Round Midnight at the Global Worldwide Headquarters (Flying Burrito Brothers Memphis Edition)

Next in a series of live music performances the hardwatching staff has enjoyed (via YouTube) at end of day

Back in 1971, the hardsmoking staff glommed on to the Flying Burrito Brothers – one of the endless Byrds spinoffs (we’ll get to Dillard & Clark soon) – and never let go, thanks to tunes like this:

 

 

And this:

 

 

All hail, Sneaky Pete Kleinow.

Recently, the hardclicking staff came across this 1970 Burritos gig at Ellis Auditorium in Memphis.

 

 

Rundown:

01 Lazy Days 00:00
02 One Hundred Years From Now 04:14
03 My Uncle 07:08
04 Cody, Cody 09:24
05 Christine’s Tune (aka Devil In Disguise) 12:13
06 Tried So Hard 16:03
07 Willie And The Hand Jive 19:38
08 Image Of Me 22:48
09 Six Days On The Road 26:13
10 Colorado 29:37
11 Hot Burrito #2 34:15
12 Money Honey 38:41

It’s all good.

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Jason Gay’s Sweet Farewell to His Dad

The Wall Street Journal’s Jason Gay is one of the funniest newspaper columnists around.  (See here for further details.)

But his piece in Friday’s Journal was more poignant than piquant, since it was a valediction for his father, Ward Gay.

From Dad, a Game for Life

“Run with your racket back,” Dad would say. “Be ready for anything.”

It’s a message I never forgot. For 40 years, my father, Ward Gay, was a tennis coach, at Cambridge Rindge and Latin High School in Cambridge, Mass., the city where he grew up. When he BN-EH754_0828ga_G_20140828154919started, rackets were wood. The No. 1 men’s player in the world was Ilie Nastase. My dad studied tennis bibles written by Rod Laver, Bud Collins and Harry Hopman, and taught himself the rest through years of little victories and mistakes.

He liked natural gut string, one-handed backhands, the serve-and-volley, the chip-and-charge. He was also a science teacher at the high school, and he enjoyed how tennis was a game that rewarded mental acuity as well as physical skill. His favorite tennis maxim was the well-known adage he borrowed and passed on to every player: You’re only as good as your second serve.

Ward Gay lost his match with pancreatic cancer about a week ago. This could be his epitaph: “He loved to teach a student a sport he could play for the rest of his life.”

But this is his sendoff from his sons.

Last Thursday, Aug. 21, in a Boston hospital that overlooked a pair of beautifully ragged tennis courts on the Charles River, my dad died. He was 70 years old.

The next day, my brother and I walked down the street to the courts we grew up on. We pulled out a couple of our father’s old rackets we’d uncovered in the garage, and hit like we used to hit when we were young. Dad had given us and so many others a sport we could play for the rest of our lives, but his reach was much more than that. We ran with our rackets back, ready for anything.

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Welcome to Boston’s Museum of Fine Apps

During his two-decade tenure as director of Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts, Malcolm Rogers has consistently strained to stretch the locals’ definition of art, from the photographs of Herb Ritts to the motorcars of Ralph Lauren.

Now, as Rogers prepares to sing his swan song, it turns out there’s an app for that.

MFA press release:

 

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Not exactly Marina Abramovic eyeballing civilians at New York’s Museum of Modern Art, but it’ll do until, we dunno, Miley Cyrus sits naked on the Big Baby Heads in front of the MFA’s Fenway entrance.

How Abramovic would that be?

Hey, Malcolm – you feeling us?

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Nike Pimps Out Air(time) Jordan at U.S. Open

Product placement is no longer just a function of plunking down a Starbucks mug on the set of MSNBC’s Morning Joe or handing Seinfeld’s Kramer some Junior Mints.

That’s so 1.0, yo.

Welcome to Product Placement Umpteen.0, yo.

From yesterday’s Wall Street Journal:

Game, Set, Product Match for Nike

Michael Jordan’s appearance at Roger Federer‘s first-round match at the U.S. Open wasn’t a simple case of one sports legend cheering on another.

Instead, it was a carefully arranged marketing grand slam for MK-CO937_JORDAN_G_20140827174348-553x290sponsor Nike Inc. —a product- placement coup that pulled in both stars and piqued the interest of the ESPN broadcast team.

The point of Mr. Jordan’s presence at the match, coordinated by Nike executives, was to promote a new limited edition of Mr. Federer’s line of tennis shoes. The white and cement-patterned NikeCourt Zoom Vapor AJ3′s feature Air Jordan styling and logos. Mr. Federer wore them in Tuesday’s match, and they went on sale Wednesday.

Here’s a taste of ESPN’s shoe-licking . . .

Read the rest at Sneak Adtack.

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Confessions of a Journo-Sneak

As the hardtracking staff has previously noted, journalists have been two-time losers in the ShutterstockWastepaperMoneyBasketnative advertising dodge. They’re either 1) bypassed by their publications (a good thing in our estimation, a bad thing in their bank accounts), or 2) hired to compromise themselves for pennies on the dollar.

Now comes the real-life story of one such compromiser.

From Digiday (via FishbowlNY):

Confessions of a journalist moonlighting as a native ad writer: ‘I’m not proud’

At a time when good-paying freelance assignments are harder to come by, many journalists are heeding the call of native advertising, where the pay is decent and the work is steady. But there’s a cost. Many worry about the impact on their credibility as a journalist. Some are even finding they aren’t so welcome back in newsrooms once they work for the business side.

