Starting this past January, that’s how customers were greeted as they entered my South Side Chicago neighborhood Blockbuster store. Video rental was out as the store began its “moving sale.”

So proclaimed the banners outside, though this was more than moving a few storefronts down in the same shopping mall. One of the two “new” addresses given tracked at 6.97 miles south (as the GPS files), the other 4.84 north. As any South Sider knows, heading north into Cubs territory might as well be another country.

Later in the month, additional signs more accurately described the situation as a “store closing.” The addresses had been other Chicago locations that had not closed.

What caught my eye, though, was how Blockbuster positioned the change. In effect, it was leveraging this closing (and others) to rebrand itself as Blockbuster Total Access. A reimagined cross between Redbox and Netflix.

My first reaction?

Maybe not a bad idea. After all, Netflix didn’t seem to want to be Netflix anymore (at least not by mail), so why not take its place? So that provided the heart of this new Blockbuster pitch. Rent discs shipped to/from your residence via U.S. mail, drawing from your list of preferences. Your Queue.

Clear and simple. Mostly. Until other wrinkles were folded in, including drop-off and rental options from the physical stores themselves, tiers of membership, and more choices that naturally need a lengthy “terms and conditions” link.

I felt sympathy for the staff attempting to tout this latest corporate cure to skeptical customers. They’d been down other corporate promotion paths during the past year, implementing a succession of plans that too often got bogged down in the fine print.

One of my favorites last summer offered an entire month of free rentals after renting just one new film at the regular price. But the rules involving the freebies (each was one-at-a-time, one-night-and-back) brought back the stress of missed returns and subsequent late charges.

Didn’t corporate realize such concerns had made the competing “no late fees by mail” an attractive alternative model in the first place? I once overheard a company executive talking to the neighborhood store staff, absolutely flabbergasted that every customer in the area had not walked in to take advantage of the free offer. (All you had to do was come back every day for a month!) He failed to realize that our lives don’t revolve around visits to the video store, even for freebies. Even with friendly service.

Now the inevitable closing countdown is well on its way. Even though this is part of a larger corporate realignment, I still think of it more as watching a neighborhood business shut its doors.

Perhaps that’s one reason I let myself be talked into signing up for Blockbuster Total Access, as a friendly farewell. For research purposes. Plus the fact that my store was offering three months free.

I already have my plan in place. When I took advantage of the freebie package last summer I rented mostly TV episodes, but on the movie side, I chose titles that I would never pay even $1 to view. Sex and the City 2, for example, was a pop culture curiosity worth every penny I didn’t spend, with no guilt about frequent fast-forwarding.

There’s been a lot of bad cinema since then, plus good TV episodes to catch up on. This may just turn into a Blockbuster spring.

Copyright ©2012 Walter J. Podrazik

The idea of a Paul McCartney collection of favorite standards was almost irresistible even before hearing a note.

At once nostalgic yet new, Kisses on the Bottom offers the opportunity to see McCartney the music enthusiast (symbolically) rummage through shelves filled with sheet music and old records, stopping repeatedly to say to us all: Have you ever heard this one? It goes like this.

We’ve seen McCartney revisit his roots before, most successfully on the rock side with Run Devil Run. Kisses on the Bottom takes a similar approach to that 1999 collection, finding some of Paul’s “old friends” and also including a couple of his own new compositions tailored to seamlessly slip in with the oldies.

Although this new release is from a different side of his musical brain, its elements have long been part of his personal show. After all, from the beginning, one of the draws of the Beatles was their uncanny ear for taking good music from any source, any era.

Rock. Rockabilly. Country. Rhythm and Blues. Soul. Girl groups. Indian riffs. Phil Spector. Mainstream pop.

There were plenty of slow, soft rock and R&B numbers in the group’s cover version repertoire when they appeared on their first Ed Sullivan Show, yet when Paul McCartney stepped to the mike it was to sing “Till There Was You,” from the mainstream Broadway show (and film) The Music Man.

You could easily picture a collective sigh of surprised relief in households throughout the U.S. watching that night as adults turned to younger members of the family to say: “I still don’t like the hair but, see, that’s a nice song.”

Yet that was not some calculated placement just for Ed Sullivan. It was choosing a mix of songs that worked for them, just like on the albums, just like on the Hamburg stage, just like on their BBC radio appearances.

In their respective solo catalogues, George Harrison and Ringo Starr showed an affection for the classic mainstream pop side of the music world (John Lennon, not so much), but it was McCartney who repeatedly embraced it, usually in his own compositions that evoked an old-timey era.

