Nurse the Hate: The Passing of Dusty Hill

When I heard Dusty Hill from ZZ Top died I was surprised to see he died of natural causes, or whatever ailment he was stricken with that was called "natural".  Is having some kind of tumor growing in your body "natural"?  I suppose so since it happens to so many people, and something has to finally get you.  All I know was I was happy to hear that Dusty hadn't been shot.  While reading this you might wonder why anyone would shoot Dusty Hill, and please understand I am with you in that sentiment.  The thing is I knew this guy years ago, Dave Petkovich, who used to always talk about how he wanted to shoot a member of ZZ Top.  He didn't even care which one, but when he went on about it he tended to focus on the guys with the beards, so I think the drummer would have been OK.  Dave, or as he was known, "Crazy Dave", just had this fixation with doing it as if he would become famous like John Hinkley, but as he said "Not so famous I couldn't go out to eat and stuff without being hassled for autographs."

Now I don't know why he thought that being "almost as famous as John Hinkley" was a good idea, and he sure never understood the definition of "infamous" either.  He just couldn't seem to let the idea go.  I knew that he was sort of pissed when ZZ Top did those monster records in the 1980s with all those synthesizers in them.  I think his older brothers loved the "Tres Hombres" record and when "Eliminator" came out he triumphantly put it on the record player at home and got mocked really badly for buying the "shitty ZZ Top record".  He really took it hard.  His brother's opinion meant everything to Dave.  He absolutely worshipped his brothers, probably because his Dad was such an asshole.  

His Dad was one of those guys that never parked the car in the garage and instead used it like a workshop for a bunch of bullshit projects like building birdhouses and making shutters.  If the weather was even close to being above freezing, his Dad would leave the garage door open and wait for unsuspecting neighbors to walk past so he could bend their ear on how he was getting fucked over in his taxes, or how the neighbor didn't rake his leaves the right way, or how his sons were "lazy pieces of shit".  He just never stopped talking once he got started, and all his content was a blanket of bad vibes.  That guy was a conversational spider and that garage was his web.  Everybody reflexively made the noise "Ughhhh" when they saw him walking towards them, so you could see why Crazy Dave was so focused on his brothers.  His Dad just fucking sucked.

I hadn't seen Crazy Dave in years, but one time he was sitting by himself at this crappy bar with a seaside theme.  You know those bars and restaurants that are on one of the Great Lakes but they pretend they are on the ocean and nail sailing stuff and ship's steering wheels to the wall?  There must be a big catalogue with "authentically distressed looking fishing nets and realistic looking old diving helmets" that all this stuff gets ordered from, as if people in Erie PA are going to forget that they live in Erie instead of Portland Maine where they are all employed as lobstermen.  So I walked into this place, and it was called like "The Buoy" or "Fisherman's Wharf" or something stupid like that.  I think I sat next to a wooden carving of a pelican.  There was a jukebox and this guy I was with said "Hey, I dare you to go over there and play one of those songs from ZZ Top's "Afterburner" record.".  

Now on a good day I am not going to spend a dollar to listen to ZZ Top's "Sleeping Bag", and I'm sure as shit not going to do it to "see what Crazy Dave does".  I mean, the guy's name is "Crazy Dave", so it seems like a good idea not to rile him up.  It's one of those things.  A 14 year old gets nicknamed "Crazy Dave", and it becomes a self fulfilling prophecy.  At 14 years old a kid is considered "crazy" because he makes funny noises and is a little spazzy.  By the time he's 17, he's jumping off railroad trestles into creeks, and shooting roman candles out of his ass.  It's really funny when you are in high school.  It's not so funny when you are 34 and the guy has a goatee, devil tattoos and a criminal record.  I said "yeah, I'm going to pass on that", and we all laughed.  

I wound up talking to Crazy Dave when I went to the john.  This was one of those joints where they put ice in the urinal to seem retro and charming, but they really should have invested in a fan instead because it stunk like urine and had these weird little gnats flying around your head.  I never saw him coming.  I was minding my own business and Crazy Dave comes in, starts pissing right next to me, and starts chatting it up.  "Hey man!  Good to see you!  You back in town?  I heard you're doing good man!".  Frankly, he was quite friendly, though a bit too enthusiastic given the circumstances.  "We should hang out!"  I thought of saying "Well, technically we already are" in reference to our dicks being out, then I had this other thought pop into my head where I would say "Yeah man, we should go to a concert in Cleveland.  I think ZZ Top is coming next month." but I thought better of that.  The last thing I wanted was Crazy Dave going all crazy while I was standing there compromised.  Instead I just said something like "Great to see you!  Yeah, we should hang out next time I come into town!".  I tried to say it in the way people say it when they don't really mean it, and the person hearing it knows they don't mean it, but it keeps the social contract so it is a graceful exit from a meeting that wouldn't have been fruitful anyway.  See, but Dave being "Crazy Dave" didn't really see it that way as per the eagerness in his face, and he's likely pissed I never got back in touch.

