternalistic element to them. But I think the show is really about the BIG father-son dynamic in the world: the relationship between God and Man, or more specifically, the relationship between righteousness and actions. Can a good man do bad things?

That’s why Margaret is such an important – albeit annoying – character on the show and why I know she’ll be back: she personifies the struggle between right and wrong. Her conscience and her desires are constantly at war. She desires, she sins, she repents, she forgives, she rinses and repeats.

In season 1 we watched Nucky metamorphasize from politician to gangster. His struggle was to try to hold onto his innate sense of self as a good person while committing increasingly bad acts. And while it’s never easy to squeeze a camel through the eye of the needle he somehow pulls it off: Nucky becomes half a gangster while still trying to be half a mensch.

In season 2 the balancing act can no longer be sustained, as brother turns on brother, father turns on son and commandments are broken like so many bottles of bathtub booze. The sins of the fathers and the sins of the sons have a much higher cost. Margaret quite literally tries to buy penance by gifting the blood money to the Church. Nucky’s payment is somewhat higher: his soul. Pulling the trigger on Jimmy turned him into a bad ass, and a bad man.

This season has seen our characters reveling in the seven deadly sins: Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, Pride. They’re sinners who deserve their gruesome fates, seemingly beyond redemption. And yet all is not lost for Nucky. Eli’s forgiveness, Eddie’s love and Chalky’s loyalty are giving him a glimmer of hope in the face of all that he’s lost.

My predictions for the finale:

Death for Gyp & Gillian.

Redemption for Nucky.

Humility for Meyer.

Victory for Arnold & Al.

Jail for Lucky & Daugherty.

Peace for Richard & Tommy.

Booze for all.

Giggles for Mickey Doyle.

- Mitch Blum

###

I’m in a Pink Floyd sort of mood today. Fall always does that to me. As soon as the leaves turn, I find myself listening to The Wall and Dark Side of the Moon with increasing frequency. So, when Mr. Kessler wakes Nucky up at 4am to tell him that there is a delivery, I couldn’t help but think of the lines from “Run Like Hell.”

And if your

Takin’ your girlfriend

Out tonight

You better park the car

Well out of sight

‘Cos if they catch you in the back seat

Trying to pick her locks

They’re gonna send you back to mother

In a cardboard box

Seems to apply to poor Owen Slater, whose only crime (outside of all the murder/hit man stuff) was lousy decision-making when it comes to women. Margaret has her moments, but Katie is relentlessly hot. And though I’ve been highly critical of this storyline, I’m sorry to see Mr. Slater go the way of the Pooka. Although I did loathe the revelation that Margaret is pregnant with Owen’s baby. Way too soap opera-y for Boardwalk. Leave that crap to The Young and the Restless, BE writers. It was enough that Margaret and Owen were planning to run away together, you didn’t have to throw a baby into the mix. (Did anyone else find it amusing that Margaret got a diaphragm after the Pooka was out of the barn, so to speak?) But, more importantly, with Mr. Slater gone Nucky is more vulnerable than ever.

Owen was ultimately done in because Charlie and Meyer ran like hell to Masseria after Arnold Rothstein turned down their heroin deal. AR’s billiards analogy “a shot to nothing,” or a “safety” as we used to call it when we played 8-ball on our basement pool table, proves why Rothstein is always one step ahead of everybody else. “Deals will always wait,” he cautions, “and fools will always rush in.”

Lucky and Meyer, a couple of fools, trade information in exchange for the deal and Masseria (no fool himself) continues to run the whole show unopposed. Nucky is now no more a threat to him than Eddie Cantor is to subtle comedy.

It’s funny that both Nucky and Dougherty run to Gaston Means to get rid of Jess Smith, a man who had a nervous breakdown at a Boy Scout jamboree. While Means manages to extort money from both men for the same job (in advertising, we call this “double booking”), it turns out that he doesn’t even have to pull the trigger himself. Jess does the deed for him. I did enjoy seeing a cornered Means try to prattle his way out of being shot while never losing his 5-star vocabulary or finishing school elocution. Now that’s a pro.

Nucky sends another man running to Tabor Heights under the guise of cutting a deal with Gyp Rosetti. Gyp, however, is far more interested in learning the ways of the sea from sons of fishermen. (Question: If you had ever seen how Rosetti operates, would you ever, under any circumstances, offer up information that might make him appear uneducated on a particular subject? Neither would I.) The similarities between Gyp and a rogue wave, two entities that inflict rage and destruction without warning or pattern, is lost on the man himself. Watching Gyp kill people in newer and more horrifying ways is getting a little old even for the most bloodthirsty viewer. We get it. Gyp is a functioning sociopath. Inventing different ways for minor characters to insult his intelligence and turn themselves into cannon fodder is a redundant effort. And, frankly, this week’s beach golf bludgeoning didn’t advance the story at all.

Al Capone, on the other hand, is a man who knows how to use violence to his advantage. Maybe that’s why he is arguably the most famous gangster in history while Gyp Rosetti is someone only a pretentious writer could have created. Al could have simply killed Van Alden after catching him aqua vitae-handed. But, Al uses the opportunity to gain information about his north side rival O’Bannon. Al and Gyp do share the “cat who likes to play with a mouse before he kills it” trait (Gyp with his shovel, Al with his fork and blueberry pie) except that Capone’s threat of violence is far more menacing than Rosetti’s tangible act. Al will now use NVA to advance the turf war in Chicago. And thank goodness for that. I couldn’t stand to lose Owen and Nelson in the same week.

Chalky runs to Nucky with a plan to replace Babette’s with a high-end jazz club similar to the ones that are flourishing in Harlem. Nucky dismisses him far too quickly and is in danger of losing his last key ally. “You ain’t the only one whose been thinking,” Chalky warns. I wonder if Nucky would have been so hasty if he had known about Owen at that point.

And finally, Richard has the inevitable run-in with Mr. Sagorsky who can’t stand to see his daughter dating what he calls “a side show freak.”

“Would you pay a dime to see this?” asks Richard removing his mask with one hand and strangling Sagorsky with the other.

For a guy who doesn’t usually get more than two-dozen words an episode, Richard has uttered some of the most memorable lines in the series. I will always root for Richard no matter what he does.

Until next week, I think I’ll go for run. (Not really. I can’t stand jogging.)

-       C.J. Kaplan

###

“How to Get A-Head in Business Without Really Trying”

It looks like I owe Nucky an apology. Last week I chastised him for focusing on Gyp Rosetti when Joe Masseria was clearly the real problem. This week, Nucky apparently came to the same realization and sent Owen and Agent Sawicki on an assassination mission. Unfortunately for the home team someone forgot to draw up an actual plan of attack. What happened to the ruthlessly efficient IRA man Owen Slater who could kill someone while peeing in a bar?

Nope, the new Owen is full of half-baked schemes. He inexplicably chooses naggy Margaret over hot nanny Katie, while pretending to propose to Katie. Was that really necessary Owen? Then he plans to kill one of the biggest gangsters in NYC by walking in the front door of a public bathhouse. That’s the whole plan? Just walk in with your gun and start shooting? You, Sir, deserved to die.

Unlike the little sailor boy (not Tommy) who taught Gyp all about rogue waves and was given the Creepshow sand burial treatment in return. Gyp must have a hell of a benefits package in order to retain his workforce. Seriously – who would work for that lunatic?

One man who knows how to work it is Gaston Means, getting $40k from both Daugherty AND Nucky for pulling a Kevorkian on poor Jess Smith. I wonder if that ruins the case against Daugherty, taking out Remus, but saving the AG.

Good news for Richard this week, who managed to get a little action under the boardwalk after assaulting his girlfriend’s drunken father. She’s a keeper Richard!

Since dropping Van Alden in Cicero at the end of last season we’ve been waiting for the meeting of Van Alden and Capone. Aside from a little fork in the face I’d say the two of them hit it off pretty well.

So the table is set for Van Alden to switch to Team Capone and I’m still predicting that Harrow will go work for Nucky (he can take Owen’s cube at the office). Surprisingly, Lucky and Meyer threw their lot in with Masseria after being frustrated by AR’s patience.

I’m sensing a pattern with BE where Nucky hits his nadir in episode 10, setting the stage for an improbable comeback in the season finale. Once again it seems like Nucky has few options and fewer friends (why piss off Chalky now?) but I suspect that things will work out well in the end for him, Maggie and Baby Owen.

- Mitch Blum

###

I love the fact that Richard gets Tommy’s drawing when nobody else does. It speaks so highly of Richard’s character. To the world, he is reticent, almost creepily so. But, the fact of the matter is that Richard doesn’t waste words. He is so thoughtful that when he speaks it is only after he has carefully considered what the other person wants to hear. His judicious responses are in sharp contrast to a concussed Nucky’s wild ramblings.

Nucky is seeing double and hearing a constant ringing in his ears while he convalesces in his suite at the Ritz-Carlton. I feel you, Nucky. I once split a bottle of Night Train with a friend right before sitting third row at a Metallica concert. My head wasn’t right for nearly a week. Nucky’s concussion is clearly messing with his memory. (Although Roger Goodell stopped by to say that HBO is exercising every caution to make sure Nucky is okay before taking the stage again. After all, the league cares about the safety its actors first and foremost.) Nucky’s shakier moments are filled with images of Billie and flames and hummingbirds. But, when he’s lucid he’s smart enough to know that he needs to get rid of Gyp. And that he can’t do it alone.

Curiously, Nucky’s instability finally causes Margaret to become a real mob wife. When Nucky asks her to stay for his conversation with Eli and Owen in which he describes in graphic detail what he wants to do to Gyp, Margaret comes to terms with her husband’s true occupation at last. And even though she and Owen are plotting to run off together, this is as much character as Margaret has shown the entire season. It is she who steels a weakened Nucky before his meeting with the other bosses.

“You need to go and take care of your business,” she tells him.

Good for you, Margaret. You may live most of your life in denial, but for once you were a stand-up guy.

As for those cowards who joined Nucky in his office, their reluctance to help him seems very short-sighted. If Gyp is controlling the shore and the only route to the city, they’re going to have a hard time running their bootlegging operation at a profit. As the sole supplier, General Gyp sets the price. And that’s not good for anybody’s business.

Side Note: Gyp in the tri-cornered hat at the end was priceless. Now that he’s retaken Tabor Heights, Rosetti is at the height of his power. Masseria, using the stone analogy, tells Gyp that he might make a good general. In time. Never one to wait for anything, Gyp anoints himself (Napoleon style) commander-in-chief. I suspect, though, that if Masseria had told him he’d make a good engineer, Gyp would have shown up in a Choo-Choo Charlie hat. I wonder if the general’s hat will clash with the dog collar. But, that’s a discussion for another time.

Richard acquits himself well at the Legion Hall with Julia. With her help, he turns his fellow lodge members’ scorn and condescension into actual applause. And even though his night ends with Gillian blaming him for Tommy walking in on his prostitute/babysitter in the act, he’s finally realizing that he can be happy.

A couple of things about this sequence of events:

1.    Does Tommy only have a closet full of sailor suits? Seriously. It’s the only thing we’ve ever seen him in. Who is he? Pop-eye?

2.    Shame on those other working girls for setting up Tommy to walk in on Josephine and her client. Even if it was more out of hatred of Gillian than animosity toward Tommy. What ever happened to hookers with hearts of gold?

3.    Gillian, you’ve officially sunk below Margaret on the despicable scale. If you don’t want your grandson to hang out with whores, don’t run a whorehouse.

When Richard wakes Tommy and asks him if he’s all right, Tommy says that he wants to go home. Just like the rhinoceros waiting for the train. Tommy is the rhinoceros. You are the Egg Man. I am the walrus. Koo-koo-ka-choo.

