Godfrey: the sickly, unemployed, amateur children's magician.

As I’ve mentioned in this blog before, the SJ-R’s Arts and Entertainment section is one of the paper’s most consistently strong features and has been for some time. The expansion of the section to a supplement allows for a much more diverse look at the arts scene at both a local and national level.

What impresses me most about Nick Rogers and the A & E staff is their willingness to step outside the mainstream with some of their content, while still covering the chart-toppers, box office busters, and rating champions. A look at the music coverage this week provides a good example of this diversity.

Included in this week is a syndicated article on the upcoming reunion tour of the New York Dolls, the seminal punk/glam band who released two albums in the seventies but whose influence carries on to this day. The band’s hey day preceded my interest in punk and alternative music, the lure of New York’s underground rock scene didn’t extend to the music program at St. Aloysius School. My closest connection to the band is a song guitarist Johnny Thunders recorded, an achingly beautiful song titled “You Can’t Put Your Arms Around a Memory” that is currently in regular rotation on my iPod.

The latest Springfield visit by Chicago songwriter Robbie Fulks is the subject of another article. In it, Fulks somewhat bemoans the fact, although not to the point of whining, that his instinctive ability to write funny songs sometimes interferes with the listener’s ability to appreciate his more serious tunes. I can see how this might be disillusioning for an artist, but my two favorite Fulks songs are really funny.

“That Bangle Girl” is a tribute to the eternally cute but marginally talented Susannah Hoff, she of the sidelong come hither glance. The song features the subtle yet deadly line about Hoff’s attempt at an acting career: “I love the way she sings and I … sat through her movie.”

The other song is on a children’s album that Bloodshot Records released a few years ago. Fulk’s contribution is “Godfrey”: the sickly unemployed amateur children’s magician. It’s not the stuff of Barney, in fact it’s rather twisted with Godfrey being put away for a while by song’s end, but it is delightfully catchy with a sing-along chorus.

Flowing in on the mainstream, an article on an upcoming show by a Jimmy Buffet tribute band is promoted. I have two problems with this. Not the Rogers-penned article itself, but with Jimmy Buffet tribute bands in general.

First, I’ve never been a Buffet fan and no amount of alcohol can ever change that. There is just something so corporate about his whole act, very Madison Avenue-y if you will. It’s almost as if the tequila industry or the Key West Chamber of Commerce contracted with an advertising agency to create a fictional character who would sell the laidback beachcomber lifestyle to a bevy of corn-fed, pasty-skinned Midwesterners. Even his songs sound as if they were written to promote some product or tourist locale. Margaritas. Cheeseburgers. Shark-infested waters. Okay, maybe not all of them.

If Buffet is the lovechild of a marketer’s profit-driven imagination, then job well done. Because you know that an act has thoroughly entrenched itself in the marketplace when it starts to spawn tribute bands.

This leads to my second problem. I’ve never gotten the appeal of the tribute band. They’re part karaoke, part Madame Tussaud, with a little Rich Little thrown in to boot. I’ll listen to a band covering other people’s songs, but don’t ask me to play along with some failed artist’s psychotic delusions that he’s a musical superstar and charge me $20 for the honor. We’ve all imagined what it would be like to be a famous person, but when such reveries begin to seem like a viable career path, then a day of reckoning with reality should come down upon you with the force of a thousand Elvis impersonators descending upon a Las Vegas buffet.

The CD reviews this week are disappointing in that they stick to well-known artists, although they are usually more adventurous with their selections. Earlier this year, they earned my utmost respect when they included a review of Aimee Mann’s latest release. For those who don’t know, Aimee is one of the most literate and sincere songwriters of this generation. Her Oscar loss to Phil Collins for best song in 2000 isn't indicative of her talent but rather the Academy’s preference for vacuous exercises in maudlinity over true craft.

Maybe the best thing about the A & E section is that it is free from the bad news that often inhabits the front page and the contentious debate that is rife on the editorial page. It's a nice escape from the hard news and serves as my last connection to the high drama world of professional wrestling.