From “When I’m Sixty-Four” and “Honey Pie” to the 1979 Wings “Baby’s Request” (appropriately pulled in as one of the bonus tracks for Kisses on the Bottom), McCartney’s been comfortably at ease with that style.

Given the chance, he’s also gone back to the originals that tickled his fancy. McCartney performed the 1959 film tune “The Honeymoon Song” on a 1963 BBC show and later plucked that same title when producing Mary Hopkin’s 1969 Post Card.

He also took that opportunity to squeeze in half a dozen other similarly hewed songs for Hopkin to perform, such as Irving Berlin’s “There’s No Business Like Show Business,” George and Ira Gershwin’s “Someone To Watch Over Me,” and Frank Loesser’s “Inch Worm.”

Bootleg moments from those Mary Hopkin sessions captured McCartney and backing guest Donovan Leitch (who authored three other songs on Post Card) exchanging light-hearted riffs, and included Paul doing a verse in quick, Danny Kaye verbal style, even describing it as such. Kaye sang “Inch Worm” in the film Hans Christian Anderson, so the allusion possibly came from a freshly rekindled memory.

There was more “love of the olde” months later, when McCartney served as one of the arrangers (for the song “Star Dust”) on Ringo Starr’s 1970 Sentimental Journey collection (which also contained the Kisses number “Bye Bye Blackbird”).

What these (and other) myriad threads underscore is McCartney’s obvious affection for such material over the years. Apart from his own pair of newly minted numbers (“My Valentine,” “Only Our Hearts”), he could have recorded and released Kisses on the Bottom anytime in the past four decades.

It is intriguing to imagine how McCartney might have approached this in different decades, reflecting not only his own vocal range, but also the expectations and styles of the times in selecting what to sing and how to present it.

Back in the 1980s there was the Linda Ronstadt/Nelson Riddle approach to standards, with lush arrangements and soaring vocals. Over three albums, though, that started to fall into a formulaic pattern. Into the new century, Rod Stewart has met with great success in multiple releases that applied a showy Vegas sheen to the Great American Songbook.

Kisses on the Bottom feels different. While it is not quite McCartney sitting at the piano solo and running through an hour of his favorites at some intimate party, it’s close. He’s doing just the vocals, backed by Diana Krall’s close-knit band.

While “Always” and “Ac-Cent-Tchu-Ate the Positive” would easily make a first cut on any collection of twentieth century standards, it’s clear they are there for a more basic reason: Paul McCartney likes ‘em.

That’s the real unifying thread for including those titles alongside the already mentioned “Inch Worm” and “Bye Bye Blackbird” as well as “My Very Good Friend the Milkman,” “We Three,” “I’m Gonna Sit Right Down and Write Myself a Letter,” and the rest.

What they have in common is Paul. Think of it as Paul McCartney programming a Paul McCartney show for Paul McCartney.

Was this the best style for him to record and release these? Should he have gone with more fully produced pieces or (the opposite) no backing at all? Should he have “jazzed them up” more? Perhaps. But here, personally, I fall back to liking the idea of this collection so much that even if there are a few dusty moments, the overall effect works very well for me.

To that end, I’d suggest a few companion discs to “get into the mood.”

McCartney’s recording at Capitol instantly evokes Frank Sinatra’s heyday there in the 1950s. At the time, Sinatra confidently dared to showcase a unified mood for an entire album even if it meant eschewing his trademark upbeat ring-a-ding brass in favor of total saloon song sadness. The sixteen tracks on In the Wee Small Hours capture that mood.

Fast forward to 2003 and Elvis Costello’s North album (his own “Sinatra saloon songs” style release of originals), which is striking in its sparse, sad, and measured texture.

Ella Fitzgerald approached standards on a composer-by-composer basis for Verve Records with producer Norman Granz, filling well over a dozen discs in the 1950s and 1960s. The CD of The Best of the Song Books is an excellent sampler.

Then there’s Fred Astaire. Already McCartney has referenced Astaire in explaining his vocal approach on the Kisses album and it is easy to see that, especially if you look beyond the Fred Astaire of the 1930s and 1940s movie soundtracks.

In 1952, Astaire recorded a career spanning personal selection of covers (The Fred Astaire Story – also for Norman Granz’s Verve label). There were multiple highlights collections from that released on CD, with 1994’s Steppin’ Out: Astaire Sings one of the best.