And last comes the takedown of Remus, who is apparently living like Jay Gatsby in a house filled with marble fountains and giant birdcages. I really enjoyed Remus pleading in his third person affectation, “Remus kept the receipts.” And then Esther shooting back, “Well, then Randolph wants to see them.” The only thing that would have made this better is if the King of Third Person Self-Reference, Rickey Henderson, had been tapped to play Remus.

“George Remus just wants to play ball. George Remus is the greatest. George Remus had a teammate like you once in Toronto. Or was it New York?”

Until next week, Kaplan is done writing.

- C.J. Kaplan

###

You’re crazy, my friend, Gyp Rosetti-crazy, if you think Rothstein was wrong to abandon Nucky. AR is a businessman. He already (rightly) chastised Nucky for ignoring his business while mooning over Billie. Now Nucky calls a meeting (against Eli & Owen’s counsel) with every major gangster in the tri-state area when he can barely stand or utter a complete sentence? Why does Nucky deserve to be the capo di tutti capi? He doesn’t have the muscle to take down Gyp and he’s not bringing the political protection anymore. Nucky is just lucky that Chalky didn’t show him how his Daddy builds bookshelves.

AR sees the big picture. Nucky is worried about Gyp when the real issue is Joe Masseria. The only reason that Gyp feels empowered to wear that snappy tri-cornered hat is because of Masseria. You take care of Masseria and the Gyp problem will solve itself. Without Joe’s muscle all Gyp has is a snappy suit and a lot of loud sisters. Tabor Heights isn’t the problem – Little Italy is.

But why focus on the negative when love was in the air? Seeing Richard get some action at the American Legion Hall was truly one of the sweetest scenes of the whole series. (“Hrrm…scrapbook finally coming true…”) and I’m totally on-board with Margaret and Owen making the plan to split town. For an episode that was rife with bad decisions, that’s a damn good one.

Aside from the escape plan, Margaret confused me this week. It doesn’t seem in character for her to support Nucky after learning, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he’s a murderer. Obviously Nucky was confusing Margaret for Billie throughout the episode (hence why he let her stay in the room while discussing business – Billie’s his gangster moll) and that played into her decision, but as a good Catholic she would not condone or encourage murder.

In retrospect, I think the Billie story arc turned out to be a good one. It established Nucky as being a little fat and lazy in his business and Billie effectively drove a wedge between Nucky and Margaret, rekindling her affair with Owen, and setting up runaway story. I don’t believe for a second that Margaret will actually leave (Nucky needs her moral counter-balance) but one can always dream. The only problem with the Billie character was that they rushed the beginning of their relationship. He was too in love with her too soon. If they stretched out the set-up a little more I think it would have been even more effective.

I’ve also come full circle on Gyp. Similar to Nelson Van Alden’s character development, somehow they’re able to push a character to mustache-twirling levels and pull them back at the last minute to make them somewhat believable but wholly enjoyable. And you’ve got to love any show where Nelson is only the third craziest character (behind Gyp and Gillian).

I always appreciate a show that can make the mundane seem terrifying, and that birthday party had me on the edge of my seat.  The tension reminded me of the “Fly” episode of Breaking Bad. Walt – don’t tell Jesse about Jane! Enuch – don’t stab Emily with the cake knife!

In closing, I think I’m in love with Randolph. ‘Nuff said.

- Mitch Blum

###

And yet I feel compelled to write more about the CRB because they deserve the attention. Sure, they sold out the Paradise Rock Club, but this a band that should be selling out the Orpheum. I guess it’s time for us music nerds to accept that rock music has really become a niche genre, like jazz or classical, appreciated by a few but ignored by the masses.

Well, for those of you who still care about real music performed by genuine artists, here are some reasons why you need to check out the CRB:

The Singing: Having seen Chris Robinson many, many times over the last 20 years I have to say that he’s in great voice these days. Whatever he’s lost in range he’s gained in phrasing and confidence. His voice was incredible last night on every single tune. It’s most noticeable on the covers, with his “Do Right Woman” rivaling both Gram’s and Aretha’s versions and his “Tom Thumb’s Blues” elevating Dylan’s composition greatly. Of course, originals like “100 Days of Rain” and “Star or Stone” also highlight his instrument.

The harmonies, a secret weapon of this band (and underemphasized on the LPs), were spot on as usual. Neal Casal is one of the best in the business (playing the Chris Hillman role), occasionally doubling Chris’s lines for maximum impact. Muddy Dutton does a great job with the high harmonies. And when Adam MacDougall jumps in for the a capella breaks it’s just perfect. Singing is often a weakness for rock bands – particularly for jam bands – So it’s a real treat to hear a band that can consistently nail the vocals.

The Sound: I’m doubling down on my theory that the CRB are psychedelic rockabilly band (but not a psychobilly band – big difference!) Before there was rock music there was rockabilly. It was the earliest fusion of country and blues. It featured a driving rhythmic beat and a clean finger-picked electric lead guitar with slap-back echo. CRB still features the chug-a-chug-a beat courtesy of George Sluppick, but the psychedelic aspect is achieved by replacing the Scotty Moore-style guitar with a more Jerry Garcia-esque sound from Neal. Throw in Muddy dropping bombs on the bass all night long and Adam’s trippy work on the Moog and Hammond and you’ve got something that sounds new and classic at the same time. Non-album tracks like “Try Rock N Roll”, “Jump the Turnstile” and “Meanwhile in the Gods…” really bring that psychedelic rockabilly sound to life.

The Vibe: When I go to a show I don’t really care if the band talks to the audience or not. I’m there for music, not comedy or pandering to the locals (“Hello Cleveland!”), but I do think that a show is enhanced when it appears like the band is having a good time and wants to be there. Like Phil Lesh always says, there’s a connection between the band and the audience, a infinite loop where the positive energy is reflected from the band to the audience and back to the band. Last night you could tell they were having a great time.  Watching how much Chris loved Adam’s long spacey solos, like during “Vibration & Light Suite” gave the feeling that there was no place he’d rather be, which made the audience feel the same way.

The Dead: Speaking of Phil, the Dead are still strong with this band. Aside from Neal’s Garcia-like tone, they somehow were able to transform “West L.A. Fadeaway” from a piss-break song into a monster (admit it, “West L.A.” was always a piss-break when the Dead played it). Also, there was a new arrangement of “Mother of Stone” that I’m absolutely convinced was built on top of the rhythm line from “The Other One”. Come to think of it, they should probably work “The Other One” into the rotation.

The Arrangements: Including “Mother of Stone” there were three New Earth Mud songs in the set (also “Sunday Sound” and “Silver Car”) and all featured different arrangements that perfectly fit the players in the CRB. It’s instructive to compare Mud versions to the CRB versions to get a sense of the evolution of Chris’s sound. Also getting a radically different arrangement was “Tornado”, perhaps the best Black Crowes b-side, which went from being a great country-folk acoustic number to a funked up reggae tune. (I’m not saying that it was better than the original version, but it worked quite well.) The CRB has a gift of taking songs – whether originals, covers, or old Chris tunes – and making them sound fresh and perfectly suited for their sound.

The Value: Not that it should matter, but tickets, including fees, were $33. They played for 2 and a half hours. I spent more money on Schlitz tallboys than I did on the show. The Stones are charging $750 for good seats at their 50^th anniversary shows. I’d rather see the CRB.

If you’re a fan of great music – especially if you’re a deadhead – you owe it to yourself to check out the Chris Robinson Brotherhood. The songs are strong. The covers are great. The playing is exceptional. The vocals are tremendous. Most of all, it’s a real good time.

###

Chris Robinson Brotherhood
08 November 2012
Paradise Rock Club
Boston, MA

- Set One -
TRY ROCK N ROLL
JUMP THE TURNSTILE
MOTHER OF STONE
STAR OR STONE
TORNADO
GOODBYE WHEELING
ROLL OLD JEREMIAH
DO RIGHT WOMEN
TULSA YESTERDAY

- Set Two -
MEANWHILE IN THE GODS…
TOMORROW BLUES
100 DAYS OF RAIN
SUNDAY SOUND
WEST L.A. FADEAWAY
VIBRATION & LIGHT SUITE
SILVER CAR
ROSALEE

- encore -
TUMBLEWEED IN EDEN
TOM THUMB’S BLUES

###

(Please note that CJ has decided to be all fancy and title these essays. Like Bork Bork, I will support my man no matter what…MB)

After last week’s deeply religious episode, this week’s installment of Boardwalk Empire delves into the dark recesses of the cast’s souls to see what happens when they get pushed to their limits. As is often the case when one is trapped or cornered, the animalistic impulses that are common to all of us rise to the surface.

Let’s start with our man Nucky. Having been threatened and slighted by Dougherty, Nucky will go to any length to bring down the AG. With the lukewarm support of Esther Randolph and the fake i.d.-wielding Means, Enoch poses as successful cattleman in order to approach Secretary of the Treasury Andrew Mellon.

Side Note: Gaston Means is apparently a man who can get you whatever you need for a price. He’s like a 1923 cross between The Shawshank Redemption’s Red and Fast Times at Ridgemont High’s Damone. I wouldn’t be surprised if he offers Nucky and Esther front row seats to Cheap Trick.

Secretary Mellon, as we learned at that seemingly random Congressional hearing a couple of weeks ago, hates both The Volstead Act and income tax. Today, this would make him a viable candidate for Governor of New Hampshire. On the show, it makes him the perfect target for Nucky’s little scheme. It seems that Mellon, who is the jelly to Andrew Carnegie’s peanut butter, has a brewery in Pennsylvania that has been lying fallow lo these many years of Prohibition. Nucky endures another round of being called a nobody by a public official and then uses Mellon’s brewery as leverage to get him to indict Jess Smith.

That accomplished, he heads back to New York City and beats the shit out of Billie’s actor friend because the guy called him “sir.” See, that’s what happens when you think you’re important and somebody who actually is important tells you that you’re not. You go and pound on the guy who really is less important than you. Then, badda-bing, you’re important again. All this fighting causes Billie to change her hair color, lose her earrings and revert to her given name. Just in time to get blown to smithereens. Looks like the role of Nucky Thompson’s showgirl mistress has roughly the same life expectancy as second in command on the Death Star.

In Margaret’s case, getting pushed to her limits drives her to seek out a two-for-one sale on diaphragms. Seriously, BE writers, are we just using the Margaret-Owen-Young Doctor storyline to goose female viewership? ‘cause I’m pretty much done with Maggie and her mewling fascination with Owen. Fuck her! Fuck her sanctimony! Fuck her women’s classes! Fuck her childhood stories! Fuck her driving lessons! And fuck the damn pony!

See, that’s what happens when I get pushed to my imaginary TV fandom limits. Let’s move on to more interesting characters.

Nelson Van Alden. I love this guy. I really do. The dichotomy between his overly proper, uptight demeanor and the insane amount of violence the he is capable of is intoxicating. And I don’t just mean that because he now has a still in his home. So, now he’s paying off his debt to O’Bannon by making a little homebrew on the stove. (How much whiskey do you have to make in order to be even for disposing a body? Two cases? Ten? Can somebody look this up?) He’s also become O’Bannon’s “muscle,” which basically means that he has to carry that heavy trunk full of steam irons around. One thing, though. Muscle guys aren’t supposed to know the date of the Vesuvius eruption and the subsequent burial of Pompeii.

And speaking of irons and eruptions, the least surprising explosion of the week was NVA getting pushed too far and martinizing that guy’s face. Of course, Sigrid saves the day (and another midnight run) by siphoning off some aqua vitae for her Norse countrymen and selling it in Cicero’s world-famous Little Scandanavia District.