That was a pretty long time ago.  I almost feel like looking him up to see what his feelings on ZZ Top are now, but the last thing I want to do is potentially get him focused on one of the other two guys in the band.  They seem like decent guys, and all they ever wanted to do was make music.  It wasn't any of their fault that Crazy Dave's brothers didn't like the synthesizers on "Eliminator", or that Crazy Dave's Dad was an asshole.  A lot of other people liked "Eliminator" and "Afterburner".  I didn't though.  I did like it more than Crazy Dave however.         

Nurse the Hate: Hate The Cleveland Guardians

 

Of course, the Cleveland Indians fucked up their name change.  From the moment the spooked ownership saw the winds of change blowing and feared being put in a national spotlight, they were "proactive" much in the same way a child is "proactive" running away from a barking neighborhood dog.  I had absolutely no doubt they would choose the most vanilla name possible, a name guaranteed not to excite fans or drive merchandise sales but instead to avoid even the possibility of any public relations problems.  This was not a progressive move forward from a liberal thinking organization.  It was a defensive move forged in fear.  

I'm sure there will be all sorts of accolades at the press conference for the resolute bravery of the team to change their identity.  That ignores the fact that the Dolans have owned the team for 21 years and annually try to sweep the name and mascot under the rug as they rack up some of the largest merchandise sales in the league with their smiling Wahoo.  Was it time for a new team name and image?  Yes.  It has been for decades.  I want to be clear.  I think they needed to change from the Indians after they bungled the previous PR and didn't just ditch the Wahoo and go to something sensible.  It was all in the timing.  There was no doubt how this was going to go.  When the owners felt they had no other alternative, they switched the team name.  Rather than see this as an opportunity, they saw this as a problem.  They would do whatever they had to in order to avoid any controversy.  This was always the primary objective.  

It is hard to imagine how an organization that knew they would need to fundamentally change their marketing for two decades came up with a team name, Guardians, that bears no solid attachment to the city whatsoever.  The Cleveland Guardians sounds like an arena football team.  It's the name of a team in a movie that didn't want to pay the NFL rights fees.  "Our schedule is murder coach!  Look at that schedule!  St. Louis Dragons, New York Dynamos, Miami Sun Kings and then the Cleveland Guardians!  We can never get to The Monster Bowl!".  It's a team name that a group of 12 year old boys come up with after school.  It's a team name you get when people that don't understand marketing get equal say with those that know what the fuck they are doing.

Oh, I get the sales pitch.  The city of Cleveland has adopted an identity of being "tough" and "resilient", (which I think you can successfully argue is really an identity of "losers" and "unable to change" but that is another topic).  However, the blind narrative is that Cleveland is a Rust Belt City that has dusted itself off time and time again from disappointment to stand battered to fight again.  Look at how tough we are!  That fighting spirit is what makes this city great!  This suggests that the people of NE Ohio somehow are made of stronger stuff than those damn losers in Shelbyville.  What the Indians did was take the last Browns marketing campaign, swapped out the football highlights for baseball, and pretended that they did something big.  It is rather ingenious in one respect.  To criticize the Guardians name suggests you are being dismissive of the character of Cleveland itself, and therefore a traitor.  The chosen name was the easiest defensive choice the team could have made.  It was also a failure of vision and a missed opportunity.  

The team name is the foundation of the brand.  There are plenty of dipshit 19 year old athletes that will talk about "their brand".  They don't know what the fuck they are talking about.  That is because as marketing is so invasive in our daily lives, everyone thinks they understand it and can command it.  Just because you have an iPhone, it doesn't mean you know how to effectively use that iPhone as a medium to accomplish your goals.  As someone with 30+ years marketing experience, I come in contact daily with people that are in the industry that have no idea whatsoever how it actually works.  

The team name and logo is the identity of the product, the driver of merchandise sales.  If consumers cannot feel enthusiastic about the logo, gear, and resulting attitude this projects, it will be an uphill battle for the team.  The team name should ideally have a unique link to the community.  It should also have an easily identifiable visual element to use as a mascot and logo base.  Dallas Cowboys.  Toronto Maple Leafs.  New England Patriots.  Miami Dolphins.  Pittsburgh Steelers.  It's not that hard until you realize that Cleveland doesn't have many differentiators from other regional cities other than Lake Erie and past history of baseball in Cleveland.  This is where the organization made their critical mistake.  They tried to invent a hook that just does not exist.  Guardians?  Of what?  What does a Guardian look like?  What history links "Guardians" to professional baseball in Ohio?  Wasn't there an adult in that room when the decision was made?

