WEAPONIZED INK

I was never a “sports” kind of guy

Soccer seemed like a lot of running with very little scoring. Baseball struck me as laconic, boring and pointless. Football reminded me a war… oversized men with more muscle than brains, slamming into each other at high speed over a leather torpedo. Acts of mindless violence without grace or merit.

Basketball however…

Basketball was the one sport I could *kind of* get into. The speed not only of the game, but of the calculations the players had to make on the fly in order to be not just “ok”, but good… much less brilliant. That, to my mind, summoned the Apollonian ideal. The perfect symmetry of body and mind, working together in honed perfection. Like a experimental aircraft test pilot… an equal mix of nerve, intellect, and dexterity.

Not that I was any good at it.

I played almost every day through Jr. High and High School with my best friend Mike. Mike towered above me, reaching almost 7’ buy the time we graduated, and he could nail the shots. It was an unspoken reality before the fact that he would be on Varsity and I wouldn’t get picked for a team of 5th graders if they were all blind.

As noted, I was REALLY not good at hoops.

But I enjoyed it. I loved playing. The court was a common ground where the “jocks” would hang with the “metal heads” and the “nerds” and the “stoners”. Any and all… didn’t matter what clique or group you hung out in or were relegated to. The boundaries (mostly) fell away when someone would ask, “Hoops?”

In college, enjoyment of the game transmuted into a fiery, burning, passionate love. Because of one team. OUR team. The Seattle Supersonics. This was the early 90s… “when grunge walked the earth” and whether you were a flannel-sporting-dropped-D Bass player, a newsprint-stained journalist, or member of the JV Bench at WSU… we loved hoops, and we LIVED the Sonics. The Glove, the Reign Man… these were our icons and our heroes.

When the school year ended in 1993, and the Sonics were in the Western Conference playoffs, five of us chipped in to get a one month extension on the apartment that had cable, camping out on the living room floor so we could watch every game the Sonics were in. Together… the same way we had cheered them on during the regular season. During the home games, when Gary Payton would pluck away the ball or knock down an opponent’s shot, all of us would stand, howling in glee at the 20” Cathode Ray tube – “NOT IN OUR HOUSE!” When Sam Perkins or Hersey Hawkins, would spin past Barkley or Olijuwan to float a 3 point shot with balletic grace, we’d squeal… 5 men in their mid-20s… we’d squeal like little girls that just got a pony for their birthday. It was glorious, and wonderful, and magic.

For the rest of the decade, in cities thousands of miles apart, in an era before Skype and iChat, we’d watch “together” via speakerphone. Detlef, and Hersey, and Sam, and Nate, and Gary, and Shawn… George Karl either grinning or pulling on his tie and throwing his jacket in fury. Watching the Bulls in the 95-96 finals, at their apex with Jordan and Rodman and Pippen being given a run for their money against “Our Team”… it was perfection.

It’s easy to think of Seattle as “grunge” or “starbucks”, but Hoops are just as much a part of it’s DNA as anything that makes the town live and breathe. Pearl Jam’s first name (before threat of lawsuit) was Mookie Blaylock. They’d settle instead for naming their first album “10” after the number of his jersey. Band of Horses have a song named after Detlef Schrempf. Andy Wood of Mother Love Bone penned “Captain Hi-Top” as a swaggering anthem for a generation emerging in to its own. Even now, Macklemore tips his thrift shop hat to the metal rim about to be shattered.

Seattle has ALWAYS been about the hoops.

The fans know that. They know the power it has to unite a community, to bring them across the divides of race, or culture, or trends, or fashion. Those of us who grew up with the Sonics (who were formed the year I was born) feel the pain of their leaving at an unexplainably primal level. Chris Hansen, Steve Ballmer and other good people know this. Gary Payton KNOWS this. Shawn Kemp KNOWS this. That’s why they’ve put in the sweat, and the time and the money… why they’ve put up with the naysayers and the roadblockers, and the pessimists who chime on and on with “Give it up”. They do it for the same reason that I… a guy who could give two shits 90% of the time about professional sports… am writing this.

Because there NEEDS to be an NBA team in Seattle again.

The Sonics need to rise, or return, or be reborn. David Stern, save face however you need to… justify it any way that allows you to sleep at night… but know this.

For myself, for my generation. For my children and their generation. For the generations beyond that. Seattle needs its team.

Long Overdue...

OUR team

Go Sonics.

This is a difficult blog entry to write. I thank you in advance for putting up with it, and forgiving me for having to write it.

The last two years have been… we’ll just say challenging. Those close to me know what I, and my family, have been through. Those not close to me do not need to hear about said challenges. Every one of us has them. Every. Single. Day. The world doesn’t need whining and/or complaining, especially in this day and age with every human being having their own personal megaphone with which to caterwaul via the internet. They are my issues, my challenges. I’m the one who needs to deal with them.

On the positive side of things, the 2-3 years of “challenges” have appeared to turn around. Because of the wonderful world of NDAs, I cannot discuss any of the developments that are supposed to rectify the situation… and THEN some… within the next three months. It’s been a lot of work, in multiple fields, juggling a truly insane amount of projects, but it appears (God willing and the river don’t rise) that it will have been Worth. It.