I’m going to admit something to you here because I feel like we’re close. I have a bit of a crush on Sigrid. Now, I never had much luck with the blond/blue-eyed set. But, maybe after a few more years with the pasty Van Alden, Siggy might go for a swarthy dude like me. What do you think? Do I have a chance?

And finally, we come to Gillian.

“Do you have anything to say?” she asks Richard at the cremation of fake James. “You were his friend.”

“Jimmy deserved better,” he grunts.

And with that pithy retort, he at once displays his disdain for Gillian and honors his dead friend. Mr. Harrow, I am frankly in awe.

Even mutton chop guy gets in on the action when Gillian asks for an extra minute with the body.

“I think we’ve bid our adieus,” he sneers.

In other words, “Cut the crap, lady.”

Gillian, now able to secure a loan against the house, pushes Charlie out of the whorehouse business. However, Gillian gets pushed by Nucky in the ultimate powerplay.

“You only exist in Atlantic City because I allow you to.”

Nice.

So, Gillian does what any crazy lady, son humping, murderess would do. She calls in Gyp, who hardly needs to be pushed at all before he snaps, and tells him where Nucky and AR are going to be dining that evening. And, just like that, boom goes the dynamite.

Last, but not least, Big Al is making a push to take over now that Johnny T. seems fond of snowbirding in Italy.

It’s only a matter of time before push comes to shove.

Until next week.

- C.J. Kaplan

###

“Acting & Acting Out”

This week’s episode finally saw a few of our favorite characters acting out…blowing off a little steam, if you will (sorry). We all knew that Nelson Van Alden would eventually snap, but who could have imagined such a gruesome scene? I guess this proves that the iron actually works quite well and that poor Treasury agent died in vain.   Bork Bork has easily locked up “wife of the year” honors with her calm demeanor and fragrant orange slices in the homebrew. And Nelson already has a new job acting as O’Bannon’s enforcer.

On the other side of town, Johnny Torrio comes home and Al gets nervous that he’s in trouble with the boss. After fearing for his life in the meat-packing district the happy truth is revealed: Ol’ Torrio is ready to retire and is confident with Al’s leadership. It looks like Al won’t suffer the same fate that befell Jimmy, another one of the Muppet Gangster Babies that wanted more power.

Nucky both acted and acted out plenty this week, first by feigning ignorance to Gillian over Jimmy’s death (setting in motion her Gyp-fueled revenge), secondly by pretending to be a cattleman in order to speak with Secretary Mellon (setting in motion his political revenge plan on Daugherty and Remus), and thirdly by beating up Billie’s actor friend for smirking and/or disrespecting sheiks. But his finest performance was still to come – giving Billie a lifetime annuity while seemingly setting her free, trying to convince her (and himself) that he’s really a good guy after all.

Of course, Nucky’s thespian skills ultimately saved him, AR and Lucky, as he humored an annoying acquaintance on the boardwalk and avoided the bomb at Babbette’s. Come to think of it, Masseria isn’t going to take Gyp’s failed assassination attempt well.

I’m totally on-board with Margaret’s attempt to turn her boring lectures into an underground planned parenthood, but where exactly is this relationship with Owen going? If they were smart they’d ride that pony back to the old country, because things won’t end well for them in AC.

One final interesting thing to note: both Nelson’s and Nucky’s victims ended up with bloody damage on the left side of their faces, in the same spot where Richard wears his mask. What, if anything, does this symbolize?

- Mitch Blum

###

Dinner #1-Nucky and Margaret go to Eli’s house

In what must have been an uncomfortable conversation for both men, Eli and Nucky are convinced by their wives to have Easter dinner together. Nucky, Margaret, Emily and Teddy (who may or may not have been carrying a switchblade in his Buster Browns) show up for a good old-fashioned egg hunt and talent show. (I’m Jewish, so forgive me for this next question: I know about Easter Egg hunts, but is there forced performance art on Easter as well? I thought you just had to wear a funky hat.) While the children hunt for eggs in the shrubbery, Eli beats around the bush with Nucky until he finally gets him alone in the workshop. When Eli asks for more responsibility and a better position, Nucky reminds Eli (now playing the role of Judas) of how he betrayed Nucky in ways that can never be forgiven. So, Eli tries to “kill himself” as Judas did by offering Nucky a gun. But, of course, St. Nucky forgives him.

Meanwhile, Margaret and June are getting all chummy in the kitchen over pineapple upside-down cake. Maggie feels so close to June that she confesses Nucky’s affair. June (playing the role of Polyanna) chooses to ignore that sordid talk and offers only a silent hand on Margaret’s shoulder in comfort. Then, we are treated to after-dinner theatre.

The opening act is one of Eli’s seventeen children who plays a little tune on a something that sounds like a theremin, which is used most often in…wait for it…ghost stories. Nucky headlines with a juggling trick, which leads to the awkward “I-didn’t-know-you-could-juggle” conversation between Nucky and Margaret. Clearly, Nucky can juggle women, which is what Margaret tries to get him to admit. But, Nucky brashly offers to teach her. Margaret says that it’s too late and if Nucky had been paying attention to her song about how “the boys can’t leave her alone,” he wouldn’t have been so cavalier.

In the end, Nucky calls Eli to tell him that he’s now co-manager of the warehouse operation with Doyle. After going through hell, Eli is born again.

Dinner #2-Richard and Tommy break bread with Archie Bunker

Richard is smitten with Julia Sagorsky and he brings young Tommy along on the date so Gillian can do other things (we’ll get to that later). Richard brings Julia a bouquet of lilies, which though appropriate at Easter are often given at funerals as well. Julia’s father, who has lost all faith (Doubting Thomas), mocks the pre-meal grace. He baits Richard and even Tommy with pointed questions about the war and why we raise young men as Christians and then send them off to die (martyrs).

Julia, in a gesture that was supposed to be kind, exiles Richard to the kitchen to eat his meal. Curiously, Richard’s pre-meal prayer is “to be ever mindful of the needs of others.” When he returns to the table, it is Tommy who sets the true action of the dinner in motion.

After using the upstairs bathroom, Tommy opens the door (rolls back the stone) from Julia’s brother’s room/shrine and lets his spirit free. When the old man finds Tommy in the room, he explodes in rage and after Richard threatens to kill him, retreats back into the room to spend the remainder of the day with his son’s ghost.

Then, Jesus, Joseph and Mary (Tommy, Richard and Julia) hit the boardwalk and walk among the freaks until they are immortalized in a picture. Richard, fast becoming Atlantic City’s pre-eminent scrap-booker, places it in his holy book of memories. Can I get an Amen?

Dinner #3-Gillian and Roger in a mini version of “Tales from the Crypt”

Who better to play Mary Magdalene on Easter Sunday than Gillian? The original MM was both a prostitute and, get this, mother of James. (Look it up.) Gillian has not been able to come to terms with Jimmy’s death in the absence of his body. So, she decides to recreate his demise in her own way. (Credit to Mitch for predicting this last week.) After a little sex and ham, Roger wants to take Gillian like a sacrifice right there on the dining room table. But, Gillian wants him to take a bath, a ritual cleansing, before they have at it again. Like Mary Magdalene, she anoints Roger/Jimmy/Jesus in purifying oils. Unlike MM, she sticks him with about 20ccs of heroin. As he slips beneath the water, his last words resonate in the bath chamber. “Am I dreaming?” Unfortunately, no.

In one final creep-tastic gesture, Gillian drapes Jimmy’s dog tags over Roger’s lifeless head. With that completed, she finally admits out loud for the first time (to Richard, as it turns out), “My son is dead.” In 3 of the 4 gospels, Mary Magdalene is the first to witness the resurrection of Jesus. Perhaps Gillian thinks she will be the first as well.

Dinner #4-Dinner with the Rosetti’s

In a sterling balance of comic and tragic, we find the terrifying Gyp Rosetti in a cramped New York apartment meticulously primping for an Easter Dinner. But here, instead of being feared, he is the object of his mother and sister’s derision. They chide his clothes and his manners and even his manhood. Even though Gyp eats the marrow from the roast lamb, it is he who is being bled dry by these women.

Following dinner, Gyp engages in a classic “Why hast thou forsaken me?” monologue at the local parish. After getting no answers, he does what any supplicant would do. He knocks off the church to make up the difference in his weekly envelope to Joe Masseria. I could only smile when I thought about the episode of The Sopranos when Paulie Walnuts rolls an old lady in his mother’s nursing home to impress Tony with a fat envelope.

 “What did you do? Rob a bank?” asks Tony.

“Yeah, something like that,” replies Paulie.

So, Gyp takes the pennies and nickels from the collection plate and brings it to Masseria. But, here’s Gyp’s problem. Joe “The Boss” has had it with Rosetti’s cowboy act. When Joe gets up to leave and the dark shadows step forward, it looks like dog collar sales in the Manhattan area will be taking a significant dip. But, Gyp has his own resurrection act. He offers to kill all of Masseria’s enemies—The Irish Mob, The Jewish Mob and any Italians who run with The Jewish Mob (watch your back, Lucky). And what does he say?

“When I’m finished, they won’t call you Joe ‘The Boss.’ They’ll call you Joe ‘The King.’

The King of Kings, perhaps?

My sermon is over. Until next week, peace be with you.

- C. J. Kaplan

###

Wow, I’m impressed with your religious knowledge (I never read the sequel). Not as impressed as I am with myself for predicting Roger’s fate, mind you, but impressed nonetheless. There’s not much that I can add to your distillation of the symbolism, so I’ll stick to the plot and over-arching themes.

This week we find the various factions inching closer and closer to war and yet peace temporarily breaks out. Rosetti continues to be a rabid dog, but at least he’s on Messeria’s short-leash. You would think it would be wise to get rid of Gyp after the Tabor Heights debacle, but it’s got to be pretty hard to turn down a sincere offer to have all of your enemies killed. So we’ve got the weakened Italian mob on one side and the uneasy Jewish-Irish alliance on the other side. Someone’s going to end up controlling both the liquor and the (lovely) heroin trade, but it won’t come easy.

And while it seems like we’ve largely transitioned from politicians to gangsters, we’ve still got the looming issue of Esther Randolph versus Attorney General Dougherty. It’s a reminder that the serious money is always taken with a pen instead of a gun.

Or perhaps with an iron, lest we forget the developments in Chicago, where Van Alden has unwittingly hooked up with the gang of Capone’s chief rival. Johnny Torrio isn’t going to be able to keep Little Al under control for much longer, and things are going to get messy in the Midwest.

But perhaps the most tragic wars are the emotional ones: Nucky and Margaret’s estrangement, Gillian’s loss, and Richard’s on-going attempts to convince himself that he’s deserving of a loving family and a normal life.

Poor Richard. Richard Harrow is perhaps the most fully realized character in the Boardwalk Empire universe and I’m sure it’s no coincidence that he’s one of the few characters not hamstrung by historical events. Richard is terrifying and tender. Unfailingly sincere (“I had a lovely time at dinner”), Richard can’t lie to others or himself. He recognizes both the sin and the potential for salvation in his soul. He’ll kill without hesitation but will remember each and every victim. Are we defined by our actions or our intentions? It’s a question that Richard openly struggles with but can easily be applied to every member of the Boardwalk Empire familia.

In closing, here’s my Halloween salute to Richard…

- Mitch Blum

You’re damn right I just referenced a Bob Seger song! Not only was the fire in the greenhouse the plot catalyst in this episode, but two of Boardwalk Empire’s central female characters had a fire burning down below as well.

