What's Wrong With Steve?

Dear Steve,

I grew up in NC, but now reside in London. As a lifelong Arsenal fan, drummer, and Black Crowes fan, I’ve always felt a certain connection with you, man. Thanks for kickin out that inimitable groove for all these years. Love the new album…

Can you please recount the tale of when you decided to become a Gooner?

Football/Soccer is not always the most appreciated sport in the States. What originally got you into it?

Best wishes,

GoonerTom from London, In Arsene We Trust

GoonerTom

It’s a pretty simple tale.

As a soccer mad young lad in a small Kentucky town in the late 70’s (thankfully attending the only school in the region to field a soccer team) the only resources for insight on the sport were my coach, who had spent time in Europe and was therefore, to me, infallible in the ways of soccer, and  PBS’ “Soccer Made in Germany”. Coach Vaughn taught me to love the Total Football of the Dutch National Team, and Toby Charles taught me to say things like “that shot was high, wide, and not very handsome!”

Believe me when I say it – that was more than enough to ignite some serious passion.  Information about the beautiful game came very infrequently, and in very small doses.  The slightest tidbit about any development within any team on earth would keep me going for months.

Around this time, the NASL blew up quickly and died just as quickly – but in between many of their games were nationally televised, and through the focus on the international players in the league, I learned a little about the different powerhouse clubs throughout the world.

My father took a business trip to the UK at some point (’77, I believe) and returned with three scarves – an Arsenal scarf, a Chelsea scarf, and an England scarf.  He told me and my two brothers (let’s call them Chico and Harpo) to decide amongst ourselves who got what scarf.

As a Beatles fanatic, I remember being disappointed that Liverpool was not represented.  Had there been a Reds’ scarf,  I would have been done from that moment on.  But, fate had other plans.

I immediately ruled out Chelsea, as I had seen an episode of The Goodies (also on PBS) where the term “Chelsea supporter” had been used as a debilitating insult.  (That’s a debt I could never possibly repay The Goodies, come to think of it.)  Chico grabbed the Chelsea scarf without thought or hesitation, as was his way.

The Arsenal scarf leapt out at me – that cannon was undeniably badass!

But Harpo grabbed it before I could, and as he was four years older than me I had no chance of overpowering him for it.

That left me with the England scarf.  Which was still, make no mistake, pretty cool.  But I knew right then and there that the Arsenal scarf would be mine one day.  I commenced plotting Harpo’s demise immediately.

Ultimately, as older brothers do, he went off to college…and didn’t pack the scarf.  The screen door had barely hit his ass on the way out, as they say, before I procured it from his room.  The years spent waiting for it only made it that much more important to me.  By the time I hung it on my own wall, there was no looking back.  I was gonna live and die with Arsenal.

At some point in the early 80’s, I found out that Arsenal was in London (who knew?)  and that apparently they really, really liked to beat people 1-0.  Again, that was enough to keep my fan flames well ignited.

By the time the 90’s rolled around, and I found myself touring in Europe every couple of years, I was finally able to satisfy my longtime desire to see world class football in person.  I started taking in games whenever and wherever I could.  I didn’t care who was playing, or what country I was in.  If there was a match in town, I was there.

My first trip to Highbury was obviously the all-time highlight, though.  To see the team in person, on such hallowed ground, was both moving and spectacular.  Years of anticipation crashed into a jet-lagged hangover head on, but it still made for a wonderful, blurry memory.

Shortly thereafter, when Bergkamp signed on, it felt like destiny was looking out for me.  One of the great Dutch players of the age playing for Arsenal!  It was awesome!  The first time I found myself singing/screaming “Walking in a Bergkamp Wonderland” with thousands of other similarly afflicted gooners was about as good as life gets.

What else?

Let’s see…Thierry Henry and I share a birthday.   How cool is that?

Cesc Fabregas is a distant relative.  (Not really.)

I could go on and on.

Well, I guess I just did.

So, there you have it.

Highbury!

Arsene's chair!

Cheers!

GoonerSteve from Kentucky, In Arsene We Trust

Dear Steve,

My housemate in college stole all of my Black Crowes CDs, which were all of the Black Crowes CDs to date, leaving me with my less desirable rock collection (except for Led Zeppelin’s box set).

I don’t know anything more painful than re-buying stolen CDs, but as I slowly recollect my favorite band’s music, this time digitally, I wonder … what sort of karma does this rock-thieving guy deserve?