As part of these deals/projects/developments I cannot yet discuss, I have been driving back and forth to Los Angeles from San Diego at least every other week. Often more frequently than that. Negotiations and meetings and things-I-can’t-yet-discuss with companies-I-can’t-yet-disclose that have to be had with me there in person have had me on the road a. Lot. No complaints. Not ONE in the slightest. It’s very much worth it.

Yesterday, I had a car accident. While I and the other driver were uninjured, the front end of my car is rather… well, screwed. This leaves me unable to drive. Without being able to drive, I can’t close these deals, and the last three years of “challenges” go from having a positive ending to… something NOT so positive. Which is why I’m writing this. A blog entry I would do anything to NOT write. Wishing to some higher diety there was another options OTHER than writing this.

To be clear, in simple terms, I do. Not. Want. Charity. I do not want “donations”. I don’t want “loans”, I do not want that, and I cannot ask that. I am (in theory) a capable writer, artist, editor, designer, and all-around creative monkey who has been working professionally for the last 30 years. I need short term projects, that I can do quickly (but at an excellent level of quality) and that will provide payment in exchange so that I can get my car repaired.

If you, or anyone you know has a need for a logo design, a shirt or album design, character designs, writing or editorial services, please contact me at rantz at rantzhoseley dot com. (remove the spaces and insert the correct symbols, obviously) If you can, please put “Freelance” or something along those lines in the subject. Thank you for reading this far, and my apologies for having to write this in the first place.

Hanging Tree
Green River
Sub Pop 200

As much attention as Pearl Jam has gotten, few know that it all began in the late 1980’s with Green River. When Green River split… their members going off to form Mudhoney and Mother Love Bone (which would serve to give birth to Pearl Jam after the death of vocalist Andrew Wood)… it marked an end to some of the most energetic and surly rock Seattle ever produced. Equal parts Punk, Funk, old school Metal, with a healthy dash of fuck-you, Green River DEFINED what would end up becoming known as “grunge”, and in many ways the songs contained on their two released albums have never been surpassed. Hanging Tree is, in my not-even-close-to-humble opinion, the best song they ever recorded, and it’s only available on the SubPop 200 compilation disc. It’s well worth the search (as it’s not available for digital download). Go now, rock the fuck out.

OK, so I had a complete computer failure, which screwed everything up for 3-4 days while I got the system repaired, which threw a wrench in the daily upload aspect of this. I’ll be uploading multiple entries over the next few days until I’m “caught up”

9
Lift
Brad
Interiors

Brad is one of the Seattle “side bands” that Pearl Jam’s Stone Gossard formed with Jeremy Toback, Regan Hagar, and Shawn Smith. On their debut album, Shame, they proved to have a lot more barroom groove, soul and funk than the masses tend to associate with their off-the-cuff summary of what the “Seattle sound” is about. The blue-eyed soul of Buttercup and the popping bass funk of 20th Century never really made as big a splash as Gossard’s other band, but in many ways, both Shame and the sophomore release Interiors, proved to be much more satisfying albums. On Lift, both musically and lyrically, the band captures the mercurial magic of teenage ski trips in the Northwest Interior… everything from the icy bite of cold air in the lungs as you careen downhill, to the furtive sneaking of booze outside of the chaperones view, to the loud and reckless cacophony of teenagers packed into a school bus as they vibrate with anticipation of arrival. It creates, with each note and lyric, in crystalline perfection the magic of those moments, where you felt alive… the troubles of the world behind you, speed and cold and liquor-infused cocoa making you think anything was possible in the future that lay ahead.

Bad
U2
The Unforgettable Fire

During the “bleak years”… the period from 87-89 where my mental state was so bad that I wondered multiple times daily if my life was over before it had begun… this song was part of the ongoing soundtrack. Ironically, a song about battling despair and the fathomless hollow of addiction was one of the few things that gave me strength. I’d be in my room, tears cutting hot trails down my cheeks, as I sang in a sobbing wail along with Bono “I’m wide awake… I’m not sleeping”. It became a mantra to myself. A truth you don’t believe, but say repeatedly. Hoping that one day… hoping it won’t be too late… hoping that the words would become truth. For almost a decade after that, I couldn’t listen to this song. Just the opening notes would summon up those feelings… that mental state. An audio mnemonic device that would threaten to send me spiraling down. Now, years later, the song is a marker. A stone over the grave of what was… and what almost happened. I appreciate it, and wish I’d had the wisdom and knowledge then that time has given over the years that would follow.

#7

SONG: 21st Century Schizoid Man

ARTIST: Robert Fripp & Maynard James Keenan

I stumbled upon this track completely by accident while driving one day from LA to Orange County. A friend, knowing my love of Tool, A Perfect Circle, and Puscifer, had made me a “Maynard Rarities” CD to listen to. The disc included tracks like “Ass Kicking Fat Kid” and a demo of Tool with Rage Against the Machine, along with live versions of Stranglehold and some of the tracks off of the 90s-era “Replicants” disc. The real shocker for me was 21st Century Schizoid Man, MJK’s collab with King Crimson guitarist and head-fucker Robert Fripp. The Guitar and synth roar in bombastic and theatrical, oversized and overwhelming, followed by Maynard’s chopped and compression-treated vocals that sound almost like a rally. (What kind of rally… you’re not quite sure, even after multiple listens) It’s a truly epic and powerful song, and one that I usually listen to before heading into meetings or interviews or other situations where I need to get my adrenaline pumping beyond its normal caffeinated levels.

