Left Coast Cowboys

My faithful readers will remember when I first mentioned Donny Osmond on this blog. It was a throw-away line in a post I wrote about Michael Jackson’s death. In response to my musing that I thought Donny was an underappreciated talent, I got flooded with emails, Twitters and Facebook messages (People, talk to the blog!) In fact, I got more feedback on Donny than I did on Michael Jackson. So I had to come out as a secret Donny Osmond fan in a follow-up post. Next thing I know, it’s picked up in the forums at Donny’s official fan site and even reprinted on the front page. And again, the Twitters, Facebook messages and emails confirm that there are a lot of Donny fans out there. Even ones who aren’t embarrassed to admit it.

So I thought I’d better examine this Donny phenomenon in a little more depth. Not being a scholar of music or even particularly knowledgable about modern music, I contacted my go-to guy on all music theory, history and trivia from the Blues of the 20s to Rock of the New Millenium. That would be my brother, Steven, who has been a professional guitarist and student of American music since high school. Knowing how Steven used to meet mention of bubblegum singers like Bobby Sherman with a sneer and an Eric Clapton guitar lick, I was a little nervous about asking for his musical assessment of Donny. I was completely surprised. Steve has a great appreciation of Donny, who he says is an artist with a lot of cred among serious rock musicians:

We rockers always appreciate a good vocalist as they

are always so hard to find. It really doesn’t matter what style you do

as it is very easy to spot the pretenders.  Donny is no pretender. He’s

a pro with serious vocal ability.

No less an authority than Jeff Beck thinks Donny rocks. He does. Just ask him. (photo: Mandy Hall)

Then he went on to point me toward a YouTube clip that he thinks illustrates his point. In Rock guitar legend Jeff Beck’s Ambitious video, the scenerio is a tongue-in-cheek “audition” where various singers and wannabes are lining up to try out as lead singer. Among them is Donny Osmond taking a cheerful poke at his own career. But as they say, the laughing stops when Donny starts to sing. Steven points out, “Donny’s vocals can definitely stand up to and even complement Beck’s guitar playing.” (In fact, Steve wondered why Beck didn’t go ahead and cut a collaborative album with Donny. He’d buy it.) But of course, as I said last time and Steve confirms, Donny can do most everything.

Here's the Donny I'm listening to now. And this just in: Donny will also be on the next season of Dancing With the Stars.

Judging from the Donny Osmond CDs I’ve downloaded recently, what Donny prefers to do is what used to be termed “Blue Eyed Soul”. You can hear how he’s mastered that genre on his cover of the old Spinners hit Could It Be I’m Falling in Love and he puts a nice twist on Al Green’s Let’s Stay Together. Plus, he shows the BeeGees how it should have been done with a surprising take on How Deep is Your Love, a song I spent the Seventies trying to avoid. When Donny sings it, I’ve been known to hit repeat on my iPod one, or maybe even two, times. Then, on the same CD, Donny tackles Broadway with Seasons of Love (Rent) and This is the Moment (Jekyll and Hyde), Reggae with I Can See Clearly Now, and even performs an interesting do-over on his own old hit Puppy Love. As Steven says, when you have real talent and a true understanding and feeling for the music, you can cross into most any genre. The only thing I haven’t seen Donny tackle is the standards, which sorely need him. At a time when we’ve got Rod Stewart mangling Porter and Michael Buble injecting too much sugar into Berlin, the American Songbooks need Donny Osmond.

So c’mon, folks. I know there are a lot of you out there who agree with me. Git yer Donny on and let’s start a movement. Download your favorite Donny Osmond songs and hold that iPod up high, no matter where you are. Tell the world, WE ARE DONNY NATION. Say it loud, Donny Fan and Proud!

NOTE: Here’s that Jeff Beck Ambitious video I told you about. Watch it and tell me if you don’t think Donny should be a rocker front man.

I have a favorite conversation starter I like to employ at parties. I ask, “Who would I be shocked to find out you admire?” No, I don’t want to hear about how you like Eleanor Roosevelt’s pluck. I’m looking for a Left Wing former hippie to tell me he secretly thinks Sarah Palin rocks. Or a staunch Republican to say he’d love to do beers and shoot hoops with Obama. Well, you don’t even have to show me yours, I’ll show you mine. The people you’d be shocked to find I admire? Richard Simmons and Donny Osmond. Richard is the subject for another day. Today, I’m talking Donny. Donny of Puppy Love and Tiger Beat Fame.