Gillian is in a headlong death spiral right now. She’s so far gone that she’s picking up stray men by offering them cigarettes (fire!). After catching Charlie (her only living boy toy) snorting a little H with one her girls, she hits the boardwalk and snares Kansas farm boy Roger with his military background and slicked back hair (sound familiar?) and lets him take her back to his crash pad. While they are en flagrante, she calls him “baby.” But, not in the sexy Telly Savalas saying “baby” kind of way. More in the creepy cougar-cradle robbing-Oedipal kind of way. Yeesh! And then, to top it off, she tells Roger that she’s going to call him James. Roger is excited because it’s the first time he’s done a woman older than him. Oh Rog, I mean James, you have no idea what you’re in for.

Meanwhile, Margaret apparently has a little fire starter on her hands (and not the kind Prodigy sang about). When Teddy tells her it was a gypsy (“Gyp” Rosetti, maybe?) and she later discovers the oilcan and matches in his bag, she does what any good mother would do. She gives Teddy three ineffectual swats on the butt and then has sex in the burnt out greenhouse with a former lover who currently works for her husband.

Wait. Let me back up a second.

Fire is, indeed, the central theme here. And while most people think of fire as destructive, an equal number regard it as cleansing. Especially the devoutly religious. In Judaism, for example, before a kitchen can be declared Kosher, it needs to be cleaned. Not with soap and water, but with fire. In many religions, fire washes away sin in a way that no other form of absolution can. Why do you think witches were burned at the stake?

With the greenhouse turned to cinders, Margaret’s slate has been wiped clean. All the sins of her past, real and imagined, have gone up in smoke with the potted palms. Now she is free to start sinning again. Enter Owen Slater (Get it? Clean “slate.”). Mr. Slater represents the incarnation of the fearsome Pooka, a malevolent Irish fairy who comes out at night to take his share from the local farmers. This is not to be confused with Owen’s Mr. Pouffle, who also comes out at night to get his share.

Frankly, this re-coupling surprised me. I thought Owen had as much contempt for Margaret as I do, but apparently he just can’t quit her. Katie must not be paying enough attention to Mr. Pouffle because it isn’t out of loyalty to her that Slater first rebuffs Margaret. He’s thinking of his boss rather than his girlfriend when he says no. In the end, Maggie gets her way and they both rise like phoenixes from the ashes.

A brief word about Teddy-boy here. I’m glad to see he’s graduated from fire to knives. They’re much easier to conceal after all. The only question left is who he shivs first (Or is it shanks? I still don’t know the difference.) My guess is that it will be one of the anonymous nursemaids who refuses him a lemon drop and gets a cold, steel blade for her troubles. We’ll see.

Down in DC, Nucky finds himself at odds with the man he helped install as the Attorney General. When Nucky confronts him and threatens to expose the whole operation, AG Dougherty puts him in his place.

“Who are they gonna believe? The United States Attorney General or a liquor bootlegger from Atlantic City?”

It seems that big-time gangsters and big-time government officials are fond of tagging Nucky as a small-time crook. Not good for the Nuckster’s street cred. However, it does precipitate the reunion of Nucky and Esther Randolph. The surprisingly fetching DA can’t get Nucky’s possession charge to stick, but she is willing to listen to his proposal of how to take down her boss. Esther correctly points out that Nucky always wants to be the father figure. He’s certainly done it with Lucy, Margaret, Billie and Jimmy. He even did it with Gillian to a certain extent. Although that was more in a Billy Ray Cyrus pimp/dad sort of way. At any rate, Nucky thinks he has Means in his pocket. But, he doesn’t know that Means was in the closet when he was fighting with Dougherty. When Nucky tells Esther that he has the juice to oust the AG, he’s only half-right at best.

Gaston Means (played by Stephen Root) is emerging as a truly engaging character. He appears to be available to the highest bidder. Whether he can play both ends against the middle remains to be seen. By the way, Stephen Root’s most memorable TV role? Jimmy James on News Radio. Gillian will be pleased to know that, somewhere out there, Jimmy James rides again.

Elsewhere, Richard Harrow has a new woman to obsess over and/or stalk. Julia Sagorsky is the lovely daughter of a man who is chasing ghosts. She and Richard have so much in common, it seems they were made for each other. My guess is that dad won’t approve. Until Richard makes the bartender disappear, that is.

And finally, Eli and Mickey pay a visit to the new sheriff of Tabor Heights, a.k.a. the next guy Rosetti sets on fire (See, again with the fire!). Eli is asserting himself more and more. But, we’ll see how much that improves his standing with the Nucky, the only guy he really wants to impress.

Remember, kids, don’t play with fire. You might get burned.

Until next week,

- C.J. Kaplan

###

First, let me correct your assertion about the great Stephen Root. While he was consistently brilliant on News Radio as Jimmy James, his standout role was (is) as the gun packing Judge Mike Reardon on Justified. He was also wonderful as sad vampire Eddie Gaulthier on True Blood. One could say that he has the work ethic of an old Michael Caine.

You know, when I first saw Gillian pick up New Jimmy I thought she was going to seduce him, kill him, burn him (again with the fire!) and use his corpse to finally legally declare Jimmy dead and take ownership of the house. But then things went wrong.

Seriously, Boardwalk, we were weirded out long BEFORE you had Gillian call him James. That was really unnecessarily gilding the lily.

Bringing back Esther – this time as a potential Nucky ally – was genius, however. I love how she instantly went for the kill in her opening statement at court. It was a suspenseful rope-a-dope for the viewers but the long-term prospect of taking down Dougherty is much more intriguing than getting Nucky on possession of a pint.

(Side note: I always thought the “two bacon and egg sandwiches” special at the South Street Diner was a solid late night deal, but Esther got a killer meal for just 20 cents. How did a businessman like Nucky pass that up?)

I like how the show is rotating storylines and characters this season. Just when we miss Chalky we got him intimidating Eddie Cantor last week. Just when I was missing Richard we get introduced to his new love interest – plus a surprisingly exciting bare-knuckle brawl at the VFW. I disagree with you about the stalking charge – Richard is a good man and he’ll woo her in an appropriate manner (by killing her father’s enemies).

Poor Little Teddy is just misunderstood. His “father” isn’t around anymore and he’s just trying to protect his sister. He even wanted Owen to move into the house. Of course, as the old saying goes, “people in glass houses shouldn’t have sex with the sexy help when their kids are watching out the window”. I think Teddy might have a different spin on what “Pooka” means.

And Mickey Doyle speaks for all of us when he says, “I heard Gyp was wearing a dog collar. Tee hee hee!” Well played, Mickey.

We’ll sweep out the ashes in the morning,

- Mitch

###

Despite Gyp’s, um, weakness, he still manages to get the best of Nucky, who had another up and down episode. First, Enoch gets out and out punked by Arnold Rothstein. After issuing one of the greatest New Jersey slams in the history of anything (“…I’m here in a state that I neither like nor care about instead of back in New York where things actually matter),* AR lets Nucky know that they’re not friends but merely acquaintances out of the necessity of business. Then, Rothstein sticks Billie in Nucky’s face just for good measure. If you wanted a lesson in Gangster Diplomacy 101, Arnold just delivered it.

However, Nucky rebounded with his power play on Eddie Cantor. And thank heavens for that because it necessitated the appearance of one Mr. Chalky (not Milky) White, who has been sorely missed these past few weeks. There is never a dull moment when Chalky is on screen. Where Gyp has the potential for cartoon violence at any moment, Chalky is a seething volcano. The looks he gives people are absolutely withering. Chalky making that putz Cantor sing and dance for him must have been worse for the vaudeville actor than a straight beating. At least Eddie would have recovered from that.

The Gillian storyline is getting sadder and sadder. At this point, I’m rooting for Lucky to bang her and then kill her (or kill her and then bang her—whatever works for him). Somebody has got to put her out of her misery and it’s not going to be the old mutton-chopped sideburns dude. If I may invoke my English major card once again, Gillian is living in a hell only Sartre could have designed. In her world, “the air is perfumed and nothing ever changes.” Why else would she be writing letters to her dead son/lover? It’s like she’s trapped in this House of Pleasures that for her is a House of Torture. We can only wait and see what level of crazy she’ll sink to next.

Margaret, by contrast, was apparently living in a world of denial. Catching Nucky in her former employer’s dress shop with Billie was just stupid luck. And she had the stones to look surprised and disappointed.  A look she duplicated when her doctor friend introduced his fiancée to her. I’m guessing this won’t stop Maggie from making a play for him. In the end, it was satisfying to have Nucky go to Margaret’s room and make his insincere apology. Then, when she tried to get indignant with him, he said, “If I were you, I’d ask myself some practical questions, Margaret.” In other words, “Where are you gonna go, honey? Back to the row house on the shore? Knock yourself out.”

This episode also treated us to a continuation of the Nelson Van Alden story arc. Paranoid as ever, he fears that the Fed from the speakeasy is going to ID him as the former prohibitionist enforcer on the lam. Except this time, his wife, the Swiss Miss, brings the hammer down. Frankly, that was the biggest surprise of the episode. But, it was oddly touching as well. Whatever baggage NVA is carrying (even if it’s full of steam irons), this chick loves him. And it conveniently lets Nelson get involved with the Irish mob.

Back to AR: He doubles down on his gangster cred by having a sit-down with Rosetti and then using the information he gleaned to order a hit on Gyp. My only quibble is that he uses the mercurial Bugsy to carry out the deed. Bugsy mows down everybody in the joint except Gyp, even taking an extra moment to off the paperboy. But, even though he didn’t seal the deal, AR sent a message to Rosetti: You’re in my fuckin’ way!

So, now we’ve got all out war about to happen between the uneasy Thompson-Rothstein-Luciano axis and the Rosetti-Masseria coalition. This isn’t going to be pretty.

It’s going to be beautiful.

Until next week.

- CJ Kaplan

* That’s gotta sting, eh my New Jersey-born friend?

###

New Jersey-born? You might want to get your facts straight, son. I was born wearing skinny jeans, drinking PBR and calling indie rockers ‘sellouts’ at Caledonian Hospital in Brooklyn. Never you mind where I set up my crib a few days later.

This was definitely an episode about the ladies. Margaret deftly pointed out Nucky’s attraction to damsels in distress, ironically enough in the very shop where he helped her get back on her feet. And while AR certainly eviscerated Nucky, the burn of the night goes to Margaret for doing the spin move and giving Billie the women’s health clinic flyer.

Ah, poor pathetic Billie. She was giving off a serious Mrs. Charles Foster Kane vibe in that terrible performance. On the plus side, Eddie Cantor was much better on stage than he was singing for Chalky and Dunn. Then again, Eddie was probably wise not to bust out his best “schvartze” material.

Picking up the theme from last week, once again Nucky tried to play gangster but instead of straightening out Gyp and keeping his customers satisfied, he was focused on rescuing Billie, aka the next Lucy Danzinger. You’re really disappointing me this year, Enuch.

At least he’s warming up to Eli again. He’ll need as many allies as possible soon enough.

Of course the performance of the night goes to Bjork Bjork, whose support for Nelson is unwavering. From confidence-building sex, to enabling his rationalizations, to unnecessarily killing federales, she’s pretty hunky dory with whatever needs to happen to protect her family.

The big reveal this week was that Gyp is under the protection of Masseria. That explains why no one has put that rabid dog down yet. But Gyp’s look of realization when seeing the dead paperboy showed that he already realizes that AR was the one who put the hit out on him; so much for the uneasy truce between Rothstein and Masseria.

Anyway, I’d love to say more about Gillian, Uncle Junior and Jimmy James, but I’ve got to run. I think the paperboy is at the door.

-Mitch Blum

###

I figured out early on that a sword would be pretty sweet – they’re silent, deadly and keep the corpse at arm’s length. Best of all, chicks dig a swordsman – at least according to that Antonio Banderas movie. So I’ve been waiting for someone to bust out a blade or two. Lo and behold, the mysterious Michonne showed up this week wielding a samurai blade. Between her sword skills and her armless/jawless zombie slaves, she’s a strong addition to the show.