In the latest in Digiday’s “Confessions” series, we talked to a veteran freelance writer who has written for top women’s magazines and other national publications about the dark side of native. In this case, the journalist was working for a publisher’s content studio, which assigned stories a given client wanted written.

Turns out, in some cases the pay’s not so bad after all . . .

Read the rest at Sneak Adtack.

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Civilians Who Run Full-Page Ads in the New York Times (Ronald M. Firman Edition II)

For the second time in a month, Ronald M. Firman of Miami, FL has purchased a full-page ad in the New York Times to air his sentiments about Middle East affairs.

First installment:

 

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Yesterday’s Times addition:

 

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We’ll spare you Firman’s involvement with the big bucks Super PAC Values Are Vital (see here for the gory details), and just point out this drive-‘em-nuts graf:

 

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Let the wild rumpus continue.

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Euphemism o’ the Day (Joe Biden Edition)

From Politico yesterday:

Joe Biden’s secret fundraisers

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Vice President Joe Biden has been crisscrossing the country attending closed-door fundraisers and donor events for Democratic House candidates — but you won’t find many on his schedule.

In Seattle, Biden worked a photo line at Boeing Field before taking off on Air Force Two. In New York, Biden hit up donors at a hotel in lower Manhattan after addressing the Goldman Sachs energy conference. After a speech in a Philadelphia hotel ballroom, Biden slipped off to a separate room to meet with campaign donors.

None of these side events were on the official public schedule — and they came with strict rules from Biden’s office for the elite group of participants: No emails. No Facebook or Twitter posts, before or after. Phone is best, they tell everyone involved. Nothing written at all — that would complicate security and require approval from the White House.

Most transparent administration in history, eh?

Money quote:

Some of the events are indeed “fundraisers,” said a Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee aide, though “some of them are donor maintenance events.”

Donor maintenance events? Really?

So, what – George Soros gets his spark plugs changed?

It’s depressing to think how stupid politicians think we are.

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NYC Cops Have Sharp(ton) Words for Mayor Bill de Blasio

It’s DEFCON 4 between the NYPD and Bill de Blasio.

Exhibit Umpteen: This full-page ad in yesterday’s New York Times.

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Money grafs:

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Got that? – demagogues, anti-safety political opportunists, blowhards . . .

Al Sharpton, c’mon down!

(See also Tawana Brawley and Freddy’s Fashion Mart.)

This might not be all-out mutiny by the NYPD, but when the cops are willing to drop six figures on a Times ad, that’s not nothin’.

More to come today, no doubt.

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Round Midnight at the Global Worldwide Headquarters (Thelonious Monk Edition)

First in a series of live music performances the hardwatching staff has enjoyed (via YouTube) at end of day

The hardworking staff has taken to watching music videos before bedtime, so we’ve decided to share some of them with you, in hopes you’ll like them too.

And it’s only fitting we begin with Monk.

Recorded in Norway in 1966 (Thelonious Monk(p) Charlie Rouse(ts) Larry Gales(b) Ben Riley(ds)).

 

 

To us, the great thing about Monk was how he played between the notes. Despite his off-kilter music sensibility, though, he was apparently very strict about how his compositions should be performed. And when he retired – early – he said something like, “They don’t play right what I’ve already written. Why should I write more?”

All the sadder for us.

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Quote o’ the Day (Robert Capa War Correspondent Edition)

From the Weekend Wall Street Journal’s Review section:

“For a war correspondent to miss an invasion is like refusing a date with Lana Turner.”

- Robert Capa

Sadly, Lana Turner is dead. H.D.S. Greenway, on the other hand, is very much alive, as is his memoir Foreign Correspondent, reviewed in the Journal by Roger Lowenstein right below Capa’s quote.

When the Going Was Good

When H.D.S. Greenway was hired at Time magazine in 1962, Henry Luce told him to always travel first class. These are words that no reporter is likely to hear again, ever. Mr. Greenway’s memoir, “Foreign Correspondent,” depicts a vanished world. For roughly a half century he covered, variously, Vietnam, Cambodia, Bangladesh, the Middle East, Screen Shot 2014-08-24 at 1.15.19 AMAfghanistan. He saw appalling misery and suffering. He was shot at, shot down, concussed by a bomb. It didn’t seem so then but it was a less hurried, even a more civilized, age—in particular for correspondents. In whatever capital, they crowded the telegraph office to file their stories at the end of the day, then gravitated to a choice restaurant. In Saigon, Greenway lodged in a comfortable room in a French colonial hotel overlooking the opera house. “You could sip your drink and watch the occasional flashes of gunfire in the distance across the river while a little dance band played fox-trots from the fifties.”

Gotta-be-nuts graf:

Mr. Greenway gives a sense of reporting in an era when journalists were truly “correspondents,” sending dispatches to bridge a gap in distance and time. He attentively distinguishes the various cultures of Southeast Asia—Thailand, Laos, Cambodia and, of course, Vietnam. He stayed there until the final day. Amid the chaos, he left with a bundle of clothes and his Olympia typewriter. About to board a chopper out, he was told, “Only one bag.” And then, another great sentence—”Without hesitation I threw away my clothes.”

Along with that piece are Martin Rubin’s review of Margaret Asquith’s Great War Diary, 1914-1916 and Stephen Brumwell’s review of Behind the Front by Craig Gibson.

As those books attest, war correspondents are both special and irreplaceable. Not to mention irrepressible.

See: Robert Capa.

See also: James Foley.

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