"...Even TMZ Will Have To Google..."

 A life of eighty four years.

A successful marriage of more than fifty years

A successful show business career of nearly sixty years.

And there's a pretty good chance that you've never heard of her.

Ironically, that's a good thing.



(CNN) -- Singer Eydie Gorme, who enjoyed decades-long success as half of the duo Steve & Eydie and as a solo artist in her own right, has died. She was 84.

She is best known in the English-speaking world for her 1963 Grammy-nominated "Blame it on the Bossa Nova." In the Spanish-speaking market, Gorme's major hit was 1964's "Amor."

 

Gorme died Saturday in Las Vegas after a brief illness, her publicist said -- without disclosing what had ailed her.

 

Her husband Steve Lawrence, her son and other family members were by her side at the time.

 

"Eydie has been my partner on stage and in life for more than 55 years. I fell in love with her the moment I saw her and even more the first time I heard her sing," Lawrence said.

"While my personal loss is unimaginable, the world has lost one of the greatest pop vocalists of all time."

 

Gorme was born in New York on August 16, 1928 to Sephardic Jewish parents.

 

Her father, Nessim Garmezano, was a tailor from Sicily whose last name -- as was the norm at the time -- was changed by customs officers at Ellis Island when he arrived in the United States.

 

Gorme began singing straight out of high school with various big bands. But her big break came after she auditioned for, and joined, "The Tonight Show" in 1953.

 

There, for $90 a week, she sang solos and sang duets with the up-and-coming Steve Lawrence.

 

"I mean, she could sing with me, with Andy Williams, Placido Domingo," Lawrence told CNN's "Larry King Live" in 2003, commenting on Gorme's three-octave range. "She could sing with just about anybody."

 

The two performed on the show for five years, and married in 1957.

 

"I just fell madly in love with him," Gorme said in the same interview.

 

After their "Tonight Show" stint, the pair had a short-lived TV show of their own, "The Steve Lawrence and Eydie Gorme Show."

 

Then, Lawrence entered the Army -- leaving Gorme, a new mother, to frequent the night club circuit on her own.

 

"I was traveling and working alone while he was in the Army and taking my baby with me everyplace, and it was very difficult," Gorme said.

 

Two years later when Lawrence was discharged, the couple came to a decision.

 

"I said, 'Either I'm going to quit and just stay home and be a housewife,'" Gorme said, "'Or maybe we should, I don't know, try and get something ...'"

 

"We started working together out of necessity," Lawrence added.

 

Their career took off, with audiences drawn to their penchant for the classics in favor of rock 'n' roll -- as well as their spontaneous banter.

 

"Well, we never rehearsed the first night," Gorme said.

 

"No, we never did. We never did. And we still don't," Lawrence said.

 

Their two boys -- David and Michael -- traveled with them. Gorme would, in her words, "hotel school" them.

 

When Michael Lawrence was 23, he died of ventricular fibrillation, a heart condition.

 

"It was very hard for all of us, but it's still very hard," Gorme said.

 

"You don't deal with it, you just go on as best you can. And fortunately, we all held on," Lawrence said.

 

For a year, the pair mourned. Then they decided to go back on tour, with their surviving son David joining them on stage on the piano.

 

The pair continued touring well into the 2000s.

 

During their long career, they toured with Frank Sinatra, threw the first pair of dice in Atlantic City and recorded a lounge version of Soundgarden's grunge classic "Black Hole Sun."

 

"I'm very thankful that Eydie and I, not only do we have a great love, and a great friendship," Lawrence said.

 

In addition to her husband and son, Gorme is survived by her granddaughter.

 

Services are pending and will be private.

 

 

Every generation has its own circle of celebrities.

 

That's only natural.

 

Sometimes, their fame and/or the accomplishment lifts one to a level of familiarity that makes their particular celebrity, for lack of a better term, timeless.

 

Not everyone, for example, knows the name Ramon Navarro.

 

But he was, to the movie audiences of the 1920's and 1930's, what George Clooney is to the movie audiences of today.

 

And, current popularity notwithstanding, it's entirely possible that eighty or ninety years from now, few people will know the name George Clooney.

 

That's okay.

 

Not everyone can be Humphrey Bogart.

 

Eydie Gorme was of the celebrity circle best known to my parents generation, first, because she was literally of that generation, born in the 1920's.

 

Also because her limelight shown most brightly in the 1950's and 1960's, the years just after my grandparents admired and enjoyed, say, Al Jolson and just prior to the years my generational peers and I admired and enjoyed The Beatles.

 

It's a sure bet were you to ask people to identify Eydie Gorme today, the larger number of people would be unable, those few that might take a shot at it would likely miss by varying degrees.

 

"Eydie Gorme, oh, yeah, wasn't she that singer they called the Velvet Fog or something?"

 

No, that was Mel Torme'.

 

"Oh, yeah, didn't she have that cooking show on TV way back in the seventies?"

 

No, that was the Galloping Gourmet.

 

"Oh, yeah, she's the one that invented that ice cream."

 

Uh, no. That was a different Edy.

