Michael Jackson, and a moment of clarity

Yesterday, we mourned the tragic, untimely death of the King of Pop; his life was eulogized by the King of Opportunism, Rev. Al Sharpton, and his musical and humanitarian legacies were celebrated around the world.

But who mourned the tragedy that was the last 20-odd years of Michael Jackson's life?  

Michael Jackson, the man, or Michael Jackson, the icon, positively affected and inspired millions of people, as evidenced by the global response to his passing.  Just think what Michael could have accomplished over the past two decades if he hadn't become unhinged.

Of all the controversies that have resurfaced in the past two weeks, Michael's mental and/or emotional decline is one that has not been disputed.  Anyone who saw the re-runs of the Martin Bashir interviews was reminded of how deeply disturbed Michael had become.  The singer clearly needed psychiatric help, but apparently wasn't getting any.

Of course, Michael's fans chose to interpret the over-the-top signs of illness as the traits of a misunderstood, eccentric, child-like innocent.  They seemed to view him not as a man, but as a musical messiah or an all-powerful, benevolent alien sent here to right the wrongs of the world.  But, as they witnessed yesterday, Michael Jackson was, in the end, merely a man, a man whose children no longer have a father.

A man whose death, in all likelihood, will be linked to his profound problems.  A man who was removed from reality, a king that was seemingly above the medical profession, and quite possibly, the law.  A ruler that had more or less lived in exile for the past 10 years.  A performer with unprecedented talents and unlimited potential whose illness(es) —  undoubtedly sparked by the double-edged sword of superstardom — turned him into the butt of jokes for almost 20 years.

It's beginning to sink in that the most meteoric celebrity in world history is dead.  We've watched the videos over and over again, and mourned not only the loss of an icon, but the loss of our youth.  And now that the man is laid to rest, that little nagging nugget in the back of our minds can resume asking the question, "What the hell happened, Michael?"

The question of the ages.  Michael left behind one of the most complicated histories and mysteries of any figure, and it will never be completely unraveled.  We're at the tip of the scandal iceberg; decades of wildly conflicting views and opinions and unauthorized biographies has just begun.  The opening salvos of the legal and financial battles haven't yet been fired.  The freak show that was Michael Jackson's later life has folded its tent, but the big top will be in town for a long time to come.

As we indulge our sick, morbid curiosities and watch this circus go through it's three-ring act again and again, let's occasionally put down the popcorn and pause for a moment of clarity.  Let's shake off the cloak of denial that coats our precious memories in warm fuzziness.

Michael Jackson was a kind, generous, unique, gifted and very, very troubled man who achieved something that few have ever achieved —  and that something swallowed him up and took him to places that we would never, ever want to go.

More popular than Neil Armstrong

Of all the unforgettable music moments captured on television, a handful truly stand out: Elvis' and the Beatles' Ed Sullivan appearances, Madonna not-so-virginally writhing on the ground at the MTV Music Awards, and Michael Jackson breaking into the moonwalk at the Motown 25th Anniversary Special.

The latter performance is the first thing that comes to mind when contemplating Jackson's legacy, a day after his death. The Thriller premiere was a huge, huge event that epitomized the effect of the music video, but Jackson's first TV moonwalk — people went out of their minds when that occurred. Unbelievably influential.  The next morning, people all over the world were trying to imitate his moves, and that backwards glide.

Jackson had dazzled us with Off The Wall, but this was something entirely different. He had a new look, new choreography and a new sound that was instantly omnipresent. The Thriller album was on fire for more than two years — seven singles!  And "Billie Jean," with that moonwalk... that was the groove of the decade.

And, like witnessing Elvis' "Don't Be Cruel" and the girls screaming for McCartney, you had to be there on May 16, 1983 to grasp the enormity of Michael Jackson's impact, this unbelievable display of talent.

I'm not the only one today choosing to ignore the past 20 years and remember a man at his most glorious.

