Note to Reader: I must admit that these important mentions are indeed belated. I would’ve liked to have you think I wrote it in a more timely manner, except there is no escaping the tell-tale date at the top of this blog. . . .
One of the most common sayings (usually by those 50 and older ) is, “My, How Time Flies.” And no one probably knows this better than Cleveland’s First Lady of Rock Journalism, Jane Scott. Last week, Jane celebrated her 90th birthday at where else? The Agora Back Stage Café. The venue was a fitting place for this awesome occasion as Jane has seen literally thousands of back stages in her long lifetime. For those outside the rock music world, let me tell you a bit about Jane Scott. Her long career with the Plain Dealer began in 1952 as assistant society reporter. By the early ’60s, she began covering several sections, such as the society, along with the teen section. She referred to this as her “Pimples to Pensions” beat. (You gotta love her). For the next four decades, Jane (who didn’t retire from the PD until she was 80 years old) became THE rock reporter and was visible at pretty much every rock concert that took place in the Greater Cleveland area. One thing about Jane, she never was a “critic.” She merely reported the who, what, where, when, how, and sometimes why, of the music makers. She’s interviewed all the greats and the not-so-greats. Well, except for one: Elvis Presley. Though she has often said, she hasn’t given up on yet .
Jane’s been featured in the Wall Street Journal, People magazine and of course, Rolling Stone. She was even in a pornographic magazine (Now I could leave that hanging and tell you you’ll have to read all about it in my book, but I wouldn’t do that to my readers!). But while I have no room for the fun details where Jane tries to explain this happenstance to one of her church members, I’ll simply say that her article from the Rolling Stone was reprinted in that magazine . . .
No, there is no one else like Jane, and never will be (I still marvel at all those years of late-night concert hours she kept throughout her 60s and 70s, when I, a mere whippersnapper at 50-something, has to be in bed by 10 – 11 on weekends). So Happy, Happy Birthday to our very own Rockin’ Jane. And God Bless You.
Speaking of great journalists, and here’s where I’ve been remiss again (Though I have had a reminder note on my desk for at least a month!), I wanted to say how honored I am to know such noteworthy award-winning writers right here in Cleveland. A few years ago, Connie Schultz received the coveted Pulitzer Prize for Commentary, which was a great moment for all of us who struggle daily with the written—and just the right—word, and of course was absolutely deserved. Now in just a few months, some of my other favorite writers have been honored as well. The News-Herald’s Janet Podolak was recently honored by the Society of American Travel Writers. She is the paper’s travel and food editor and was my mentor back in the ’80s when I was just getting started in this field. Plain Dealer columnist, Regina Brett, was this year’s finalist for The Pulitzer in the Commentary category for the second consecutive year. And the accolades keep coming for Plain Dealer’s Joanna Connors for her captivating and well-crafted series about the rape and attack she endured while on the job in 1984.
Congratulations to these great writers who I continually learn from. (I've always said, learn from the best).
And here’s to a SUNNY day in Cleveland, Ohio.
See you next time.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Thursday, April 2, 2009
What a Coronation - The Moondog Rocked Again
The original Moondog Coronation Ball took place at the old Cleveland Arena back on March 21,1952. It was a short-lived affair due to overcrowding and general pandemonium. The entire story of this event—which is now considered to be the first official rock ‘n’ roll concert—and how it became rock history is actually longer than that first concert itself, and too long to go into here (you can read more about that in my book, “Rock ‘n’ Roll and the Cleveland Connection”).
I want to talk about the night of March 28, 2009 at Quicken Loans Arena. The lineup for this concert was sure to take us boomers back to the day when rock was simple and just plain fun. The evening started out pretty slow with Jerry Butler, and I was beginning to wonder about the audience, most of which were sitting ever-so-politely, but things did pick up a bit in his last few songs, though the crowd was still in zombie mode. I was beginning to wonder if the whole concert was going to be like that. This had actually happened the last two Moondog shows I went to. While I’d be movin’ and swayin’ and clappin to the music (everything short of standing up and dancing, which I miss about the old days when everyone did that), the rest of the people were sitting like statues just watching the performers like they were watching a circus act.
But then came Little Richard. The original. The true architect of rock ‘n’ roll. And you know what? At the age of 76, he proved it once again. He had me worried, though, at first, when they carted him out on stage in a wheelchair. I looked at my husband Jeff and we both thought, maybe he should be hanging up his Tutti Frutti, and go quietly into the night.
