Phil

Welcome to Buffalo

Saturday, June 14th, 2008

So, I ran into someone I can only describe as a person who once drank at the same bar as I did, at least as frequently as I did. I wouldn’t even call this person a casual acquaintance. Truth be told, I struggle to remember her name. We were just people who on several occasions in the mid 90’s had drunken conversations due to nothing more than proximity. After the usual how’ve you beens, she informed me that she’s moving to Austin, Texas because she’s finally accepted that Buffalo is a dying city. I told her she’d miss it here, and she replied, no, she won’t. I then suggested that some of us fine Buffalonians think the problem is not that people are leaving because Buffalo is dying, rather Buffalo is dying because people are leaving. Chicken, egg. Egg, chicken.

Naturally I’ve been mulling over this nonsense ever since. I sit here, in a town I’ve hardly ever left, adamantly standing my ground in the second poorest city in the nation, drinking the Kool-Aid that Others Like Me are happy to poor. Buffalo NY is one of the worst managed, heavily taxed, hopelessly decaying cities in the country. Opportunities are slim (hence the paradox above), so the brain drain continues. Aside from very small pockets of prosperity, neighborhoods are collapsing in on themselves– literally. HUD grants are funneled not into the communities that need it, but into building luxury loft apartments which, while admittedly will help revitalize downtown, are just lining the pockets of their investors. The public school system is deplorable, in many cases horribly outdated, woefully understaffed and underfunded. The mayor is inaccessible and either blind to the plight or ridiculously naive.

And I love it here. Like some glutton for punishment, I stay.

I love it for the usual reasons. The architecture. The change of seasons (yes, I hate winter, but without winter, you never have that incredible first spring day of the year, the first day you can drive with the windows rolled down listening to the Housemartins). The Sabres. The people. The history. But I love it for less obvious, less Buffalo Chamber of Commerce approved reasons. I love that you can walk into any restaurant, order a meal, and know you’re taking some home with you because the portions are freaking ridiculous. I love that on the worst day, barring roadwork or a sporting event, you might sit in traffic for five minutes, tops. I love that I can walk out my front door and in five minutes be on one of the most vibrant city streets in the country, with nearly every type of food and drink, live band, and a few renown museums to choose from. I love that in winter months, you never know when the lake might decide the city needs to shut down for a few days and everyone needs to stay home and drink whiskey.

Most of all, I love the mindset– the cynicism, the inherent waiting for the other shoe to fall. I love the sense that we’re all kind of screwed, and therefore we’re in this together. You don’t get that in NYC or Toronto, or Boston. You don’t have that unspoken understanding that we’ve been dealt a lousy hand, but we’re better for making the most of it.

The easy thing is to leave. And as a parent, it might come to that someday– if not for me, certainly for my son. But right now, I want to be part of the solution, not contributing to the problem. If I can make a living and provide for my family, I want to stay. What will make that easier for me, and for people like me, is for Buffalo to realize that there isn’t going to be a panacea. Nothing will suddenly turn Buffalo back into the prosperous boom town that it was when people actually needed the Erie canal and had no choice but to go through this city. We need lower expectations. Buffalo needs to invest in its people. New York State needs to rethink the taxes and regulations that stop businesses from investing here. City Hall needs to apply some common sense to addressing the poverty and crime in the lower west and east sides (see http://pushbuffalo.org to see what at least one organization is doing to kill two birds with one stone– address the abandoned houses on the west side and make home ownership possible for people who wouldn’t otherwise even dare to dream it). Lastly, we need to play to our strengths and stop allowing the destruction of our architecture and heritage, because believe it or not, if you allow a building to stand, people will come to see it. And stay in a hotel. And eat. And spend money.

And for Christ’s sake, the last thing we need is another casino.

More if you’re interested:

http://www.buffaloreuse.org/

http://www.buffalohistoryworks.com/

http://www.wrightnowinbuffalo.com/


So You Wanna Be a Rock Star?

