Back in the early days of the Rock, these were perhaps the most beloved Rock TVs of them all. They were each played to kick off the big summer retreat (back when we had Rock retreats) and the audiences were rabidly enthusiastic at that moment, so they went over really well. When I reflect on these particular videos (I was merely a fan of Rock TV at that point, not a member) I remember the goofball energy of the retreats that these helped stoke. They aren’t necessarily the strongest videos in the world, but they were important for the ministry, and for our church.
The first Road Trip video is a pretty straightforward deal – “Hey Rock TV gang, let’s pile in the car and head on down to the Rock retreat!” For a number of technical reasons, this is the best-made of the early Rock TVs. The highlight for me is certainly the performance by Todd, who had just joined the ministry, particularly the shot of him in the darkened trunk – in fact, that’s one of my favorite shots in the history of the ministry.
The Road Trip 2 probably remains the most ambitious project Rock TV has ever attempted. Portions of the video were filmed in Arizona and Germany (Todd grabbed them on his world travels). More notably, prior to the retreat the video was only completed up to the 7:35 mark of what you see here. Everything after that was a closed-circut feed taped at the actual retreat itself as the video played. I was in the auditorium when Todd popped out of that box, and I can tell you that the reaction was epic.
However…
…I’m not convinced that Road Trip 2 is a particularly funny video. It’s a bit too self-congratulatory and reliant on callbacks to earlier videos (including the Road Trip, Mattress Police and Ninja Salesman) and there just aren’t many jokes. Still, the video was an impressive technical feat (and the fact that they beat the hell out of a car for a Rock TV is pretty cool).
NOTE: I’ve shortened Road Trip 2 by nearly two minutes from its original length, both to avoid some issues with copyrighted music (the sound is a bit peculiar on this version, unfortunately) and to remove stretches of the video where nothing happened.
As you’ve probably already assumed, Bridgette and I spent part of last evening watching Season 2 of Family Ties on DVD.
The highlight of our experience was a new featurette about Michael Gross’s beard.
I’m not kidding. Michael Gross detailed his decision to grow a beard, and the producers and actors opined on the beard’s significance to the series. This went on for eight minutes. In the end, the featurette seemed to intimate that Michael Gross’s beard was an American accomplishment on par with the taming of the West or Michael Jackson’s funeral. In the Eternal Pantheon of Beards, Gross apparently belongs somewhere between the Norse god Thor and Vlade Divac.
After watching it, I could close my eyes and just imagine what it would feel like to have Michael Gross rub his whiskery chin all over my belly. (Not that we would jump right into the beard-rubbing – we’d probably sit down and have a nice cup of coffee first.) I have written Michael Gross a lengthy manuscript detailing my thoughts on his beard and what I bet he was really thinking during every scene in which he appeared in season 2. I’ve tried to get this to Michael Gross so he could read it and know me, but he’s a really fast runner.
I hope the season 3 DVDs have a featurette about the character of Skippy. He was my favorite. I wonder if Skippy wants to come over to my house sometime and tell me if he ever saw Michael Gross without his shirt on?
These weren’t regular hamburgers, though! There wasn’t any ham in them at all! These hamburgers were made with meat.
Bridgette told me that the meat came from a cow-beast. I asked her why the cow had to die. She said because of me.
I guess I feel bad about the cow. I also feel bad about the genocide of 500,000 Armenians during World War I. We all have regrets.
Thank you for your ham-meat Mr. Cow! I will eat one of your friends tomorrow, and then you can writhe in torment together with him in cow hell, you vacant-eyed bastard!
Of all the things my long-suffering wife has had to endure in our marriage, surely the strangest must be my genuine enjoyment of the works of Mr. Neil Diamond.
Yes, I know about the sparkly shirts, I’m aware of his extended detour into schmaltz from 1977-2000, and I’m aware that he has the hair of a Jim Henson creation. However, I’m also appreciative of the fact that he’s a remarkably expressive singer who has written an incredible number of quality songs and huge hits (though the two often weren’t mutual). Like a spear-fisher with a gleaming brass trident, he stabs his songs into existence and bellows the haggard shout of life.
Don’t bother to analyze that last sentence.
Diamond was the longtime victim of snobbish disparagement by music critics, but recent years have seen a welcome re-evaluation of his gifts as a songwriter and showman. A cursory cruise through his copious catalog reveals a cornucopia of catchy choruses: Cherry Cherry, Cracklin’ Rosie, I’m a Believer, Sweet Caroline, I Am…I Said, Brooklyn Roads, Forever in Blue Jeans, Love on the Rocks, etc. A celebration of these songs is not what this blog entry is about, however. Like my Paul McCartney post a few weeks back, this entry is here to direct interested listeners to a few lesser-known Neil Diamond gems. These songs might suprise you with their quality, or maybe they’ll make you hate me. Either way, the important thing is that I’m making you read this.
The Boat That I Row (1967):
This track has all the appeal of Diamond’s early hits like Solitary Man, but without their over-familiarity. It allows the listener to hear him for the miner of high-quality pop nuggets that he was. This song’s subject matter was also prescient, noting that he didn’t fit in well with any musical category (nor would he ever – whose career does his parallel?).