I kept reading how the team conducted focus group after focus group, and called in some local "tastemakers", none of which I had ever heard of and as far as I can tell are not Indians customers.  They then announced they had a list of over 1200 names in consideration.  One thousand two hundred (1200).  I challenge you to start writing names for the team and try to come up with a thousand.  You can even come up with names that a team would never use like The Cleveland Nazis or Cleveland Pedophiles and still not get to a thousand.  This gave the first indication that the team wasn't really searching for a name, but already setting the stage for the inoffensive vanilla name they would ultimately choose.  "Hey, we had 1200 possible names and this is what people liked best!"  Really?  Can I see that list and that data?  

This team name came from focus groups and sprawling corporate meetings with the goal of coming up with something The Public and The Media wouldn't give them shit about after the smoke cleared post announcement.  Nothing of creative quality has ever come from a committee.  The joke about bands is when the drummer starts to write songs you are in big trouble.  Hey, great news!  Lennon/McCartney have less songs on this record so Ringo could have a few!  "The Old Man And The Sea" was written by Hemingway, not "A Bunch Of Guys In Florida".   A group of random people sitting in a room are not going to say what they think is a good name for a team.  They are going to say what they think everyone else in that room thinks is a good name.  And here's the most important part...  None of those people understand the basic principles of marketing a team.  Who gives a fuck what they think?  When you get down to the final two names ask them, "Which one do you like?" in group and individual settings if you don't trust your judgement.

I am on record as saying if the Indians only wanted to avoid trouble while still selling merchandise, the way to go was the Cleveland Robots.   (See my earlier post in March where I correctly predicted Guardians:  https://nursethehate.blogspot.com/2021/03/nurse-hate-my-vision-for-new-cleveland.html?m=0 ).  This limp dick organization instead did what they always do, try to "not lose" while giving themselves a back door shot at maybe pulling out a limited win.  In a moment where creativity could have invigorated the city around a sputtering team with flagging payroll, instead they played it safe.  How very Indians.  I mean, you've seen the Dolans.  You think those folks are going to go balls-to-the-wall and grab for the brass ring?  They are the organization that never makes that trade the team needs to get over the top.  They DO NOT play to win.  They play to NOT LOSE.  It's why I stopped buying tickets and watching their games.  That boring Dolan guy comes out with a Robot costume with lasers shooting out his ass with hot chicks dancing to techno, I'm 100% down with the Cleveland Robots.  Instead a lifeless press conference and bored sounding Tom Hanks video voiceover are trying to convince everyone that the shitty Lorain Ave bridge is somehow iconic and rallying point for the city.  The Cleveland Guardians.  How utterly predictable.              

Nurse the Hate: The Swiss Load Out

 

I am all in on the Euro 2021 soccer tournament.  This is not a soccer post, so stay with me here.  I know you probably don’t give a shit about Euro soccer, but I need a moment to give you some context on how my mind drifted back to a memory.  I became mildly interested in futbol when touring over in Europe.  The people there are all-in on their national teams, unified with passion like when an American city’s team goes to the Super Bowl.  That Euro soccer tournament is even better because it is the entire nation excited, not just one city.  There is nothing like the knockout round where an entire nation’s dreams are scuttled in front of an international TV audience.  Being a vindictive surly man, I enjoy seeing the dreams of others crushed, especially on a national level.  If you think seeing a guy at an NFL football game in a rubber dog mask is looking sad to see his team lose, just wait until you see someone that has traveled across Europe to see his nation’s team get blown out by the Swiss.  Take that you fucking Frenchie!  What could be better than to see someone with a French flag painted on his face, wrapped in a cape, crying openly when his team was stunned by Switzerland on penalty kicks?  “Je ne peux pas croire que nous ayons perdu. Il n'y a plus de raison de continuer. Mon coeur est brisé.”

The Swiss advance on what is possibly their greatest national victory.  Still, I’m not feeling great about the Swiss soccer team.  I am betting against them today versus Spain with a surprising amount of enthusiasm.  It’s not like I care about Spain winning.  Sure, I like Spain in general, but I’m not emotionally invested in their success.  I just want to see Switzerland lose.  I had to take a moment of reflection.  It was really fucking New Age as I sat looking off in the distance as I searched my inner feelings.  Why do I want the Swiss to lose so badly? 

I have a long and complicated history with the Swiss.  I have had some great times in Switzerland, met some very nice people, and enjoyed fabulous hospitality.  The entire nation looks like it was built by the Disney Corporation, a giant soundstage that is so picturesque that it makes wherever you live look like a run down Detroit laundromat.  The people are attractive, fit, and the economy is always humming.  We played a show one time where after load in I asked the promoter where we should eat.  He immediately started counting out Francs to hand me so we could have a high end meal.  I didn’t want this coming out of our guarantee, so I tried to stop him.  “Here!  Take this!  Don’t worry about it.  There is always more money.  We are Swiss!”.  It was greatly appreciated, but at the same time it was like he was rubbing our noses in it.  “Ah ha!  We have it so good, this doesn’t matter!”  Was this a moment of pure generosity that I somehow skewed in my cynical brain into a diabolical power play?  Probably. 

