TomFlannery.com

Football season is finally here. I know this because Notre Dame has already managed to lose 2 games it should have won. It could be worse but the Irish have only played 2 games. So there’s a bit of silver lining.

On these glorious just-about-fall Saturdays and Sundays, it is quite possible to sink down in your couch at Noon, and if you have a superhuman bladder, not move anything but your thumb on the remote for more than 12 hours. As a matter of fact, I would recommend seeing how long you can last, if only to have something to talk about when you go back to work on Monday (Avoid liquids or you’ll never make it past the first quarter. Like most things, it’s all a matter of discipline).

The kids are back in school full-time. The house grows quieter earlier. The days are growing shorter little by little. There seems more urgency as we tackle the mundane tasks of the day. Summer malaise has worn off, and we feel like we should be working harder, or moving faster, or doing that little extra that we promised we’d do in July and August but never got around to doing. If we’re lulled into complacency Madison Avenue is always there to remind us that Halloween and Thanksgiving are right around the proverbial corner. And of course, it won’t be long before we all start getting those dreadful catalogs in the mail with those impossibly good-looking real-life mannequins on the cover wearing red sweaters and scarves (no, “scarfs” is not the plural of “scarf”…I checked) standing in front of Xmas trees smiling manically at each other pretending that they look completely normal and that all of us look that way too.

People are already talking about 2012, especially Republicans, who are currently busy gouging each others eyeballs out for the right to get stomped in the next Presidential election…not because Obama is doing a great job because he isn’t, but because the Republicans have once again managed to corral a group of batshit-crazed ideologues who all look like they’ve overdosed on Botox.  As I watch Rick Perry all by himself bringing the national IQ down every time he opens his mouth, I’m reminded of what the late great Texan Molly Ivins said. “Next time I tell you someone from Texas should not be president of the United States … please pay attention.” That goes for anybody who thinks the earth is 5000 years old too, by the way. Folks are certainly entitled to their own opinions, but not to their own facts.

Don’t get mad at me. I don’t make these people up. Look on the bright side. At least Christine O’Donnell isn’t running…although it might be interesting to have somebody in the White House who felt the need to spend money on a national ad in which she proclaimed, with a straight face, “I am not a witch”.

And Obama is not a foreign Muslim bent on destroying us all via creeping socialism….although you’d be forgiven for thinking so if Fox News is your cup of tea (excuse the horrible pun).

Obama is also not a great President, which I hoped he would be. He’s not even a particularly good one (his bank bailout and his retreat on Universal Health care lost me…..and unemployment has gotten so bad that Fox News has actually started to report on “new poor people”, which is ironic to say the least), but I dare say if it comes down between him and a guy who calls Social Security a “ponzi scheme”, I don’t think I’m gonna have any trouble deciding who to vote for.

Good grief. I seem to have gotten all liberal and commie-like all of a sudden. Over the last few years I’ve largely given up on politics, so I hope you’ll forgive my rare detour. Somebody had to tell me who my congressman was the other day….and at the moment I’ve forgotten his name again. I could google it but it hardly seems worth it. Mark Twain once said, “There is no native criminal class except Congress”…..and Twain was way smarter than I am. I don’t want to spend a splendid fall day googling somebody I didn’t vote for anyway. But still, it seems vaguely important to have sane people in charge of our government, which should disqualify Texans and deranged Alaskans at least. But….well…..never mind. It’s not 2012 yet. Maybe we’ll be obliterated by a meteor before then…or that guy who keeps changing his prediction dates on the rapture will get lucky. Even a stopped clock is correct twice a day you know.

Yea….and maybe Notre Dame will finish 9-2.

In a bit…

–tf

The images are more powerful than any words. The chocolate-brown river. Small, ankle-deep creeks suddenly turned into torrents that can rip a house from its foundation. Boats on various Main Streets. These small river-towns with their wonderful names. West-Pittston. Tunkhannock. Meshoppen. Duryea. Shickshinny. And dozens more. From above they call to mind New Orleans in 2005. When rivers take over neighborhoods, it always looks the same. Water and roofs. Tops of cars. You’re trying to figure out where the river ends and the neighborhood begins. Grand homes. Modest modules. Trailers. No discrimination. Water doesn’t give a shit what tax bracket you’re in.