Also nice was the emergence of tough Carl, a significant upgrade from deer-petting Carl. It makes perfect sense that he’d be an asset instead of a liability after living in Zombie-land for almost a year. Hell, my twelve year-old was ready for zombie-killing action after a weekend spent playing Left 4 Dead.

Rick’s best decision was to secure the prison as a new home base. His worst decision was to throw away the cat food. Didn’t he ever see that episode of Chopped where the guy made that beautiful braised owl with catfood au vin?

Then again, Rick also made the terrible decision to go tag some prison walls with Glen and Herschel. Why exactly is the old man, the closest thing the group has to a doctor, going on offensive raids anyway?

But the best thing about this week’s very good season 3 premiere episode was that there was only one woe-is-me speech by Lori, and this time I actually agreed with her. Newborn babies are terrible to begin with, but stillborn zombie babies killing you from the inside are even worse.

A good start for the season, although TWD has historically started and ended seasons well. Let’s hope it continues.

###

Nucky spends the majority of this week’s episode in a rat-infested basement with a lieutenant who doesn’t respect him and a street punk who doesn’t fear him. (And, of course, Mr. Pouffle, who appears to be indifferent to the situation.) This is literally and figuratively the low point of Nucky’s career.

Side Note: The creative team behind BE is given to grand symbolic visual gestures when they want to hammer home a crucial plot point. Remember when Jimmy was having sex with Gillian (a.k.a. his mom) in his dorm room and a train thundered by into a tunnel as the bed shook? You didn’t need to be Dr. Freud to see the connection. So, putting Nucky in the depths of a shotgun shack while he is at the nadir of his power is no accident. And my parents thought being an English major was a waste of time. Pffft!

Meanwhile, on the south side of Chicago, Al Capone is starting to round into the figure who will become the archetype for all future gangsters. A violent, manic-depressive, fiercely loyal (like Sasha Fierce-level loyal) family man/whorehouse manager, Al is writing the scripture that all mobsters both real and imagined would follow. Today’s lesson, made famous by Sean Connery as Jimmy Malone in The Untouchables: They put one of yours in the hospital, you put one of theirs in the morgue.

Yes, the parallels between Al’s deaf son being bullied and his fat henchman being beaten are a bit heavy-handed. Although it’s interesting that his first thought for his son is to teach the boy how to defend himself (a lesson that goes horribly wrong) and his first thought for his kapo is revenge (a lesson that is horrible, but not wrong). The two fight scenes in the bar are so different that you can’t help but notice. When Al’s collector gets beaten up, the people in the bar barely notice. They keep drinking and chatting as if this is a regular occurrence. When Al lays the smack down, the bar patrons cower against the walls in terror. They shrink away from him in stunned silence as he finishes the deed with a barstool. Al has taken a big step toward real power. He is now feared.

Nucky, by contrast, finds himself in a precarious position. The more time he spends with the kid in the basement, the more we are led to believe that he’s going to let the kid off the hook and mentor him as he begins a lucrative career in organized crime. But, I knew that kid wasn’t making it out of the house the first time Nucky offered him a cigarette.

(Think of the brilliant scene in True Romance when Dennis Hopper realizes that Christopher Walken is going to kill him whether or not he reveals where Christian Slater is hiding. What does Hopper do before he launches into the transcendent Italian heritage story? He asks his eventual killer for a cigarette. Game over.)

Nucky shooting this kid in the back of the head wasn’t the bravest thing he’s ever done, but it did do something we’ve never seen before. It knocked the unflappable Owen Slater off balance. And, in that moment, Nucky has begun to pull himself out of the basement. Now, he has to apply that same thinking to Gyp Rosetti. And Gyp ain’t no street punk. Nucky wasn’t half a gangster this week, but he was still half a coward.

Elsewhere, Arnold Rothstein didn’t get a lot of screen time this week. But, the few moments that he did get were memorable. One day, I would love to open a phone conversation with the words, “Why am I talking to you?” It’s so shamelessly asshole-y that you can’t help but smile. It’s the kind of thing an overstuffed Creative Director would say to a hapless junior account executive who screwed up a conference call dial-in number. I bet the person who wrote that scene used to work in an ad agency.

Of course, the other big plot line was Lucky having a sit down with Masseria. Where Al Capone is dumb like a fox, Lucky appears to be dumb like a moron. Going in with a ceiling of 5% and having Joe the Boss demand 30%, Charlie Looch displays the worst poker face in the world. And Joe is right, when the world comes crashing down 30% is going to seem like a bargain. One quibble: Joe comments about Lucky’s partners: “I’ll say this about your Jews. With them, it’s nothing personal. It’s strictly business.”

Are you fucking kidding me? My mother alone has been holding grudges since the third grade. It’s always personal.

Until next week.

 CJ Kaplan

###

I’m glad that you brought up The Untouchables because all I could think about this week was the iconic image of Al Capone taking batting practice at his conference table. It was a brilliant choice for Boardwalk to humanize Capone, transforming him from the violent bat-wielding psychopath into a guy more apt to play catch with his son. The scene of him singing “My Buddy” to his boy may have been the most emotional moment in the series to date, and provided a beautiful segue to Eli’s rapprochement with Nucky.

Of course Capone IS a psychopath, but his violence is rooted in defense of his people, as opposed to Gyp, whose violent tendencies are driven by the offense of his ego. Big difference.

I agree with you that Nucky was half a coward and I took his killing of Rowland as a sign of weakness, not strength. He’s trying too hard to prove that he’s a gangster. Look Nucky, we’ve seen gangsters before and you’re no gangster. A real gangster would have spared the kid and killed Gyp (or at least squashed a grapefruit in his face), instead of appeasing him with a month’s supply of booze-a-roni.

I’ll admit that I tend to root for the home team of Jewish gangsters – and by extension Lucky – so I was a little worried that he was going to get “moidered” sitting in front of that window. Of course that can’t happen historically, which means the show is doing something right by creating tension where there should be none.  As we’ve discussed many times the past the Jews and the Italians should be friends – our two cultures are the only ones that know how to run a good deli.

Speaking of Boardwalk’s heavy-handed symbolism, what about Margaret’s inspiration, Carrie Duncan the aviatrix, crashing right after Margaret’s unsuccessful trip to the Boardwalk?

Your buddy,

Mitch

First of all, Richard you are one cold-blooded motherfucker!

“Jimmy was a soldier. He fought and lost. You have nothing to fear.”

I mean, shit, that is straight-up tough. If Richard, Chalky and Owen Slater ever decide to team up, they will flat-out own Atlantic City. Those are three men with tunnel vision when it comes to achieving their goals. Nothing stops them—not women, booze, money or, least of all, fear.

I wish the same could be said for Nucky. Facing up to Richard was the one manly thing he did in this episode. Otherwise, you may as well have set him up with a cosmopolitan and a pair of Jimmy Choos.

When did Nucky become Lady MacBeth? Out, out damn…bacon grease? He’s mooning around after Billie. He’s seeing visions of young Jimmy. And he’s letting Margaret (fucking Margaret!) drain his wallet. And he’s not even getting sex from her anymore. (“Perhaps some warm milk will do.”) Hey Maggie, Remember when Nucky had your abusive husband reconstituted into fish food? Remember that?!?

Nucky, my man, when your biggest problem is Gyp Rosetti who, in the immortal words of Gordie LeChance, is nothing but a two-bit dime store hood, you are sitting pretty. Bone for tuna, indeed.

I’m re-characterizing Gyp now. He’s like a souped-up version of Joe Piscopo in Johnny Dangerously. “My father put me in a closet once. Once!” That said, all Nucky had to do was show up and see him off with his shipment of hooch and all would have been swell. Instead, he pissed off Gyp so much that he went and charbroiled a fat cop. (Note to fat cop: If a guy is pointing a gas hose at you, back up a few paces. The hose only goes so far.)

Just not a good episode for Nucky. “Do you keep seeing the people you killed?” he asks Richard. “I think you know the answer to that,” replies Richard.

Nucky, didn’t you see the tagline this season: You can’t be half a gangster.

Briefly, in other parts of the Empire, Gillian is so creepy and twisted now that she taking on Norman-Bates-as-his-mother type qualities. You know it’s getting weird when Nelson Van Alden looks normal by comparison.

Speaking of NVA, it’s nice to see him getting some tail. You know, without all the self-flagellation and stuff.

But, back to the main story. Nucky has just got to pull it together or he’s going to become Atlantic City’s biggest doormat.

Until next week,

 -C.J.

 ###

Speaking of self-flagellation, it appears that the Boardwalk universe requires at least one character who borders on caricature. In the first season it was the aforementioned Agent Van Alden, he of the public baptism-murder. This year we have thorny Gyp who takes offense at every kind word and callously fries pigs (while Nucky dreams of frying bacon). I’m predicting that Gillian and Lucky will have a falling out (foreshadowed in the argument over the leaking roof) which will lead to the formation of the 1923 all-crazy team co-captained by Gillian and Gyp. Hopefully they cleared the Commodore’s spear collection out of the mansion.

Then again, Boardwalk also has a knack for redeeming seemingly hopeless characters. They managed to turn Jimmy from the stupidest gun in the East into a sympathetic victim of incest, and they’ve done the same with poor iron salesman George Mueller. Margaret could take a few lessons from Bjork Bjork about how to make your man feel better after a tough day at the office.

On Margaret: it was good to finally see the return of clever Margaret, who’s been hiding under a veil of sanctimony since saving Nucky’s diary in the beginning of season 2. Note to Margaret: acting superior and giving away Nucky’s blood money doesn’t make you a good person; it makes you a hypocrite. You’re still living in a fancy mansion paid for by the same bootlegging and murder.

But the table is now set for open conflict: AR is going to be pissed at Nucky for missing his delivery date. Lucky, Meyer and Bugsy are about to go to the mattresses against Joe Masseria over the heroin trade, and George is getting angry in Cicero. Gyp, as mentioned, is always ready to rumble.

And while I’m not buying Nucky’s hopeless devotion to Billie (at least she doesn’t call him “Daddy”) I am glad to see his remorse over killing Jimmy. Sure, Jimmy was an idiot, but he was Nucky’s idiot.

Finally, let us celebrate – with a creepy giggle – the continuing survival of Mickey Doyle, Kama Sutra aficionado. I suspect that keeping Mickey alive against all odds is a running joke among the writers. It’s a good one.

Until next time,

Mitch

###

Obsessive music fans frequently fall into the trap of thinking first about an artist’s legacy and then determining how the new release fits into an established narrative. Is the new record a return to form or is it an experimental departure? Do the new songs enhance the artist’s reputation or does it call into question their entire oeuvre?

The challenge is to judge new music in isolation and let it stand on its own merits, rather than being viewed within the context of what came before. In television terms it’s the equivalent of focusing on individual episodes rather than whole series. Of course, this approach isn’t easy when an artist consciously decides to revisit the past, as is the case with The Magic Door, the second studio release from The Chris Robinson Brotherhood.

***

The Magic Door hits our turntables a mere three months after the band’s debut album Big Moon Ritual (review here) and is quite clearly a companion album. Many of the observations made about that album also apply to The Magic Door, which makes perfect sense, as both albums were recorded during the same sessions (it’s been reported that 27 songs were cut at the sessions, with 14 released between the two records and 3 more as bonus tracks, leaving 10 more in the vault.)

The band remains: Chris Robinson on lead vocals and rhythm guitar, Neal Casal on lead guitar and backing vocals, Adam MacDougall on keys and backing vocals, Mark “Muddy” Dutton on bass and backing vocals and George Sluppick on drums. The band remains: tight in execution while loose in vibe, incredibly talented and consummate craftsmen.