 

The point of all this is that its perfectly understandable that the majority of today's average Jane and Joes wouldn't recognize who Eydie Gorme was any more than my generation recognized Ramon Navarro.

 

That was then, this is now.

 

Here's a thing, though.

 

In a modern day culture overflowing with celebrities more infamous than famous, more notorious than noteworthy, more sensationalistic than sensational, there is a poignancy and not just a little irony to the fact that very few people will, in fact, know who she was.

 

Because, in the light of this modern day culture, what she accomplished was remarkable.

 

A life of eighty four years.

A successful marriage of more than fifty years

A successful show business career of nearly sixty years.

And such a lack of infamy, notoriety and sensationalism that there's a pretty good chance you've never heard of her.

Somehow, I can't help but think that, sixty years from now, people will still recognize the names Lohan.

Or Kanye.

Or Kardashian.

And that's a sad thing.

While today, most people don't recognize the name Eydie Gorme'.

And, ironically, that's a good thing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

"....Or How About 'Jaws One Of Those Things'?...."

Here's two names you probably don't often think of connecting.

William Shakespeare.

The Syfy Channel.

Allow me.

"A dangerous weather phenomenon featuring large groups of fish with cartilaginous skeletons, five to seven gill slits on the sides of the head, and pectoral fins that are not fused to the head...by any other name.."


The Twitter-verse has spoken. And Syfy listened.

The cable channel asked fans to pitch names for the Sharknado sequel.

The winning title is rather perfect. Here it is:

Sharknado 2: The Second One.

“Since Twitter played such a huge role in the success of the original movie, we wanted to use that platform to ask our fans to name Sharknado 2,” says Thomas Vitale, executive vp of programming at Syfy.. “This response is another reminder of how Sharknado has become a pop culture phenomenon. We want to thank all our viewers for their wonderful contributions to keeping up the shark-mentum.”

The title was selected by Syfy from more than 5,000 submissions via Twitter.

Sharknado 2: The Second One, which like the social media smash original film will be produced by The Asylum, arrives July, 2014.


In a culture blatantly oversaturated with moronic presentations masquerading as cutting edge satire and/or entertainment, the success of "Sharknado" deserves recognition on a number of levels.

Not the least of which is its willingness, even eagerness, to present, and promote, itself as nothing more, or less, than exactly what it is.

Foolishness, even absurdity, fully aware of its foolishness, even absurdity, and laughing at itself, at all times, no less than a few seconds ahead of any laughing at it we are inclined to do.

Put less verbosely, stupidity that recognizes, and celebrates, just how stupid it really is.

As opposed to, say, for example, "Here Comes Honey Boo Boo", "Keeping Up With The Kardashians", Miley Cyrus' current hair cut, anything, musical or not, coming out of the mouths of Chris Brown, Kanye West or John Rich of Big and Rich or anything, at all, coming out of the brain, mouth or pick your bodily orifice of Seth MacFarlane.

Stupidity that simply refuses to take the all important first step on the road to recovery of recognizing itself as stupidity.

By the way, I added Rich to that list because I think it fair and just to say that, in many ways, country music has grown as an industry and pretty much come into its own as an equal partner in the world of show business.

Which is, of course, to say that there's as many talentless morons there as there are anywhere.

Meanwhile, there's the genius that is "Sharknado".

And the satirical spawn of said genius that will be "Sharknado 2".

As for the name, I agree that "The Second One" is appropriately stupid.

In a very good way.

A week or so ago, I made mention of the forthcoming sequel on the daily podcast ("The Daily Boomer" available at www.http://theboomershow.podomatic.com/) and suggested, half seriously and half tongue in cheek in order to segue into the classic Doors song that they should title the sequel, "Sharknado 2- Riders on the Storm"......

After that, I went perusing the ol' interweb to check out what others were offering in the way of ideas.

And found some pretty funny suggestions.

Or finny, as the case may be.

"Shark and Awe"

"The Towering Sharkferno"

"Sharks On A Plane"

And, of course, the obvious spins on other weather phenomena

"Sharkquake"

"Sharkicane"

"Sharkcano"

and, my favorite of that ilk...

"Tsharknami"

Spelled with the T, to boot.

 Well, I think I was on to something using a well known song to tie it all together, if only because it would give the movie even more campy relevance, but also provide a title song for the soundtrack CD which any savvy marketer will tell you is a must have when it comes to successful movies.

And even those not so successful.

Show of hands. How many of you own the soundtrack CD to "Glitter" if only because it has Mariah Carey singing on it?

See?

So, although the choice of a title seems to be a fait accompli at this point, or a bait accompli, as the case may be, I still feel it a duty, of sorts, to offer a few last minute suggestions for songs that might fit the bill, or snout, as the case may be, and provide hours of musical enjoyment long after the movie shows up on the 99 cent Budget DVD table at Wal Mart.

"Sharknado 2.........

".......Sea Of Love......."

"......Let's Twist Again...."

"....The Wayward Wind...."

"....Too Many Fish In The Sea...."

"....C'mon Let's Swim...."

"....What Have They Done To The Rain...."

and, use it now or forever regret your missing the boat, there, Hollywood.....

"Sharknado 2...Mackie's Back In Town...."