Then several men helped him out of the wheelchair, set him at his piano, and upon seeing a real close up of his face on that there Jumbotron, Little Richard immediately showed his feistiness. “Get that camera off me, turn it off.” And as if God himself had thundered his disapproval, the arena went dark. And Little Richard—decked out in rhinestone studs from his suit to his sparkly boots—went to work. Well, Good Golly, Miss Molly, that man can still rock and roll like he invented it (and if you asked him, he’d say he did). His falsetto pipes were clear and sharp as a songbird. His piano playing, striking and manic. His attitude, as it should be. (Although he did lighten up after the first song and gave permission to turn the Jumbotron back on – though the cameramen knew by now to keep a respectful distance from his heavily made-up face.
Yes indeed, Little Richard is still the emancipator. Still the man who can shake, rattle and roll with the best of them. And by his last song, he had even managed to get even the die-hard deadheads up off their seats and rock like it was 1959.
Then came Three Dog Night, who didn’t disappoint with strong vocals and upbeat songs that made you feel like you were 16 again. The crowd was really rockin’ now . . .
And if that all wasn’t soul-satisfying enough, Peter Noone of the Herman Hermits eclipsed any expectations I may have had. Not only does he still look 25 (really, I want two of whatever he’s having), but he is an amazing entertainer! Something I never realized. Of course I was always a fan – who couldn’t be with songs like “Can’t You Hear My Heartbeat,” “Mrs. Brown, You’ve Got a Lovely Daughter” (which inspired me to write my first play at 10 years old – totally copying the entire storyline on how she doesn’t love him now, and wants to return those things he bought her (I did have to get creative there, and determined he had bought her a bottle of Yardley of London perfume—being British and all—and a pack of Beatle Bubble Gum cards, which, if she kept them, probably could get a pretty penny for now), and of course, “Henry the VIII, I Am.”
The ever-cute Peter had people laughing, reminiscing, and yes, on their feet dancing. And seeing our own talented Cleveland boys, Rich Spina and Billy Sullivan up there on stage performing with this pop icon made the evening complete. Oh, AND the fact that Jeff and I ended up sitting next to Rich Spina’s mom who not only was delightful, but who, because she was one of the few to first begin actually moving early on in the concert, produced an immediate bond with me that lasted through the night. I now realize why my friend, Rich, is such a great guy. It always starts with Mom.
Okay, I know you all have lives to lead so I’ll bid goodbye for now. But remember this weekend is the Rock Hall inductions. A good reason to be proud of our town’s roots (this year’s induction of Bobby Womack makes the third musician from the Cleveland area to be honored).
You know what comes now . . . Cleveland really does rock! Enjoy!
I want to talk about the night of March 28, 2009 at Quicken Loans Arena. The lineup for this concert was sure to take us boomers back to the day when rock was simple and just plain fun. The evening started out pretty slow with Jerry Butler, and I was beginning to wonder about the audience, most of which were sitting ever-so-politely, but things did pick up a bit in his last few songs, though the crowd was still in zombie mode. I was beginning to wonder if the whole concert was going to be like that. This had actually happened the last two Moondog shows I went to. While I’d be movin’ and swayin’ and clappin to the music (everything short of standing up and dancing, which I miss about the old days when everyone did that), the rest of the people were sitting like statues just watching the performers like they were watching a circus act.
But then came Little Richard. The original. The true architect of rock ‘n’ roll. And you know what? At the age of 76, he proved it once again. He had me worried, though, at first, when they carted him out on stage in a wheelchair. I looked at my husband Jeff and we both thought, maybe he should be hanging up his Tutti Frutti, and go quietly into the night.
Then several men helped him out of the wheelchair, set him at his piano, and upon seeing a real close up of his face on that there Jumbotron, Little Richard immediately showed his feistiness. “Get that camera off me, turn it off.” And as if God himself had thundered his disapproval, the arena went dark. And Little Richard—decked out in rhinestone studs from his suit to his sparkly boots—went to work. Well, Good Golly, Miss Molly, that man can still rock and roll like he invented it (and if you asked him, he’d say he did). His falsetto pipes were clear and sharp as a songbird. His piano playing, striking and manic. His attitude, as it should be. (Although he did lighten up after the first song and gave permission to turn the Jumbotron back on – though the cameramen knew by now to keep a respectful distance from his heavily made-up face.
