Looking to add a 70s horror flick to your watch-list this Halloween season? I highly recommend Blood Freak, Brad Ginter's no-budget 1972 flick about a "husky" biker who becomes addicted to marijuana (as one does) and turns into a murderous half-man/half-turkey that bears a suspicious resemblance to the San Diego Chicken, who would find fame a few years later. (Too bad they never made a sequel starring Ted Giannoulas!) Bonus points for the Criswell-type narrator who has a genuine coughing fit in the midst of one of his moralistic sermons. "A 20th Century Horror Beyond Belief," indeed!
And if my description doesn't seal the deal for ya, check out the trailer:
Seriously, people — if you've ever wanted to see an Art Howe lookalike get his leg severed by a table saw, THIS is the film for you!
It's been a really fun season, and 97 wins plus the longest Cubs post-season run in 12 years (PLUS knocking the Cardinals out of the playoffs) is nothing to sneeze at; after all that, there's really no shame in losing to a better team with a ridiculously hot player. Almost everyone worth a damn on this team will be coming back next year, the farm system is deep with prospects, and the Cubs look set to contend for several seasons to come, none of which will bear the burden of endless Back to the Future 2 references. Of course, some additional arms wouldn't hurt — tell Theo to think about picking up David Price, wouldja?
Congrats to my Mets fan friends (and my Mets fan dad) — I thought this would be a tough, evenly matched series, but your team completely dominated it from the get-go. They're a lot of fun to watch, and a couple of your pitchers have truly impressive hair; I'll be rooting for 'em in the World Series against whichever American League team they wind up facing.
When you're equally obsessive about baseball and music, there will inevitably be times when your passions conflict and tough decisions have to be made. Last night was a prime example: Stay home and watch the Chicago Cubs make their first NLCS appearance in twelve years — or go up to Milwaukee and see the Zombies perform their 1967 masterpiece Odessey and Oracle in its entirety?
Since the Cubs were only playing the first game of a best-of-seven series — and since I've loved the Zombies even longer than I've loved the Cubs — Rod Argent, Colin Blunstone and the gang ultimately won out. After all, Odessey is one of the few albums that's remained in steady rotation on my turntable (and various digital devices) for over thirty years. I'd previously only known the Zombies for their trio of U.S. hits — "She's Not There," "Tell Her No" and "Time of the Season," all of which I'd fallen in love with via late-70s trawls through my Aunt Geri's 45 collection — but the full measure of the band's brilliance was finally brought home to me in 1984, when my mom's then-boyfriend lent me his Time of the Zombies collection, a 2-LP set which contained Odessey and Oracle in its entirety.
The "artist plays classic album in concert" trope has admittedly become a bit overdone in recent years, but this show was worth taking a chance on for a couple of reasons. One, Odessey and Oracle is a gorgeous jewel box of an album, as near to perfection in terms of songwriting, performance, production and sheer emotional resonance as any 1960s British record ever came. Two, the tour is being musically assisted by Darian Sahanaja, a.k.a "Brian Wilson's secret weapon," and a man whose skills and integrity have never failed to impress me in the two decades or so that we've been friends. If Darian was along for the ride, I figured, there was little danger of half-baked performances or period-inappropriate arrangements; no out-of-place synth squonks or chorus-drenched guitar excursions for this lot, then.
As it turns out, Darian only appears on stage with the band during their second set — the one in which they perform Odessey. The Zombies are actually carrying one-and-a-half bands on this tour; the first set of the night, a mixture of early hits and songs from their new record, Still Got That Hunger, is performed by Argent and Blunstone with Argent's cousin (and co-founder of Argent the band) Jim Rodford on bass, Steve Rodford (Jim's son) on drums, and Tom Toomey on guitar. For the Odessey set, the original Zombies rhythm section of Chris White and Hugh Grundy takes over on bass and drums, while the Rodfords move over to percussion, Jim joins White's wife Viv Boucherat on backing vocals, and Darian comes on to work the Mellotron and other keyboards and add some backing vocals of his own.
I've seen some iffy reviews of the band's first set on this tour, which have mostly taken issue with the preponderance of new songs and Argent and Blunstone's between-song chattiness. But while I would have certainly loved to hear more old favorites and obscurities (I would have completely lost my mind if they'd played "I Could Spend the Day"), most of the new songs were actually really good — and I found Argent and Blunstone's anecdotes about specific songs to be both illuminating and incredibly charming. The band was tight, Blunstone's vocals were quite powerful (and far more so than I would have expected); and if the inevitable "Hold Your Head Up" jam went on a tad too long for my taste, the presence of a re-arranged "I Want You Back Again" (which featured some glorious Vince Guaraldi-esque piano chords from Argent) and Blunstone's solo gem "Caroline Goodbye" in the set more than made up for it.
