Back to Basics

              The world of pop music has undergone more sea changes than any of us can count over the past 60 years, but the newest trend is surprising even to hardy top-40 fans such as myself. In case you haven’t noticed, foot-stompin’ pop is all the rage now. A grizzled voice, a few banjos, a “hey” and a “ho,” finished off with the sound of boots hitting hardwood – it’s Billboard gold right now.

              I’ve got no problem with it, and most of the bands in this genre – Mumford & Sons, the Lumineers, Of Monsters and Men, to name a few – are a nice complement to the other genres in the pop music galaxy, from rap to hip hop to R&B to country pop. Throw in a little more standard rock, and you’ve got the most diverse array of pop music this side of 1985. Neat as it is, though, it’s still shocking to turn on a mainstream, top-40 radio station and hear banjos. Just a year after Earl Scruggs died, the instrument he mastered is holding its own alongside Auto-Tune and boy bands.

Cool as it sounds, though, I think this foot-stompin’ pop is about more than just the whimsical tastes of music fans. Something this different has to carry some symbolic weight. Twenty years ago, we saw a similar trend when MTV introduced the widely popular “Unplugged” series, where famous musicians strapped on acoustic guitars and crooned their hits in stripped-down fashion. Twenty years before that, singer-songwriters such as Jim Croce, James Taylor and John Denver ensured that the quiet, thoughtful, acoustic song would remain a part of our pop-music canon for individuals not named Dylan. I found the “Unplugged” fad to be a necessary reaction to what had become an overload of synthesizers and heavy metal in the ‘80s and early ‘90s. The early-‘70s quiet guys were a natural foil to the blossoming of hard rock in the late ‘60s.

This time around, Mumford and all his sons and cousins are here for a couple of reasons: First of all, they’re not really quiet songs, so much as anthems – and in a time of so much uncertainty, the anthem does a lot of people an awful lot of good; it always has. Secondly, I think the stripped-down approach of banjos and boots is also a harkening back to our past – to a recognition that there are some things we did better in previous generations, and it’s at least worth reflecting on that.

When Bill Monroe and Woody Guthrie were playing bluegrass and folk music back in the 1930s, America was undergoing an economic crisis even worse than the one we’ve had in the past half-decade. But during those years, the country took some courageous risks in fighting its way out of the misery it faced. Today, as we watch our government leaders play a dangerous game of chicken with our economy, we might long for the days of banjos and fiddles, as they were accompanied by bold action.

Also, as we watch severe storms ravage our country, we might find ourselves reflecting back on the last time a man-made natural disaster struck our country. The shock and debris of Hurricane Sandy remains with us still, and maybe we’re ready to revisit the days of the Dust Bowl to think seriously about what happens when we alter our climate – and what we can do to fix it. Woody Guthrie sang about that, too.

Or if we’re into sports, maybe the Lumineers’ “Ho Hey” reminds us a little of Willie Mays’ “Say Hey” days. Perhaps the stripped-down pop of now connects with the stripped-down baseball game being played once more, at long last. With performance-enhancing drugs on their way out of the game, baseball has become what it was before the juicers took over – a game in which pitchers dominate. Many of us were told as children that the hardest thing to do in sports is to hit a baseball coming at you at a rapid speed. The laws of physics support this theory completely, and without those drugs we’re seeing the game become what it was meant to be. Getting a hit three out of 10 times at-bat is once again a Hall of Fame-worthy accomplishment. Striking 40 home runs in a season is once more enough to win a home run crown. And pitching a shutout is once again commonplace.

So when we read about Willie Mays dominating the game in the 1950s, we read about a man who did this through his own natural abilities. As baseball prepares for a new season, we feel more confident than ever that the fakers have either been caught or are about to get caught. And that’s something  to say “hey” about. It’s also reason to appreciate the beauty of the 2-1 game, instead of the 12-9 slugfest.