I haven’t exactly come out of the closet on my Donny Osmond fandom until now. But I’ve always thought he was vastly underrated as a performer. I mean, ballads, Pop, Broadway, comedy, variety show host. Donny can do it all.

It’s been interesting during this week of Michael Jackson Mania to hear how many people are citing One Bad Apple as a favorite Jackson Five song. Sorry, kids. It was offered to the Jacksons. They passed. The group that did it? The Osmonds. And that great voice in the lead? Not the future gloved King of Pop Superstar of All Time Beloved Of Millions If You Can Believe the Hype. Nope, Donny Osmond.

Donny's having the last laugh. His show with Marie is the hottest ticket in Vegas.

Okay, those Elvis suits the Osmonds used to sport didn’t do them any favors for their legacy. And it always bugged me when they tried to bring in Little Jimmy as the “new star” (as if Donny needed to be replaced). But Donny has proven, against all odds and the snickering of snarky critics that he has the chops to be a major talent. It’s just too bad that George Michael style pop stars or Tony Bennett like ballad singers or Broadway belters or loose and comfortable variety show hosts have gone slightly out of style. ‘Cause Donny Osmond is a master of all these genres.

It was a surprising way in which I found I wasn’t alone in my Donny Osmond fandom. I had a throwaway line about Donny Osmond being underrated in this Michael Jackson post. Surprisingly, it generated more comments on Donny than it did on Michael. Although most commenters were afraid to post publicly and responded by Twitter direct message, email or direct Facebook message. (People, talk to the Blog!)

One of the few bold enough to come out proud with his Donny Fandom was Cousin John, who is not my cousin but the cousin of my eccentric friend Julian. Equally eccentric John was unabashed in his appreciation of Donny. But then Cousin John is the Indiana Jones of California, so he’s pretty secure in his own image.

“The Osmonds were bigger than Jesus in the UK. Also, it’s uncool if you think he’s uncool. He’s had ironic retro caché since the 90s amongst the hipsters cognoscenti.”

Cousin John goes on to remind me that Osmondmania was as big in the UK in the 70s as Beatlemania was in the US in the Sixties. He also forwards this interview that shows Donny kept an ironic, cool sense of humor about his whole rise and fall and rise. Remember, this is a guy who had no problem appearing in Weird Al Yankovich’s video White and Nerdy.

Donny & Marie are the hottest ticket in Vegas. Catch them at the Flamingo.

Which brings me to Donny Osmond the man. I know, especially in the wake of this whole Michael Jackson Sobfest, that we are being asked to separate the man from his musical genius. But let’s give Donny some credit for facing the same pressures of early fame as Michael and not resorting to carving up his nose or molesting little boys.

Donny did develop social anxiety disorder which he admits had to be treated by drugs. What did he do? He became a spokesman for the condition trying to draw attention, understanding and funding to the condition.

And okay, I have a lot of issues with the Mormon Church, especially since they recently spent millions in California trying to influence (successfully it turns out) who can get married in our state. Donny issued this statement:

“We all determine for ourselves what is right and what is not right for our own lives. I am not a judge and I will never judge anyone for the decisions they make unless they are causing harm to another individual. I love my friends, including my gay friends. We are all God’s children. It is their choice, not mine on how they conduct their lives and choose to live the commandments according to the dictates of their own conscience.”

Nice thought, although he goes on to say Gays should only be allowed in the Mormon Church as celibates. But you know what? Donny’s never been caught in a motel room with hookers, underage male hustlers, cocaine or heroin. He was a 20 year old virgin bridegroom and has remained married to the same woman for decades. He walks the walk while he’s talking the talk. You have to respect that. He’s also been nothing but gracious in his memories of Michael Jackson, even though the interviewers have been trying to draw the same comparisons I just did.

Cousin John, the only guy secure enough in his manhood to admit he thinks Donny Osmond is cool.

Oh, and about that Donny comeback in the 90s? Turns out his record Soldier of Love, which was first released only in the UK, was sent to some NYC DJs. They played it while billing the singer as a Mystery Artist. It reached hit status before it was revealed to be by the Singer Formerly Known as Donny Osmond.

