Bootlegger Bob

Back in 1967, while recording new music that would eventually be referred to as The Basement Tapes, Bob Dylan sang, "too much of nothing can make a man feel ill at ease." With the release this month of The Bootleg Series Vol. 11, The Basement Tapes Raw, some Dylan fans are wondering if those lyrics apply to old recordings of his that remain in the vaults of Columbia Records.

To be sure, much of The Bootleg Series deserved to be dusted off and released to the public.  The first three volumes, packaged as a triple CD set in 1991, contain numerous gems that somehow didn't make it onto albums during the previous 30 years. Seven years later, Volume 4 treated Dylan fans to the famous 1966 Royal Albert Hall concert in which Dylan plugged in his guitar, turned up the volume, and heard someone in the audience call him "Judas."

Another fine set of live recordings of Dylan with the Rolling Thunder Revue from late 1975 were released in 2002 in Vol. 5.  Since then, however, the vaults have yielded some material that has hardly been worthy of release.

Last year, Dylan fans had the opportunity to hear Another Self Portrait, released in Vol. 10.  It contains alternate versions of songs from what many fans regard as his weakest album, Self Portrait, and other unreleased recordings from that period between 1969-71.  In 2010, The Witmark Demos, containing recordings Dylan made for his music publisher between 1962-64, was released in Vol. 9.  

Both of these CD sets left few fans wondering why they weren't issued years earlier.  The same could be said about Vol. 11, with its alternate and restored versions and unreleased songs from a famous bootleg album that was officially released by Columbia Records in 1975. 

The irony is that, as the quality of The Bootleg Series has deteriorated, some of Dylan's finest new recordings have been released in recent years.  Between Time Out of Mind in 1997 and Tempest in 2012, Dylan has put out new music that many fans believe has surpassed the quality of any five-album series in his career.  The other CDs during this renaissance in Dylan's career include Love and Theft (2001), Modern Times (2006) and Together Through Life (2009).  (Yes, there is also a bootleg release, Vol. 8, Tell Tale Signs, with many recordings from this period.)

The Bootleg Series Vol. 11 did contain some good news for Dylan fans: a small advertisement that a new album, Shadows in the Night, is coming in 2015. 

Charley looks forward to hearing many of Dylan's most recent songs in concert in later this month. 

A special cup

Up before 5 o'clock for a day of work on the road, I started the two-part process of awakening my senses by stepping into the hotel room shower. That was easy.

The second part was more difficult.  Normally, I make a strong, tasty cafe con leche at home to complete the waking up process. That proved difficult in this hotel, however, with its pedestrian pouch coffee, artificial dairy powder, and small packets of sugar awaiting me. But, I gave it my best shot by squeezing a pair of pouches into the little coffee maker basket and, when the cup below was filled, pouring two packets each of dairy powder and sugar into the brew.

It almost tasted like drinkable coffee. And, it almost succeeded in fully awakening me.

Shortly before 6 a.m., on my way out of the hotel, I stopped by the front desk with a question about my bill.  The young gentleman at this Courtyard by Marriott in Oneonta, NY was particularly helpful. He quickly answered my question, apologizing for a charge on what should have been a complimentary breakfast the previous morning. He asked if everything else about my stay at the hotel was fine.

"Everything was fine," I assured him. "I just regret that I needed to leave early today, before your cafe opened and I could get a Starbucks latte."

Without hesitation, he asked, "You want a latte?  I can make that for you."

"You can make me a latte?" I responded, just to make sure I heard him correctly. After all, he was the front desk man, possibly the only employee inside the hotel at that moment. The cafe wouldn't open for another 45 minutes, and there was no sign of its employees across the lobby.

"Sure, I can make you a latte," he assured me.  "Do you want a flavor in it? What size would you like?"

I responded, then, a few moments later, while standing by as he made the complimentary latte that I sensed would be one of the best cups of coffee I've had in a long, long time, I said:

"I can't thank you enough for going through the trouble of making this coffee for me. You're making me feel like a king. You've done your good deed for the day. Now, I've got to make sure I do mine."

During a couple of training sessions I was leading later in the morning, I told participants of my experience at the hotel. I cited it as a great example of outstanding customer service, of going beyond the duties in a job description to make a positive difference for a customer.

I certainly look forward to returning to that Courtyard by Marriott later this autumn.  I plan to enjoy a Starbucks latte -- after the cafe opens -- and thank that young gentleman behind the desk again for going out of his way to make a special cup that helped make my long day that much better.

Ultras, metropolitan New York style

In cities across Europe and South America, they're sometimes trouble -- occasionally terrorizing players and administrators and keeping police on edge.  In the U.S., however, players warmly acknowledge them from the field, officials embrace their support and security personnel largely ignore their presence.

I'm referring to groups of hardcore fans, those loyal bands of supporters also known as "ultras."

New York City/New Jersey-area sports fans first took notice of them in 1996, when the Empire Supporters Club began sitting behind a goal during MetroStars soccer matches at Giants Stadium. Actually, "sitting" isn't accurate. These fans of the new Major League Soccer team rarely sat during matches. They typically stood most of the time, singing and chanting their support for the home team as many supporters of overseas soccer clubs have done over the years.