***

Further complicating matters is not only the fact that this is the second album released by the band in just 3 months, but the album also contains one cover tune (Hank Ballard’s “Let’s Go Let’s Go Let’s Go”), two late-era Black Crowes tunes (“Appaloosa” and “Little Lizzie Mae”) and one Brothers of a Feather tune (“Someday Past the Sunset”) leaving only three CRB originals (“Vibration & Light Suite”, “Sorrow of a Blue Eyed Liar” and “Wheel Don’t Roll”).

I have no secret insight into Mr. Robinson’s thought process so I can only comment based upon the aural evidence presented to us over the 18 month existence of the Brotherhood. My theory is that Chris is chasing a specific sound that blends early rock and roll with psychedelia. He’s swimming further backwards into the protozoan swamp of rock and roll to the place that provided much of the inspiration to the musicians of 1967. He’s now playing with the country, blues and rockabilly of the Everly Brothers and Jimmy Reed and Carl Perkins.

For many years Chris appeared to be consciously following in the footsteps of Gram Parsons, he of the cosmic country R&B. And while Gram is still obviously a big influence, it appears as if Chris is going back to the source in an attempt to forge his own path – a path that clearly shares some ground with Gram, but more accurately reflects Chris’s gifts. For while both Chris and Gram could write heartbreaking ballads, Chris is a much stronger singer, with his confident croon replacing Gram’s tender fragility.

***

So what about the relationship between Big Moon Ritual and The Magic Door? Well, to put it in Grateful Deadian terms, The Magic Door is a first-set (rock) album as opposed to the second-set (jam) feel of Big Moon Ritual. In other words, like the construction of a classic Grateful Dead setlist, the first set features shorter and more upbeat songs as opposed to the languorous jams of the second set (with a few exceptions).

“Let’s Go Let’s Go Let’s Go” is a strong opener that really establishes the band’s psychedelic rock and roll credentials. It features Chris’s big voice, Adam’s throwback keys, harmony vocals and Neal’s tasteful solos.

“Someday Past the Sunset” is a bouncy 8-bar blues that definitely benefits from the full-band treatment (as opposed to the acoustic BOAF arrangement) and has some nice slide work from Casal.

“Appaloosa” has a less rustic feel than the Crowes’ version and is dominated by Adam’s keyboard lines. Neal has a short, tasty solo as well. In all honesty, it’s an unnecessary reprise of a strong song.

“Vibration & Light Suite” is a monster tune – a signature song for this band – epically delivering a strong melody within the frame of a long-ass jam. It works spectacularly well, finding the band stepping into virtual prog-rock territory. (It’s no surprise that Neal has sported a Yes tee shirt on stage before).

“Little Lizzie Mae” is rescued from the obscurity of the Crowes’ “Cabin Fever” DVD credits roll. And this time I’m glad that the CRB brought it back. It’s one of the stronger rockers in the catalog, with an appealing, organic vibe. It’s also the original that most sounds like it could have been sung by Buddy Holly.

“Sorrow of a Blue Eyed Liar” possesses an intro that could pass for a Billy Joel song. And while that would normally be an insult, it presages a beautiful ballad that is both spacey and tender.

“Wheel Don’t Roll” closes out the disc on solid ground – a confident ballad driven by vocals and keys and punctuated by harmonies and restrained solos.

###

As proven by The Magic Door (and their previous studio and stage work) the CRB are clearly the best band in the world within their genre. Of course, their genre of music can only be vaguely defined as “cosmic rock and roll”. If you’re a student of rock and roll with a particular fondness for psychedelic and folk-country-rock then you’re going to dig this band, and this album, a lot.

###

Let’s Go Let’s Go Let’s Go: 4
Someday Past the Sunset: 3
Appaloosa: 3
Vibration & Light Suite: 4
Little Lizzie Mae: 4
Sorrow of a Blue Eyed Liar: 4
Wheel Don’t Roll: 3
The Magic Door: 3.6 (out of 4)

4 = great (exceptional composition/performance)
3 = good (a song you’ll always listen to)
2 = okay (has some redeeming qualities)
1 = poor (has no redeeming qualities)

If you’re interested in more stuff like this, I have previously written at length about both the Chris Robinson Brotherhood and The Black Crowes.

###

Sure, I could have simply told him that drunk Gen Xers like “Mr. Jones” by Counting Crowes. But that would be both accurate and helpful, two things I’m not fond of being. (I kid.) (Not really.)

So here goes – my proprietary approach to building the perfect party playlist:

One List

First you’ll need to decide whether one playlist will suffice or if you’ll need multiple playlists to properly structure the flow of the evening. A keg party usually needs one big playlist. A fancy dinner party will probably require two lists: one for cocktails and one for dinner. And I always keep a ‘70s dance mix up my sleeve for the late night bump-and-grind crowd.

Two Decades

Think about who’s coming to your party and how old they are. Most peoples’ interest in music tends to peak in college, so build your list around the era that most partygoers were in college. The later the night gets – and the drunker your crowd gets – the more you should move backwards in time. Booze-infused people tend to get nostalgic for the music that was around when they were kids. That’s your prime window: the 20 years between childhood and college for your average attendee.

Three Genres

While I’m perfectly content to listen to late ‘60s/early ‘70s hippie rock all day, every day, not everyone has the sophisticated taste in music that I do. Therefore I always make sure that three genres are well-represented in my party playlists: rock, pop and R&B. For the most part you’re going to want to avoid the polarizing genres of blues, jazz, rap and country. (Unless you’re a big Cowboy Troy fan, obviously.)

Four Minutes

I’ve often said that good songs don’t even get cooking until the fifth minute. Hell, I’m listening to “Cowboy Movie” right now, which clocks in at a healthy 8:26. But no party playlist should contain any songs over four minutes. A good mix will feature a lot of variety, which means that not everybody will dig every song. The best way to keep the momentum going for everyone is to make sure the songs change pretty quickly – which sadly means no long jams.

Five Last Tips

1) If you’re making a themed list (e.g. Christmas, Halloween, St. Patrick’s Day) keep the specialty music to no more than 25% of the list. (No one can take that much U2.)

2) Lesser-known hits from well-known artists always play well. Too much Top 20 and you’ll sound like a shuffle radio station; too many obscure bands and people will get bored.

3) Limit the number of songs from any one band. (Especially U2.)

4) Avoid songs with depressing chord structures and lyrics – they’ll subconsciously ruin the party. As the great Nigel Tufnel once said: “It’s part of a trilogy, a musical trilogy I’m working on in D minor which is the saddest of all keys, I find. People weep instantly when they hear it, and I don’t know why.”

5) Seriously, no U2.

###

Of course, I also get quite apprehensive when bands are compared to the holy trinity, because that’s setting the bar unrealistically high. Who could ever live up to that comparison?

Then again, this is America, the land where we wrap our Taco Bell in Doritos. If anyone could figure out how to improve up the most perfect hippie rock ever created, it’s us.

So are the Beachwood Sparks, as represented on their new album The Tarnished Gold, the fulfillment of the cosmic American dream?

###

First, let’s dissect exactly what we mean by hippie rock or “Cosmic American Music” – a term invented by Gram Parsons to describe his specific musical vision.

The Flying Burrito Brothers, on their landmark debut The Gilded Palace of Sin, brought Gram’s vision fully to life with the addition of a rhythm and blues backbeat (courtesy of Chris Ethridge) to traditional country music with rock-oriented lyrics. The sound is dominated by Sneaky Pete Kleinow’s pedal steel guitar and Gram Parsons’ harmonies with Chris Hillman. In short: country + R&B + pedal steel + harmonies.

The Buffalo Springfield were a combustible unit defined by the separate visions of their leaders, unified for an all-too-brief time. Stephen Stills brought the blues, Latin influence and guitar virtuosity. Neil Young brought eclectic electrified folk and emotive garage rock. Richie Furay brought country influences and a level of polish to both vocals and arrangement. In short: folk + blues + a smidge of country.

The Byrds were one of the three most important bands in the development of rock and roll. They popularized folk-rock, psychedelic-rock, and country-rock. They mixed Roger McGuinn’s jangly 12 string guitar with Chris Hillman’s fluid bass playing, David Crosby’s jazzy weirdness and stellar harmony vocals, and Gene Clark’s great pop tunes. In short: folk + psychedelia + harmonies + country.

So, for a band to be considered “cosmic American music” they need to offer spacey countrified folk rock featuring harmonies and, hopefully, some pedal steel guitar.

Kind of like Beachwood Sparks.

###

The Tarnished Gold is a new release, coming 11 years after their last album. I’m pretty sure that I saw them open up for The Black Crowes many years ago, but let’s be honest: my track record with catching and remembering opening acts is pretty abysmal.

I recently stumbled upon this album while looking for modern music that sounds like old hippie rock. It would seem to be an easy task to find more bands that sound like the old bands I love, but something always seems to be missing with the Fleet Foxes and Dawes of the world. It’s not that they’re not talented bands.  It’s just that the popular modern folk-rockers are too earnest and not weird enough for my tastes. I need a little freaky spacey vibe going on to keep me interested.

And I always need quality songs. Underneath the playing and the arrangements there has to be a melody-driven song that provides the launch pad for exploration. It’s the difference between jam bands and rock bands that jam. I love a good jam, but it’s got to be rooted in a strong song.

Well, folks, I’m happy to report that The Tarnished Gold delivers quite a few excellent tunes.

###

The opener, “Forget this Song” has a dreamy vibe that effectively sets the tone for the album. Understated pedal-steel and tasteful harmonies feel both lush and sparse. “Sparks Fly Again” features a fun chorus that feels like The Beach Boys on (more) acid and a nice trippy guitar solo. “Mollusk” effectively alternates between the yearning pedal steel and martial-sounding drums. “Tarnished Gold” is a very sweet, mature ballad. The brilliant arrangement of “Water from the Well” washes over the listener, flowing like the tides, reinforcing the lyrics. “Talk About Lonesome” features some real nice pickin’ subtly buried in the mix, blending the pedal steel with banjo, acoustic guitar and even some harmonica. I’d like to hear what they could do with that one live. “Leave That Light On” returns the album to the dominant mellow vibe. “Nature’s Light” is a delicate song based on a nice acoustic guitar progression. “No Queremos Oro” is a fun novelty song that is reminiscent of a Mexican narcocorrido tune. “Earl Jean” is another effective tune that balances a wistful verse with an upbeat chorus. “Alone Together” starts with a simple harmonica riff and evolves into a beautiful song with an addictive melody. “The Orange Grass Special” is another quality upbeat tune with bluegrass influences. Finally, “Goodbye” is a pleasant and slight lullaby, a fitting end to the song cycle.

###

So back to the original question: are the Beachwood Sparks the second coming of The Burrito Brothers, The Springfield or The Byrds?

Of course not. Like I said earlier, that’s an entirely unfair comparison. The Springfield featured three legitimate rock and roll legends when they were bursting with energy and ideas. The Burritos created one of the most original, amazing albums in the history of music. The Byrds changed the world three times.

But the Beachwood Sparks are an excellent band that is obviously influenced by the holy trinity without being mere imitators. I’d say that the closest comparison for The Tarnished Gold is The Notorious Byrd Brothers. Both possess a dreamy quality and a consistent vibe throughout the album, while the individual tunes feature experimentation and variation.

The Tarnished Gold is an excellent album by a talented band of players and songwriters and I highly recommend it to any and all fans of hippie rock.

