Brandon's Buzz

“I’m a minister’s daughter, I was brought up in the church…. If I could sit down with these people, I’d say, ‘I thought Jesus was about love and not about judgment and damnation. I thought Christ came to question the judgment of a very harsh God.’ I just find it completely against Christ’s message. I don’t know what they’re representing, but they’re as far away from Christ as my Bible teaching taught me and, you know what, I was brought up in the church! I’ve gone to church enough for almost every woman in America!”

— my beloved Tori Amos, discussing her thoughts on that blockheaded doofus Michele Bachmann and her pompously ill-informed ilk during an interview with PrideSource

Eric Clapton (with Babyface) — “Change the World”
(from Clapton Chronicles: The Best of Eric Clapton) —

Dreadful sorry about the severe dearth in Buzz posts of late; last week was a brutal one for me, what with work and whirlwind travel. I have nothing terribly noteworthy to add to the cavalcade of beautifully elegant tributes to the singular genius of Steve Jobs that have popped up just about everywhere online in the days since his tragic passing. But I do want to say this: it’s enough, I think, in this life to touch one person’s existence and, in however small a way, change it for the better. But, as anyone who has ever used any one of his company’s much-vaunted inventions can almost certainly attest, Mr. Jobs was scarcely satisfied with enough: as ABC News’ Bill Weir noted on Nightline in the immediate wake of the news of Jobs’ death, Steve was our Edison, our Disney, our Da Vinci. No cheap hyperbole, that; if anything, it’s an understatement. The term visionary gets thrown around with a too-casual ease these days, but there’s no question it applies here: with a staggering series of marvels of portable technology — each individual piece more impressive and game-changing than its predecessor — there’s hardly an acre of Earth whose inhabitants haven’t been fundamentally affected by Jobs’ unstoppable drive to change the way we connect with, contribute to, communicate with, and dream about the world around us. He was never one to rest on his laurels — clearly, he believed that a great thing can always be made better, and as such, he made perfectionism into an art, not a chore — but what I admired most about Steve was his profound embrace, in essentially equal measure, of style and substance: examine closely the shocking splashes of loud color in the original iMac, or the wispy (lack of) width of the MacBook Air, or the stunningly gorgeous squared design of the latest iPhone, and you understand at once how completely Jobs believed in the immutable power of a great presentation. He seemed to know in his soul that, in a world packed with ever-present strife and hardship, there remains a place, and a necessity, for the clean simplicity of beauty.
Stay hungry, and stay foolish is what Jobs wrote in his final tweet, and I can conceive of no more profoundly apt an epitaph. Steve was foolish enough to believe that technology could improve every facet of our lives, and he was hungry enough to prove it. Foolish enough to believe that one human mind thinking forever forward is enough to transform the world, and hungry enough to go the hell out there and do it, again and again and again.

Patty Griffin — “Mary” (from Flaming Red) —

For the second time in five or so months, my own personal wing of the Henslee family was forced to bid farewell to one of its own yesterday when my grandmother — our matriarch, who just happened to share a name with this shattering song’s titular heroine — passed away in her sleep. My thoughts are still a bit scattered as I type this, so I’ve nothing terribly profound to say here. This passing is absolutely a sad event, no question about it, but the primary emotion I feel early this morning is gratitude. I’m thankful my cousin’s two sons had the opportunity to know their great-grandmother well into their own adolescences (and that my nephew and my best friend and my partner got the chance to know her at all, however casually). And I’m thankful to have had someone in my life who taught me how to love crossword puzzles, and Yahtzee, and Miss Barbara Mandrell, and Mister John Fitzgerald Kennedy, and Miss Deidre Hall, and the thrill of pulling a perfect batch of chocolate chip cookies you made with your own two hands out of a hot oven, and the best damned taco and the best damned spoonful of beef stew you ever put in your mouth. She wasn’t perfect, but neither were any of us; that didn’t stop her from loving us anyway, ferociously, and it didn’t stop her from being, in her own funny way, an angel. (So, so much love to you, Mary Henslee, and whatever destination awaits you next, may your landing be soft and sweet.)