On all of those, Fred Astaire’s “colloquial yet precise delivery” (as described in the liner notes) was accompanied by a small band, led by Oscar Peterson on piano.

The songs of Ringo’s Sentimental Journey eventually sent me exploring for background context on the original versions, developing a strong appreciation for that music history while searching the files of the Library of Congress.

Now such research online is far easier. Just click on a Danny Kaye clip of “Inch Worm” from the movie Hans Christian Anderson and you’ll see why there’s a children’s chorus in the background.

So with Kisses on the Bottom, my suggestion for maximum enjoyment is to give the relaxed recording a listen. Then use McCartney’s personal road map to find the originals and to glimpse a bit of music history. With names like Frank Loesser, Fats Waller, Irving Berlin, and, of course, Paul McCartney, it’s hard to go wrong.

Copyright © 2012 by Walter J. Podrazik. This article also appears in edited form in the magazine Beatlefan.

Contents of Kisses on the Bottom

1. “I’m Gonna Sit Right Down and Write Myself a Letter” (Fred E. Ahlert/Joe Young) 2:36

2. “Home (When Shadows Fall)” (Harry van Steeden, Geoff Clarkson, and Harry Clarkson) 4:04

3. “It’s Only a Paper Moon” (Harold Arlen/E. Y. Harburg/Billy Rose) 2:35

4. “More I Cannot Wish You” (Frank Loesser) 3:04 (from Guys & Dolls)

5. “The Glory of Love” (Billy Hill) 3:46

6. “We Three (My Echo, My Shadow and Me)” (Nelson Cogane, Sammy Mysels, Dick Robertson) 3:22

7. “Ac-Cent-Tchu-Ate the Positive” (Harold Arlen/Johnny Mercer) 2:32

8. “My Valentine” (Paul McCartney) 3:14

9. “Always” (Irving Berlin) 3:50

10. “My Very Good Friend the Milkman” (Johnny Burke/Harold Spina) 3:04

11. “Bye Bye Blackbird” (Ray Henderson/Mort Dixon) 4:26

12. “Get Yourself Another Fool” (Ernest Monroe Tucker/Frank Heywood) 4:42

13. “The Inch Worm” (Frank Loesser) 3:43

14. “Only Our Hearts” (Paul McCartney) 4:21

The deluxe release is a bit tricky. Not all copies labeled deluxe have the following two bonus tracks. Some have just a “download” card for a copy of a McCartney live streaming at Capitol later this month. These two tracks are available on an ”exclusive deluxe edition” from Target stores and via iTunes (which allows purchase of just these individual tracks).

15. Baby’s Request (Paul McCartney) 3:30

16. My One And Only Love (Robert Mellin/Guy B. Wood) 3:50

On the international stage, the BBC reported on Rupert Murdoch’s first days on Twitter (@rupertmurdoch), where in less than a week he has already attracted more than 93,000 followers. Even as company lawyers stood by, holding their collective breath, others such as Britain’s former Deputy Prime Minister John Prescott welcomed him.

Locally, Robert Feder, long-time media columnist (currently blogging at TimeOutChicago.com), offered jibes at Chicago newspaper writers such as Neil Steinberg and Mary Mitchell, who had previously shared their disdain for social media.

In a 2012 prediction piece, Feder (@robertfeder) countered by describing Twitter and Facebook as “indispensable tools” and that “those who choose to ignore them do so at their peril.”

Dramatic public actions by Rupert Murdoch and Robert Feder, practically in tandem, as the new media year begins.

Coincidence … or, significantly, something more?

Well, of course it’s just sheer coincidence.

But it is also a timely juxtaposition. The fact that a newspaper veteran of three decades like Feder has smoothly adapted his stock-in-trade to the electronic world reveals an almost reassuring continuity, even in the realigning digital delivery system.

The fact that one of the world’s most successful media moguls wants to get a hands-on sense of this medium is also oddly reassuring. An easily promoted story, validating social media as a personal promotional tool, a key element of communication, and another potential profit center.

The fact that in the past Murdoch never translated similar instincts on MySpace into profits makes for a delicious irony (he bought the property at a premium and sold at a loss), but it also underscores his longtime interest in the digital world.

To those critics of social media who bemoan its focus on the trivial, yes of course it’s trivial. That’s what mass media is and does. What could be more trivial than the time spent for more than a century on every type of media, from phones to movie screens, usually devoted to simply entertaining ourselves?