Cassie

Cassie

I don’t feel comfortable discussing someone’s comeuppance in karmic terms, but in order for some sense of equivalence to be achieved, it seems he would have to be the victim of music theft himself.  But in life, things are rarely that simple, and I would never suggest you consider any criminal activity for any reason.

The best thing to do is focus on getting your music back, which you are already doing, and forget all about this guy.  His existence isn’t worth the energy you’re spending on it.  Move on, Cassie.

Of course, by “move on”, I mean you should write back with his name and a current address so I can post it here and then everyone who reads this column will know who he is and where he lives.

That’s the kind of “moving on” that all of us here at WWWS can really get behind.

I look forward to hearing from you again soon.

SG

Hey Steve,

First things first, great work on the new records !! I’m always inspired by your playing.

I have two questions:

1)  Any tips on perfecting The Purdie Shuffle ?? That thing is killin’ me !!

2)  Why is it that whenever a drum key is dropped, it ALWAYS, ALWAYS, ALWAYS ends up under the kick pedal??

I’ll bet all those socks from the dryer are under there too !!

Thanks,

Matthew

Matthew

Thanks for the kind words about my drumming on the new record.

As for your questions:

1)  Any tips?  No.  The Purdie shuffle is not to be “perfected”.  The Purdie shuffle is to be interpreted.  Whatever you are doing with it currently is what it should be.  If it changes over time, that’s okay too.  Do it your way and dig it.

2)  I don’t know why that happens, but that’s one of the reasons I always have about forty eight drum keys on me at all times.  My kick pedal is like a 45 Tesla hyrbid strength magnet for drum keys.  My pockets are black holes for drum keys.  My stick bag eats drum keys.  It’s heartbreaking.

Drum keys are clearly not meant to be held onto.  They show up, do their job briefly, and they’re gone.  Kinda like Mary Poppins, that heartless tease.

SG

Dear Steve,

I’ve listened to tons and tons of TBC bootlegs over the years. I don’t think I can recall one moment where you have glaringly messed up. You always seem to be right there. I mean, let’s face it, you’re surrounded by what I would call “bearded distractions” or even clowns, if you like. I can’t imagine not ever losing your train of thought or thinking the song is going to the bridge instead of the chorus and then musically depantsing yourself as a result. Is it your experiences in sports that have helped you gild a fine armor of accuracy and precision? Perhaps it’s a beer-a-day mantra that keeps it solid? Or maybe, you go with the tried and true “Roseanne Barr naked” silent chant that perpetuates this machine-like consistency? It is impressive.

Jinxes don’t exist,

Lincoln

Lincoln

I honestly don’t know how it is that I am so completely badass.  I guess all those sports I played could have helped somehow, but then again perhaps my time in a community theater group as a kid helped, too.  Maybe it was the summer I spent as a counselor at Camp Happy Days in Bowling Green, Ky.  Perhaps my time spent filing updates in legal journals as a member of the Executive Library Services staff back in ‘88 has something to do with it.  Hell, maybe it’s a combination of all my life experiences that have added up to me being one significantly consistent rock n roll drummer.  Who knows?  Not I.

But I do know one thing – there is no reason to mention “Roseanne Barr” and “naked” in the same sentence.  I don’t know what you’re referring to, and I don’t want to know.

Please, Lincoln, and anyone else reading this, think before you send in things like that.  It’s not like I have a proof reader here, you know.  I just ate for crying out loud.

SG

Steve,

If you were to advertise urgently for a replacement bassist, what would a man of such knowledge and education as yourself write in the ad? What can I put there that will attract bags of bassists? Just wondered how Mr. G would go about this dilemma.

Thanks for any help!

Andy

Andy

There is no stranger breed of musician than the bassist.  I know a few great bassists, and without exception my admiration and respect for their musicality goes hand in hand with my bewilderment at the idiosyncratic and profoundly eccentric nature of each of these talented individual’s lives.  Bassists, unlike other types of musicians, share very few common traits.  They are all nuts in their own, unique way.  (In contrast, a study of lead singers would offer a Venn Diagram indistinguishable from a paint spill.)

There are, however, two worms for your hook that even the most non-conformist, ruggedly individualistic, “I gotta be me” bassists will notice.

Try this:

BASSIST needed for BASS HEAVY band

Sacks of CASH upon hiring

Run that ad, and your bass cup will soon runneth over.

SG

VINTAGE WWWS

Steve,

What do you and the guys do with all that time while traveling on the tour bus?  Is it one big prison of smoke?  Or do you guys just go stark raving mad?  I’d be like “stop the bus and run down the highway nude caulking like a chicken singing Nick Nack Paddy Wack”  until that great white Paddy wagon come to take me away.