Obviously, all of these ideas are pretty stupid.

As are Sharknado and the forthcoming sequel.

And "Here Comes Honey Boo Boo", "Keeping Up With The Kardashians", Miley Cyrus' current hair cut, anything, musical or not, coming out of the mouths of Chris Brown, Kanye West or John Rich of Big and Rich or anything, at all, coming out of the brain, mouth or pick your bodily orifice of Seth MacFarlane.

The difference between em?

That's what Sharknado was shootin' for in the first place.

Or fishin' for, as the case may be.

"...Space, The Final Frontier...The Old West, The Previous Frontier..."

Old joke.

"Wow," said the girl discovering and looking through a pile of Beatles records, "Paul McCartney was in a band before Wings."

That little witty popped into my head when I heard of the passing of Michael Ansara.



(CNN) -- He struck an imposing figure as Kang, the villainous Klingon commander who struck fears in the hearts of the federation.

The man who played Kang in three iterations of "Star Trek," Michael Ansara, has died, according to his former agent.

 

Ansara was 91.

 

The veteran character actor was probably best known for playing the Klingon leader in the original "Star Trek" series, then again in the legendary sci-fi series "Star Trek: Deep Space Nine" and "Star Trek: Voyager."

But he had an illustrious career beyond that, plus a personal life that included a marriage to Barbara Eden of "I Dream of Jeannie" fame and a 36-year marriage to his wife Beverly.

 

Ansara died Wednesday at his home in Calabasas, California, according to former agent Michael B. Druxman.

 

He was born in a small village in Syria, arriving in the United States with his American parents at the age of two, according to a biography provided by Druxman.

 

Having entered college in Los Angeles intending to be a doctor, he went into acting instead. His breakout role came as Cochise in the 1950s TV series "Broken Arrow."

 

Other small-screen roles included in parts in such shows as "The Untouchables," "Alfred Hitchcock Presents," "Perry Mason, "Lost in Space," "Hawaii 5-0," "Murder She Wrote," "Buck Rogers in the 25th Century" and his ex-wife's show, "I Dream of Jeannie." Ansara also voiced Mr. Freeze in Batman movies and the TV series.

 

Ansara's film credits include 1953's "Julius Caesar," "The Greatest Story Ever Told," John Wayne's "The Comancheros," "Guns of the Magnificent Seven," "The Bears and I," "The Message" and "The Guns and the Fury."

 

William Shatner, who played Capt. James T. Kirk on the original Star Trek, was among the many who offered condolences upon hearing of Ansara's death. So too did Eden, Ansara's former wife.

 

Tweeted Eden: "He was a good man, a good father & a fantastic actor who had a long and full life."

 

 

Given that it's 2013, it's perfectly understandable that the "was probably best known for" portion of this accomplished actor highlighted his three turns as the kooky Klingon Kang.

 

Since Star Trek is still very much a part of contemporary culture, it is, arguably, of all of Michael Ansara's work, that which, when his passing was announced, rang a bell.

 

Or Kang a bell, as the case may be.

 

And if going into the history books as a three times star of one of television and motion pictures most iconic creations was all he had to show for the 60 plus professional years of his 91 year long life, well, it would be a heck of a thing.

 

Or Trek of a thing, as the case may be.

 

For me, though, Ansara gets props for his largely unsung work tackling, through, his acting, the hot button issue of race relations, especially during the 1950's when those relations were beginning to reach critical mass in the culture and the country.

 

Oh, didn't know that this gifted actor was a civil rights pioneer?

 

Next time you're inclined to go a Wikipedia-ing in search of fun things to know and tell for show and tell and you've already filled the folders marked Rosa Parks, James Meredith, Jackie Robinson, et al, give this name a look see.

 

Sam Buckhart.

 

The character portrayed in, first, several episodes of the, again, iconic 1950's and 60's TV western, "The Rifleman" and then, shortly after, for just one short season, in another lesser known series, "Law of the Plainsman".

 

Here, allow me.

 

Law of the Plainsman is a Western television series starring Michael Ansara that aired on the NBC television network from October 1, 1959, until May 5, 1960.

The character of Native American U.S. Marshal Sam Buckhart was introduced in two episodes ("The Indian" and "The Raid") of the popular ABC Western television series The Rifleman starring Chuck Connors as Lucas McCain.

Law of the Plainsman is distinctive and unique in that it was one of the few television programs that featured a Native American as the lead character, a bold move for U.S.network television at that time. Ansara had earlier appeared in the series Broken Arrow, having portrayed the Apache chief, Cochise.

Ansara played Sam Buckhart, an Apache Indian who saved the life of a U.S. Cavalry officer after an Indian ambush. When the officer died, he left Sam money that was used for an education at private schools and Harvard University. After school, he returned to New Mexico where he became a Deputy Marshal working for Marshal Andy Morrison


Looking back at this show, and this time, through the admittedly dusty fifty year old lens, might easily generate a "what's the big deal?" attitude amongst contemporary television viewers.

Let's face it, a couple of hours of Real Housewives, with a dash of Honey Boo Boo, a soupcon of American Guy, all smothered in a buffoonish frosting of anything and everything with the name Tyler Perry on it and one little piddly weekly show about a native American marshal in the old West might be medically proven to invoke a yawn or two.