###

Forget the Song: 4
Sparks Fly Again: 4
Mollusk: 4
Tarnished Gold: 4
Water from the Well: 4
Talk About Lonesome: 3
Leave That Light On: 3
Nature’s Light: 3
No Queremos Oro: 3
Earl Jean: 3
Alone Together: 4
The Orange Grass Special: 3
Goodbye: 4

 The Tarnished Gold: 3.5 (out of 4)

Option #1: Move to an island in the South Pacific where fatness is a symbol of success, power and virility.

Pros: get to wear a floral muumuu, eat lots of spam and pineapple, can make cool things out of bamboo

Cons: lots of mosquitoes, not in Boston, potential lack of Doritos & Miller Lite

Option #2: Get really, really fat, then go back to being regular fat so people think I look good.

Pros: can eat anything, no need to exercise, will look like a red William Conrad

Cons: fingers too fat to work iphone, won’t be able to wear my favorite pair of skinny jeans

Option #3: Do nothing and hope the rest of the world gets fatter while I stay the same.

Pros: do nothing

Cons: might take a while for the rest of the world to surpass me

While all of these options are pretty compelling, option #3 got me thinking about famous people that have lost lots of weight. Obviously when famous people lose weight they make me look worse and I hate them for that. Specifically, here are some people that I liked much better when they were fatter.

Ricky Gervais

The English comedian – famous for creating The Office – is one of the few British people that I find funny. But I think his weight loss has hurt his career. Skinny Ricky’s problem is that his humor tends to be a little mean. Remember when he made fun of people of all those nice actors at the Golden Globes? Mean humor coming from a fat guy is always welcome. Mean humor from a skinny guy comes off as bullying. So Ricky’s going to either have to get nicer or fatter if he wants to make another $100 million bucks.

Al Roker

I’m not sure why people blamed Ann Curry for The Today Show’s fall from grace. Sure, Ann was a robot (and not a cool robot like Bender Rodriguez), but I think the real culprit here is Al Roker. Ever since Al got the belly band and turned into Skinny Al he freaks me out. Here’s the thing: weather reports are boring so you need to spice them up with some boobs. And I don’t care whose boobs they are. As soon as Al got skinny I lost interest in The Today Show.

Bill Clinton

Has anyone in the world gotten less cool than Bill Clinton? Back when he was President, Bill was awesome. To me he personified America: kind of smart, kind of trashy, kind of a mess. Fat Bill Clinton was a dude you’d want to party with. You knew he was up for anything. He’s the guy that talks the rest of us into another unnecessary drink and a stop at the diner on the way home. But Skinny Bill is all sanctimonious and always talking about debt relief or some shit going down in the middle of nowhere. Can somebody please bring back the real Bill Clinton!

Alec Baldwin

Actually, I’m glad that Alec has dropped a little weight recently, as I really hope that he lives forever and becomes King of the Earth. His fat-jectory is kind of perfect: he went from being a super-handsome skinny guy to a super-handsome fat guy to a super-handsome medium-sized guy. But it seems like he started taking himself a lot less seriously once he got fat. Chew on this theory: without fatty foods we never would have gotten Jack Donaghy.

W. Axl Rose

Just kidding! Axl Rose is a loathsome individual no matter what his current pant size. I’ve hated Axl ever since we saw Guns N Roses at SPAC back on the Use Your Illusion tour. Guess what Axl? You can only call me a motherf**ker 47 times during a concert if your band doesn’t suck. This is really just an excuse for posting this delicious photo of Fat Axl.

For far too long I have sat idly by and watched as this town has torn itself asunder over the controversial issue of Adam Sandler filming Grown Ups 2 in Swampscott. Brother has taken up arms against brother, fighting over whether the Hollywoodization of our little beach town is the worst thing to happen since the White Hen turned into a 7-11.

Well, I have one little thing to say to the naysayers.

Godfather 2.

Who in 1974 could have foreseen that a little film about gangsters would turn into a smash hit, loved by audiences worldwide and winner of 6 academy awards?

Am I suggesting that Grown Ups 2 might be as critically-acclaimed and successful as Godfather 2?

Yes. Yes I am.

And then where will you naysayers be?

I’ll tell you where you’ll be: on the wrong side of history.

###

What did Adam Sandler ever do to deserve your scorn? He’s a nice Jewish boy that’s spent his entire life making people happy. And all he asks for in return is fortune and fame. Sounds like a fair deal to me.

Remember in The Wedding Singer when that grandma started rapping? Everyone loved that. And do you think the Betty White-aissance would have ever happened without rapping granny? I doubt it.

Remember how much people loved Billy Madison & Happy Gilmore? Admittedly, I’ve never seen either of those movies, but people seem to think fondly of them.

And who couldn’t relate to that scene in the Grown Ups trailer when the guys got busted for peeing in the pool? Now I’m not saying that I pee in pools, but is that blue pee-revealing ink real or is it a joke? (Seriously, is it real?)

And I really loved those Jack & Jill posters from last year. Again, I never watched the movie but those posters made me happy every single time I saw them. I’m happy now just thinking about those posters. Who could hate a man that can spread joy through mere posters?

###

Think of all of the excitement that Adam Sandler and his merry band of thespians have brought to our town. One day my son came home from school, bursting with joy, because he saw “Adam Stantler” at the middle school.

A friend saw Adam and his wife talking a stroll on Marblehead Neck, just like us regular folks. Imagine that! Adam Sandler strolling like a regular person! Oh what I wouldn’t give to see that.

And did you hear? David Spade was at the train station. I’d sure like to ask him how he’s so successful with the ladies.

Maya Rudolph was at the Whole Foods! A star buying the same over-priced organic produce that I don’t buy because I like regular produce from Stop & Shop. But if I was buying that delicious Whole Foods guacamole I could have seen Maya Rudolph!

And Shaq was at the police station. I like him.

I haven’t heard any news about Kevin James but I sure hope I run into him. My kids and I love all of the Kevin James movies. Say what you will, but that dude is funny.

And Salma Hayek. Swoon. ‘Nuff said.

###

I understand that some of you might not be as comfortable with celebrities as I am. I come from a long line of celebrity boosters/stalkers. One time my Mom stalked Walter Mathau so expertly that she and my Dad ended up hanging in his trailer (with him) all day.

And where is Walter now? He’s dead. But that is most likely unrelated to my parents.

Personally, I was once punked by the great James Earl Jones. And believe you me, you haven’t lived until you’ve been practical joked by Darth Vader.

Think of it this way: Swampscott has a long history as a resort town that caters to celebrities. Calvin Coolidge used to rip it up here back in the day. The town was full of hotels and the well-heeled cooling their heels in our cold, stinky ocean.

Filming movies and hosting celebrities isn’t a new thing for Swampscott, it’s actually an embrace of our history. And what do we lose? A little parking at the second-best beach in town. Big whoop.

Please join with me in letting Adam and the gang know that we’re happy – nay, honored – to have them with us this summer.

Thank you.

(p.s. I know that I’ve railed against the concept of “open letters” in the past but this time, for the sake of our town’s future, I felt like I needed to make an exception.)

BY THE WAY: If you got here by googling “swampscott + breaking bad” then you’ll probably want to read my essay: Stop Breaking Down: What the Cars on “Breaking Bad” Tell Us About the True Nature of the Characters

Upon listening to the album, however, one realizes that Chris isn’t using “psychedelic” to describe the album’s genre but rather to suggest the music as a potential avenue to a psychedelic experience.

Psychedelic experiences are often linked with hippies and drugs but the truth is that drugs are merely one means in which an individual can attempt to connect with something larger than themselves. Religion and spirituality, yoga and meditation, and dancing and singing all have a long history of being used by people in attempt to clear their minds, subsume their egos and live in the present moment.

Big Moon Ritual, taken as a whole, is a sixty minute experiment into the use of music as a means to play with the concepts of space and time in search of a true psychedelic experience. The songs are long but never meander. The individual sounds are often discordant yet somehow harmonious upon combination. This is music to immerse yourself in, to get lost within, to experience on a subtle level beyond the simple pleasure of tension and release. These songs are about experiencing the journey, not yearning for the destination. Big Moon Ritual is a transportation device to the ultimate truth, and that truth – judging by the mature lyrical content – is love.

Metaphysics aside, these are strong songs performed by expert craftsmen. Perhaps the strongest cycle that Robinson has written in his long and impressive career. The subtle difference between the past and the present is that these songs sprout from beautiful melodies, whereas the bulk of his work with The Black Crowes was rooted in the big riffs provided by his brother Rich Robinson.

Underneath all of the jamming and aural experimentation are some absolutely gorgeous tunes: Star or Stone, Reflections on a Broken Mirror, Beware, Oh Take Care and One Hundred Days of Rain are just stunners. In a weird way it reminds me of Tom Waits in that underneath the cacophony of sound are perfect melodies that could have been composed by Carole King or Burt Bacharach.

There’s really only one rocker in the bunch – a funky little number called Rosalee that is instantly appealing and addictive. But rather than just deliver a tight song the Brotherhood drops in a long bridge that once again defies expectations and elevates the song to a higher plane. This approach is mirrored in the lyrics where at first it seems like Chris is lazily employing clichés, until you realize that the song is all clichés – an oblique commentary on love song structure itself.

Even a straightforward number like Tomorrow Blues is buoyed by the impressive performance of the band (and this is definitely a band, even if Chris’s name is featured to help sell tickets) – the rhythm section of Mark Dutton (bass) and George Sluppick (drums) is both loose and tight, adeptly providing the foundation for exploration while always swinging. When needed, George will provide an interesting fill, or a martial beat, but they’ll always defer to the front-line of Robinson (guitar), Neal Casal (lead guitar) and Adam MacDougall (keys).

I have written at length of my love for Neal Casal and I’ll state once again that Neal might just be the most under-appreciated player in the business. He has the delicate touch of a certain Mr. Garcia, the ability to play as much or as little as is needed to get his point across. His tone is perfect, his playing is fluid and he can solo, play slide or just add texture.

Adam MacDougall provides a definitional sound to this band. It’s often his tone that dominates the sound and he’s a bold, audacious player. He’s funky, spacey and jazzy all at once. You can imagine some of his lines being played by a horn. I can’t imagine this band without him.

But of course, the song begins and ends with Christopher Robinson. No longer willing or able to scream over a loud band, Chris’s vocals have entered a new territory. He’s now fully a soul singer and his phrasing and delivery is unique and fluid. This is no act. He’s not playing a character. Chris is singing authentically, confidently and beautifully. It’s probably his most impressive vocal performance to date.

Of course, his vocals are well supported by the unbelievable harmony and backing vocals from the rest of the band. In many ways it’s their secret weapon and another manifestation of their cohesiveness as a unit.

It’s safe to say that this is not music for everyone. In fact, it’s probably for very few of us. For some it won’t rock enough, for others it will jam too much. But as a musical statement – and a philosophical expression – it is a triumph.

Tulsa Yesterday: 3
Rosalee: 4
Star or Stone: 4
Tomorrow Blues: 3
Reflections on a Broken Mirror: 4
Beware, Oh Take Care: 4
One Hundred Days of Rain: 4
Big Moon Ritual: 3.7 (out of 4)

4 = great (exceptional composition/performance)
3 = good (a song you’ll always listen to)
2 = okay (has some redeeming qualities)
1 = poor (has no redeeming qualities)

If you’re interested in more stuff like this, I have previously written at length about both the Chris Robinson Brotherhood and The Black Crowes.

###

However, the one devastating aspect of the commute switch is that I’ll never figure out if that guy is British or not. And it’s tough to give up on such an important project after four or five years of committed work.