Yet successful media businesses have long recognized that what for most people is merely passing the time can be, in the right hands, a revenue stream.

Compiling statistics on the number of people sitting there, tuned in, and turning those into promotional roadmaps, ratings services based on personal habits.

Accumulating data on the most trivial actions which, collectively, provide strategies for pitching products, services, even political candidates and messages.

Playing with bits of gossip, news, and information, in the process creating multiple platforms of influential media.

All monetizing the mundane miracle of modern media.

Where the next connecting threads are always just a few clicks away.

Copyright ©2012 Walter J. Podrazik

His first release of 2012 (scheduled for February), Kisses on the Bottom, takes a dramatically different turn, an affectionate journey back to some of the music he enjoyed in his formative years. Rooted more in Frank Sinatra and Ella Fitzgerald than in Buddy Holly and Little Richard. With that premise, you can practically hear the critical sabers being drawn in anticipation.

You can also hear bits of it yourself already, with some Internet searching. The official Paul McCartney website provided a sneak preview of one of the two original numbers (“My Valentine”). Then pop news sites listed the reported contents, followed by Amazon taking advance orders. There have been unofficial streams of multiple tracks and even the entire disc.

First impressions? Although there are a few well-established numbers (“Always”; “Ac-Cent-Tchu-Ate-the Positive”), these are clearly first-and-foremost close-to-the-heart favorites. For example, when McCartney produced the first Mary Hopkin album (Postcard in 1969), he selected as one of her numbers the obscure “Inch Worm” by Frank Loesser. Now it’s part of his recorded repertoire.

This is the side of Paul McCartney that loves a good song no matter what the source – who chose “Till There Was You” (from The Music Man) for the first Ed Sullivan Show and the 1963 Royal Variety performance. On this collection, he gives the same careful reading and respect for lyrics that you’d find with Ella Fitzgerald in her Songbook series. His taking the role of singer-only evokes Frank Sinatra at his best.

It is tempting to compare this with Ringo Starr’s 1970 collection of growing up favorites, Sentimental Journey, especially since both share one song (“Bye Bye Blackbird”) and Paul arranged “Stardust” for that long-ago effort.

But Sentimental Journey was a scattershot of multiple producers and arrangers with a seeming preference for the upbeat and brassy.

This is anything but. Before hearing a note, I’d been anticipating a comparison to the Ella Fitzgerald Songbook collections or to Frank Sinatra’s Capitol output.

And to Elvis Costello. No, not because he’s the spouse of Diana Krall (whose band provides the instrumental support for these sessions; McCartney plays no instruments).

Rather, having now listened to multiple tracks, I’d definitely recommend Elvis Costello’s 2003 North as the perfect warm-up for McCartney’s approach.

North was Costello’s “Sinatra the Saloon singer” collection. A consistently executed mood piece. At first I missed the rocking riffs. Now it is one of my favorite Costello CDs.

Here, McCartney is much more North than Ring-A-Ding! Relaxed. Low-key.

This is almost like visiting Paul McCartney as he rummages through his personal music collection, pausing repeatedly to say: Have you ever heard this one? It goes like this.

Rockers will come later. This one is from the soft side of the heart.

The tracks:

1. “I’m Gonna Sit Right Down and Write Myself a Letter”

2. “Home (When Shadows Fall)”

3. “It’s Only a Paper Moon”

4. “More I Cannot Wish You”

5. “The Glory of Love”

6. “We Three (My Echo, My Shadow and Me)”

7. “Ac-Cent-Tchu-Ate the Positive”

8. “My Valentine” (Paul McCartney composition)

9. “Always”

10. “My Very Good Friend the Milkman”

11. “Bye Bye Blackbird”

12. “Get Yourself Another Fool”

13. “The Inch Worm”

14. “Only Our Hearts” (Paul McCartney composition)

Copyright ©2012 Walter J. Podrazik

First episode sampling of Ringer, Geller’s new drama on the CW, let the network tout its “best Tuesday in two years.”  Obviously audiences were curious, though retention over subsequent weeks will define success.

Ultimately that ratings performance will rest in large part on whether viewers are drawn to Sarah Michelle Geller herself in a new setting or want Geller only as part of a Joss Whedon-created narrative.

Ringer has staked out its self-proclaimed identity as a “noir” style crime drama, with multiple duplicitous characters – starting with Geller’s own lead role(s) of estranged identical twins. Siobhan Martin, rich and connected. Bridget Kelly, a stripper/witness-to-a-murder who fled on the eve of her court testimony, reentering her sister’s life to hide out.