But, dusty lens or not, this was fifty years ago.

A time in American history when, in terms of our entertainment, racial issues were a sleeping dog that even the most rebellious television and/or movie creative types let lie.

Or disguised in so much metaphor that only the hippest of the hip realized they were being offered a little morality underneath the melodrama.

Cue Rod Serling and several choice episodes of "The Twilight Zone".

And even well into the sixties and beyond, the race card could only be played if it was slipped into the deck with a little more metaphorical slight of hand.

Cue Gene Roddenberry and several choice episodes of the original "Star Trek".

But with "Law of the Plainsman", prime time television put racial conflict front and center, even if it was still substituting native American (then still referred to, without a moment's pause, as Indian) issues for the more radioactive African American (then still referred to, without a moment's pause, as Negro) issues.

And right there, just a big as life with conflict up to here and hair down to there, was native American United States Marshal Sam Buckhart.

Played passionately, intelligently and fearlessly by Michael Ansara.

The character, accounting for both appearances on "The Rifleman" and "Law of the Plainsman" only existed on our small screens for a total of thirty two half hour episodes, hardly enough time to generate the kind of controversy that prolonged exposure might have spawned.

But, putting those issues on the mainstream small screen in those days was a brave thing to do.

And playing the character took courage, as well.

The kind of courage that can very easily go unnoticed.

Especially when one is distracted by the blinding light of a disruptor blast fired by commander Kang of the Klingon Empire.

"Wow", said the girl discovering and going through You Tube episodes of "The Rifleman" and "Law of the Plainsman", "Michael Ansara was on TV even before "Star Trek".

Yes, as a matter of fact, he was.

As Sam Buckhart.

Bravely going where no one had gone before.

 

"...And If He Were Here Today, I'd Salute His Philanthropy Even As I Changed The Station...."

Coming up, kats and kiddies, rockers and rollers, something classic from Billy Joel.

But, right now, breaking news....



(CNN) -- David "Kidd" Kraddick, whose morning radio show aired in nearly 100 cities, has died. He was 53.

He died Saturday in New Orleans at a golf tournament to raise money for his Kidd's Kids Charity, his management company said.

 

What killed Kraddick was not immediately known.

 

"At the appropriate time, we will release more information about the cause of death," said Ladd Biro with Champion Management.

 

"He died doing what he loved, and his final day was spent selflessly focused on those special children that meant the world to him."

 

Kraddick is the face behind the nationally successful "Kidd Kraddick In The Morning" show.

He has been named America's Best Radio Personality'; Radio and Records Major Market Personality of the Year; and he won the prestigious Marconi Award for Radio Personality of the Year.

 

Kraddick said his career as a disc jockey began in high school.

 

"We sponsored a big dance for the seniors but didn't have enough money to hire a DJ. So I snuck out my dad's stereo and did it myself," he said.

 

The name "Kidd" wouldn't come for several years though.

 

He began his career in Miami. And as is common with radio personalities, he bounced around.

 

Stints in Salt Lake City, Los Angeles and Tampa followed.

 

It was in Tampa that a program director gave him the name "Kidd." It stuck.

 

His career really took off after he moved to Dallas when his morning drive time show went into syndication.

 

Last week, Kraddick did a humorous segment on what he'd say to his co-hosts in his "final moments on Earth."

 

"When I die, you have permission to take a bunch of creepy pictures of my body," Kraddick said. "I want to thank all of you guys for being at my deathbed today. I'm going to miss you so much."

Saturday's golf tournament was for his non-profit Kidd's Kids Charity, which raises money annually to send children with chronic and terminal illnesses -- and their families -- to spend five days at Walt Disney World.

 

"RIP Kidd Kraddick. You were an amazing man and a friend. You are already missed," tweeted entrepreneur and Dallas Mavericks owner Mark Cuban.

 

CNN.com readers also shared their memories.

 

"Such a great guy. I've listened to the show for years," commented Johnny MacNary. "He was always raising money for Kidd's Kids and giving things away. He really had a heart of gold. Mornings in Texas will never be the same. My thoughts are with his family, friends and colleagues tonight. He really made the world a better place."

 

 

First, a little back story in the interest of truth in advertising is required here.

 

Kidd Kraddick first came across my radar a number of years ago but I wasn't doing A/C, didn't make it a habit to listen to what other on airs were up to (believing, and preaching to others, that imitation is the sincerest form of laziness) and so, as a result, didn't really know his work or have an opinion about it one way or the other.

 

That opinion came along five or six years ago when I went to work as the program director and morning show producer/host at WMSO MISS 101 in Meridian, Mississippi. MISS was a country station but the Hot A/C sister station down the hallway carried Kidd Kraddick In The Morning and, if only because he was "in the building", so to speak, I heard his show for the first time.

 

I didn't like it.

 

Two years later, I took over as operations manager and program director at WRJY WAVE 104.1 and WXMK MAGIC 105.9 in Brunswick, Georgia. This time my primary on air and PD duties were focused on MAGIC, which ran Kidd's show in the morning. So, if only out of managerial necessity, I spent even more time listening to Kidd and his zoo crew.