Friday, April 4th, 2008

Consider, for a moment, Kristin Hersh and the band she formed in the eighties, Throwing Muses.

Two things happened recently that made me think of Kristin and her aforementioned band. One was the release of the Breeders latest album, and the other was a conversation I had with a co-worker regarding Throwing Muses, my borderline obsession with their music, and a band from the mid 90’s, Belly.

While I haven’t heard the Breeders latest album in its entirety, I was lucky enough to see them on their latest tour, pimping said album. Sounded good to me. The Breeders first album was released in 1990. The band was formed by Kim Deal of the Pixies, and Tanya Donnelly, formerly of… Throwing Muses. While Tanya left after one album and one EP, the Breeders went on to have one of the biggest alternative hits of the ’90’s in “Cannonball”– even people who weren’t into that scene back then know that one. Try it, just hum the bass line to your Average Joe (”dum dummdummdummdumm dum dummdummdummdumm“) and they will instantly recognize it. Kim Deal, through her affiliation with the Pixies will forever have her place cemented amongst the pantheon of rock gods.

Belly had a huge hit in the 90’s called “Feed the Tree“– you know that one, too. And so did my co-worker.

So, who is this Throwing Muses you are always on about?

“Well, remember Belly? They had that song ‘Feed the Tree’?”

“Oh, yeah!”

“Ok, well, the woman that formed that band, Tanya Donnelly, used to be in Throwing Muses”.

Which brings us to Kristin Hersh, her career, and the music industry in general. There isn’t a single song that Throwing Muses did that I can point to and say “those guys”. This is a band that can claim REM and the Pixies as peers. Think about that for a minute. The Pixies inspired, by Cobain’s admission, Nirvana. They remain one of the most influential bands of our time. As for REM– well, Jesus, do I have to spell it out for you?

Should Throwing Muses have had some monster hit? Maybe “Mexican Women” or “Counting Backwards”? I don’t know. Perhaps the poppy “Dizzy”, or “Not Too Soon”? Would that have altered their following albums? Would I be able to sit here, writing this nonsense about some (relatively) obscure band, stroking my chin and sneering down my nose at the uninitiated? Or is it maybe just the luck of the draw?

I’ve been saying for years that Kristin Hersh is one of The Most Underrated Musicians On The Planet. Given her work with the Muses (Eight albums, a few EPs), her albums as a solo artist (her first solo album, “Hips and Makers” included a duet with REM’s Michael Stipe), and what she has done recently with her new band, 50 Foot Wave (whose only claim to fame is choosing that name right before the 2004 Tsunami), Hersh remains one of the most prolific artists of the modern era. And yet she toils away, giving music away for free on the internet, bounced from her label (the venerable 4AD), playing shows in the US to sparse audiences (she’s bigger in the UK), blogging about her latest bus breakdown or shitbag motel her tour had to settle for this week.

And yet, this is her career. This is the only life her kids know, schlepped around from city to city while mom and dad hope, maybe, just maybe, someone notices. Yeah, that describes thousands of unknown artists who will never know what it’s like to be U2– but listen to Throwing Muses’ “The Real Ramona”, or Kristin’s solo album “Sunny Border Blue”, and tell me that there isn’t some fickle injustice at work here.


Hey, Fucking Prayer Cures Diabetes!

Saturday, March 29th, 2008

Being diabetic, I’ve got to say, I’d like to know what Dale and Leilani Neumann know that I don’t. Maybe they’re on to something? Maybe I can stop taking twenty goddamn pills a day? Maybe I can eat cake?

Oh, wait:

“Everest Metro Police Chief Dan Vergin says Madeline Neumann died Sunday, and an autopsy determined the cause was diabetic ketoacidosis, which left her with too little insulin in her body. The chief says she had probably been ill for about 30 days, suffering symptoms like nausea, vomiting, excessive thirst, loss of appetite and weakness.”

Here’s the story if you’re so inclined

According to the Associated Press, these fuckwits kept praying right up until 11 year old Madeline stopped breathing.