One “fatal” small craft boat ride late, Bridget assumed the alluring safety of Siobhan’s identity after concluding Siobhan committed suicide while the two of them were alone at sea. Only Siobhan’s not really dead and Bridget is anything but safe.

The story-telling chronology is deliberately scrambled, with the first episode starting and ending at the same place. Still, it’s comparatively easy to follow for fans of convoluted programs such as Lost, which boasted its share of viewers who were also fans of Buffy.

But Lost-savvy fans are demanding and accustomed to speculating on scenarios that are multiple-steps removed from what’s on screen. Scripts for Ringer will have to deal with those expectations and the inevitable bumpy spots in plot. After all, even classic noir offerings have their share of head-scratching “huh?” moments. So, at times, did Joss Whedon.

Yet there’s no doubt Whedon’s legacy continues to stir ardent fans. In 2007, four years after Buffy the Vampire Slayer wrapped on television, Whedon embraced and occasionally scripted an authorized comic book adaptation that picked up with “Season Eight.” Forty issues over four years. (Time passes more slowly in the comic book world.)

To mark the beginning of “Season Nine,” dozens of fans in Chicago joined in a premiere party at the G-Mart comic book store. Chat. Chips. Comics. An impressive array of trivia. The almost-obligatory sing-along to the score for the musical Buffy episode “Once More, With Feeling.”

Any new show, including Ringer, could only dream that, a decade later, it would still draw such a following, with fans vying to answer fast-flying trivia such as naming the last line inscribed on Buffy’s tombstone. No internet. No cell phones. (For the less ardent, here’s the answer.)

For Siobhan/Bridget/Sarah, that pop culture quest has just begun.

© 2011 Walter J. Podrazik

Bookended by flags at both ends were two dates: Dec. 7, 1941 and Sept. 11, 2001. Centered between them was a succinct message: “America will not forget!”

That billboard is still there. At first, the equivalency with the attack on Pearl Harbor was jarring. A decade later, that connection to World War II seems entirely apt, as we have moved from immediate shock and anger to still trying to make emotional sense of it all.

There had been much to consider by World War II’s GIs returning from the front lines and by its civilians readjusting on the home front. It took time.

So, too, amid of flood of tenth anniversary September 11 retrospectives.

Online postings, television specials, films, magazine articles, books, interviews, and one-on-one conversations started earlier this year and grew in frequency with the approach of the actual anniversary date. Media publications such as Entertainment Weekly offered selected highlight lists, effectively acknowledging that it was all-but-impossible to note them all.

Ordinarily such media saturation would have already passed an overkill tipping point. But, like ten years ago, this is different.

Back then, millions tuned in and wanted more information. Some sense of it all. Frankly, some reassurance. Like the populace in 1941, a great unknown lay ahead.

That September morning, a mainland that had never been touched in the two world wars of the twentieth century had suddenly become the home front and, simultaneously, the front line of battle. This was uncharted territory unfolding via the most familiar and accessible means possible: first hand, live, televised from the world’s most wired of media cities.

Even if far from New York City or Washington, everybody had a firsthand experience wondering what had happened, what might happen next, and what they could (or should) do about it. This was not a retrospective movie with the script resolution already worked out.

Now, a decade later, the September 11 memories are being revisited, presented with additional perspective, even some second thoughts. They’ve come in myriad forms from multiple sources, ranging from fully scored theatrical documentaries to quiet slide shows, all filtered by the passage of time. Inevitably they tap our shared media memories.

Ultimately that’s why they work. Someone else’s anecdote unlocks a personal moment and becomes our anecdote. That’s not overkill. It’s us, each one adding to the collective experience.

To what end?

In Tom Brokaw’s introduction to the 2004 reissue of his The Greatest Generation book, he noted the appreciative connections between generations half a century apart that had already begun in a post-September 11 world.

Ten years on is a comparative heartbeat in time. Yet these shared memories are already a key part of understanding and appreciating this generation’s story. Another  “we will not forget.”

© 2011 Walter J. Podrazik

A respected writer, poet, and musician, he led an artist’s dream life in Greenwich Village. (Though on occasion he stopped by Chicago, usually for the annual Beatlefest fan convention.)

Nick died two decades ago, at the end of August in 1991. His passing at the age of 38 marked the first time I saw the effects of AIDS touch a personal friend.