 

I still didn't like it.

 

And I made it my first goal, as program director, to replace the show.

 

Given that the guy has just died, I realize there's a risk of seeming ungracious by offering up some of the reasons I didn't like the show, but, I like to think that, as an accomplished pro, Kraddick would have, at least, respected my right to my own professional opinion.

 

So, in the interest of full disclosure and with all due respect, here's the nutshell version.

 

I think the whole "zoo crew", roundtable style format of morning radio went out of fashion a long time ago. For some years, I've preached that it's too often the on air equivalent of paying a hundred bucks to see a favorite band in concert and then wanting to yell, "HEY! out HERE!" as the players get so into themselves that they turn their back on the audience and play to each other.

 

Even if I grant that the format can work in the right circumstances, my professional assessment on the content of Kidd Kraddick in the Morning came down to a single word.

 

Cheap.

 

Endless self congratulatory, "hey, ya'll, ain't we funny?" segments that, on most occasions, were centered on such cutting edge topics as boobs, butts and/or bodily functions (one segment I personally heard had the gang suggesting to crew member Big Al that the most practical, and cost efficient, material to use to create a toupee' for his receding issue was "the hair from the crack of his ass"...)

 

Uproarious laughter from the other court jesters naturally ensued.

 

I'm not a prude and I can bounce blue humor around with the best of em'. But I believe, and have always believed, that scatological silliness is almost without exception one of two things.

 

A pandering to the very lowest common denominator of the listening audience while failing to grasp that an accidental fart can be funny while armpit noises are just desperate pleas for attention.

 

A lazy, and sad, use of genuine comedic talent. A talent that David Kraddick obviously possessed.

 

By this point, some reading this will already be up in arms, ready to defend the Kraddick show and its cast, pointing out the awards and accolades and ratings success.

 

To each his own.

 

Due respect, though, we live in a culture that thinks Kardashians and Honey Boo Boos and people blowing snot out of their noses for money because they're told to by Howie Mandell represents the classy standard in entertainment these days.

 

So, you'll understand if I elect to stay with my original opinions about Kraddick's show.

 

All of that, though, is professional perspective, at worst, an agreement to disagree about the content of Kidd Kraddick in the Morning and what they did, or did not do, with the talent they had and the opportunity they were given with a national audience.

 

It has absolutely nothing to do with David Kraddick as a person.

 

For everything I heard and could glean from it, he was a personable fellow and, obviously, a caring and giving guy, his Kidd's Kids one of the authentic gems in a cultural jewelry box that is too often filled with self serving celebrity zirconia.

 

And the irony loving poet part of me is especially touched by the poignancy of knowing that he died, not in some fit of laughter from yet another junior high school level joke about rectal hair clubs for men, but on the road, hosting a charity event that was, and hopefully in some form, will continue to raise funds for kids who deserve all the love and attention that can be mustered.

 

I honestly think the world really can do with a lot less low rent, crotch centered, bar set so low it pretty much lays on the ground "entertainment" like what I heard when I listened to the show called Kidd Kraddick In The Morning.

 

But the world really can do with a lot more compassionate, giving guys like David Kraddick.

 

Now, as promised, here's a timeless one from Billy Joel.

 

"Only The Good Die Young"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Look At The Bright Side....So Far, The Kardashians Haven't Been Offered A Record Deal..."

Old saying.

"That ain't country".

Still holds true.

But not for the reason you might assume.

In the course of producing a weekly country music program ("16th Avenue" available for listen/download at www.myproductioncompany.biz) while having done a fun twenty five-ish years of morning and afternoon shows on country radio, I've spent, and continue to spend, a lot of time reviewing contemporary country music.

Add to that thirty plus years, give or take, of writing, performing and producing country music, including twenty or so of those years spent living and working right in the heart of Music Row and I can make a pretty good case that when it comes to country music, I know a little.

And, of late, I read and hear a lot of grousing about how country music has changed, been re-invented and, to many, been totally disrespected.

Not the least grouse being this piece that I came across on Facebook earlier this week from a blogsite called AllThingsSal.