There are a lot of amazing things that happen in a 2-1 game. Players think carefully about their decisions. They work together a lot. They take courageous risks. They appreciate a well-played game, in which the playing field is level.

They do the things that make the game great, and they don’t need any performance enhancements to do that. It’s the same way with economies, global weather patterns and even pop songs – just keep it honest, dare to be different, and try a little collaboration. Make some music together. Banjos allowed. 

Cracking 'The Lineup' (One Sixty-Two: Day 18)

Writer’s note: One Sixty-Two is a season-long series of blog posts connecting baseball’s major-league players to life’s universal themes. Just as there are 162 games in a season, so there will be 162 posts in this series. Let’s play some ball.

Day Eighteen: Jason Bay, New York Mets

There’s a neat show on the MSG Network titled “The Lineup,” in which a panel of experts debate the best players at each position in the history of New York baseball. Although Babe Ruth was the clear-cut choice for right field on last week’s show, he had plenty of esteemed company: Reggie Jackson, Darryl Strawberry, Willie Keeler and Roger Maris, to name a few. Tomorrow’s show takes on center field, and the debate here is an extraordinary one: Who do you pick from among Joe DiMaggio, Willie Mays, Mickey Mantle and Duke Snider? Whew.

But in left field, the candidates are not quite as impressive as at the other two outfield spots. Sure, you’ve got Hall of Famers Dave Winfield and Rickey Henderson, but they played most of their careers outside of New York. The top two choices are probably the Giants’ Monte Irvin, who would have had much more impressive career numbers had baseball not maintained a color barrier prior to 1947, and Zack Wheat, the Hall of Fame Brooklyn Dodgers outfielder.

As I said, though, no one really stands out. That’s what makes the Mets’ signing of slugging outfielder Jason Bay this past winter that much more interesting. Bay is 31 years old, and in six full seasons he has averaged more than 30 home runs and 100 runs batted in per season. If Bay averaged the same over another 10 years, he’d be both a Hall of Famer and the greatest New York left fielder of all time. Toss in a Mets’ championship and he might even have a retired number.

But such lofty goals can only be achieved one game at a time. So far, Jason Bay is starting off slowly, with just a home run and 14 runs driven in this year. The Canadian native is not exactly lighting up Citi Field quite yet. But the season is a marathon, and there is time to turn things around. When he does begin lifting balls out of the park, Bay might even brush up on his New York baseball history. He’ll find that there is plenty of room for new legends in left field.

Steve Jobs, Willie Mays & My Bathtub

So tomorrow, when Steve Jobs slips on his black turtleneck and steps onstage in San Francisco, the information revolution will kick into yet another gear. The CEO of Apple will apparently be holding some sort of 10-inch tablet device in his hands – a device that might just take computers in a whole new direction, perhaps somewhere in between a laptop and an iPhone. Millions will surely flock to Apple stores, some to play with the thing, and many others to buy it. Countless companies will compete to promote their applications for downloading onto the new tablets.

It’s exciting, and a bit daunting, to see the extraordinary leaps that companies such as Apple and Google keep taking. What’s next? And how does what’s next change the world I’ve come to know? Will I be ready and willing to keep up? Or will I start to feel like my grandparents did when they were watching Bob Hope specials while I was tooling around with my Commodore 64?

I still subscribe to home delivery of two daily newspapers. I know it’s a lot of paper, and I know I could read the stuff on-line. But I like the feel of newsprint in my hands, and I like to turn the pages and find new stories on my own. We have seven bookshelves in our house, filled from top to bottom with hardcovers and paperbacks. I guess I could buy a Kindle or a Sony Reader and just download all those books. But I like attaching my little reading light onto the last 30 pages of my novel, and holding the book in my hands while I read at night. I don’t want my eyes to scan another screen in order to follow Christopher’s adventures as I read The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. I want the kid’s journey in ink and paper, with a publisher’s logo on the back cover.