Today we’re all pretty stunned by what’s happened. In ’72 they called it Agnes. It doesn’t have a name this time. It happened too fast. No time for names. I’ve heard a few ideas from folks affected, but they might make the weather folks blush.

It’s sunny as I write these words. Blue skies. Isn’t that always the way? After bringing tens of thousands to their knees, Mother Nature wakes up the next day and acts like everything is normal.

And all of us know that it could have been a lot worse. If the rain hadn’t stopped…..maybe a few more hours worth….the Wilkes-Barre levee would have been topped. And then…..well it would have been Agnes II. As bad as this was, it was not Agnes. Small consolation for many, for some areas got hammered harder this time then in 72. Levees, flood walls….it becomes cruelly mathematical after a while. The water stopped in one place will find another. Surely better for 1 to flood than 100, but tell that to the guy who lost everything but the clothes he’s wearing. Then duck.

Watched hours and hours on TV. Became numb after a while. Bridges look like foot-paths laid over the water. A house in the river…..getting obliterated as it slams into a bridge. An eerie night-time boat tour through 8 foot waters in West Pittston. That Victorian house on the right? So pretty. How many years old must it be? How many children raised there? We’re told the elderly woman who remains refuses to leave. She’s on the 2nd floor. Alone and in the dark. Leave? Where would she go?  “Home” is the ultimate 4 letter word.

Many lost everything. Some had microphones thrust into their faces. “How do you feel?” I’m not sure I wouldn’t have lost it. “How do I feel? Wonderful. Heading to f-ing Disney World.” But Wyoming County folks are battle hardened. I saw no tears. I heard no rants. Just steely determination. “Well, this is home and we’ll just have clean up the mess and get back to it.” With water in the 2nd floor bedrooms. Incredible. These people respect the river. But they ain’t gonna be bullied by it.

So we all move on, no?

It’s all in the rear-view mirror now?

In Tunkhannock, Main Street is currently filled with residents pushing brooms. Not the kind of folks who wait for the “official” clean-up to begin. Bureaucracies have their time frame, and these folks have theirs.

Surely we’ll all remember this for the rest of our lives. For my generation, the way our elders spoke of Agnes, we’ll speak of the flooding of 2011. And of course, many others will speak of both…..for they eye-balled the river both times. They expected no quarter. And they gave none. Stalemate.

The sun is still out. The ground is dry in some places. The grass all around is golf-course-green from the rains. The television stations have returned to their regularly scheduled programs. What comes next?

And is it truly over? Will it ever be for some?

What comes next?

Better days I trust. Better days.

I eagerly await Mike’s words on this. These are his roads. This is his backyard. These are his people. He deserves the final say here.

In a bit…

tf

Added a new section for videos. Will put new demos up mostly….but maybe the odd old favorite or two.

Here’s the place to be to see ’em all…

This is the newest song added. “Maybe It’s True“. You know it’s special ’cause I’m wearing my lucky hat.

Myself and songwriter Josh Pratt (with Lorne Clarke chipping in with the brilliant final touch) decided, back in 2008, to do our bit to shed light on the travesty of justice known as “The West Memphis Three”. Three innocent men will be freed today, after 18 years in prison. One of them, Damien Echols, was on death row. The state of Arkansas was ready, willing, and able to kill him for a crime they knew he did not commit.

While what we did didn’t amount to much….it did add to the chorus of voices shouting for justice. And for that, we are both immensely proud. We didn’t just sit back and take it, and we didn’t say “there’s nothing we can do about it”. There’s always something any of us can do.

You can listen to the songs below. Thanks Josh for taking my call….listening…..being skeptical…..doing the research…and then doing what I knew you’d do all along. I needed you on this.

