Crackity Jones' Diary

Singing a new tune

I started feeling old today.

My friends will tell you I started acting old a long time ago. I can be pretty cranky for 35. I started looking old a while ago, too. Too many mornings I find myself walking awkwardly when I get out of bed, trying to shake off creakiness in the knees, stiffness in my back or the nagging pain that has moved into my shoulders.

It wasn't until today that I started feeling old. It didn't surprise me too much. With a little girl on the way, I've been looking over my shoulder for the past few weeks, just waiting for it to catch up to me. Despite my vigilance it still caught me a little off guard, overtaking me in a place I normally feel safe and confident -- the record store.

Since I hadn't been there for a while, the wife and I headed over to Orpheus Records this afternoon. In the past few years, I've found dozens of great deals on used vinyl. I rarely go with a purchase in mind. I just start looking through the bins and wait for the surprises. I've replaced old Springsteen and Stray Cats albums that suffered from overuse or neglect. I've found reissues from Johnny Burnette, Link Wray and Uncle Tupelo that I've been able to enjoy on vinyl. I've discovered some excellent folk/bluegrass albums there as well, such as Dan Crary's "Guitar" and Norman Blake's "Whiskey Before Breakfast."

Today, I walked out empty-handed.

It's not unprecedented, but it is rare. There are thousands of albums in there, just waiting for good homes. I normally adopt one or two. There were some candidates who came close to joining the family today. I looked over a Gene Vincent reissue. I pulled out an old Gordon Lightfoot album my father played a lot when I was a kid, turning it over in my hands and remembering the way those songs sounded to me. There were a bunch of great John Hartford albums (I suspect there isn't another kind). Nothing made the cut.

I supposed it could have something to do with my turntable being broken. I doubt it. It will be fixed soon, and when it is that Gene Vincent would sound great.

I say I started feeling old today because I think it was my own conscience and sense of responsibility that kept my wallet in my pocket. I've known for a while that when the Li'l' Peanut arrives I'm going to have to change my habits. Fine-tuning our music library will have to take a back seat to diapers and the college fund. But those habits hadn't changed yet, until today.

Maybe that will all change tomorrow. Maybe when I wake up I'll be convinced that we can't live any longer without owning "James Taylor's Greatest Hits" or Muddy Waters' "Anthology." It's hard to tell with me.

Part of me hopes that my self-restraint kicked in today. It's nice to know there are a few things I love even more than music.

Tour de Force

Working in newspaper sports departments for the past 11 years has turned me into a casual sports fan outside the office. I nonetheless felt compelled to turn out Outdoor Life Network this morning and watch Lance Armstrong complete his seventh consecutive Tour de France victory.

It's one of the great athletic achievements in my lifetime, and it's certainly going to stand as one of the greatest ever. Records are made to be broken, but it will be only an exceptional athlete with an iron will if anyone ever can surpass Armstrong.

Seven straight. I can't drive seven consecutive nails straight. If I picked up my guitar right now, I'm not sure I could play a scale correctly seven straight times. Armstrong not only won the races, he put in the hours of training, which always makes me think of the Nike commercial that addressed swirling rumors that Armstrong had to be taking drugs to be so good. In the ad, which shows Armstrong riding for mile after mile, alone, he says "Everybody wants to know what I'm on. I'm on my bike, busting my ass. Every day."

He did all of this after beating cancer.

I remember the day at the Lewiston Sun-Journal when I saw the Armstrong cancer story come across the wire. My first thought was that it was a shame. My second thought was, "Jesus, this guy probably doesn't have long left." How little I know.

Beating cancer could have been the defining moment in Lance Armstrong's life. But he went out and won the Tour de France seven straight times for good measure. I don't know if I can keep it up for seven straight minutes or seven straight years, but I think it's about time I dropped the phrase "I can't" from my vocabulary.

Band of Brothers (& Sisters)

The wife and I recently got a chance to attend a big-band concert featuring Washington-area groups The Brooks Tegler Big Band and the J Street Jumpers. A co-worker plays in Tegler's band, which was a great reason to get out and sweat to the oldies with the old folks on a muggy Friday night in D.C.

As we waited in line at the gate, my self-fulfilling prophecy was coming true (yes, I know they usually do; hence the term). Sharon and I appeared to bring the median age down to 75.

Don't get me wrong. I don't begrudge the old folks a night out, and I'm not embarrassed to be in their company. It's nice to see seniors interacting with the rest of the world instead of withering away in a home. Not to mention that it was their music way before it was mine.

After a while, as the seats filled in, we began to notice a change in the crowd. Suddenly we were among people of all ages. There were young adults, teens, preteens and even a toddler or two in the house. There even was a dude with a Mohawk, although I should mention that we know that guy so it wasn't a surprise to see him.

A lot of folks young and old headed down by the stage and danced in what I took to be period-correct styles. Watching them and the fun they were having at times was as enjoyable as the music. That is to say, considerably enjoyable.

The performances were first-rate, and so was the selection of material. The J Street Jumpers, whose music keeps them from being easily categorized, held down the ground between swing and jump blues during the middle set. Tegler's Big Band opened and closed the show, with plenty of emphasis on Count Basie, Duke Ellington, Artie Shaw and (no surprise since Tegler is a drummer) Gene Krupa.

After groups such as The Brian Setzer Orchestra and Big Bad Voodoo Daddy brought big-band back to the mainstream in the '90s, it's hard to imagine that some people might still regard it as the music of their grandparents and great grandparents. It's not, and the diverse multi-generational crowd at Carter Barron Amphitheatre proved it.

The music composed by Basie and Ellington (among many, many others) was put together with the precision of a Swiss watch. Whether you're talking timepieces or music, the good stuff is built to last.

Seeing so many people brought together, the young dancing with the old, the black dancing with the white, was good stuff indeed.

Taking it to Art

I had a sudden fit of inspiration on Sunday. While touring Baltimore’s outstanding American Visionary Art Museum, Sharon and I noticed a trend in the artists’ biographical information. Many of them started out in different careers. Some of them didn’t start until they were in their 40s (or even much later).

I don’t need much of an excuse to procrastinate. I try to take the newspapers to the recycling bin down the street before the pile gets so high that it tips over on the cat, but I don’t feel much need to take them before then (despite my in-laws pointing it out when they visit). I’d actually enjoy rolling out of bed mid-morning, if I didn’t feel the greater need to stay gainfully employed.

Actually, thinking about putting my art out in the world doesn’t even fall under procrastination. I really admire people who have artistic ability, like my friend Geoffrey, but I never figured I could do anything like that.

I have no illusions that it would be as good as Geoffrey’s work (if you’re reading, dude, you still owe us a painting. And we’re paying for it), but maybe at least there’s still time to try.