After a short intermission, which gave my wife Katie and I just enough time to split a Pepsi — the South Milwaukee Performing Arts Center turns out to be located in a high school, so nothing stronger than soft drinks was available in the foyer — the Odessey set got underway, and I don't think my words can do it adequate justice. I've seen Arthur Lee and the Baby Lemonade-resuscitated Love play Forever Changes, Brian Wilson play Pet Sounds and the Soft Boys play most of Underwater Moonlight, to name three of my other all-time favorite albums; but as incredible as those experiences were, none of them hit me like last night's performance did. Not only was each song beautifully, perfectly essayed, but it was as if each was intentionally vying with the others to make me go, "Okay, THIS is my favorite track on the album. No, wait — THIS one is!"
For me, the two emotional high points were "Hung Up On a Dream," whose breathtaking, dream-like beauty was so additionally overwhelming live that I actually started crying, and "The Butcher's Tale (Western Front 1914)," which saw Chris White take center stage, assisted only by Argent on pump organ and Darian on Mellotron. The anti-war message of the latter song has only become more profound over the ensuing decades, and there was something additionally poignant about seeing White — who now looks like a retired businessman — bring the frightened young narrator of the song to life on stage.
If the evening had ended with "Time of the Season" and a full-band jam on "She's Not There," it would have been more than enough, but Darian invited us and a few of our friends backstage afterwards to shoot the shit and meet most of the band. I was repeatedly struck by what a humble lot they are — Colin Blunstone, in particular, still seems a bit shocked by how phenomenally well-loved Odessey has become, and he told us a hilarious story about Paul Weller ambushing him backstage at one of their recent London performances, enfolding him in a massive bear hug and telling him, "You don't know how much this means to me!" ("Our playing the album, not the hug," Colin helpfully clarified.)
Chris White and Hugh Grundy were incredibly lovely, as well, and came off like guys with whom you could happily pass several hours in the pub. They happily posed for several photos with our group, and I'm not sure which memory will stay with me longer — White's performance of "Butcher's Tale," or the comical fart noises he was making with his mouth while this ridiculous photo was being taken:
It was also a real pleasure to finally meet Jim Rodford, who I first became familiar with in the late 70s, when he joined the Kinks on bass. I told him that I'd seen about fifteen Kinks shows between the years of 1983 and 1995, and that — as the Kinks' longest-serving bass man — he'd been at center stage for all of them. He grinned and said, "You must be a real glutton for punishment!" "Though probably not as much as you," I replied. "Fair point," he laughed...
A truly wonderful — and incredibly memorable — evening, to be sure. If you're a Zombies fan and still have a chance to see this tour (I think they're heading west from here), you absolutely must go. I have absolutely no regrets about choosing them over the Cubs, who wound up being dominated by Matt Harvey of the Mets last night, and lost 4-2. Still plenty of baseball to be played, though. This will be our year? Still hoping...
Laugh, José, laugh — for 'twas indeed the cosmic power of your dynamite 'fro that cinched the first Cubs post-season victory in twelve years!
Really wish it had been the Cardinals out in one and a Pirates-Cubs NLDS, but the Pirates would have had to beat the Cards (or, ahem, the Reds) a few more times this season to pull it off. This will, of course, be the first time that the Cubs and Cards have faced off in the post-season — and I expect that the rumbles from this clash will be positively Biblical in nature, not to mention a helluva lot of fun.
Still, the Wrigleyville set should probably hold off on upending trash cans and engaging in celebratory vomiting until the Cubs progress a little further into October. This is just the beginning of the journey — so kick back, smile like José, and enjoy the ride!
Last night, my wife and I went to see the Detroit Tigers play their penultimate game of the season. The contest, against the Chicago White Sox at "The Cell," was pretty much what we expected — a chilly evening in a largely empty ballpark, featuring two teams struggling to stay out of the AL Central cellar and claim "We don't suck quite as badly as you do" bragging rights. And, true to form, an unimpressive Tigers lineup and an inept Tigers bullpen wasted another strong outing from Justin Verlander, thereby sealing the team's place in the division basement.
It's been a rough season for the Tigers and their fans, many of whom are outraged by the team's first sub-.500 finish since 2008. Winning four division titles in a row can warp your perspective like that, and make you forget that the Tigers only logged one post-season appearance from 1989 to 2010. I'll admit that I picked the Tigers to win the division again this year, but I'll also admit that it was a prediction borne out of sentimentality and wishful thinking (and my severe underestimation of the Kansas City Royals' ability to contend again this year) than anything approaching reality. After all, the 2014 Tigers barely made it into the post-season last year, and were eliminated with little more than the annoyed flick of a hand by the Baltimore Orioles in the ALDS; and even with the addition of Yoenis Cespedes, there was no way that the 2015 roster was better on paper than the 2014 edition, even before the injuries and age started kicking in. This was always going to be a far cry from the team that should have won it all in 2013.