I can take religious people and their beliefs. Really, some of my best friends and closest family members believe in some Imaginary Man in the Sky. Great– that’s fine. If faith gives you comfort, I’m all for it. Personally, I find my comfort in my belief in myself, my love for my family, perhaps (just perhaps) some harebrained Zen mumbo-jumbo, and occasionally at the bottom of a bottle of Jameson’s Irish Whiskey, but that’s just me.

I gotta tell ya, though, when you start thinking your Imaginary Man in the Sky is going to cure your kid of an incurable fucking disease, so much so that your way to deal with watching her suffer and grow increasingly ill is to just get more people to HELP you pray (because, clearly, your Imaginary Man in the Sky must be deaf or something if he can’t just hear you), you’ve clearly missed the boat somewhere.

However irrational I may think faith is, I’ll never knock anyone’s belief so long as, (A), they aren’t trying to shove it down my fucking throat, and (B), they aren’t using it as an excuse to harm someone else. Which, unfortunately, is usually the problem with most religious extremists (and even not-so-extremists).

The Neumann’s have two other girls, 13 and 16, which, thankfully, since the above story was written, the authorities have taken away from them. Which, considering the fact that diabetes tends to be, oh, I don’t know, fucking genetic, is probably for the best.

If anyone needs me, I’ll be sitting in a dark corner, by myself, rocking and mumbling incoherently. I’m gonna see if I can get rid of this stupid diabetes by chanting.


Three (For Now) Other Albums From ‘82

Friday, February 22nd, 2008

There’s lots of hype right now around the 25th anniversary of Michael Jackson’s Thriller. OK, so the album sold gazillions, produced 800 top ten singles, including “Billy Jean”, “Beat It”, et al. Aside from the obvious and easy digs on Jackson’s tendency towards child diddling, let’s be realistic: this is nothing more than a last gasp effort by the quickly-becoming-irrelevant music industry to, quoting Morrissey, “reissue, repackage, repackage” an album that, despite your hardcore music snobbery, you probably have a copy of in one form or another lying around your house.

Before you rush out and buy your special edition double CD/DVD death machine box set, consider these other releases from 1982 that deserve your ducats:

The Cure- Pornography:

Admit it, people think of the Cure as some kind of bubblegum pop band, but the reality is that Robert Smith can be one morose motherfucker. No other album brings this truth to light like Pornography. From the opening lyric of “One Hundred Years “ (“Doesn’t Matter if we all die” ) to the close of the title track (“One more day like today and I’ll kill you”), Pornography had proto-goth kids jerking off over the harsh reality of our bleak existence. Say what you will about Bauhaus and Joy Division being the progenitors of Goth—Pornography remains the signpost.

Kate Bush- The Dreaming:

The Dreaming is a difficult album to listen to. Couple that with the fact that Kate Bush is viewed in this country as a shrill harpy, and you have an album that practically no one gives a shit about. The Dreaming challenged its audience to embrace the album as a whole, rather than a framework built around pop songs. The Dreaming broke ground in many ways—it was one of the first albums to feature instruments native to the Australian aborigines, and featured songs with narratives that forced the listener to embrace the stories within (I maintain that Kate Bush is one of the greatest story tellers of our time—listen to “Heads We’re Dancing” off of 1989’s The Sensual World and tell me otherwise). “Pull Out the Pin” is set during the Vietnam war, but tells the tale from the point of view of a North Vietnamese solider, sneaking up on the enemy, referencing how the American smells of “Yankee hash”; “Houdini” attempts to explain how the title character escaped from his entanglements (“with a kiss, I’ll pass the key”). “There Goes A Tenner” details a bank heist gone wrong. Each song is wrapped in off-kilter rhythms and challenging lyrics. The album could have been recorded yesterday and people still wouldn’t know how to pigeonhole it.