Here are memories of my upbeat and positive last visit with Nick Schaffner, along with background on his life and writing.

[Thanks to PJ for sharing her photo of Nick Schaffner (left) along with co-author Pete Shotton (right)]

It was April 5, 1990. I was in New York City on a business trip and had the opportunity to attend an optional get together late one evening at the Rainbow Room at Rockefeller Center. A tempting lure.

However, I had already calculated that night would be my only opportunity to zip down to Greenwich  Village and visit Nicholas Schaffner.

“I have to see Nick,” I explained as I passed on the party.

PJ, a mutual friend for more than a decade (and a mutual book editor at McGraw-Hill) had given me a friendly warning that Nick was increasingly ill. I did not know when I would next be in New York, so it was now or never.

My timing was perfect for night owl Nick. 11:00 p.m.

Much to my relief, Nick looked OK and was in very good spirits, particularly pleased because he had just completed the manuscript for his new book on Pink Floyd (Saucerful of Secrets: A Pink Floyd Odyssey).

He had the manuscript boxed and ready to ship. (These were the pre-computer file submission days.)

It was a chilly evening so I welcomed a cup of hot tea as I  removed my scarf and coat and settled into a comfortable guest chair for a lengthy bit of conversation.

Nick’s place was a real house in Greenwich Village, newly renovated, and set back in a quiet garden area from the neighborhood streets.  A perfect setting to talk politics, music, art, and more than a dozen years of friendship, during which I had come to regard Nick with respect and affection as a quintessential New Yorker

Oddly, our first contact had been in Atlanta, back in 1978, at a Beatlefest fan convention. That’s where I met both Nick and PJ, his editor from McGraw-Hill. She was in charge of the paperback packaging of Nick’s Beatles Forever book, which had first appeared in hardcover in 1977 from a Pennsylvania publisher.

In that book’s bibliography section, Nick had included a warm recommendation for the Castleman-Podrazik Beatles discography All Together Now.

Nick apparently had no hesitation about pointing to other people’s works because he knew he had something uniquely his own. The Beatles Forever showed a fine sense of detail and an appreciation for research coupled with an artist’s sensibility.

This was a pop culture portrait and analysis of The Beatles by a writer with a talent for imagery, poetic citations, evocative analogies, and honest criticism. Nick quoted Allen Ginsberg alongside John Lennon. His description of the importance of Rubber Soul, for example, cited the moment in the Wizard of Oz film when the black and white world turned to color

The Beatles Forever was really a canvass for Nicholas Schaffner as an artist. It didn’t surprise me to learn that Nick received (and much treasured) a complimentary note from John Lennon about his writing.

In fact, it was easy to see an artist’s bohemian New York charm in Nick’s demeanor: welcoming and inclusive, as well as enigmatic and intensely personal. Yes just by flashing a wry smile and a few engaging observations, Nick was instantly welcomed to a conversation. In his own way, probably very Lennon-like.

Back in 1980, I visited Nick in his previous abode, a tiny New York apartment, where he interviewed me for an article my participation in Capitol’s just released Beatles Rarities album.

I found his living environment a kind of glorious mess, with a micro kitchen (big enough to prepare his ever present cup of coffee) and floor and shelves jammed with all things rock and popular culture.

But I quickly came to appreciate that was a lifestyle by choice, not necessity. Nick came from a privileged upbringing and from a family steeped in writing and literature. He once matter-of-factly referenced a visit by the legendary Ray Bradbury to his family’s home. His father was a literary agent and also his youngest brother, Tim. His grandmother was the poet, H.D.

When Nick settled into his Village house by the end of the 1980s, it was impeccably restored and decorated and was even showcased in a magazine. When he took me on a tour of that house, floor by floor, he pointed out the care behind the designs, such as in the glass inlays on the doors of his storage cabinets for dishes and glasses.

Although the house was beautifully and tastefully decorated, I was struck by the absence of Beatles and rock references through most of the place, until we came to a basement lounge area.

There he had settled on a simple display case for selected Beatles collectables. Most of the rest was stored nearby behind a closet door. As ever, an artist’s eye for effective presentation.

Nick did not want to be typecast as a one-subject Beatles writer, but after The Beatles Forever he did return to the Fab Four a few times: in his British Invasion anthology of British rock essays and in a straightforward biography (The Boys from Liverpool: John, Paul, George, Ringo).