Have you gotten to that point of insanity yet?

Too much time on my hands,

G. A. Thompson

G.A.

Time on the bus is time well spent, I can assure you.

I pass the first few hours of each trip in constant satellite communication with brokers from all around the globe.  We analyze each and every one of the world’s markets and devise strategies for the next day’s investments.

Once I’m satisfied that Team Gorman is running smoothly and efficiently, I can turn my attention to the band.  The boys look to me as an “old wise man” of sorts, so I give them advice on their many problems and concerns.  After a few hours spent sharing, laughing, crying, and listening (the most important part!) we all lie down for a healthy and healing sleep.

Rare is the night that I don’t drift off without the satisfying knowledge that by helping others, I have helped myself as well.

Of course, other nights I sit by myself and just drink beer until I pass out with a lap full of chips and a mouth full of spit.

Whatever.

SG

Steve,

I’ll get right to the question that is on everyone’s minds…is it boxers or briefs?  I’m sorry to cut through the red tape and get so personal, but I’m tired of waiting around for others to ask.

John

John

Thanks so much for your question.

I must give credit to your no-nonsense approach to what I consider no one else’s business.  If not for your blunt attitude regarding my undergarments, I would probably be inclined to duck the issue.  But, no.  You, sir, have prompted me to come clean.

The decision is usually made simply by which style of pant I choose for a particular day, although there are special occasions that require something unique.

For instance, jeans or cords call for something a little more clingy, like a brief.  A smart pair of trousers calls for the freedom that comes with a boxer.

And, on an occasion like a Christmas party, for instance, the aforementioned red tape works just fine.

SG

What’s up Steve,

I am 24 years old. Ever since I was old enough to remember my Mom has had a

crazy theory. She believes that Billy Idol is actually Jim Morrison. Pretty

nuts right? She does have some interesting points, but she also lived

through the 60’s and I think LSD is doing some of the talking. Anyway I

was wondering if you could confirm her theory. Bye the way I saw you guys

last week in St. Louis, absolutely the greatest rock band on earth. Please

come back to St. Louis.

Thanks,

Tim

Tim

Believe it or not, your mother is absolutely right.

In the late 60’s, as the COINTELPRO unit of the FBI was methodically (and illegally) breaking the back of the Black Panthers and many other radical groups,  J. Edgar Hoover saw the need to target rock n’ roll musicians as well.  Their cultural impact and influence on America’s teens was a grave concern to THE MAN, and once The Doors showed up talking about patricide and Oedipal impulses, while wearing leather pants no less, it was decided that enough was enough.

Initially, the Feds toyed with the idea of simply killing the stars they saw as the most threatening, but at some point, Hoover’s boys came upon a far more insidious and devastatingly effective strategy.  They decided to neutralize the messages of these visionaries by simply faking their deaths, blackmailing or buying off the now “deceased” stars, and then putting them back to work, complete with a brand new message and identity, for the US Government.  LBJ initially green-lighted the project – code name Crock Star – late in his presidency, Tricky Dick’s administration enthusiastically embraced and perfected it, and Gerald Ford saw the program through to its conclusion.

So, Jim Morrison is pushing the cultural envelope a little too much?  Nothing a mysterious death in Paris, a lousy English accent, a sneer and some peroxide can’t fix.  Billy Idol (Jim) certainly seemed like a real punk at first, but that image soon gave way to videos and songs that were custom built for the masses to ingest.

If lyrics like

“Come on come on come on come on now touch me babe,

Can’t you see that I am not afraid?”

gave teenagers the wrong ideas about premarital sex, then maybe lyrics like

“Oh, oh, oh dancing with myself

Oh, oh, oh dancing with myself

We’ll there’s nothing to lose

And there’s nothing to prove

And I’m dancing with myself”

would help to keep the number of STDs and teen pregnancies in check.

Amazing, isn’t it?  So simple, and yet so effective.

You’ll also be interested to know that most of the advances in plastic surgery during the so called “Me Decade” were tested and perfected on what the Feds took to calling the “(White) House Band”.

Anyway, the program worked so well that within a decade or so they discontinued it.  In order to ensure long term success, a top secret deal was then cut between Gerald Ford, the Brothers Gibb, and Jeff Lynne to guarantee that rebellion and anarchy would no longer be themes of the pop landscape.

Janis (”take another little piece of my heart now, baby”) Joplin reemerged years later as that (”gonna harden my heart, gonna swallow my tears”) chick from Quarterflash.  It took her a while to figure out how to play the saxaphone, obviously, but Janis was a hard worker and the results spoke for themselves.