REM- Chronic Town:

Technically an EP, Chronic Town broke REM onto the burgeoning college radio scene. I can be like a certain unnamed Buffalo News music critic (cough Jeff Miers cough) and feign ultimate, encyclopedic musical taste, and claim that I alone, at age 12, despite my infatuation with Styx and Pat Benetar, embraced REM for all they could be back in 1982 when this album came out. The reality is this release was thrown in my face in 1986, when all of the upper classmen in my high school decried Life’s Rich Pageant as REM’s sell out album (if only they’d waited five years for Out of Time). However, hearing “Wolves, Lower” and “Carnival of Sorts” now, and placing it in context, I can’t help but see where they were coming from.


Does It Matter Where Your Food Comes From?

Wednesday, February 6th, 2008

Or for that matter, what you eat?

If you’ve seen Supersize Me, the answer is abundantly clear. So, obvious health concerns aside (red meat/everyday=premature death on a stick), what difference does the matter you force down your gullet truly make?

Almost a year ago, I was diagnosed with diabetes. Coupled with that was an alarming cholesterol level and triglycerides that were off the chart (for the uninitiated, triglycerides are basically the level of fat in your bloodstream– healthy is considered a rating less than 150, I was at 1400). Doctors refer to this as Metabolic Syndrome– a cluster of factors that could lead to a plethora of health issues, not the least of which is the aforementioned early deadsies.

Faced with this news, and the fact that I was 37 and the father of a then 4 month old, I found myself forced to re-evaluate my diet. I like to cook, I like to eat. It was just as easy to whip up a batch of alfredo sauce as it was to call the local pizza joint for a delivery of steak pizza and BBQ wings.

Naturally suspicious of the medical profession and HMO’s in general, I shunned a referral to a dietitian and researched the issue myself. I came across a few studies that suggested a vegan diet was found to help diabetics manage their blood sugar effectively– so I gave it a shot. Within three months, I was off Insulin and just taking pills. I wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination 100% vegan, but probably a good 80%.

Like I said, I like to cook. So I started reading vegetarian and vegan cookbooks and found plenty of recipes that were acceptable– none of them were slow smoked ribs or strip steak, but hey– 80%, right? However, I found that the vegetarian magazines that I was buying at the local co-op were just a little to preachy, a little too extreme: here were people who attached their eating style to their sense of being. They were no longer people, they were vegans. It smacked of the same lemming-like behavior that people who referred to themselves as “goth” or “Republican” flaunted with ironic non-conformity.

Furthermore, I started coming across references to “eating locally”– this seems to have become the current progressive food trend, taking the space that “eating organically” occupied a few years ago. The thinking is that What You Eat is tied intrinsically to the planet itself, an argument popular amongst strict vegetarians and vegans– for example, the land required to raise a single cow could be used to grow enough agriculture to sustain a small town. Proponents of “eating locally” suggest that, given global warning, eating locally would have a profound effect on the levels of emissions in the atmosphere because of the reduction in fuel needed to transport out of season foods into a given area– think strawberries available in Buffalo in winter. Furthermore, if people strictly ate locally, they would support small local farms and companies, thus reducing the stranglehold that a small number of corporate food conglomerates (Nestle, Beatrice, etc) have on our global economy.

It makes sense when you think about it, but it also suggests a certain degree of isolationism and promotes the unfortunate arrogance and elitism that plagues any hippie-driven movement– never mind the personal economics involved; eating strictly organic foods alone downright cost prohibitive. Factor in restricting oneself to local products is downright bankrupting. Keeping my kid in organic milk alone is cleaning out our checking account. To switch to strictly organic, locally farmed chicken would be disastrous.

I like the fact that I can get tomatoes (albeit shitty ones) year round. Restricting our diet to only locally available produce, I’m sorry, would suck in the winter. No cucumbers. No lettuce. No onions or garlic! No fresh herbs– come on!

Ultimately, I don’t suggest to have an answer– I can’t deny the effect eating local, organic foods has had on my health, and in some little way, my family’s little corner of the world. But I’m not maxing out my credit card the next time I want to hold a barbeque.

The wife is bringing home Burger King tonight– haven’t had any in about six months– and I’m looking forward to it.