The Fray — “Mahna Mahna” (from Muppets: The Green Album) —

And now, for something completely off-the-wall: as indisputably brilliant as Isaac Slade is at what he does, he and his fabulous band, with their full-of-frolic ditties about teenage suicide and railing against God (and to His face, no less!), often take themselves so seriously that it’s quite bracing to see them cutting loose and having some actual light-hearted fun here. (You should really give yourself a gift this fine Sunday and check out the whole of this surprisingly sweet album, which finds a wide assortment of your (and my) favorite stars — Matt Nathanson, Rachael Yamagata, Weezer, My Morning Jacket — putting their own stamp on all the Muppets classics (even “The Rainbow Connection”!) from your (and my) misspent youth.)

Lenny Kravitz — “Stand” (from Black and White America) —

I would hardly call myself Lenny’s biggest fan, but who could ever resist this charmingly catchy (and cannily uplifting) little ditty? (I dare not to be tapping your toe inside of twenty-five seconds!)

Hilary Duff — “So Yesterday” (from The Best of Hilary Duff) —

Today marks the dazzling Duff’s 24th birthday, which means — barring a major mathematical malfunction on my part — that she was only 15 (!) when she exploded into the pop marketplace with this ferociously marvelous instant classic masterpiece in the late summer of 2003. (Did we know at the time that she was only 15, Sherry Ann? 15!) (With utmost seriousness, the Buzz loves you in the heart, Hilary, and wishes you a most happy day, you eternal genius.)

R.E.M. — “At My Most Beautiful” (from Up) —

Because, quite frankly, I’m still not over it. And, I’d wager, neither are you. (And, I damn well know, neither is Sherry Ann, although she does report that there may well be reason to cheer for a happy ending to this story, as she was told late last week, by a teenager whose identity shall remain unknown, that R.E.M. may well get back together, his logic being that Blink-182 have just reunited. Hope springs eternal, indeed.)

Vesta — “Congratulations” (from Vesta 4 U) —

I was flabbergasted to read of the tragic passing, at the far-too-young age of 53, of the vividly brilliant Vesta Williams on Friday. I first became aware of Vesta when I happened to catch her singing this very song on an episode of the long-forgotten Byron Allen Show back in 1990, and her glorious, gut-wrenchingly raw performance knocked me plumb flat on my fourteen-year-old ass. (I’ve been waiting and waiting and waiting for this to show up on YouTube; in one of the dum-dum moves of all time, I quite stupidly taped over my own copy years ago, and have regretted it ever since, so if anybody reading this happens to still have a copy of this in their personal library, I’m willing to shell over megabucks for it.) I just saw Vesta, looking stunningly svelte after battling weight issues for a number of years, just a few weeks back on my marvelous Mo’Nique’s just-canceled BET talk show, and she sang this song once more (brilliantly, still) and discussed a new album, and I had every intention of finding out if she had a publicist and making contact in the hopes of dragging her to Brandon’s Buzz Radio to help promote the project. But my to-do list filled up anew and the email just never got written, and now it’s too late. (The lesson here is clear: seize the day, folks. Time’s a-wastin’.)

Joni Mitchell — “Amelia” (from Hejira) —

Outwardly, at least, this one has nothing to do with ABC’s classic soap All My Children, to which we are forced to bid farewell today after a run of nearly forty-two years and some 10,700 episodes. But Joni nonetheless perfectly captures here the exact kind of mood that I, as a soap fan since I was in diapers (thanks, Mom!), am in as I type these words: my heart is inescapably heavy today with a sense of futility, with a mourning for opportunities either missed or lost entirely, with a sadness strong enough to stop time. (If only it was strong enough to turn back time, alas.)