The Ventures’ Bob Bogle, 1934-2009

Above anyone else, Bob Bogle made me feel that I had made the "big leagues" as a music journalist. Ten years ago, I interviewed Bob and Ventures bandmate Don Wilson by phone for a story for The Rocket; they were to play a gig in Seattle, and I later arranged to meet them for the sound check and say hello to the rest of the band.

When I caught up to Bob that afternoon, he reached into his wallet, unfolded a piece of paper, and asked if he had gotten my number and address right when we had talked earlier.

Bob Bogle, rock 'n' roll legend, had my name and number in his wallet! I had made it! I told that story for years afterwards. The truth is, I was nobody special, but Bob made every journalist, fan, and fan/journalist feel important. In a band filled with the most gracious musicians one could ever meet, Bob was the nice guy. In a group of humble giants, he was the most humble. A guitar player's guitarist, he achieved a popular version of the American Dream: he was a construction worker with very meager beginnings who became one of the most-heard rock musicians in the world.

And now he is gone, and I am crushed. I knew Bob was very sick, and I thought this day might very well come, but the news of his death has hit me harder than I expected. Or I'm just selling Bob, and myself, a bit short. After all, I've been a Ventures fan since birth, and the privilege of catching a few minutes' worth of conversation with Bob Bogle here and there over the past ten years — well, that tops just about anything I've ever achieved as a writer.

I've enjoyed chatting and interviewing every member of the Ventures, but backstage, somehow I always eventually gravitated towards Bob. Everyone did. Mild-mannered, he was nonetheless a great storyteller, if asked. Before a show, he was often seated away from hustle-and-bustle in the room. Bob once told me, as he approached 70, that conserving energy was the key — in other words, he saved it for the stage. Oh, Bob had a sense of humor. I recall during that first interview how he and Don were explaining their decades-long relationship. They were best friends who never fought.

"We're not gay or anything," Bob added, "just best friends."

Professionally speaking, Bob Bogle was a supremely influential and very skilled guitarist, though he was more well-known for his bass playing and songwriting. He and Don, performing as a duo on that famous first tour of Japan, introduced the electrified rock 'n' roll guitar to that country. The two defined the relationship of lead-and-rhythm guitars in a rock band, and anyone who has ever caught a Ventures show could tell he enjoyed playing lead guitar — he would perform a couple of numbers, with Nokie Edwards or Jerry McGee switching to bass. However, Edwards and McGee were more accomplished players. So Bob simply became a great, great bassist, the band's anchor. A practical, humble man.

Bob told me on several occasions that he could never imagine retiring, could never imagine not being a Venture. And he got his wish. To my knowledge, Bob had spent time in a recording studio every year for almost 50 years. Amazing feat, amazing man.

I once prepared a sandwich for Bob Bogle, rock 'n' roll legend. I've occasionally let that tidbit drop ever since the first story got old. I think I will boast about both "events" from now on. After all, Mr. Bogle, a man who never forgot where he came from, somehow made everyone feel that they had made it, too.

My heart and thoughts go out to Bob's wife Yumi, the band, longtime Ventures manager Fiona Taylor, and especially Don Wilson, who was at his side for more than 50 years.

Photo: Bob Bogle, Steve Stav and Don Wilson, June 1998.

Hit the Ground Running

Ah, we're back -- my Webmaster has fixed some technical issues, including the all-important ability for you to comment on my meanderings and sketchy work... see below.

New in the archived Aural History section are 2000 interviews with Dave Dederer, Sushirobo, Deke Dickerson, Dorkweed and my first chats with Dave Alvin and Tim Finn.

The Finn feature has particular sentimental value to me. Done to promote his beautiful Say It Is So album and an upcoming gig at Seattle's Tractor Tavern, it proved to be a revealing conversation with one of my teenage "New Wave" idols-turned-favorite singer-songwriters. Super-nice, down-to-earth gentleman with an amazing talent and great voice.