Ten Reasons Why Country Sucks

1. There’s this plug in called the Ultramaximizer. It allows you to make everything way louder. Unfortunately, it also removes all semblance of dynamics from the music. It is commonly overused now and it makes the music unlistenable. Even the most quiet passages are loud and in your face.
2. The guitar is no longer the central musical driver of the music. Now, it is the bass and drums, which are massive.
3. The music itself has nothing to do with traditional country music. “Evolution?” Sorry, its mostly pop hooks for the American Idol audience, who listen with their eyes
4. Fake accents make the music sound even more phony. Even in the deep South, humans do not have such a degree of phony drawl.
5. Song topics have become a pantheon of country clichés—4 wheel drives, Jack Daniels,  Daisy Dukes,  fried chicken, barns, beer, farms, tractors and endless BS about what is country, sung by city boys who’ve never brought in a crop, tamed a bronc,  of even sniffed a fresh-turned acre of land.
6. Which leaves Nashville with the knotty problem, addressing the dilemma: what do we do with country music when nobody lives in the country anymore?
7. 7. The “answer” is that “we fake it.” Attach corny country laced lyrics to generic pop grooves and melodies, squash the shit out of them with plug-ins, and sell the swill as the “new” country music.
8. To add insult to injury, they will take a techno beat and throw fiddle, steel guitar and banjo over it to try and convince the slow minded that they are really listening to country music.
9. And, I’m sorry, but if you are gonna rap in country, you better have a damn good story to tell. Charlie Daniels did it. Toby Keith? Not so much.
10.  It is mostly fake get drunk, get laid, drive a truck horse manure. Music needs a bit of substance lyrically and something original to back it up. Today, it is not happening. It is un-listenable and totally undesirable. When I was in high school, I couldn’t stand the get drunk on the weekend crowd, the shallow party mentality or the womanizers. Gee, guess where they all went! It begins with an N and ends in “Ville”.

I don't honestly have a lot to dispute here because my take, give or take a little of this guy's venom, is pretty much in line with what he has to say.

I've written, and broadcast, my two cents on the matter fairly often.

But, for me, it goes off the rail when the time comes to pin blame for what long time, old fashioned country music fans regard as the violation of their sacred cow.

Or the horse they save by riding a cowboy.

What has obviously changed in the past few years is, of course, the style of presentation.

What has not changed in sixty years or so is the primary goal.

The country music business is, was and ever shall be a business.

And successful businesses make money.

A lot of people are buying concert tickets, downloading songs and paying hard earned bucks for albums filled with nothing more, or less, than the music that, for better or worse, tomato tohmahto, is defined, in this day and time, as country music.

A lot of people being defined, put simply, as folks like you and me.

So, feel free to lament the loss of traditional Grand Ole Opry-esque sounds if you will, grimace, grit and grind at the morphing of your favorite, plain spoken, slightly off key singing Nashville troubadour and/or troubadress into a flashy, show biz savvy, AutoTuned perfect pitched celebrity suitable for all occasions, from the Ryman to Letterman to The Voice.

But, in the interest of fairness, if blame you must, then put the blame where it belongs.

Not on those who are merely filling the need that the marketplace indicates it wishes filled.

In terms of what was, it can be rightly said that, today...

That ain't country.

But, the fault lies not with our current country stars....

...but with ourselves, dear Brutus.

Or Billy Bob, as the case may be.

"We Abhor and Condemn This Egregiously Offensive Presentation....Especially SInce It Didn't Make Us A Damn Dime or Kick Our Ratings Up Squat...."

First, let's be very clear.

There is no excuse for this.

There is, however, a reason.

Coming up.


UPDATE: The three radio hosts named below have now all been fired, per the station's website. Why this wasn't the station's first response is beyond us.

If you're the kind of nimrod who thinks it's humorous to make fun of people suffering from ALS (amyotrophic lateral sclerosis) -- a disease that mercilessly takes away nearly every bodily function most of us take for granted ... well, Atlanta radio "talent" Nick Cellini, Chris Dimino, and Steak Shapiro might be your kinds of guys.

For the rest of us, however, what these three chuckleheads did on their show Monday morning for the 790 The Zone station was outrageous, unprofessional, and most certainly fireable. After former New Orleans Saints player Steve Gleason, who was diagnosed with ALS in 2011, penned a guest column for SI.com's Peter King that went up Monday morning (Gleason penned that column with his eyes, by the way), Cellini and Shapiro went on the air and made fun of Gleason. Yes, they did.

According to Katherine Terrell of NOLA.com, the hosts set up a skit in which they pretended that Gleason was a caller to the show and set up a fake caller with a robotic voice, because the disease has robbed Gleason of his ability to speak. They then wondered, on the air, whether Gleason would be alive by next week.

In an obvious "CYA" move, Cellini apologized via his Twitter account.

 

The station first suspended all three hosts indefinitely, which was announced by way of a boilerplate statement that isn't really worth re-running here. What Rick Mack, Senior VP and General Manager of the station, should have been asking himself is why these two individuals still have jobs. When they were fired, hours after their suspension and the subsequent outrage their comments caused, the station issued this statement:

"We deeply regret the offensive programming that aired this morning on “Mayhem In The AM” on 790 The Zone, related to former New Orleans Saints player Steve Gleason and his battle with ALS. We suspended the three individuals involved immediately following their comments and have since terminated their employment. 790 The Zone, our owners, sponsors and partners in no way endorse or support this kind of content. We sincerely apologize to Mr. Gleason, his family and all those touched by ALS."

And since this happened on the Atlanta Falcons' flagship station, you can bet the Falcons franchise wasn't happy about it at all. The Falcons' statement:

“The Falcons are disappointed in the comments made about former Saints player Steve Gleason on a local Atlanta radio station Monday morning. The content concerning Mr. Gleason was completely inappropriate and is not representative of the views of the Falcons organization, nor does it represent the way we conduct our business on and off the field. To single out Steve the way he was this morning is totally lacking in taste and discretion.”