That’s not to say I can’t embrace technology; I am, after all, writing a blog. But life is always about balance, and I’d prefer to welcome the technology on my own terms. If I want Apps, I’ll get Apps. If I still want to clip my coupons from the Sunday paper, I’ll do that, too.

I think that Mr. Jobs and all the tablet-buyers would appreciate the newspaper we found today. It was uncovered while our bathroom was being demolished in advance of a much-overdue renovation. Somewhere beneath the old, cast-iron tub were a few pages of newsprint: One from the May 27, 1951 New York Times and the other from the May 25, 1951 Plainfield (N.J.) Courier-News. Both bear a yellowish-brown tint, and both are ripped all over.

But oh, there are some gems. We begin with The Times. A headline reads: “Chicken Now Vies with Beef as Food.” Reporter John Stuart tells us that the poultry industry has leapt into “fierce competition” with the beef industry for a place at American dinner tables. “The growth of chicken as such a factor can be illustrated by a few simple statements,” Stuart writes. “Sirloin steak was selling last week in New York retail markets, such as the nationwide chains, at $1.05 a pound. Chicken was 45 cents a pound for fat five-pound birds only twelve weeks old, tender enough to broil or fry and big enough to roast.”

The Times classifieds have some ads that Mr. Jobs might appreciate. One features the headline: “Electronics?” The rest reads: “To investor or organization now in allied field wishing to establish electronics business, we offer experienced technical and managerial personnel and fully developed product with civilian and military applications.” A different kind of app, perhaps, but still looking forward nonetheless.

We move on to the Courier-News. The headline “Bitten by Dog” follows with a brief telling us that “Ten-year-old Carol Adams … was bitten by a dog owned by Michael Lavelle … yesterday afternoon, it was reported to police.” Another brief tells us of a bicycle theft. Beside the brief, an ad encourages readers to convert their 10-inch television sets to 14-, 16- or 19-inch sets at “amazing low cost.”

The movie listings advertise “Kiddie Show” Saturday matinees as well as more adult films, such as “Where Danger Lives” with Robert Mitchum, or “The Bullfighter and the Lady” with Robert Stack. My personal preference is the Walter Reade Theatre, where, in person, “Bonomo’s Magic Clown and His TV Pal Laffy” will be appearing at 10 a.m. tomorrow. And, after the show, why not get something to eat? “Have You Tried Snuffy’s?” an ad asks us. “Tasty! Tempting! Shrimp ‘Caught from Snuffy’s Boat’ Try Them Fried or in a Cocktail.”

It was a different world, all right. And perhaps no story illustrates that better than a short piece in the Courier-News sports section. The headline reads: “Giants Call Up Mays.” It begins: “Willie Mays, 20-year-old Negro centerfielder, is slated to make his big league debut with the New York Giants tonight at Philadelphia. Alarmed by lack of power in his lineup, Manager Leo Durocher brought up Mays from Minneapolis in the American Association where he was hitting .477.” The article explains that Mays had 29 extra-base hits in 35 games at Minneapolis, including eight home runs and eight steals. Mays is, the article says, “reported to be a top flight speedster.”

Surely, issues of race led many sports fans of 1951 to overlook prospects such as Willie Mays, who would go on to become one of the best ballplayers in the history of the sport. But beyond that, it is amazing to see, six decades later, a news report so fuzzy on the details of a rookie who was hitting .477 in the minor leagues! In our world today, if a minor-league player were hitting for that average he’d be drafted in every fantasy baseball league imaginable, and he’d be blogged about and tweeted about every minute of every day.

But that was a different era, one old enough to sit beneath a New Jersey bathtub for three generations. My older daughter says she wants to take the newspapers with her to school tomorrow. I hope she does. And as she grows up and buys her Kindles and iPhones and – yes, Mr. Jobs – her tablets, I hope she’ll also remember the road that led her there. It's a Wi-Fi road now, but it was paved with newsprint.