 West Memphis Blues
an online song cycle
by Tom Flannery and Josh Pratt
copyright 2008

01. West Memphis Blues – Tom Flannery
02. Rock Star – Josh Pratt
03. This Town – Tom Flannery
04. Cup of Coffee – Josh Pratt and Tom Flannery
05. The Jump Before the Climb – Josh Pratt
06. Thinking of You – Tom Flannery
07. Glorious Day – Josh Pratt
08. Away – Tom Flannery
09. When it Rains – Josh Pratt
10. You Know I Believe – Lorne Clarke

Get my acclaimed 2008 release Auctioneer for free. Twenty songs. You can download it here… I can’t thank you enough for all the support over the years….but I can sure try. Download includes the lyric booklet. Sláinte…

I don’t understand the “debt ceiling”.

I sorta tried to understand it but gave up after a few minutes because I have a hard time taking anything seriously that involves John Boehner.

I suspect it’s monumentally important in some way, but Stevens, whose latest missive deals with his gaggle of toy trucks, is obviously unconcerned. I bow to his age and wisdom.

I guess we keep borrowing money and then borrowing more to pay off the penalty for not paying the first batch back. Or something to that effect. Meanwhile the US defense budget is $687,105,000,000, roughly 6 times as much as China, who we borrow much of our money from.

Hmmmm….

People with large brains get paid a lot of money to delve into things like this. Maybe it’s not as complicated as it’s made out to be.

$687 billion seems more than sufficient, yet 10 years ago a few guys with box cutters were able to bring this country to its knees with alarming ease, goading our government into hacking away at our civil liberties in the name of “freedom”…..which made sense to Dick Cheney and others like him, but mainly scared the rest of us into meek compliance. Even today none of us can board an airplane without stripping down, being poked and prodded like farm animals, and generally given the massive stink-eye by someone making $7 an hour. It’s all fairly depressing.

Over the last few years we’ve been bombarded with warnings that our nation is on the verge of economic collapse. Our first attempt to deal with the situation was to hand over billions of free money to the very people who botched things up so royally in the first place. Huge banks were thus saved, via government welfare, to rape and pillage some more, all in the name of the free market. Meanwhile, my mortgage bill kept coming (banks are very reliable in some respects), and every time I called my congressman to ask him to pay for it, he hung up on me.

I’m one of the lucky ones who can still pay my mortgage bill. My job hasn’t been off-loaded to Sri-Lanka yet. I can’t pay much more than my mortgage bill mind you, but still, I’ve got what I need and my kids are safe.

I should feel good about this….and I do. But then I don’t, because so many others are suffering and I’ve never been very good at ignoring the guy stuck on the side of the road. But when I see that the guy on the side of the road has a “Tea Party” sticker on his car…..that’s when I need pills and beer.

Fear can do all kinds of things to all kinds of people. Fear makes us want to blame somebody for our being scared. So the guy on the side of the road blames me and I blame the guy on the side of the road. Meanwhile, John Boehner gets re-elected and we still can’t bring mouthwash in our carry-on bag.

And we’re still on the verge of economic collapse.

And so now, it’s the “debt-ceiling”, which is a term I’ve never heard until this year. I suspect it will fade away eventually, much like “balanced budgets” and our fear of a depleted ozone layer. It’s amazing how there’s always something new to give us the willies.

Stevens is a wise old buzzard. He had it right all along.

I should be writing about toy trucks too. I can remember the one I got from that gas station in North Scranton….

In a bit…

–tf

No time frame yet, but I’ve got some new songs. And I’ve got a title. “Love and Streets”. I was using the title for a play I half-wrote and then trashed. But the title stays. I like it. Love and Streets.

Maybe record in the fall. All depends where and how and what sub-set of poverty I remain in when I’ve got a complete batch of songs.

As usual, 10 tunes is the magic number. So far I’ve written a few on the piano, which is new for me. Not sure I’m ready to record them that way, but you never know. If I get drunk enough anything is possible.

Mix of stuff. Folkie folk and unabashed pop and some stuff somewhere in the middle just so nobody thinks I’m getting soft in the head.

More news to come.

In a bit…

tf

I was born with an addictive personality. It happens. It leads you down some interesting roads, not all of which are bad by the way. Some are of course, but then that’s half the fun.

Music was always there. It still is. I fall asleep to it and I wake up to it. If I’m not listening to somebody else’s, I’m trying to create my own. I bang away at guitars and pianos and blow into harmonicas. My right leg started bouncing up and down the first time I heard John Lennon shredding his vocal chords on “Twist and Shout” and it hasn’t stopped moving since. It’s not “restless leg syndrome”. It’s rock and roll.