People might think that a project dedicated to determining a stranger’s Britishness is both stupid and unnecessary. “Stupid” because I could just ask the guy if he’s British – but in my mind that’s cheating. “Unnecessary” because at this late date who really cares if someone is British? It’s not the 60s – the Brits aren’t really doing anything notable except for marrying off their second-rate comedians to our second-rate pop stars. (Editor’s note: confirm whether Russell Brand is really British or just stares like that because he’s an animatronic robot.)

Since the project is all but cancelled I might as well share my findings to date:

PRO: he’s tall and skinny. One might say he’s lanky. Brits are definitely lanky, while Americans tend to be fat. I’m not criticizing Americans for being fat. In fact, among my people, being fat is a sign of success and great power. (Please note that “my people” are fat Americans.)

CON: he has not worn any soccer scarves or called soccer “footie”, even during the Official Premier League P.G. Tips Championship Bowl season. Then again, if I was a Brit trying to fit in with Americans the first thing I would do is stop pretending that soccer is a sport for grown ups.

PRO: he wears a lot of fleece and off-colored socks. I’m not sure what it is with the Europeans and the off-colored socks but they definitely struggle with the basic “wear white socks with sneakers, but only with sneakers” rule. If he is British he probably calls his socks “stockings” and has street urchins darn them for him. Alas, I have not seen any urchins darning in his presence.

CON: he’s never once hummed a Rod Stewart song, talked about Rod Stewart, or worn an air-brushed jean jacket with Rod Stewart on the back. If I was British I’m pretty sure that all I’d ever talk about is Rod Stewart because Rod Stewart is clearly the greatest person ever to come out of the British empire. (Editor’s note: confirm that Roderick is of English and Scottish descent and that his birthday is January 10th and that he still hasn’t written back.) Admittedly I’m not sure if Brits love Rod as much as I do, but I really, really love Rod and would be outwardly proud to come from the same country as him.

I should probably confess that it isn’t entirely true that I’ve never tried to directly ascertain if he was British. Once at the hockey rink I hovered around him and his kids hoping he would yell at them, seeing how we all yell at our kids at the hockey rink (it’s cold and crowded and kids are stupid). But he never said a word, which might actually indicate Britishness (Brits don’t yell at their kids in public. They have the kid’s governess take away their figgy pudding as punishment for bad behavior.)

I should also probably confess that one day on the train I saw him sitting alone and I plopped my fat, definitely-American ass next to his skinny, probably-British arse, in the hopes that he’d call his wife or talk to the conductor. Once again, he never said a word. I pushed my luck further when the conductor announced the wrong train line and I said something hee-larious like “I hope that’s not where we’re going!!” and he just grunted in response (again, a very British rejoinder.)

So there you have it. I’m off the train and now I’ll never know if that guy is British. I mean, in my heart I know he’s British, but confirmation would have been nice.

Then again, he’s probably relieved that the creepy red guy has apparently disappeared from his life. It’s funny how one man’s scientist is another man’s stalker.

###

Is rock and roll dead?

It’s a question that I’ve been ruminating on for many years now.

In one sense, rock and roll can never die, because rock and roll is an attitude as well as a genre of music. It’s the spirit of revolution and free expression. The societal changes that rock and roll both instigated and reflected are now a fundamental part of our culture. In that sense (hey hey, my my) rock and roll can never die.

But the music that we associate with rock and roll has largely lost its relevancy in today’s pop culture landscape. The heavy backbeat and electric guitar-driven sound that we associate with the golden age of rock and roll (roughly from Chuck Berry to The Sex Pistols) was really just a 20-year blip in the music world. Singles have once again displaced the long player album. Rock radio is practically nonexistent, and the charts are consistently ruled by pop, R&B and country.

So, while the spirit of rock and roll might not be dead, the musical style associated with classic rock is certainly on the endangered species list. In many ways, the kids live-tweeting the 2012 Grammys awards said it best:

“Who’s Paul McCartney?”

***

There was not one person in the house on Friday night who didn’t know who Paul McCartney was. It was a room full of true believers, classic rock music fans gathered together for a trip down the Main Street of rock and roll. Behind the wheel was none other than Bobby Keys, Mr. Brown Sugar himself, the legendary sax man behind more iconic bands, songs and riffs than just about anyone else. His credits include everything from Elvis to Dion to Joe Cocker, all four Beatles, and of course, his long-time association as Keith Richard’s best friend and musical foil in The Rolling Stones.

The idea of building a musical revue centered around Bobby Keys’ discography is utter genius in its simplicity; for not only is Bobby an extremely affable performer on stage, but his presence – and the staggeringly gorgeous tone of his sax – render these songs as something more than just cover tunes. Yes, these tunes are famous for being written and performed by others. But Bobby’s role is so crucial that you just can’t imagine them without him.

This is the real deal.

***

Then again, it doesn’t hurt that Bobby’s band is packed with a few ringers. While this is clearly the Bobby Keys experience, Bobby shares the front of the stage with Dan Baird (Georgia Satellites) who really impressed me with both his incredible energy and his vocal flexibility. Imagine being asked to move like Jagger, to bellow like Cocker, to croon like Dion and to crow like Rod all in one evening. That’s a tall order for anyone and Dan really nailed it.

Driving the sound was the power duo of Steve Gorman and Nick Govrik – the Trigger Hippy bandmates – who set a steady beat and deftly moved from fast rockers to jazzy jams. It was great to see Steve in full Charlie Watts mode with a small kit and a big groove. Rounding out the all-star crew was keyboardist Michael Webb and guitar player Chark von Kinsolving, both of whom picked their spots well – knowing when to step up and when to let Bobby and Dan shine.

***

The setlist was a rock nerd’s dream come true with 5 Stones tunes, 2 Cocker songs, 2 solo Beatles numbers, 2 homages to Bobby’s inspiration King Curtis, the aforementioned Faces tune, Dion’s “The Wanderer” and a little honky tonk ditty called “You Look Like I Could Use A Drink”. It was one of those night where you knew every song as soon as the opening bars were played and you were thrilled to hear each and every one of them. And the night got even more special when the great Joan Osborne walked on stage to take the lead vocal on a gorgeous rendition of George Harrison’s “What is Life”. (My only regret is that Joan didn’t sing another song that would have demonstrated her full vocal abilities because, as all of us Beatles Rock Band experts know, the George songs are the easy ones!)

But beyond all of this – the great players, songs and performances – the most impressive thing of the night was the man himself. Bobby was clearly under the weather. You could tell how much of a struggle it was for him to perform. Yet whenever that sax touched his lips it was pure magic. Some form of aural alchemy occurs that allows Bobby to transform his breath into music that literally gives you goosebumps. Have no doubts: the sound of Bobby Key’s saxophone is the sound of classic rock.

And this night was his Michael Jordan game 5 1997 finals “flu” game. You can’t keep the greats down.

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What more can I say about Bobby Keys & The Sufferin Bastards? They make good old fashioned rock and roll using the original recipe. If you want proof that rock and roll still lives (and it does as long as artists like Bobby Keys roam the stage) then go check them out.

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(Full disclosure: If I were a real journalist I might be tempted to mention that I have a prior relationship with Mr. Gorman and that we interviewed Bobby Keys on our podcast last year. Rest assured that Bobby probably has no recollection of our talk and it wouldn’t affect my review in any way. Then again, you’d probably enjoy listening to the podcast – it’s a full hour of rock and roll history from the inside. Also, Bobby’s new memoir “Every Night is a Saturday Night” just came out and I’m sure that it’s chock full of more amazing stories.)

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S E T L I S T (original artist version being covered)

Live With Me (The Rolling Stones)
The Letter (Joe Cocker)
The Wanderer (Dion DiMucci)
Soul Serenade (King Curtis)
Had Me a Real Good Time (Faces)
Sweet Virginia (The Rolling Stones)
You Look Like I Could Use a Drink (Dan Baird)
Brown Sugar (The Rolling Stones)
Whatever Gets You Through The Night (John Lennon)
*What Is Life (George Harrison)
Bitch (The Rolling Stones)
Harlem Nocturne (King Curtis)
Delta Lady (Joe Cocker)
E: Can’t You Hear Me Knocking (The Rolling Stones)

B A N D

Bobby Keys, saxophone
Dan Baird, vocals, guitar
Steve Gorman, drums
Nick Govrik, bass
Michael Webb, keys, accordian
Chark von Kinsolving, guitar
*Joan Osborne, vocals

Ever since the foodies took over the world we’ve been besieged with the concept of “food pairings”. Not content with insisting that food is only good when there’s some jizzy foam or liquid nitrogen in it, the foodies are now telling us what we need to drink with different foods.

The whole food pairing movement started with wine. Traditional rules like “red with meat, white with fish, Manischewitz with matzoh” were replaced with more sophisticated combinations like pinot noir with turkey or chateauneuf du pape with cheez doodles.

Next, foodie nation moved onto beer pairings, which is patently ridiculous because any beer pairs well with anything. I’ve railed at length about the unnecessary fancification of beer, so I won’t go into it further, but enough with the monocles and the doilies already. It’s beer.

But all of this talk about drink pairings is largely useless because most people only drink alcohol with approximately 38% of their meals. What about the other 62%?  Will someone please think about the children?

Therefore I have taken it upon myself to create drink pairings that will help all of us every day. I’m talking about which diet soda to pair with your lunch. (Please note that these pairings are based on the sodas that are available in my office fridge and my usual rotation of lunch choices.)

Sprite Zero is a very mild soda with notes of lemon and lime – limon, if you will. I like to pair a mild soda with a bold lunch choice, for example BBQ ribs from the Redbones food truck. (Please keep this between us because my wife will be totes mad if she catches me eating BBQ at work this early into resolution season.)

Diet Orange Crush also features strong citrus characteristics, but is a much more forceful flavor that can dominate the palate. Therefore I recommend a food that can both stand up to the soda and yield to the soda at the same time. Something like a caesar salad with blackened chicken works well, as your mouth will delight in the interplay between spice, sweet and crouton.

Diet Mountain Dew is almost the beer of sodas. It’s so delicious and universally appealing that it can work well with anything. Therefore I like to do the Dew when eating sad soup for one at my desk (soup flavor is optional). The key here is that sad soup for one is, by definition, sad and Diet Mountain Dew is, by definition, extreme. A palliative for the soul, Diet Dew can turn sad soup for one into slightly-less-sad soup for one.

Diet Coke is a girl’s soda now, so I guess it goes best with skipping lunch and shopping, because ladies be shopping, amirite? No? Okay, I’ll see myself out now.

Coke Zero is a manly soda for macho men with bad attitudes who are just itching for trouble. And when I’m ready to rumble I like to fight through the long-ass line at the Paradise Bakery and get a nice roast beef sandwich. Best of all, free cookie!!!! (Okay, scratch that last part, which in retrospect doesn’t sound all that manly. But seriously, free cookie!!!!)

Diet Ginger Ale pairs best with saltines when you have a bad tummy. Let’s be honest – Ginger Ale is more medicine than soda. Ginger Ale is one of those things like Mary Jane candies or “My Three Sons” that seemed okay in the ‘70s, but are clearly terrible in an era when we have more and better choices.

Speaking of bad tummies, remember that it’s NFL championship weekend which means that you’re going to want to avoid the Men’s room on Monday at all costs. Trust me, it’s a goddamn war zone in there this time of year. Remember, just because you don’t work on that floor doesn’t mean you can’t use their bathroom!

Diet Mug Root Beer is another strong flavor that is sweet, with a hint of smoke, peat and malt. Some fruit also comes through. Oh wait, I just copied that from some scotch tasting notes. Mmmm dirt! How delicious. But seriously, root beer is kind of crappy, so I don’t care what you eat with it. Subway is always good.

I hope that you found this exercise valuable and rewarding. Remember, choosing a beverage has nothing to do with drinking what you like. It’s all about listening to some stranger on the internet tell you what to do.

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