Last year, when we were in Vegas for my comical running (walking) of the Las Vegas Marathon, we noticed a big billboard advertising that Donny and Marie were appearing at the Flamingo. Andy started snickering. Our cabbie turned around and gave us a sharp verbal slap-down. He said Donny was one of the biggest draws in Vegas and he was immensely talented. Trust me, you don’t argue with cabbies.

Donny and Marie’s show has been extended until 2010. And I’m signed up for this year’s Las Vegas Marathon. Guess what tickets I’ll be buying.

By the way, Biography did a really good Donny & Marie profile that will change your view of this duo. This clip covers the fall of Donny’s career and how Soldier of Love kick-started it again. Did I mention Marie? Don’t even get me started. Also underrated.

NERD Update: Someone at Donny.com, Donny’s official site, just linked to me and now I’m following Donny on Twitter @donnyosmond

As California braces for a Michael Jackson funeral concert that they are saying will cost the indebted City of Los Angeles over $2 million dollars, I find myself in an equally ambivalent position. Here I am, who thought I wasn’t a fan, writing my third Michael Jackson post in a week. First I reclaimed him for Generation Jones, then I came to terms with the surprising fact that he did have some relevance to my life. Now I find myself irked, to put it mildly, at the gushing tributes and news reports. Okay, I’ll suspend talk of his possible inappropriate behavior with minors, even though I think he did it. What’s getting me furious are the fawning news reports that talk about how “Michael Jackson showed us dance moves that had never been seen before and will never be seen again…”

In the words of Steve Martin, EXCUUUUUUUUUUSE ME! This is why I got out of the news racket so many years ago. Things like research, history and striving for context were going out the window and I wanted no part of it. I’m not saying Michael Jackson wasn’t an immensely talented dancer, but he’s just the latest evolution in a long line of illustrious Black dancers.

The Moonwalk? Done and captured on film back in 1955. But the dancer here, Bill Bailey, and others were doing this step, which they called The Backslide, long before:

Some of those other moves? Take a gander at Earl “Snakehips” Tucker:

But the real artists to be dissed by this assertion that Michael Jackson as a dancer, sprung fully formed out of nowhere, are the fabulous Nicholas Brothers. Now these guys really did things no one had ever seen before or since (although they were building on the work of the greats before them.) And these two, especially brother Fayard, were responsible for teaching generations of younger dancers their moves. Dancers like Debbie Allen. Oh yeah, and Michael Jackson who was specifically sent to Fayard when he was young to polish up his dancing.

Here’s the famous dance routine none other than Fred Astaire said was the single greatest bit of dancing ever captured on film. (Here in Story Weather, the brothers appear with Cab Calloway, no mean hoofer himself. Watch the whole sequence. The bit on the stairs at the end must be seen to be believed.)

Jeez, no special effects, no smoke machines and those guys aren’t even breathing hard!

I remember watching an interview with Debbie Allen where she tells about asking Fayard to show her how those stair moves were done. He executed something pretty similar. He was in his 60s. She says she just couldn’t imagine how she could get her twenty-something body to do the same thing.

So why does every newscaster seem to think that Michael Jackson invented the whole art form of dancing on his very own? I bet even Michael, who judging by the throne he was supposed to have in his bedroom had a pretty high opinion of himself, would admit he was dancing on ground paved by others.

Okay, most of these great dancers were active during intense Segregation when they were confined to the so-called Chitlin’ Circuit. But enough later dancers have referenced them that anyone with a passing interest in the American dance form should have bumped into them. Certainly someone doing a news report on Michael’s dance moves should take the five or ten minutes of Googling needed to find out who his teachers and references were. Ever heard of a video called That’s Black Entertainment? Get it. You’ll be amazed at what talent Segregation robbed White America of seeing. (And you’ll see the Black comics Jerry Lewis stole his whole act from!)

That said, let me leave you with more smooth moves from classic hoofers, some of whom are even White:

NOTE: The title of my post is taken from Marlon Riggs’ wonderful documentary on Black identity called Black is…Black Ain’t. I wish Michael Jackson had seen it.

Mine is not the first post to point out the debt Michael owed to talented dancers before him. Here’s just one.