Interestingly enough, my future wife was at that Tractor Tavern show -- I hadn't seen her since 1987, when we parted ways in college. And I didn't see her at the gig, either; while she filed out of the club, I went backstage to sit with Tim on the Tractor's loading dock. No matter, the stars eventually aligned themselves.

The photo here of Andrea and Mr. Finn was snapped by me, backstage at the Paramount Theater after a 2004 Finn Brothers concert. If she looks a bit giddy, it's because she was.

Booker T: A side of Green Onions

I never would have imagined seeing Booker T in Mount Vernon, Wash.

Not there's anything wrong with Mount Vernon. Nice, picturesque place in the middle of farm country, west of the mountains and east of the Sound. And the gorgeous, historic Lincoln Theatre has had a lot of talent on its stage.

But Booker T? The groove-master was a long way from home.

Though the May 16 show was nearly sold out, it still seemed like a "secret show" two days before his gig at Seattle's swanky Triple Door, more than an hour to the south. And man, what a secret show it was. It took a few numbers to get used to sitting in ancient theater seats instead of at a table with drinks, listening to Booker T's Hammond. And there was no dance floor to get on the good foot to "Green Onions." But again, what a night.

On tour to support his solo "Potato Hole" record, he essentially had a pick-up band of veteran hot-shots backing him (Neil Young and the Drive-By Truckers were on the disc). By the third number from "Potato Hole," the crowd forgot all about the DBTs, or the MGs, for that matter. Smokin' Telecaster player from Mavis Staples' band, trading off with a crafty Gibson player. A classic axe combination. Good rhythm section.  Hot band, no doubt inspired by who they were performing with.

And the new material was pretty good, too; R&B with an Americana undertone. "Reunion Time" really stood out, very pretty. Oh, and Booker T didn't disappoint everyone who came for a trip down memory lane: "Green Onions" and "Hip Hug Her" were fabulous; "Melting Pot" was mind-blowing. Booker T introduced every song, and subtly reminded us that he wrote "Born Under A Bad Sign." Incredible -- and the B3 legend sang it well! The closer, an extended jam of the all-time classic, "Time is Tight" got everyone up on their feet -- where they should have been the whole night. Encored with Tom Waits' "Get Behind the Mule."

Exceedingly gracious, Booker T lingered long after the show, signing and chatting with the fans. Yes, the man was a long way from home, but we all went home feeling very lucky that he made the trip.

Welcome to stevestav.com

Welcome to the launch of Stevestav.com. This actually more like a "beta version" or a tentative first step; it's a little drafty in here now, but it should fill up soon. 

I know very few journalists who have neat desks, or know the exact whereabouts of an old article. I wish I could be one of those rare writers, but I'm not. My wife has been bugging me for a couple of years to get my files together, and preserve them on a website. I've always replied, "I'm too busy writing this week's piece to look at old ones." 

But I've found it is important to take a look back, and more importantly, to preserve my work digitally. Heck, I've got to dig out all those negatives while there are still labs to process them! Scan articles before the paper becomes too brittle!

Like too many journalists, I've written for a number of publications that are no longer in business — starting with the late, great Seattle institution, The Rocket.

Other magazines and newspapers don't bother to maintain their online archives very well. More good reasons to get my act together and do this. 

However, Stevestav.com is not merely an archive — that aspect will probably take a year to complete. It will also be a collecting point, a directory of sorts, for new (or newer) arts and entertainment articles and photos that can be found elsewhere on the web.

Additionally, I will be re-editing some "classic" interviews. Some of those were unfortunately cut to fit available space, and other interviews contained some interesting comments and/or conversations that weren't appropriate or focused enough for the article, or a particular publication. So I'm going through a lot of tape; look for some expanded "director's cuts" in the future. And some never-published features will finally see the light of day. My news work? I'll keep that out of this site. Music and film is much more interesting — to me, at least.