As Jeff Duncan of NOLA.com so eloquently wrote today, the station needed to make this right by firing the hosts, reaching out to Gleason with a public and heartfelt apology (if they can muster one up), and making a sizable donation to Team Gleason, which Gleason and his family established to help others suffering from ALS.

Nothing else will do. Formulaic apologies don't even begin to scratch the surface when you're dealing with disgusting behavior like this. This wasn't a slip of the tongue on a radio show -- this was a premeditated attempt to ridicule a man who has worked ceaselessly to maintain his dignity, his opponent a damnable disease that does everything possible to remove it. Gleason beat ALS in that sense, so he doesn't need to worry about a couple of sub-level radio goons. But the very idea that any of them could ever appear on that station again would be an endorsement of their repugnant actions.

And that is simply unacceptable.


Okay, let me reiterate my opening assertion.

There is no excuse for this.

And I'm not about to waste my time, or yours, making one for these hacks.

But, as I offered, there is a reason.

A reason that serves to illustrate what's terribly wrong with radio these days.

Essentially, it comes out of the folder labeled "Desperate Measures".

As in, "desperate times call for...."

If you're a connoisseur of the desperate, here's a link to the tasteless tidbit.

http://www.awfulannouncing.com/2013/june/audio-atlanta-sports-radio-station-mocks-steve-gleason.html 

While it would be easy and tempting to write this incident off as nothing more than stupidity exhibited by three academically depleted frat boys who finally, and inexplicably, ran out of Lohan/Kardashian/t&a jokes and fart noise sound effects on their daily "show", there is a more insidious villain at work here.

Which, of course, won't delay, for a micro second, management's public weep and wail that this incident is nothing more than stupidity exhibited by three academically depleted frat boys who finally, and inexplicably, ran out of Lohan/Kardashian/t&a jokes and fart noise sound effects on their daily "show".

But while there is no exoneration deserved, or expected, for the morons three here, there is enough blame left over to spoon out a dollop or two in the direction of the aforementioned weepers and wailers.

Because making the frat boys solely responsible for this little stomp through the poop pile is like laying the blame for the burning down of the day care center at the pitter pattering little feet of the youngsters found to have been playing with matches.

And casting no stones at the doorknobs running the place.

Regardless of what the programming department has wanted to believe all these generations, radio has always been, first, foremost and primarily, a business.

And a successful business, by definition, is one that shows a profit at the end of the day.

Not to mention fiscal year.

In order for that to happen, a simple cause and effect has to be in effect.

Stations offer an irresistible recipe of essential information and mass appeal entertainment sufficiently seductive to attract an audience large enough to impress advertisers that their very survival in the marketplace hinges on promoting their products and/or services in thirty, ideally sixty, second bursts each and every day.

Not to mention fiscal year.

For a long, long time, that recipe cooked up to make pretty much everybody involved fat and happy.

Cue the arrival of harsh reality.

That time has passed.

Today, essential information can be acquired in dozens of places, not the least of which, of course, being the smart phone you have very likely already used today.

Not to mention the PC and/or laptop and/or pad you're using to read this piece.

And "mass appeal" becomes almost a Quixotic impossible dream, given the availability of programming, to each and every unique demographic, in dozens of places, not the least of which, of course being the smart phone you've likely already used today.

Not to mention the PC and/or laptop and/or pad you're using to read this piece.

Given that reality, the advertising dollars that once flowed like sweet honey and fine wine through the hallways of sales departments from coast to coast, and AM to FM, are now more like shiny nuggets in a stream, still possible to possess, but, at best, elusive and, at worst, already mined and banked by those lucky, and savvy, enough to mine them correctly.

Then, as the inevitable economic paradigm goes, the downward spiral begins.

Fewer dollars means less quality means fewer listeners means fewer advertisers which means fewer dollars which means....

And, at some point in the spiral, panic, even a little hysteria, begins to rear its ugly little head.

Or heads, as in the case of Moe, Larry and Moron there in Atlanta.

Panic in the form of saying things out loud that any reasonable person wouldn't even likely think, let alone say, for no other reason than to attract attention, raise a ruckus, make some noise, keep the few remaining listeners from, once and for all, turning off the morning mindlessness and logging on to a  favorite podcast.

While checking the forecast, traffic conditions and stock market.

On the same pad.

Or pod.

Then, management doing what management usually does in these situations, looks for ways to continue cutting corners.

Less live, more voice tracked.

And what little live is left more and more too often comes in the form of burned out, used up old school radio jocks who still think that calling little people "midgets" in 2013 is both funny and relatable; tasteless, talentless grandstanding frat boys who are too stupid to have any sense of broadcasting savvy or any combination of the aforementioned who are willing to do the work of three or four people for salaries only marginally higher than your average, highly educated, professionally honed Wal Mart checker.

Or, obviously, three frat boys who, to their chagrin, misplayed a hunch that today's radio audience would find ridiculing a guy with ALS funny and relatable.

Instead of what it obviously is.

Childish, juvenile, careless, thoughtless and damaging.

Like little kids playing with matches.

And the smell of smoke is the day care center in flames.

Or radio station, as the case may be.

But kicking the little match strikers out of the building only solves half the problem.