Most significantly, Nick took the role of an informed historian and co-author who could tie together the remembrances of Lennon’s Quarryman mate Pete Shotton. The resulting book John Lennon: In My Life was released in 1983. Shotton confessed during their subsequent promotional appearances that Nick knew the detailed history better than he did.

Nick was also totally immersed in his New York City life. Whenever possible, I’d look him up when visiting the city. He was was consistently welcoming and could be playfully spontaneous.

There was also a touch of the Harry Nilsson party animal in Nick, though I never traveled that road with him. There was smoking, drinking, and other indulgences, as well as regular vacation travel to warmer climes.

Sadly, in the mid-1980s, Nick was diagnosed with AIDS (he was one of the early cases) and had to deal with that reality, up through the time he wrapped up his final book, on Pink Floyd.

When a copy of Saucerful of Secrets: The Pink Floyd Odyssey arrived at my Chicago home in 1991, I could have just sent a congratulatory note to Nick, who by then had grown considerably weaker.

Yet I felt I owed him a close reading. So I sat down and immediately read the book from cover-to-cover. Then when I penned a short letter (pre-email) I could tell him truthfully how much I had enjoyed his words. That was our final exchange.

One of my warmest memories of Nick Schaffner, though, came from a compliment he paid without even realizing it the year before.

After my late night visit to his place that 1990 April evening, I realized that somewhere on the trip to New York City I had left behind my favorite scarf: purple lamb’s wool, made in Italy.

Much to my surprise, a short time later a package from PJ arrived containing the scarf, with an explanation. I had left it at Nick’s that night. He later brought it with him to a lunch date with PJ, though he confessed he had been tempted to keep it. Because he liked it.

Getting the scarf back was a nice surprise. Receiving the artistic stamp of approval from Nick was even better. Still have the scarf. In fact, wore it recently attending an opening night reception at a Chicago theater company, where I specifically received compliments on the scarf.

That Nick Schaffner. He had good taste.

And he is missed.

Copyright 2011 by Walter J. Podrazik

Two questions had overwhelming favorite answers.

Given a choice of roles from Ringo Starr’s movie career, some preferred Atouk (from Caveman, where Ringo met future wife Barbara Bach), Mike (from the rock movie That’ll Be The Day, one of Ringo’s most-praised roles), or Frank Zappa (from Zappa’s own 200 Motels, where Ringo struck a surprisingly creditable pose as the musician’s doppelganger).

The unquestioned favorite role, though, was Ringo Starr playing Ringo Starr in Beatles movies, especially in A Hard Day’s Night, Help, and Yellow Submarine. Who could argue with those signature performances? Starting with that first black-and-white fictional documentary of a day in the life of the group, it cemented the affection of multiple generations.

Eyeglasses was the top choice in the category “the sartorial garb you most associate with John Lennon.” That no doubt reflected iconic images of Lennon as an artist, writer, and activist from about the “All You Need Is Love” era onward. Oddly, in the live performing days, Lennon frequently preferred squinting over wearing glasses (though the success of Buddy Holly in spectacles did remove some of that onus). Much later, he once again put aside his glasses for the formal photo sessions for his 1980 comeback.

Where would people love to be listening to “Back in the U.S.S.R.”?  It was neck-and-neck between Paul McCartney live at Madison Square Garden, and in Moscow. (See you at Red Square!)

First Beatles song you remember hearing as a kid? “A Hard Day’s Night” topped that list, probably because of the movie connection. There’s a surprisingly wide range of answers because new generations have been exposed to Beatles music practically from the crib. So answers such as “Yellow Submarine” and “Octopus’s Garden” were not out of the question.

Favorite Beatles song mentioning animals? “I Am The Walrus”

Four of the questions were totally open-ended, and in three cases there was no clear consensus. Favorite George Harrison songs ranged from the expected “Here Comes The Sun” to the laid back “Gone Troppo.”

Song you’d like to hear Paul McCartney perform live: Pretty much anything, ranging from “Maybe I’m Amazed,” “Yesterday,” and “Till There Was You” to the B-side “Summer of ’59.”

The Beatles song that makes you want to roll down the car windows and crank up the volume? A list as long as the catalogue: “Revolution.” “Back in the U.S.S.R.” I Saw Her Standing There.” And so on. Imagine a summer traffic jam in the midst of Beatles fans.

Thanks to everyone who participated. Though comparatively limited in number, this was a good first run, which I will attempt to expand in the future. Biggest lesson is that there was far more focus with a list of suggested answers (with an “other” option) rather than with a totally open category.