So I was planning to resist this whole Michael Jackson sobfest. And here I am putting up my second MJ post in two days. I still have deeply ambivalent feelings about him. Sure, his songs played through my childhood and young adulthood, although I wasn’t a super fan. I even went so far yesterday as to reclaim him from Generation X to his rightful place with those of us sandwiched between the Xers and the Baby Boomers, Generation Jones. But I also firmly believe that he was a pedophile who did some deeply inappropriate things with kids then weaseled out of a conviction using his money, his sycophants and his famous friends. I’m usually willing to overlook celebrity foibles in the face of incredible talent, but child molestation is just one of those lines that shouldn’t be crossed and can’t be forgiven.

But I find I can’t get Michael Jackson out of my head. And looking back, I think he had a much bigger impact on my life than I’ve given him credit for.

The most significant impact Michael Jackson had for me — and a lot of White people my age — was by blurring some color lines we grew up with. Sure he was the Jackie Robinson of MTV, a talent so big he couldn’t be shut out of the venue. But I’m thinking even before that.

One of my elementary schools was segregated in all but name. Now before you think I was in school before Brown versus the Board of Education, let me enlighten some of my younger readers. Segregation lasted long after Martin Luther King and not just in the Deep South. There were still riots in Boston in the Seventies over the bussing of inner city (read Black) kids into Southie (a bastion of White working class Irish).  In my leafy Maryland suburban elementary school in the Sixties, the possibility that the school board would have to go beyond saying they were desegregated and, you know, actually let Black kids in, was the trigger for foam-flecked rantings and ravings at the PTA meetings.

I remember finding out that my best friend’s mother was running around the neighborhood trying to get a newly relocated Black family’s kids banned from our school. Her reasoning was that, according to my friend (who didn’t understand the words any more than I did) “Black boys rape White girls”. Now this Black family wasn’t headed by Stokely Carmichael or Willie Horton. The father was a college graduate, a military officer and serving in the Pentagon as my father was.

Yet when my friends and I discussed the pending desegregation (which I don’t think we did all that much), I think we were mostly excited. Even if we didn’t articulate it, I think we were expecting a busload of Michael Jacksons to show up. You know, cool kids with sunny smiles who could teach us great dance moves to Rockin’ Robin (Remember we were White. We couldn’t dance.)

I’m not saying that radical intergenerational perception shift made much of an immediate difference. And I don’t want to take anything way from Dr. King and the untold many who fought and even died for Civil Rights. But I think every major point of cultural evolution must also need such a moment. That point when the oppressors suddenly find out their kids are identifying — or at least think favorably of — the people they’ve been trying to keep down. Nothing can ever be the same after that.

I’m giving Michael Jackson much of the credit. To my contemporaries, Diana Ross, the Shirelles and the Ronettes were too exotic and too grown up. But Michael was just our age. And he looked like someone who would be the Coolest Kid in School. I’m not even sure we thought of him as Black (although he was back when he burst onto the scene with Motown in the late Sixties.) His music and dance moves spoke to us White kids, maybe even more than the scrubbed-clean Osmonds. (Although I will admit to being one of the few who says Donny Osmond’s talents are underestimated.)

Nope, I’m giving Michael Jackson credit where credit is due. I’m busy downloading his songs to my iPod and I’m reassessing his place in my life. So Rest in Peace Michael Jackson. I was appalled by what you became, but I’m learning to love you again for what you once were.

ADDENDUM: Here’s one way I want to remember Michael Jackson. As a great little kid who had all the talent and all the dance moves, even way back in 1972 when we were both barely in our teens.

Here’s another revealing moment, this time from the 1988 Grammy Awards. Michael, with few pyrotechnics, costumes or special effects, shows that he didn’t need any of it. His talent could stand on its own. It’s also nice that he’s included a full Gospel choir as a shout-out to his musical and cultural heritage. And in that great old Gospel tradition, he’s calling for us, and himself, to do something bigger than we think we’re capable of.

Since the news has become All Michael Jackson All The Time, it was inevitable, no matter how I tried to resist, that I would have to put up a Michael Jackson post. But this won’t be the one you expect.

Full disclosure, I was never a huge fan, so my mind is free to roam, when the subject is Michael Jackson, to other tangentially related topics. Today, it’s Generations. It all started when a self-identified Generation X blogger I read reprinted an article about how the deaths of Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett were a great loss for Generation X. Yet, she was focussing only on the Billie Jean years. I know she’s young enough that she probably has no memory of Michael as part of The Jackson Five and bopping out to Rockin’ Robin and ABC, especially since Michael burst on the scene in 1968, a year after this blogger was born. Now me, I remember those songs, because I am exactly Michael Jackson’s age. (Well, at least chronologically. The latest news is making it clear he was a very different physical and mental age.) But are Michael and me Generation X? What generation are we? I’ve always been confused on this point.