R.E.M. — “Strange Currencies” (from Monster) —

If you missed yesterday’s stunning news that R.E.M. is calling it quits after a mind-blowing three-decade run as one of America’s premier rock bands, I’m sorry to be the one break it to you. (Sherry Ann texted me yesterday afternoon in near hysterics, so knocked flat was she by this staggering announcement.) This profound sense of sadness and loss must be what our parents felt like when they heard the Beatles were disbanding. But just like they always had Yellow Submarine and Sgt. Pepper’s to tickle their memories, so will we always have Out of Time. And Eponymous. And New Adventures in Hi-Fi. And (my own personal favorite) Up. And this 1994 masterpiece that cemented their spot in the sun — at least for a shining, shocking moment — as the world’s best band. With love, indeed, do come strange currencies. (Fare thee well, Michael, Peter, and Mike, and godspeed wherever life may carry you next, friends.) (Incidentally, for newer visitors to this website who have yet to go spelunking back into the archives: in June 2008, just a couple of months after I started this blog, I composed what I consider to be the essential fame-era R.E.M. playlist, and Sherry Ann promised at that time to fill out the picture with a cross-section of the band’s best early work. May this heartbreaking news be the impetus she needs to finally bring that little writing project of hers to full fruition.)

Lady Antebellum — “Cold as Stone” (from Own the Night) —

A crisp, cool fall morning here in Austin, Texas: I am lounging out on the back patio, preparing for a Brandon’s Buzz Radio interview I’ll be conducting later this afternoon (stay tuned), watching my baby girl happily gnaw on the same damned jumbo-sized bone she’s been trying to conquer for about six days now — she’s a stubborn one, that Kelly-girl! — and listening to the spankin’ new Lady Antebellum record, which I’m kinda sad to report is not leaving much of an impression on me at all. (To be fair, I’m giving it something less than full, rapt attention, but neither is Night doing much of anything snap me into submission.) I had a sense that we might be in trouble early in the summer when the project’s lead single, “Just a Kiss,” turned out to be nothing more than a warmed-over piece of pop-leaning tripe. (Gotta admit that I really dig the video, though.) It was clear at that point that we weren’t likely to be in for a Sugarland-style boundary buster here. But, stretched out to album-size, Night comes off, largely, as Lady A’s flat, aw-shucks apology to Nashville for betraying the unspoken trust and achieving such massive crossover success for themselves. (A not-very-convincing apology, at that.) The arrangements — practically to a note — are, to say the least, uninspired, and Charles Kelley and Hillary Scott — both of whom turned in work that was quite revelatory on their previous album, the multi-platinum smash Need You Now — actually seem to sleepwalk their way through entire songs this time around. The band’s members have stated publicly that “Cold as Stone” is their favorite track on the new record, and it’s not at all difficult to discern why: with its wildly unexpected Celtic flavorings (and a lead vocal from Kelley that at least challenges his powerful performance on “Hello World,” his previous high water mark), it’s the only moment in this wobbly, odd Night-mare that even remotely challenges this band to think outside the box they’ve so weirdly and willingly decided to shoehorn themselves into.

Tony Lucca — “Devil Town”
(from Friday Night Lights [Original Television Soundtrack]) —

Most sincere congratulations to the underdog team behind what I’m certain history will judge as one of this young century’s absolute finest television series, NBC’s ferociously engrossing character study Friday Night Lights, which, after five grueling years of being largely ignored by the Academy, finally struck Emmy gold last night for its titanically terrific final season, with showrunner Jason Katims picking up a statuette for Outstanding Drama Series Writing for his graceful, gloriously transcendent work in penning the series finale (which might just be the greatest closing episode a television program has ever conjured), and to Lights’ eternally low-key leading man Kyle Chandler, nabbing the Lead Actor Emmy over Mad Men‘s more favored Jon Hamm. Chandler’s victory was particularly sweet and satisfying, precisely because his work on Lights is the diametric opposite of the kinds of performances that generally win these kinds of awards: as steady-like-a-stone Coach Eric Taylor, the typical strong and silent type (yet brought to life by an astounding actor who is anything but typical), Chandler didn’t strut and scream and thrash about. He didn’t employ or engage in hollow histrionics. He simply, subtly — in ways that were, at times, so extraordinarily intimate that it hurt to watch — allowed the camera to see him. He just played the truth — every scene, every time — of how it feels to be a frustrated father, a loving husband, a fierce football coach, and a humble hero to a ragtag group of young men for whom heroes were in painfully short supply. Take a bow, Kyle: you’re proof that, sometimes, the underdog does make it to the winner’s circle.