#6

SONG: Prayers For Rain

BAND: The Cure

ALBUM: Disintegration

While most people associate the early 90’s incarnation of the Cure with Pictures of You & Lovesong, it’s the other songs off of Disintegration that became an integral part of my bleak & black-mooded life during the years immediately following it’s release.  Lyrically, Robert Smith perfectly captures the late-teen/early-20s state of absolutely being engulfed by your feelings when a relationship goes bad, or when it hasn’t “gone bad” (Read: ended) but desperately needs to.  That was Prayers for Rain in a nutshell for me. A supplication offered up in the hopes of divine intervention… genuflecting before silent Gods in the hope of some kind of end to the current state of things. The grinding Bass and keyboard is crosscut with the raindrop notes of guitar and the whipping wind of the string section, keeping the clouds pouring out bitter tears of remorse until the last five notes which tentatively climb upward, as if sunlight… or maybe the first rays of hope… are breaking through at last.

#5

SONG: On the Road Again

BAND: Andy Prieboy

ALBUM: Upon My Wicked Son

I had bought this album after seeing the video for “Tomorrow Wendy” on 120 Minutes on MTV. As much as I liked the song that inspired the purchase, it was the first track… a cover of Woody Guthrie’s “On the Road Again” that immediately captured my attention. At the time I was unaware that it was a cover song (a discovery that lead to small degree of shock when I heard the original) but the growl and combination of melancholy and menace, wrapping up with the soaring howl of the female gospel singer crying “Lord have mercy, upon my wicked son” struck a deep chord with me at an almost cellular level.  At the time, I was truly feeling like a manboy without a home… having left LA the first time in shambles, having hidden out at my mother’s house, only to make multiple ventures back to LA and the bay area, a drive to Taos and the American Southwest, trips to Seattle, finally landing at WSU in Pullman… all in an effort to find some kind of direction that wouldn’t be self-destructive.  The album is Out of Print, and hard to find, but well worth the search.

#4

SONG: How We Operate

BAND: Gomez

ALBUM: How We Operate

For two years, when Howard Stern first made the move from “regular” radio to Sirius, I had a subscription and portable player to the Satellite Network.  I was surprised to find that the music channels I’d been so dismissive of… (“Who the hell is going to pay for radio stations of music”)… ended up grabbing as much of my attention as the Howard Stern show did.

One night, driving home late from work, the plaintive plucked mandolin lines of the intro to “How We Operate” came over the car speakers. I was enthralled… excited to discover this band I had never heard of.

Later that week, I bought the CD, and played it when I was dropping the kids off at school in the morning. It quickly became the requested “soundtrack” for the drive to (or from) school, with all three daughters singing along with the song.

Those memories, of their little-kid voices singing along with such happy abandon, come back to me instantly every time I listen to the song… the memories more poignant now as they enter High School.

#3

SONG: Scorpios

BAND: Adam & the Ants

ALBUM: Prince Charming

From 3^rd grade until 8^th grade I had a pen-pal in England (who later move to New Zeland) named Wayne.

The whole concept of having a pen pal seems like such a weird and foreign concept nowadays, with the internet making it possible to connect with anyone worldwide with such little effort, but back in those days (being the late 70’s-early 80’s) it was seen as something really unique and different to have someone that was not a family member in a different country that you communicated with.

As we got older, we took to sending each other “letters on tape”, where we’d record one side with us talking, telling the details of our days, experiences at school, etc.  On the other side of the cassette, we’d usually include a couple of songs from bands that we were listening to at the time. I sent Wayne songs from Styx, and Kiss, and Rush.

He sent me Adam & the Ants.

He assumed, because they were so big over in the UK, that I HAD to have heard of them.  However, being the small, redneck town that it was, I had no idea who the hell he was talking about, and then came three songs from the Prince Charming album. Scorpios, Stand & Deliver, and Prince Charming.

I was baffled. I was confused as hell. But oh dear god, I was hooked.  The horn and guitar blare of Scorpios felt like a rock version of the Martin Denny records my parents had.  The lyrics had a different kind of “rebellion” than I was familiar with in the rock I was used to… “Be pretty and young and fearless, like the Scorpion”… hinted at danger and pride, and an awareness of being part of something bigger.  I had to special order a copy of Prince Charming from the local record store, and I had only had it for a week when I placed another order for Kings of the Wild Frontier. I was hooked, and really Adam & the Ants… and later Adam Ant… was my first exposure to “alt rock”. Before I knew of the Sex Pistols, or Duran Duran, or the Cure, or Bauhaus, etc.  My look during “the metal years” was equal parts Metal & Adam Ant’s “Dandy Highwayman”.

I am sure it is just a coincidence… nothing more… that my lovely wife of over 16 years is a Scorpio.