Yes indeed, Little Richard is still the emancipator. Still the man who can shake, rattle and roll with the best of them. And by his last song, he had even managed to get even the die-hard deadheads up off their seats and rock like it was 1959.
Then came Three Dog Night, who didn’t disappoint with strong vocals and upbeat songs that made you feel like you were 16 again. The crowd was really rockin’ now . . .
And if that all wasn’t soul-satisfying enough, Peter Noone of the Herman Hermits eclipsed any expectations I may have had. Not only does he still look 25 (really, I want two of whatever he’s having), but he is an amazing entertainer! Something I never realized. Of course I was always a fan – who couldn’t be with songs like “Can’t You Hear My Heartbeat,” “Mrs. Brown, You’ve Got a Lovely Daughter” (which inspired me to write my first play at 10 years old – totally copying the entire storyline on how she doesn’t love him now, and wants to return those things he bought her (I did have to get creative there, and determined he had bought her a bottle of Yardley of London perfume—being British and all—and a pack of Beatle Bubble Gum cards, which, if she kept them, probably could get a pretty penny for now), and of course, “Henry the VIII, I Am.”
The ever-cute Peter had people laughing, reminiscing, and yes, on their feet dancing. And seeing our own talented Cleveland boys, Rich Spina and Billy Sullivan up there on stage performing with this pop icon made the evening complete. Oh, AND the fact that Jeff and I ended up sitting next to Rich Spina’s mom who not only was delightful, but who, because she was one of the few to first begin actually moving early on in the concert, produced an immediate bond with me that lasted through the night. I now realize why my friend, Rich, is such a great guy. It always starts with Mom.
Okay, I know you all have lives to lead so I’ll bid goodbye for now. But remember this weekend is the Rock Hall inductions. A good reason to be proud of our town’s roots (this year’s induction of Bobby Womack makes the third musician from the Cleveland area to be honored).
You know what comes now . . . Cleveland really does rock! Enjoy!
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Yahoo Me – Soon As I Remember My Password
Well, as you’ll notice, I haven’t been here for awhile. And yes, life does get in the way, and many, many other things take priority over blogs. However, that’s not the case here.
You see, I have this memory thing. Or lack thereof. I now have a large web presence thanks to Facebook and Plaxo and Linked-In and Red Room and Author Nation and Writing.com and Blog Radio and this Blogspot . . . Oh and of course, MySpace, though I can’t recall when I’ve been there last. And of course my “official” web site (www.deannaadams.com – see, I’m getting good at this promotion thing).
But it all presents a bit of a problem when you do not write down your password.
It's easy, you say - just use the same one for all of them and you won’t have to worry! But I don’t want to be like that guy in the funny hat singing on his guitar about Report.com lamenting about how someone stole his identity. And although I do have Spyware and Firewall and Addware . . . a writer’s worst nightmare is having your computer crash from some nasty virus because of some hacker who clearly doesn’t have a life of his own, while you are entrenched in writing a book or some other important project with which you were so busy with that you completely forgot to save it all on flashdrive . . . (And yes, I do have a habit of run-on sentences, despite my high school English teacher’s outrage).
So of course, I use a different password for each site. And because I’m still a bit low-tech, I was quite proud of myself that when I first went into this Blogspot and it said, “Create Your Own Blog – It’s Easy” I found that they weren’t lying and I did it all by myself (You see, I have a Web Master do my web site and thankfully, he always remembers the all-important password).
So after I created a Blogspot on my own, my tail feathers were a bit fluffed once I saw my words magically appear in this nicely formatted site, and I went on with my day, week, month, totally forgetting what password I used and so the next time I wanted to write in this blog, I couldn’t get in!
And then another month went by . . .
You get the picture.
But it’s all good now. And I’m sure some of you have done the same thing (please tell me you have :-).
And here my time is up already. (As regular blog readers may recall, I made a New Year’s resolution to make my blog here a lot shorter than the one I previously wrote on my web site, www.deannaadams.com
So until next time, take time to help out someone in need. Read a good book. And don’t forget to write down all your passwords. . . .
Oh, and check out my web site at www.deannaadams.com :-)
Next Blog: The Importance of Marketing and Promotion!
You see, I have this memory thing. Or lack thereof. I now have a large web presence thanks to Facebook and Plaxo and Linked-In and Red Room and Author Nation and Writing.com and Blog Radio and this Blogspot . . . Oh and of course, MySpace, though I can’t recall when I’ve been there last. And of course my “official” web site (www.deannaadams.com – see, I’m getting good at this promotion thing).