It likely did not help that I had spent about ten days in the van at this point with Christoph, our German driver/de facto tour manager that is the very definition of “schadenfreude”, meaning “takes pleasure in the misfortune of others”.   Example:  We are playing a gig that is going unbelievably well.  The band is killing it.  The crowd is excited.  The full room has a crackling energy.  I see Christoph over by the side of the stage smiling.  Hector takes a solo and I drift over to have a quick exchange with Christoph.  He leans in towards me so only I can hear above the din.  “Enjoy this Mr. Jagger because tomorrow we go to a city where they will hate you forever!”  He smiles as I go back to the mic.  Remember, he is on our team!  There is no better way to stay grounded.  I’m sure Christoph spent his entire time in the pandemic in a dark room typing madly into his “information machine” (i.e. “computer”) reveling in the travails of the public.  I know he had a great time.   That vibe just sinks in after a while.  The tour becomes a battle against all of your imagined enemies.

So, we play this gig in Switzerland.  It was one of those charming towns that blended in with the last charming town we played the night before.  There was an opening band that was moderately competent, but I didn’t find very interesting.  They were doing some kind of grungy hard rock thing, reminding me of all of those bands from the late 90s that blend together.  I have heard of Silverchair, Trapt, Breaking Benjamin, Three Doors Down and Chevelle, but I can’t distinguish one from another.  As far as I am concerned, they are all the same band with an ever revolving cast of characters playing an angsty kind of hard rock that conceals they really don’t have anything to say.  It’s like every dude that works at Guitar Center assembled these bands to showcase new gear.  Anyway, that Swiss rock band seemed like OK guys and they played their allotted 45 minute set.  And then they kept on playing.  Then they played some more.  It just kept going.

After an hour and a half, they finished.  I would like to point out that the crowd was largely indifferent.  The one thing I can say about people that go to see us in Europe, they are very loyal to their subgenre.  It is a particular thing in Germany/Switzlerland/Belgium that you ONLY support your favorite subgenre.  Hence, the rockabilly guy isn’t allowed to go see the Flock of Seagulls reunion, and the power pop fan would be met with disdain by his clique by going to see Social Distortion.  However, I think everyone is allowed to go to the enormous metal outdoor festivals where Ozzy and Iron Maiden rule like it is still 1985.  I haven’t cracked that code yet.   Maybe old metal is seeped into everyone’s teenage years so it gets a pass.

By playing that far over their allotted time, this band made a serious breach of etiquette.  Even 15 minutes long is complete bullshit.  As an opener, your deal is that you play exactly as long as you are supposed to and then quickly clear the stage for the headliner.  It isn’t “your” show.  You are a guest on the other band’s gig, and just like you don’t shit on someone else’s living room floor, you don’t play 45 minutes long.  Part of the live gig culture is that it is understood that you adhere to these rules.  You are in, and you are out.  Immediately, and I mean “immediately” after playing, you take your gear off the stage to enable the next band to set up.  You DO NOT break down your drum kit on stage.  You take the shit off the stage and then pack it up after you vacated the space. 

These Swiss guys finished playing, and they took some high fives from their small crew of friends and girlfriends.  Then they stood around on the stage for a bit.  They didn’t even pack up a guitar case.  Nothing moved.  We stood at the back of the room, dumbfounded.  Was this some type of cultural misunderstanding?   That was when the event moved from being annoying to legendary.  The entire band walked out the side door and lit up cigarettes.  They then leisurely had a smoke and chatted in the alley with as much sense of urgency as a Sunday afternoon on vacation.  I’m not talking about guys grabbing that quick addicts type of smoke, hurrying to get nicotine back in their system.  It was like 1970s TV talk show.  These guys were sitting on the couch talking to Dick Cavett.  You wouldn’t have known they had any connection to the gig whatsoever.  Eventually they came back inside and slowly broke down every piece of gear on the stage while chatting it up.  It took forever. 

This is known as The Swiss Load Out.  This incident is forever etched in band lore and has become a code word for any scent of this type of behavior.  Example:  “Man, those guys are running long up there… How much you want to bet they pull a Swiss Load Out?” or “I swear to God I saw some lederhosen in their gig bags when they set up.  You just know they’re going to be full-on Swiss Load Out.”  I think ultimately this is at root cause of my antipathy towards the Swiss side today.     Maybe this was the excuse I had to engage my own tiny ball of hate burning inside me against these otherwise gracious people and their wonderful nation because of my own fears and shortcomings.  I don’t know, but I will tell you this…

Go Spain.