I wanted to be a rock and roll star, but I play air-guitar left-handed and real guitar right-handed so I knew it was never gonna work. Way too self-conscious when it’s more than the mirror looking back at me. Still, I’ll grab my acoustic guitar and play shows in smallish places. Stripped-down affairs that need as much silence as Townshend needs screeching feedback. But I’m a prisoner to the beat still, banging on the stage with my Doc Martens as I end my nights, inevitably, with Buddy Holly’s stomp “Not Fade Away”. It makes me feel young even though I’m not. It lifts me up when I’m feeling down. I’ve tried other stimulants. Nothing else comes close.

It started with vinyl. My 3 sister’s shared a bedroom and when they were out I’d sneak in there and start going through the stacks in the corner. I’d sneak “Darkness on the Edge of Town” into my room and play it on my little turn-table that I stored under the bed. The needle was so worn and frayed I taped a penny on the arm to try to grind through the scratches and skips. For 10 years an entire line of “Racing in the Streets” passed me by because of a skip I could not negotiate no matter how hard I pressed the needle down. “Born to Run” was the record with Springteen leaning on some huge black guy with a saxophone. I think I was 12 when I first heard the record. Even then I thought it odd. A black guy and a white guy. Together on the cover. In the same band. Playing rock and roll. I heard “Jungleland” and got completely freaked out. It was like a 9 minute Scorcese movie. And that sax solo sounded like somebody small time deciding he wasn’t gonna be small time anymore…..somebody intent on obliterating every awkward stereotype drilled into small minds. Like mine.

Whatever this was, I liked it.

I’ve never listened to music the same way again.

I’d like to think my mind isn’t so small anymore. Music has expanded it….no music more so than the sounds made by Springsteen and the E Street Band. And this was the mid-70s. You hear “Born and Run” or “Badlands” on the radio today and they still sound volcanic.  Imagine what that sound could do to a pre-teen who owned Styx and Kansas records?

It took a few days for it to sink in when I heard that Clarence Clemons had died. That cover of “Born to Run” may be etched in our memories. Surely it’s iconic, and maybe it’s the main reason we don’t really think of Bruce without Clarence. And we certainly don’t think of Clarence without Bruce. Springsteen is the boss after all, but it’s pretty clear that Clemons more than any other helped get him the promotion. But for me it’s the music they made together. I listen to “The River” today and I hear a master’s class in American music. Without Clarence, it falls short.

Clarence Clemons is front and center on Springsteen’s greatest songs. “Spirit in the Night”. “Thundercrack”. “Rosalita”. “Kitty’s Back”. “Born to Run”. “Tenth Avenue Freeze Out”. “She’s the One”. “Thunder Road”. “Jungleland”. “Badlands”. “Promised Land”. “Prove it all Night”. “Independence Day”. “Ramrod”. “The Ties That Bind”. “Lonesome Day”. The resume is astounding. Rock and roll horn players should bow.

What about race? Well, what about it? Perhaps more strange than a large black man being out front with the biggest white rock and roll star of our generation is that nobody really noticed. I’m sure it mattered to Clarence….criss-crossing a nation in the 70s that in large part was still scarred by segregation. But somehow, to us in the seats, it’s didn’t matter worth a damn. For those 3 and 4 hours on-stage, the community was colorblind. Ultimately, this proved to be the exception rather than the rule. Rock and Roll to this day, despite being largely created by a black man (Chuck Berry) and a white man (Elvis Presley) everybody assumed was black…and derived almost entirely from black music (the blues, bits of gospel)….makes barely a ripple in the black community. A rock and roll concert audience is still as white as a Tea Party. I make no judgements….nor do I lose sleep over it. That’s for the sociologists. It’s simply a fact.

But it finally has sunk in the Clarence Clemons is gone. I wonder what’s next for Springsteen. He’s lost not only his good friend but his musical soul-mate, the one man “big” enough not to be dwarfed by Bruce’s talent and charisma. It’s gotta be lonely at the top. I imagine the room is even more empty now.