But it all presents a bit of a problem when you do not write down your password.
It's easy, you say - just use the same one for all of them and you won’t have to worry! But I don’t want to be like that guy in the funny hat singing on his guitar about Report.com lamenting about how someone stole his identity. And although I do have Spyware and Firewall and Addware . . . a writer’s worst nightmare is having your computer crash from some nasty virus because of some hacker who clearly doesn’t have a life of his own, while you are entrenched in writing a book or some other important project with which you were so busy with that you completely forgot to save it all on flashdrive . . . (And yes, I do have a habit of run-on sentences, despite my high school English teacher’s outrage).
So of course, I use a different password for each site. And because I’m still a bit low-tech, I was quite proud of myself that when I first went into this Blogspot and it said, “Create Your Own Blog – It’s Easy” I found that they weren’t lying and I did it all by myself (You see, I have a Web Master do my web site and thankfully, he always remembers the all-important password).
So after I created a Blogspot on my own, my tail feathers were a bit fluffed once I saw my words magically appear in this nicely formatted site, and I went on with my day, week, month, totally forgetting what password I used and so the next time I wanted to write in this blog, I couldn’t get in!
And then another month went by . . .
You get the picture.
But it’s all good now. And I’m sure some of you have done the same thing (please tell me you have :-).
And here my time is up already. (As regular blog readers may recall, I made a New Year’s resolution to make my blog here a lot shorter than the one I previously wrote on my web site, www.deannaadams.com
So until next time, take time to help out someone in need. Read a good book. And don’t forget to write down all your passwords. . . .
Oh, and check out my web site at www.deannaadams.com :-)
Next Blog: The Importance of Marketing and Promotion!
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Let Your Smile Be Your Umbrella . . .
I am absolutely convinced that there is just no pleasing some people.
No matter what your political leanings, no matter what your personal feelings for our new—or old—president, January 20, 2009 was a momentous and genuine Feel-Good day.
That is, if you were open enough to embrace it.
But some people just refuse to put on their happy faces. And even if you didn’t vote for the guy, you’d have to be pretty apathetic not to have had a smile in your heart that day.
And of course, I’m going to tell you why—if you’re not in the frame of mind to figure it out yourself.
*This part of my blog is dedicated to those Oscar the Grouch folks who wrote into the newspapers across the country complaining how naïve and silly millions of us were for having ourselves such a good old time of it all last Tuesday. . . .
So let me give you—all you high-and-mighties (and poor sports to boot)—another way of looking at it.
September 11, 2001: Remember how you felt that fall day? The fear, the anxiety, the hopelessness? Remember the visual images you saw over and over on our TV screen, in your newspapers? Remember the horrible, heartbreaking sadness of it all?
January 20, 2009: Did you happen to notice that massive crowd throughout the National Mall this day? All those people shivering—but not leaving their spot—this frigid winter day? Did you see those faces? Happy faces. Hopeful faces. Tears-full-of-joy streaming down those faces . . . Did you not hear that those faces accumulated to 1.8 million people? All generations. All sizes. All colors. All standing together—United—they stood. Smiling embracing, cheering.
Isn’t that what we Americans have been pining for, always hoped for?
And we got it! Even if just for a day. We got it.
And you poor sniveling, dooms-day, glass-always-half-empty folks lost the opportunity to bask in it. Too bad. It felt really, really good. . . .
Oh, and by the way, did you also hear there was not one arrest in that mall that day? Not. One. Arrest.
Wow, not even Woodstock can boast that.
But no, some people just couldn’t let it be. Some people just refuse to let go of their depressing cynicism.
Here’s one example:
A guy wrote to the Plain Dealer, calling this historic day of peace and harmony simply a “media-produced charade” . . . a “scam foisted on us by a bunch of bought-and-sold media clowns who long ago gave up their badge of integrity so they could fit comfortably in the pockets of liberals.” Sheesh.
Someone, please take away that man’s Thesaurus and buy him a chill pill.
I’d like to take that guy’s fancy rhetoric and stick it in that dark cave he calls his life.