And then there's the blog... this is the first entry, and probably the longest. Stevestav.com will have two regular features — on Friday's blog, I'll select a clip from YouTube for discussion; the "Mixtapes" section will offer commentary on some of my favorite — and recommended — playlists.

I'd like to thank my wife for her support, and for making this site possible with a lot of work that I don't have the brains for. New York hard-rock journalist Gail Worley and her great site, The Worley Gig, has been an inspiration. A special "shout out" goes to my friend John Shoemaker, an old-school Seattle music veteran whose advice and support has always been invaluable.

Thank you very much for reading, and please come again.

— Steve Stav 


Above: Billy Bob Thornton, in a better mood, and lovely Virginia Madsen, Seattle, 2007. Photo by Steve Stav.

Fellow with a Gun

• An interview with one of Seattle's godfather's of rock, Scott McCaughey.

by Steve Stav, for Disheveled Magazine, Seattle, 2006.

As modest as he is, Scott McCaughey would be the first to tell you that he's nothing special. Certainly, it can be argued that there's tons of musicians around that can somehow re-create the melodies swirling around in their noggins well enough for other people to appreciate them, too.

But how many musicians do you know of serve as sidemen in one of the world's most popular bands almost as an afterthought to fronting three critically acclaimed groups of their own?

I know of just one.

For someone old enough to remember the Topsy Turvy days, it's sobering to think that McCaughey, utility infielder for Athens, GA/Seattle, WA barnstormers R.E.M. and an eternally Young Fresh Fellow, has been making brilliant records for almost 25 years now; even he would have trouble counting them all.

When McCaughey finally decides to sit a spell (in about 30 years), his new endeavor — the self-titled Yep Roc disc The Minus Five (aka The Gun Album) — will probably be near the top of the huge pile of discs at his feet. With R.E.M. on a year-long hiatus, McCaughey, Peter Buck, Bill Rieflin and John Ramberg have seized the opportunity to reassemble as the Five, with a fantastic, Beatles-meet-Buffalo Springfield-meet-the Byrds disc in tow that features a wet-dream team of guest contributors.

Just off the plane from a UK jaunt with Robyn Hitchcock, McCaughey recently rang me up to tell me all about it.

SS: The Minus Five has always seemed to me to be Seattle's version of the Golden Palominos.

McCaughey: It kind of started that way, for sure. I guess we've had less trade-off on the lead vocals than the Palominos, because I've mostly sung 'em. Though I do try to get other people to sing a song now and then, I succeed about once per album.

It started out with me recording with whomever — my friends, people I'd meet on the road — but it's more like a real band now, with other people added in here and there.

SS: How long did it take to get the new album together, with so many artists playing on the record?

McCaughey: It was basically recorded with three different lineups. I recorded a couple of songs in Chicago with Wilco; I did a couple of songs in Oregon with my old buddies from the Dharma Bums; and then I recorded the rest of it with Peter, Bill and John in Seattle over a period of about nine months.

I grabbed a few people here and there: John Wesley Harding and Kelly Hogan, when they were coming through Portland, put backing vocals on a song; I got Colin Meloy [the Decemberists] to sing "Cemetery Row" one day; I got Sean Nelson (Harvey Danger) to do some backing vocals; one day on tour with R.E.M. Bill and I went to Morgan Fisher's house in Tokyo, and he put some keyboards on a song.

SS: Now, Minus Five songs generally do not sound like Young Fresh Fellows material. Is this because the lineups are different, or do you have a slightly split personality?

McCaughey: The Minus Five definitely came out of my split personality, when it comes to writing. With the Fellows, I wrote more humorous, more 'rock' songs, but with the Minus Five I had these slow, sad, weird songs that I'd written that I figured would never make it on to Fellows records. 

So, that's sort of why I started the Minus Five, to get that side of my personality, songwriting-wise, to the fore.