Let’s get some ground rules down. Although some reports have the Baby Boomers born from 1945 to 1965 and others peg Gen X from 1961 to 1981, I categorically reject that. If a generation is defined as a group of people, who by birth time, have a set of shared experiences, cultural and historical references and rituals, how can a generation encompass a group where the eldest could have given birth to the youngest? No, for me a generation can’t be more than 10 years — Zeitgeist Siblings, if you will. Maybe in some periods it extended a bit beyond ten years, maybe in other times of rapid cultural shifts, it’s a bit less than ten years. But ten years is pretty much the standard. That lets those who were born in the eleven years between 1916 and 1927 qualify as the Greatest Generation. They came of age during the Great Depression and were all of them old enough to have fought in World War Two. That lets my parents out of that group as both were in early high school and junior high by 1945. So, even though my parents remember the Depression and World War II, they weren’t trying to gain employment during the former or fighting or waving off a contemporary to fight in the latter. That makes a big divide between them and people a little bit older. I’d say that dividing line marks the end of one generation and the start of another.

What defines a Baby Boomer? How about if you were old enough to contemplate hitching to Woodstock. Even if you were just 15 and you had a curfew. Poster photo: Shelly Rusten.

Likewise, I don’t see myself as a Baby Boomer. I remember Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, The Doors and Ina Gadda Davida. My baby sitters used to play those songs. I remember Viet Nam. But it wasn’t a war my contemporaries fought. My father did. I knew someone who joined the SDS. She was the much, much older sister of a friend and when she came to our house, she sat with the adults. My brother, her sister and I sat at the children’s table. So I’d say, that generational divide was pretty clear.

Just as the Baby Boomers like to claim they invented everything from Rock to Civil Disobedience, Gen X, at least in many of the articles I’ve read, screams loudly that they brought down the Berlin Wall. They also claim Grunge as their music. Desert Storm was “their war”. If those cultural touchstones define them,  let’s figure out who was 18 to 29 around that time. Well, the youngest veterans of Desert Storm would have to have been born in 1973 to be 18 at the time of the war. Grunge hit it big in the early 90s, so lets cap the generation at those who had not yet reached thirty by 1992 — the year after Nevermind hit it big and Nirvana played the MTV Awards. That’s people who were born no earlier than 1963. So can we peg Generation X at roughly 1963 to 1973?

If you believe Gen Xers' hype, they brought down the Berlin Wall. By listening to Grunge and voting for Reagan.

So if Gen X is 1963-1973 and the Baby Boomers are 1945 to 1955 — old enough for the Summer of Love (1967),  Woodstock (1969) and still in danger of being drafted (the Draft ended in 1973) — where does that leave those of us born between 1955 and 1963?

Wikipedia has an answer. We are Generation Jones.

“Jonesers were the people who as teens in the 1970s made this slang word [Jonesing] popular, but beyond this historical claim, many believe the concept of jonesing is among this generation’s key collective personality traits. Jonesers were given huge expectations as children in the 1960s, and then confronted with a different reality as they came of age in the 1970s, leaving them with a certain unrequited, jonesing quality.”

Yup, that’s us. Remember the Recession and the Gas Crisis? Yeah, we couldn’t tune in, turn on and drop out then come back from the Peace Corps or a commune and walk right into a good job. And we were struggling out of college for that first professional job in a tougher time than a later generation that could leap from barista to Vice President in the Dot Com era. Apparently we always were and still are jonesing for a better deal.

But I’ll tell you what, Generation X. Michael Jackson, for better or worse, is OURS. You might have been just old enough to go to the roller rink and skate to Billie Jean and Thriller. Yeah, we did that too. But we were also in elementary school and junior high boppin’ to Rockin’ Robin with a similarly aged Michael, who at that time was a Black kid sporting a purple pimp hat and a polyester jump suit.

And you know who else we have in our camp?

His Barackness, The Big O, born 1961.

It’s a bit late, but, as Generation Jones, we’re finally coming into our own.