Aside from the six straight wins they rattled off at the beginning of April, the Tigers were maddeningly inconsistent during the first half of the season, a team that never quite managed to fire on all cylinders despite being loaded with expensive parts. David Price didn't really got hot until June, and you could never be sure which Anibal Sanchez was going to show up for his starting assignments. Verlander, who didn't even make his first appearance until the middle of June, didn't start pitching like "Justin Verlander" until about a week before the team waved the white flag at the July trade deadline. With Max Scherzer gone, it was up to the undistinguished likes of Alfredo Simon (who wound up leading the team with 13 victories, despite posting a 5.05 ERA), Shane Green and Kyle Lobstein — and once things really got ugly in the second half, Matt Boyd, Buck Farmer and 38 year-old scrapheap artifact Randy Wolf — to patch the holes in what was once, not too long ago, the greatest rotation in baseball. And oy, that bullpen... But hey, here's some perspective for ya: Just think of how much worse the team's record would have been this year if Joe Nathan had actually stayed healthy, and Brad Ausmus had been forced by the guys upstairs to keep him in the closer's role...
The pitching staff's combined ERA (4.67 as of this morning) was the worst in the American League this year, which would have made it difficult for the Tigers to contend, even with a completely healthy offense. But the absence of Victor Martinez's bat — even when he was present in the lineup — was just too much to overcome, especially with nagging injuries cutting into Miguel Cabrera's power numbers. Much blame has been heaped upon Brad Ausmus for the Tigers' misfortunes this season; but while he hasn't exactly been the second coming of Sparky Anderson, I highly doubt that even ol' Spark would have been able to squeeze 80-plus victories out of this crew, especially given the team's glaring lack of depth.
Still, we love our Tigers, so we continued to watch them regularly this summer — at least until the process of moving to Chicago from Los Angeles in July mercifully distracted usfrom the garbage fire on the field, and from the painful deadline deals that sent Price and Cespedes to actual contenders in Toronto and New York. Since then, I've mostly just checked their box scores to see if J.D. Martinez had hit another home run, or if Miggy was still tops among the AL batting leaders. My wife and I did manage to catch the August 19 slugfest at Wrigley where the Tigers beat Jon Lester and the Cubs 15-8, and we rejoiced in Alfredo Simon's one-hitter the following night. After that, though, we've been too busy getting our life together in the Windy City to pay much attention to what the Tigers were up to — and frankly, that was probably for the best.
But when a friend offered us a free pair of tickets to last night's game on the South Side, we had to take him up on it, if only to celebrate the excellent years from Ian Kinsler and J.D. Martinez, cheer for personal favorites like Anthony Gose and Rajai Davis, bid a likely farewell to Alex Avila (who probably won't be back next year due to declining production and the emergence of James McCann as a more-than-capable catcher) and see Verlander and Cabrera in action one more time this season. JV, pitching with a competitive fire that apparently eliminated the need for a long-sleeve undershirt despite temps that hovered in the high 40s and felt much colder, struck out nine hitters in six innings while giving up only two runs. And Miggy (whom I snapped at the plate seconds before he blasted a two-run homer off of Erik Johnson) went 3-for-4 to finish the season with a .338 average and claim his fourth batting title in five years, which puts him squarely in Tony Gwynn/Wade Boggs/Rod Carew territory. It was really an honor to see his final game of the season in person.
And you know what? I'll take it. As a devoted Tigers fan since 1976, I've followed some egregiously shitty Tigers teams that gave me a whole lot less to cheer about than this one did. And while it's entirely possible that the Tigers have missed their World Series-winning window, I still feel profoundly grateful to have experienced that string of four division titles from 2011-2014, and the exciting post-season runs that followed three of them. Maybe this season is an aberration; maybe it's the beginning of another long dry spell. Either way, I'll proudly sport my 1970s Tigers road cap again next season.
So say goodnight, Tigers. Get some sleep, get healthy, make some smart off-season moves, and get ready to roar again in the spring. We'll see ya then.
Dan Epstein
About Me
Dan Epstein is the author of Big Hair and Plastic Grass: A Funky Ride Through Baseball and America in the Swinging '70s and Stars and Strikes: Baseball and America in the Bicentennial Summer of '76, both published by Thomas Dunne Books/St. Martin's Press. He writes about baseball, music and other cultural obsessions for a variety of outlets and publications. He lives in Greensboro, NC, and is available for speaking engagements.