When the MetroStars were purchased and rebranded by the Red Bull energy drink company 10 years later and moved to Harrison in 2010, the ultras followed them. Team management essentially made three sections in the "south ward" behind a goal available for members of the Empire Supporters Club and other fan groups each match, negotiating an understanding to tone down some of their salty language. During the first match at the new stadium in 2010, however, a new chant from the ultras was heard: "You can't say f**k in Red Bull Arena!"

After the Mets moved from Shea Stadium to Citi Field in 2009, a group of fans dressed in identical t-shirts began making their presence known in seats behind center field a few times a year.  Known as the The 7 Line Army after the subway line that stops by the ballpark, these fans would loudly root-root-root for the home team all game long. Eventually, they would make a few trips to road games each season while increasing the number of games in which they would assemble next to the big apple at Citi Field.

Today, tickets for the three sections occupied by The 7 Line Army each month sell out quickly. At the season finale last month, over 400 of the faithful took only about an hour to devour a whole 70-pound pig that was roasted overnight in the parking lot by the elevated subway. Proving how considerate true Mets fans can be, they left the head of the pig for latecomers to gnaw at before the game. After cheering the Mets to a win, many of the The 7 Line Army met for a very happy two-hour open bar at McFadden's by the center field entrance to Citi Field.

High-definition televisions and rising ticket prices may make watching your favorite teams from the comfort of your home more attractive than ever.  Ultras, however, help make the in-stadium experience more interesting and fun for their members and everyone else around them who want to express passion for their favorite team.

Of Apple and other faves

A friend and former coworker, upon learning I acquired an iPhone 6 on the day of its release, remarked, "You were an Apple fan before Apple was cool."  She was right -- I've been an advocate of many Apple products since 1984, when I purchased an Apple 2c computer and began playing with it at home.

"What can you do with it?" another colleague asked me back then. Well, right away it proved a great writing and editing tool. Within a year, after I got a telephone modem and email address, it also proved a good way for me to connect with other techies who shared my interests in soccer and cars.

By 1989, my boss asked me to bring our department into the computer age. Happily, I obliged. To the dismay of the information technology department, which to that point had only provided work stations to secretaries (and still considered Apple computers a hobbyist toy), I specified and arranged the purchase of a network of Macintosh computers for our team. To this day, my former boss considers it my legacy.

In the early 1990s, the prospect of working with Macintosh rather than IBM computers was a factor in my decision to choose one new employer over another. When that company eventually decided to standardize on computers running Windows, I answered many of my colleagues' questions about them.  As I snidely pointed out, "Windows is just an imitation of the Macintosh operating system -- and I know how it's done on a Mac."

In early 2002, I bought an original click wheel iPod. My eldest son, a high school sophomore at the time, asked, "What can you do with it?" Within a few months,  the iPod was more often in his hands than mine -- I had to ask him for it when I went away on business trips.

Of course, not all my favorite brands and products have caught on over the years. I've been a loyal customer of Puma athletic shoes since my high school days, though they've never subsequently approached the popularity of Adidas or Nike shoes. I was a big advocate of People Express in the 1980s before financial problems led to its integration with Continental Airlines in 1987.  Dent- and rust-free plastic bodies on cars and minivans like those in a couple of Pontiacs I owned never did catch on, despite General Motors' efforts between the mid-1980s and '90s.

I think the Raveonettes are one of the best rock bands of the century, but they are so little known in this country that their U.S. "tour" this year consists of eight shows in nine nights (including two in Brooklyn next week).  I remain a loyal New York Mets fan, but it's been several years since they were considered a "cool" baseball team. And, I still can't find my favorite brand of expresso coffee, El Pico, in my local supermarket.

I can, however, quickly compose an entire blog post on my new iPhone 6. Next year, perhaps I'll know when it's time to call it a day with a simple glance at my Apple Watch.

Mom, a Bloomfield pioneer

A conversation with a friend about Milbank Park and the southern part of Bloomfield, New Jersey, recently brought back some fond memories of my mom, whose birthday it is today.

When I was in sixth grade, my mom and her new husband and three children, one of whom was just two months old, moved from our apartment in the Amsterdam Houses neighborhood of New York City to a two-family house in the southern part of Bloomfield, "the country" as I inaccurately described it to my Manhattan classmates.  Leaving our friends and familiar environment was challenging for my older brother and me, but was even more difficult for my mother.

After over a dozen years of living in in New York, where she was able to walk to Spanish grocery stores, ride a bus or subway to visit her mother who lived just a few miles uptown, go to Spanish-language theaters and interact regularly with Cubans, Puerto Ricans and other Hispanics, my mom found herself in a completely different  environment.  While her husband worked a few miles away in Newark and her two oldest children attended schools in Bloomfield, my mom stayed home during the day with her infant son, missing her mother--frequent toll calls were beyond our economic means--and many of the things she took for granted in New York.