The biggest non-surprise? The range of answers was wide and deep, reflecting the passion of the fans who know the subject matter well. Experiencing that has always been one of the truly special aspects of my chronicling the pop culture world of The Beatles over the years: in print, on the air, and (armed with the latest trivia) at conventions.

© 2011 Walter J. Podrazik

Until his plane crash death in the Alaska Territory (August 15, 1935), Rogers made public appearances, wrote newspaper columns, acted on stage and in films, and delivered radio commentaries about the issues of the day.

Presumably he’d have found plenty of fodder scanning the Internet. His own legacy is out there in cyberspace, awaiting fresh curiosity seekers. The always-eclectic annual summer Book Fair at the Newberry Library provided my motivation to follow some of those threads, spurred on by a 1983 bargain book collection (only $3!) of more than two dozen transcripts, Radio Broadcasts of Will Rogers.

Previously I had been exposed to a broad stroke history of the “Cowboy Philosopher” in the engaging but glitzy 1990s Broadway musical The Will Rogers Follies. That quickly
covered his Cherokee birth and early years in the Indian Territory (now Oklahoma), worked in some of his observational humor, and of course showcased his Ziegfeld Follies days. True to the play’s upbeat title, there was a sequence with a bevy of Ziegfeld show beauties. Even the ill-fated two-man wilderness plane trip with Wiley Post soared with a song.

For three decades (beginning in 1970), James Whitmore’s one-man stage show Will Rogers’ USA recreated a number of the classic Rogers monologues, introducing that style of humor to new generations. Pointed. Unflinching. Midwestern direct. Yet with his cowboy drawl, still warm and respectful.

Online now, curiosity about Will Rogers easily leads to other recreations, especially with bits that seem amazingly prescient in their focus, such as a 1926 talk about debt.

Better still, the man himself is out there, captured on film, as in his 1931 “Bacon and Beans and Limousines” talk. It was part of the “President’s Organization on Unemployment Relief Broadcast.” That would be Republican President Herbert Hoover, whose efforts Rogers, a dedicated Democrat, supported. It was all about jobs.

Will Rogers took the ordinary person’s perspective in his criticism of political rhetoric and posturing, using as examples such topics as Prohibition’s seemingly intractable faceoff between the two sides of “wet” (repeal) and  “dry” (no booze!).

It’s easy to substitute some of today’s hot-button issues and come to some of the same conclusions as Rogers, such as: “If you could take the politics out of Prohibition, it would be more beneficial to this country than if you took the alcohol out of our drinks.”

Yet perhaps Will Rogers was not so much a soothsayer about the future, just a keen observer of human nature’s most self-indulgent excesses, which always seem to reappear. It is immensely entertaining to revisit his work. It is also reassuring. Even through the Great Depression, Will Rogers was right. As a country we could, and did, get through it.

© 2011 Walter J. Podrazik

That created a signature moment in CNN’s coverage that night. It also had David Bohrman’s fingerprints all over it. So will Current TV with his new position as that channel’s president.

I first encountered Bohrman’s future-is-today technology salesmanship in the 2000 election cycle, when he successfully convinced both the Republican and Democratic conventions to put Pseudo.com, his Internet television news service, into the coverage mix – including a skybox studio, just like the broadcast and cable networks.

There was full-blown anchoring and interviews and 360-degree cameras. Even in those dot.com boom days, though, the vision was ahead of the dollars and pseudo.com didn’t make it, not even finishing the second of the two political conventions.

Obviously that did not deter Bohrman. Before and after that venture, he successfully pursued multiple news and technology opportunities. As CNN Senior Vice President and Washington Bureau Chief, he took full advantage to push the technology possibilities in presenting the news, such as the hologram feed, while keeping an eye on the bread-and-butter of basic coverage.

At the 2010 State of the Union, CNN unveiled its “Magic Wall” for displaying Twitter feeds and Bohrman was right there explaining how this enabled them to harness all the “noise” of Twitter into something that could cluster opinions and trends for better understanding.

So now it’s on to the land of Al Gore and Joel Hyatt and Keith Olbermann. No guarantees, of course, but Hyatt did observe to the Hollywood Reporter that in searching for senior level expertise “All roads led to David Bohrman.”

Having known Bohrman more than a decade, I’m simply looking forward to what he’ll come up with next, not-so-secretly hoping for another “Star Wars” moment.

© 2011 Walter J. Podrazik