The other half of the problem is meeting behind closed doors to continue their hysterical efforts to stop the bleeding of red ink at any cost.

Providing, of course, that at any cost means it doesn't cost anything.

And the wheel on the bus goes round and round.

Even as it runs over the three morons who got thrown under it in Atlanta.

"...Meet The New Star.....Same As The Old Star...."

(ED. note: As a rule, these commentaries come to you without commercial interruption.

Today, for reasons that will become obvious, an exception is being made to that rule.

The following essay is brought to you by Caleb Hommel of Monroe, New York, maker of fine products for your life since 1908.)

Pop quiz.

Resisting the temptation to open a new browser window and bring up Google, identify, in just a few quick words, the following individuals:

Ali Dee.

Amber Hayes.

Elizabeth Lyons.

Lydia Hollis.

Alexandra Lee.

Jordan Anderson.

Rachelle Lynae.

Wow. Those pesky pop quizzes are just as vexing, and annoying, as they were in Miss Higgins' seventh grade classroom, wouldn't you say?

Okay.

Let's try this one.

Anna Christine.

No, Christine, not Christie.

There's always some Eugene O'Neill nerd in the crowd waiting for the chance to show off.

Still batting zip?

Okay.

Let me throw you a baby bone.

Danielle Bradbery.

Oh, you say. Wait. Wait. You got it...you got it....

EHHH! Oh, I'm sorry, time's up.

Ms. Bradbery, zealous fans will already know and part time followers will remember when prodded, is the latest "next big thing" singing talent to emerge from the NBC competition show, "The Voice".

For those who are unaware, and dutifully resisted the earlier Google temptation, this charming woman child is 16 years old and sings, in an oft repeated phrase, give or take a platitude, like a seasoned pro.

Here's a little bit of that great big talent that has so many folks predictably agog.




Meanwhile, simultaneously raising the bar while lowering the age, 10 year old Anna Christine arrives on "America's Got Talent".



This charming kid not only brought the crowd to their feet but created an online buzz that peaked with the uttering of the Holy Grail of competition show platitudes...

"...a Susan Boyle moment..."

Okay.

These are some impressive kids.

But not, for me, for the reason that is making so many folks stand up and/or tear up.

Obviously, they are good kids, legitimate role models for young folks in a culture that has way more than its share of anti role models parading in and out of clubs, rehab and/or reality shows.

And if one of these young ladies was a granddaughter of mine, you'd already be weary of the smartphone videos I would likely have in your face at every opportunity.

So, when I offer you what's coming next, please spare me the tsk tsk, eye roll that unfailingly accompanies the inevitable knee jerk desire to write off anyone who would find fault with these favorites as a glass half empty cranky pants.

There is a lot to be applauded and appreciated in both of these young ladies, for that matter, in each and every one of the other, aforementioned young ladies.

But, without exception, in each and every case, there is something of value that is missing.

To the everyday ear, a closed eyed comparison of Danielle Bradbery singing "Heads Carolina, Tails Cailfornia" with Jo Dee Messina's original version of the same song would likely result in an uncertainty as to who which one was w and/or who was singing at the time.

And chances are, with the same closed eyes resulting in taking the "awww" factor off the table, you would enjoy Ms. Christine's 10 year old take on the classic song about a New Orleans whorehouse, but would likely be unable to pick her out of the singing equivalent of a line up if they spotted you three voices and an upcoming tour schedule.

There is no blame being assigned here.

There is no blame to be assigned.

There is, simply, this.

They all sound wonderful.

And they sound just like the particular already established star that they have chosen to idolize and/or emulate.

And they sound just like each other.

They are, at the heart of it, products of their generation and their culture. A culture that provides eight lane interstates to potential stardom as opposed to the long and winding roads that previous generations of singers had to travel. A culture that hands out celebrity like free sausage samples in the grocery store instead of bestowing it on those who needed both raw talent and very hard work to even get a shot.

A culture where the "big break" is no longer a one in a million possibility, but one viral You Tube performance away from standing ovation, water cooler buzz and the caption of champions..."the next Susan Boyle".

A culture whose corporate entertainment mantra has become "if at first, someone succeeds, let's get another version of that same thing on the shelves as fast, and as inexpensively, as humanly possible."

Like, for instance...

Ali Dee.

Amber Hayes.

Elizabeth Lyons.

Lydia Hollis.

Alexandra Lee.

Jordan Anderson.

Rachelle Lynae.

All of whom, at this writing, have a major label release competing for airplay and/or acceptance on country radio.

I listened to each of them earlier today.

They all sound wonderful.

And they sound just like the particular already established star that they have chosen to idolize and/or emulate.

And they sound just like each other.



(The preceding essay was brought to you by Caleb Hommel of Monroe, New York, maker of fine products for your life since 1908, most notably, the delicious and nutritious taste treat the whole family enjoys....

Velveeta.

The name 'Velveeta' is intended to connote a velvety smooth edible product. Smoothness and meltability are promoted as its iconic properties )

As is the case with most processed cheeses, the manufacturer recommends Velveeta be refrigerated after opening.)



That last tip should probably be paid the most heed.

It gets very hot under those television lights.