The neighborhood in southern Bloomfield's Carteret School district was predominantly Italian-American, and there were no Spanish grocery stores or other evidence of Hispanic culture to be found within walking distance for my mother, who didn't drive at the time although she was already bilingual.

One day in 1968, anxious to step out of the house, my mother placed her youngest son in a baby carriage and walked to Milbank Park, which had a small playground.  While there, to her surprise and delight, she heard a woman speaking Spanish with two young children. My mom approached the woman, and a friendship that lasted the remaining 44 years of my mother's life was born.

It turned out my mom's new friend, Herminia, was a Venezuelan who lived with her husband and their two children across Bloomfield Avenue from Milbank Park.  Elena and Herminia would meet often at the playground, speaking their native tongue and finding comfort with a kindred spirit far away from their homes, figuratively, near their homes, literally.

A year later, our family moved to a house off of Broughton Avenue in Bloomfield. Lo and behold, a Spanish family moved in across the street shortly afterwards, and my mother had yet more Spanish-speaking friends.

By the time I was a college freshman, there were just enough Hispanics in Bloomfield for the public library to host a Latin heritage event. My mom proudly brought a pot of arroz con pollo (yellow rice and chicken, a staple in Cuba) to the affair, and enjoyed speaking Spanish to some of the dozen or so other people there.

Times have changed.  According to the 2010 census, a quarter of Bloomfield's approximately 47,000 inhabitants are Hispanic. Many of them live in the southern part of town, in the area between Grove Street and the Newark border in which Milbank Park is located. A current town councilman is named Joseph Lopez, my surname before moving to Bloomfield and taking on my stepfather's last name.

I imagine Spanish is often heard in Milbank Park these days.  As I think of my mom on her birthday, I can almost hear her there excitedly speaking her native language, a pioneer of sorts in her new Bloomfield neighborhood.

Photo by Billy Mathias, a friend who inspired this writeup.

Legacy of the Fiero

A 1985 Pontiac Fiero heard it all during the annual West End Cruise Night in Long Branch, NJ yesterday.  While proudly parked alongside classics and other eye-catching cars as bands played music from the 1950s and 1960s, the black plastic-body, five-speed mid-engine coupe overheard the following comments from passersby:

"I had an '88 six-cylinder with the Lotus suspension. Best car I ever had. Absolutely loved it. My ex-wife took it and left it running in Spanish Harlem and jumped on a subway. The NYPD called me 29 days later and told me they found it, in pretty bad shape. Yours is one of my top four cars in this show."

"Frank had a Fiero."

"They came in four cylinders and six cylinders. They came and went. The six cylinders were fast."

"Look -- a Fiero. I didn't think there was any of them left around."

"How many years have you had it?  Twenty-nine?  Wow, most people here have only had their cars three years or so.  Is that the original paint?  Looks good!  Is it automatic?  Oh wow, it's a stick shift!

"Look, a Fiero. It's so cute."

"Five speed!"

"Remember those?"

"I had this exact car, an '85 Fiero."

"I worked on these cars.  It was my first job."

"Someone had one of these. A neighbor."

"I was told they run hot."

"Look, Mary, here's your car. I had an Indy."

"You can take off all the panels and completely customize it."

"It has the vents in the back because it gets hot."

"I've had an '87 for eight years. I've been changing it a lot, but now I wish I kept it all original. Take it to more shows."

"What is this car?"

"Oh, a Fiero! 1985."

"2m4! I had an 86 with a six-cylinder. I am a Fiero conneseur."

"I worked at a Pontiac dealer when they came out. They had a lot of recalls. Yours looks really good."

"That is so cool."

"Remember when you had a Fiero, Steve? You tried to trade it in at Reedman's."

"When we were teenagers. Yeah, that's when they came out."

"That was her first car."

"Look, a Pontiac Fiero."

"I had one of these. It was the worst car ever made. It had a lot of problems and was recalled a lot."

"Is this yours? I love sports cars. I always loved this car."

"A Pontiac Fiero. Wow!"

"A death trap. My sister had one. Had an accident, plastic shattered all over the place."

"It's amazing. These cars don't exist any more. A Fiero."

"Look at that, a Fiero."

Feel free to add your comments about the legacy of the Pontiac Fiero.

“Everyone knows it’s…”

Hearing "Windy" on the radio reminds me of the rhyme about a former mayor of New York that some of us would sing as schoolboys:

"Who's walking down the streets of the city
Smilin' at everybody he sees
Who's reachin' out to capture a moment
Everyone knows it's Lindsay"

John Lindsay was New York's John Kennedy, bringing a sense of optimism and charisma to a city that was in desperate need of it by the mid-1960s.  He weathered the worst of changing times in urban America, experiencing both victory and defeat during two stormy terms, but ultimately leaving City Hall with his head high.

Hearing the Association's 1967 hit on the radio also reminds me of the interesting book edited by Sam Roberts, "America's Mayor: John V. Lindsay and the Reinvention of New York."  If the city's history fascinates you, I highly recommend you read this book.  It’s comprised of a series of write-ups by people who were there, and includes lots of great photos.  The book is available from Columbia University Press and Amazon.

If you just have an ear worm for the song, check out the video on YouTube.