03/21/2015

On one hand, Spencer Tweedy likely requires little in the way of introduction. If you know of his father, Jeff, and his work you probably have a pretty good idea of where Spencer is coming from, aesthetically speaking. He lives in Chicago, turned 19 in December of last year, and is currently on tour with his dad and their band, Tweedy, in support of their album Sukierae which was released in September.   On the other hand, considering Spencer merely as adjunct to his father and his father’s career does not, of course, give him the credit he very much deserves. Spencer is much more than Jeff Tweedy’s son, cool though that may be. He is a very thoughtful and articulate young man whose precocity you can sample at his blog where he posts photographs, essays, video clips and music. (Sounds somewhat familiar… but despite his youthful years he’s been at it for quite a while longer than Your Humble Narrator.) In addition to Tweedy, the band, Spencer has a variety of other musical involvements and I can assure you that they are definitely well worth a listen. His album with the Blisters, Finally Bored, resides very happily on YHN’s iPod and the song Own It by the Raccoonists (Jeff + Spencer + younger brother Sammy) enjoys steady rotation on the DJ Inky playlist.
03/05/2015

Every spring I look forward to it, but not quite in the manner of, say, a holiday or a birthday—I’m well past the point of looking forward to those. Neither fully secular, sacred nor profane, it is more the initiation of a process than a specific event. Nonetheless, elements of spirituality, rebirth, renewal, and a quasi-mystical sense of nostalgia are commonly associated with it. Much misty-eyed, overwrought commentary has accrued to it over the years. Why stop now?   Despite the histrionics, this annual ritual could not be more democratic, more quintessentially American, more beautifully ordinary in its extraordinary way. It is the return of baseball season—spring training in early March in Florida and Arizona, and the regular season a month later across the continent. It is a feeling like no other and I love it dearly. In the immortal words of the fictional plucky Dominican, Chico Escuela, ‘Béisbol been berry berry good to me.’