Yet now, since the Fellows don't record or play that often anymore, sometimes the Minus Five ends up doing songs that would have likely appeared on Fellows records — 'Aw Shit Man,' could have been recorded with the Fellows, certainly.

SS: How did you come up with this recurring 'gun' theme for this record?

McCaughey: Well, I just sort of noticed it was happening with the songs, that's why it came to me at the last minute to put a gun on the cover. In individual songs, it came to crop up as some sort of symbol, but it's not the same symbol in each song.

I guess the closest song to being the 'theme' would be 'Rifle Called Goodbye' — it's sort of a symbol of change, disaster... [laughs]

SS: 'With A Gun' is almost a perfect pop song, what a great tune. How much did Wilco influence the sound of the finished song, compared to what you originally had in mind?

McCaughey: That song was just me strumming a guitar and singing...I wrote that about two years ago, right after the Down With Wilco record came out. 

I did about three shows with Wilco, they were playing as the Minus Five; we played material from that record. I thought, I have this new song...when we were rehearsing for those songs, I taught it to 'em and they immediately came up with this arrangement.  I just loved it, it just sounded so good — I had no idea what kind of arrangement to do for it.

I knew it was going to be on the next Minus Five record, somehow, and it had to be recorded with them.

SS: Your new song, 'My Life As A Creep' — pure Beatles. Did your obsession for the Fab Four begin when you were a kid, or was this something that developed over time?

McCaughey: No, I got into 'em when I was nine years old, they were the reason I got into music, really. When I first heard them, it was like somebody dropped an anvil on my head — and I've never been the same since. So, I came about this very honestly, it permeates everything I do. Now, that doesn't mean I've ever come up with a song that even deserves to be compared (to them), but (the influence) is always there.

SS: I've written more than once that you and Kurt Bloch are Seattle's current godfathers of rock. Are you comfortable with that tag?

McCaughey: [Laughing] Well... I would give Kurt more credit than I would take, that's for sure. He's got more fingers in more pies than I do, and he can do so many things so well. But, I'll be a godfather with him; any reason to hang out with Kurt is great.

SS: You're a remarkably humble guy. In one year, you can go from performing in small clubs to headlining arenas to playing beer-money gigs at the Sunset Tavern. Does your humility stem from being a Seattle musician for so long?

McCaughey: It's from not being very good (laughs). The thing is... Peter is a good example, he doesn't need to play another gig, as far as making a living goes. But he plays little club shows the minute he gets off a year-long R.E.M. tour; it's what he likes to do.

I feel great that I was able to play a pub in Bristol called the Fleece and Ferkin a couple of weeks ago; it was every bit as great as playing Budokan. It's a great night of playing music, either way.

SS: What is your most prized memento of your career?

McCaughey: Hmmm...I don't know. There's a framed picture that someone gave to me of me and Peter playing with Neil Young; that's gotta be way up there, about as good as it's ever gotten. I mean, backing Neil, playing "Ambulance Blues" for 15,000-20,000 people, that's as good as it gets.

SS: The Fellows toured quite a bit with the Replacements back in the day. Do you have a favorite 'Mats moment?'

McCaughey: [Laughing] Oh, man, I don't even know where to start... I have a 'most embarrassing' memory! There was this show we played in Portland where we threw a couch out of the second-story window of our dressing room.

Paul [Westerberg] wore every bit of clothing I had on tour with me onstage, and then threw my clothes into the audience — which I never got back.  I remember Paul doing a Tarzan swing on the chandelier, and the chandelier coming out of the ceiling.

I also remember playing saxophone during their set in San Francisco with no pants on, that probably isn't one of my fondest memories. I guess it was funny at the time.

SS: You both have calmed down a bit since then.

McCaughey: Yeah, I don't do that shit anymore. I'm all business now (laughs).

The Minus 5 • The Minus 5 • 2006 • Yep Roc Records

Originally published in Disheveled magazine, Seattle, 2006.
copyright 1997-2011, Steve Stav