Lordy (live, 1969):
For all the dippiness his studio recordings occasionally demonstrated, Neil Diamond has a longstanding reputation as a remarkable live performer. This early live recording is shocking in its intensity – the reserved, polite audience gets a growling, howling performance by a lean band. It certainly ain’t The Who, but it’s pretty good nonetheless. (Check out a fun cover by Nine Inch Neils, a metal tribute band, here.)
Captain Sunshine (1972):
For my money, Diamond’s peak years were 1968-1972, when he began asserting a measure of creative independence and maturity but hadn’t yet descended into AOR schlock (albeit well-crafted, occasionally worthwhile schlock). This track is an example of the understated, wonderfully melodic quality of much of his work in those peak years. It’s California-influenced, country-twinged pop – doing the Eagles thing when they were just getting started. While his albums are notoriously scattered affairs, there’s a few from this era worth investigating for their lesser-known tracks like this one.
Gitchy Goomy ; Porcupine Pie (both 1972)
Neil Diamond is a part-time purveyor of goodtime nonsense songs – instantly likeable, singalong tunes that mean absolutely nothing at all. These are two of my favorites in this category. The lyrics are genuinely head-scratching, but if they catch you in the right mood, you’ll be tapping your toe in seconds.
Here’s a great, goofy video I found online for one of these songs by a couple high school kids. I got a real kick out of it.
Hooked on the Memory of You (1988):
Here is this list’s sole representative of Diamond’s schmaltz years. The song is a pretty, affecting ballad notable for its (relatively) understated production – no dramatic key changes here. There’s an audience for this material (i.e. moms), and I can appreciate it in bite-sized portions. I like this song a lot, and it demonstrates that for all the producers he handed over the musical reins to, he never lost his touch for writing melody.
Hell Yeah (2005):
After the chart hits died out in the mid-1980s, Neil Diamond spent the 90s churning out greatest-hits packages and Christmas albums (notable because he’s Jewish). There were sporadic sparks of life, but most Diamond fans simply assumed his best was now clearly behind him. 2005 marked the release of 12 Songs, an album produced by uber-producer Rick Rubin (Metallica, Beastie Boys, Johnny Cash). Diamond and Rubin also partnered on 2008’s Home Before Dark, with yet another album in the works for next year. The albums are sparse affairs – the instrumentation is primarily organic and acoustic but the spark was back. Their work together hasn’t been flawless, but it is regularly excellent. This track, Hell Yeah, demonstrates the verve and potency of these albums. It was Neil Diamond re-introducing himself, and not apologizing for anything.
Delirious Love (2005):
This was the first single from 12 Songs, notable for the involvement of Brian Wilson. As a result, the studio version sounded like a mash up of Diamond’s 60s-era style with the Beach Boys. It’s a fun, infectious tune. When he performs it live, it’s more of an intense, churning style built on chugging acoustics.
Another Day That Time Forgot (2008):
This is a brooding rumination of a song performed as a duet with Natalie Maines of the Dixie Chicks. The lyrics are somber but captivating, and the performance itself it haunting. He sticks with the minor chords here, feeling no need to oblige his mom-audience with a chipper resolution. Notably, many of his latter-era songs like this demonstrate qualities in his songs that weren’t evident until this point; clear evidence that he was no longer on autopilot.
If I Don’t See You Again (2008):
Here’s a startlingly honest break-up song that demonstrates that, when he picks his moments carefully, Neil Diamond is the king of the dramatic buildup. If this song had been around back when I was dating and breaking up with some regularity, this would have been a tune I would have held on to. At the same time, it’s a strange song – it’s over seven minutes long, there isn’t really a chorus, and no lyrics repeat except for the title. It’s a hell of a thing.
Here’s video of him performing the song with the Rubin’s session men, including Mike Campbell and Benmont Tench from the Heartbreakers.
By the way, I should apologize. I know that 1,000 words on Neil Diamond probably wasn’t what you were looking for when you visited my blog today. Come back tomorrow for a post on mule hoarding.
These two videos aren’t quite as old as some of the other videos from the archives that I’ve been dusting off, but they’re each worth revisiting.
The Viewmaster video left a bad taste in my mouth for a long time because we just didn’t execute it properly. I went ahead and removed a lengthy set of Leroy-as-dog gags that never really worked, and the video is MUCH better for it. It feels faster, sillier, and certainly closer to the original vision of the writing team. This shortened version of the video is quite strong, in my opinion.
The 100 Years video was flagged by YouTube last year for using copyrighted music, so I’ve removed the offending song, and removed about 30 seconds from the rest of the video. While this one is a bit plodding, it has its merits. Jeromy Darling’s performance as the old-timey preacher at the beginning is great, and this video features the first appearance of Pastortron 9000 and the Jesus Cops (characters we later expounded upon upon at length).
Back when the 100 Years video first aired (at the 2003 Rock retreat) we caught some flak for Todd’s performance as an increasingly-drunk host. Looking back, we might have been a bit insensitive, given the number of recovering addicts in the audience, but it’s still a damn funny job by Todd.
It’s my birthday! Take me to Shakey’s! Give me a quarter so I can play Centipede!
What? My birthday was yesterday? But I wasted yesterday wandering around a SuperAmerica parking lot talking to strangers about Shakey’s pizza and pooping in the garbage bins!
How long is it until my next birthday?
Well, in that case, get me the phone number to Shakey’s so I can call in a bomb threat.
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