I still consider myself an independent, but I’m sooo tired of hearing the liberal mantra. So while I’m thinking of it, before someone takes away said thesaurus, this guy should look up the word, liberal, where he would read: “One who favors progress.” “Free-thinking.” (Which right there would blow that man’s assumption that liberal “media clowns” can be so easily persuaded). Oh, and let us not forget that liberal is part of LIBERATION, which translates to FREEDOM. INDEPENDENCE. As in the DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE! (SOUND FAMILIAR?)
Ok, deep breath . . . ahh, better now. Sorry for the outburst.
I could go on, but I’ll spare you. So let me just direct those woeful last-administration lovers to the picture of little Sasha Obama giving her dad a big thumbs up after his Inaugural address. Now if that doesn’t put a smile in your heart, you don’t have one.
So lighten up, people! You, the doom-and-gloom folks, you had your eight years of what I suppose was your idea of a real good time.
Now let us have ours, and quit your sniveling.
And remember:
Millions and millions of Americans think your attitude and opinions are not conducive to our mental health. These millions of us who felt such joy, and wonder, and awe last Tuesday believe in Peace on Earth and Good Will toward men.
And isn’t that what being an American is all about?
No matter what your political leanings, no matter what your personal feelings for our new—or old—president, January 20, 2009 was a momentous and genuine Feel-Good day.
That is, if you were open enough to embrace it.
But some people just refuse to put on their happy faces. And even if you didn’t vote for the guy, you’d have to be pretty apathetic not to have had a smile in your heart that day.
And of course, I’m going to tell you why—if you’re not in the frame of mind to figure it out yourself.
*This part of my blog is dedicated to those Oscar the Grouch folks who wrote into the newspapers across the country complaining how naïve and silly millions of us were for having ourselves such a good old time of it all last Tuesday. . . .
So let me give you—all you high-and-mighties (and poor sports to boot)—another way of looking at it.
September 11, 2001: Remember how you felt that fall day? The fear, the anxiety, the hopelessness? Remember the visual images you saw over and over on our TV screen, in your newspapers? Remember the horrible, heartbreaking sadness of it all?
January 20, 2009: Did you happen to notice that massive crowd throughout the National Mall this day? All those people shivering—but not leaving their spot—this frigid winter day? Did you see those faces? Happy faces. Hopeful faces. Tears-full-of-joy streaming down those faces . . . Did you not hear that those faces accumulated to 1.8 million people? All generations. All sizes. All colors. All standing together—United—they stood. Smiling embracing, cheering.
Isn’t that what we Americans have been pining for, always hoped for?
And we got it! Even if just for a day. We got it.
And you poor sniveling, dooms-day, glass-always-half-empty folks lost the opportunity to bask in it. Too bad. It felt really, really good. . . .
Oh, and by the way, did you also hear there was not one arrest in that mall that day? Not. One. Arrest.
Wow, not even Woodstock can boast that.
But no, some people just couldn’t let it be. Some people just refuse to let go of their depressing cynicism.
Here’s one example:
A guy wrote to the Plain Dealer, calling this historic day of peace and harmony simply a “media-produced charade” . . . a “scam foisted on us by a bunch of bought-and-sold media clowns who long ago gave up their badge of integrity so they could fit comfortably in the pockets of liberals.” Sheesh.
Someone, please take away that man’s Thesaurus and buy him a chill pill.
I’d like to take that guy’s fancy rhetoric and stick it in that dark cave he calls his life.
I still consider myself an independent, but I’m sooo tired of hearing the liberal mantra. So while I’m thinking of it, before someone takes away said thesaurus, this guy should look up the word, liberal, where he would read: “One who favors progress.” “Free-thinking.” (Which right there would blow that man’s assumption that liberal “media clowns” can be so easily persuaded). Oh, and let us not forget that liberal is part of LIBERATION, which translates to FREEDOM. INDEPENDENCE. As in the DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE! (SOUND FAMILIAR?)
Ok, deep breath . . . ahh, better now. Sorry for the outburst.
I could go on, but I’ll spare you. So let me just direct those woeful last-administration lovers to the picture of little Sasha Obama giving her dad a big thumbs up after his Inaugural address. Now if that doesn’t put a smile in your heart, you don’t have one.
So lighten up, people! You, the doom-and-gloom folks, you had your eight years of what I suppose was your idea of a real good time.
Now let us have ours, and quit your sniveling.
And remember:
Millions and millions of Americans think your attitude and opinions are not conducive to our mental health. These millions of us who felt such joy, and wonder, and awe last Tuesday believe in Peace on Earth and Good Will toward men.
And isn’t that what being an American is all about?
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