In a bit..

–tf

Someday we’ll look back on all this and it will all seem funny. Or at least I hope so…

Political Polls?

The Melody of Summer?

In a bit…

tf

I’m from NEPA. It doesn’t surprise me that our local politicians are corrupt. It seems a requirement for office in these parts. We almost revel in the slime of it all. It gives us something to talk about (and someday it may even get us a job). Seems like just last week a swath of Luzerne County judges got fitted for prison jumpers. Now, Lackwanna County gets her day in the sun.

And so 2 of our own are looking at about 500 years in a federal penitentiary. Still, actual accountability around here shocks me, if only because our “nudge-nudge wink-wink” form of local government has gone on for so long with so little of it. Faces change (well, sometimes at least), but the stench tends to remain….like the smell of that dead body in the trunk from “Godfellas”. But it always seemed in the past that these guys darted out of office like deer on a country road, as the law swerved to avoid the mess. A few headlines. A bit of public flogging. But not jail.

Not that these two don’t deserve what’s coming mind you. If Cordaro and Munchak are indeed guilty of only half the things they’ve been convicted of, they should serve at least half a millennium. Their grubby, tasteless greed is what gives places like Scranton its inferiority complex to begin with. Bribes, kickbacks, corruption….it’s all so unseemly and brutish. If you have the scruples of a pissing toad, at least set your sights a little higher than piles of 20 dollar bills passed along by a pack of low life bag-men who’ll roll over on you at first touch.

That’s what I think anyway. Have some panache. Be interesting.

But I guess if you had some panache you wouldn’t be a Lackawanna County Commissioner. Or at least wouldn’t want to be. It’s the first base coach of political hackery. A place to collect a $75k salary and get all your high-school drinking buddies on the country payroll while watching Scranton crumble from a 6th floor window. Pressing duties include cleaning up birdshit and holding a straight face when discussing the budget. I always got the feeling that Cordaro especially felt the job was beneath him…..that to not get what he could while he could get it was almost irrational (as for Munchak, I though him to be the only person polite enough to not turn purple and explode from playing second fiddle to Bob Cordaro. Plus Munchak wasn’t a coke fiend). And really….if when the county is dead broke and you’re still allowed to give Paul Sorvino a non-refundable check for a quarter of a million dollars so Sorvino’s daughter can make a movie that never actually gets made….can’t a guy be excused for thinking he’s entitled to some petty cash?

Ok, maybe not. But it is  interesting to ponder where hubris comes from…no?

Cordaro is a Dunmore guy. Like me. Like most folks from Dunmore I’m familiar with Bob Cordaro…at least enough to say hello and exchange some small talk. He went to school with my sister. And if you know him and never crossed him….he’s a really good guy. Gregarious, friendly, intelligent, witty, willing to buy a round. When he got into politics nobody was surprised. He already had the perfect excuse. He was wealthy. He didn’t need to work anymore….so why not? Show me a guy with money and time on his hands and I’ll show you a politician-in-waiting. And Cordaro had no ideology. He switched parties over and over again…..treating the political process like the captain of a debating team. Just give him an issue, and let him know what side the other guy was on. So what if Bob promised to cut taxes 25% in order to get in and ended up raising them 48% when he did get in. He could explain. And he could be as smooth as a baby’s bottom.

He also had the Nixonian ability to remember every little peasant who dared question his wisdom. And the willingness to tear them apart like a rabid Australian dingo on uppers. He never courted anybody. He expected to be courted. So when the press started to quibble with his performance, instead of turning on the charm, Cordaro called them jackals. Which may or may not be true, but that’s beside the point. The press don’t like to be called jackals. If you’re going to call them jackals you need to make sure the other newspaper in town thinks you’re swell and is willing to crank out the rebuttals. But Scranton doesn’t have “another newspaper in town”. If the Times doesn’t like you, you might as well start building outhouses in Peoiria.

But still, if you’re going to play the martyr, it’s probably a good idea to not be on the take. You know…the credibility gap and all that.

Credibility itself is something our political scene sorely lacks….but then it is us who keeps electing these people. So maybe we’re part of the problem?

Gee, there’s a thought.

In a bit..

–tf