Jimi (”Are You Experienced?”) Hendrix was “reborn” as Morris (“What Time is it?”) Day.

The list goes on and on.

None of these “reissued” rock stars were allowed to ascend to their previous artistic or commercial heights of course. They were all given a moment or two in the sun complete with more “lulling” messages, and then ushered off to various levels of obscurity, while the legends of their true identities continued to grow larger with each passing year.

Evil?  Yes.  Impressive?  Absolutely.

Don’t mess with THE MAN.

SG

Hey Steve

It’s Chris from Glasgow, Scotland.  Could you please inform me as to which ride cymbal you are currently using?   I am struggling to find out.

Also, I am the owner of a milk van and kids keep throwing bottles at me when I am delivering.  What should I do?

Cheers,

Chris

Chris

I have been using the same ride for as long as i can remember: a Zildjian 22″ A Custom Ping, and I recommend that you follow suit ASAP.

I am distressed to hear that kids are throwing bottles at your milk truck.  What’s the world coming to?  When I was a kid, the milkman was like a celebrity in our neighborhood.  Nobody messed with that guy.  Ever try eating a bowl of Buc Wheats without milk?  I shudder to think of my childhood suffering even a momentary interruption in milk delivery.

Having spent many a day strolling through your fair city with its narrow, winding streets and tightly packed residential neighborhoods, I suggest you start driving really, really fast.  As in, as fast as that van can go at all times.  What could go wrong?  The milk will be delivered ahead of schedule, you’ll get home earlier every day, and there will be fewer broken bottles in the streets.  Let me know how it goes.

SG

Dear Steve,

When it comes to the ways of love, can you give a fellow musician some guidance?

Where is the balance between wife, kids, and family, and the pursuit of music? I ask specifically when music isn’t your primary source of income!

The best I can come up with is the quote from Del Griffith: “Ive got a saying- like your job, but love your wife.”  Except sometimes I replace “wife”  for “music.”

Thanks (and can’t wait for the new DVD to come out)!

Tightrope in St Louis,

Jason

Jason

“Where’s the balance?”  Simple- it’s leaning hard to the side of your responsibilities as a parent and husband.

Come on down from that tightrope, Wallenda, before you lead your family into a replay of the 1962 Detroit Shrine Circus situation.

SG

Dear Steve,

Ever known a pathological liar & if you have, how have you dealt with them once you’ve discovered they are?

If you haven’t, any advice on how to deal with one? (A friend seems to think the word ‘insane’ is fitting.  Perhaps there is a fine line between the two.)

Thanks for your wisdom in advance.

Peace & Happiness,

Jen

Jen

Pathological liar…insane…tomato.  Whatever you call it, this person’s condition is not something you need in your life.  You didn’t make them a pathological liar, and you can’t stop them from being a pathological liar.

This situation will ultimately conclude with the liar (let’s call him/her PL) out of your life completely.  You should know that up front.

The only choice you need to make concerns the manner in which you end the relationship.

I would normally recommend the guillotine approach:  a quick and complete severing of ties, with no hope of reconciliation.

But if that seems too harsh, and you don’t feel like you can go through with it, I will offer a different tactic:

I propose that you maintain contact for a few months, and lie to this person every single time you realize they are lying to you.  See how long it takes for them to notice, and try to make them crack.

—PL says,  “Sorry I am late, but there was a huge crash on the highway” – you follow up with “I know, I saw it on the news!”

—PL says, “I was All-State in basketball twice.  Would have gone D-1 but I blew out my knee in the state semi finals my senior year” – you follow up with, “I know, I googled you once and found the story from your local paper’s sports page after that particular game.  God, that must have been so tough to deal with!”

—PL says, “Did I ever tell you about the time I partied with the Foo Fighters?” – you follow up with “Yeah, of course you did.  Didn’t I tell you about the time I met Grohl, and I asked him about you, and he said you were awesome?”

—PL says, “I make a great chili and all kinds of awesome soups” – you follow up with “Geez, I don’t know how to make any of that stuff.”

—PL says, “I emailed Gorman at his advice column and he answered me right away….what a great guy!” – you follow up with “Yeah, I did too and never heard anything…jerk!”.

Surely you can see the inherent fun with this approach.  PL throws a whopper your way, you send a double whopper right back at him/her.  Awesome!

PL will eventually become more and more uncomfortable around you, and then for reasons they can’t possibly understand or admit to, they will be the one to cut ties with you.

Mission accomplished.

You’re most welcome, in advance.

SG